My baby brother is kewl

My youngest brother, Sam, is one of my favorite people in the world. I've thought so ever since he was a little kid -- he was always smart and funny and looking at the world in a new and unexpected way. He has the left brain of a money guy but the soul of an artist, and I respect him enormously for it, and for his willingness to make an effort to create art, be it music or photography or whatever catches his fancy. He has a band called Lipstik, and they play gigs and write and record songs and get stuff on iTunes and put themselves out there. They may make it big, they may not, but props to them for giving it all they've got. Here's their new video for "Honey Eyes." According to the band, it's "a meditation on the songwriting process and on the dual lives we all tend to lead."

Yay!! I said something that wasn't totally inappropriate!!

It's no secret that I share my father's tendency to say wildly inappropriate things in public. With a certain gift for the gab comes an inability to keep my mouth shut, I guess. Just last week, I was waiting in line at the post office, and the line was growing behind me while some lady carried on a long conversation with the postal worker behind the counter. For a long time she blathered on about non-post-office-related matters, while people impatiently tapped their feet and checked their watches behind her. Then she asked a question about online postal services, saying, "you know, I don't like having to come here if I don't absolutely have to." And before I could stop myself, I said out loud, "yeah, neither does anybody else, lady, so let's cut the chatter, shall we?" Oops. She gave me a dirty look and hurried away.

Saturday night, Jason and I went to see a high school football game at Kapolei High School. It's about 3/4 of a mile away, so we thought it would be a nice walk and fun to get out of the house.

A beautiful night for a game

We had a really nice time hanging out and watching the game, even though the game wasn't very good. Kapolei's team had a couple of drives in which they were able to string together some good plays, but for the most part they looked pretty inept.

Jason has lost all feeling in his leg taking this picture

Kapolei's team didn't match up well against the Mililani Trojans. I think the final score was 31-7.

The high school band, on the other hand, was pretty impressive. I don't even remember if my high school team had a marching band, but if they did, I don't think they were as good as these kids were. They played tunes that were recognizable and upbeat, on key, and they marched in pretty tight formation and seemed to be having a good time. As they walked off the field from doing their half-time performance, I turned to Jason and said, "that's the most organized and cohesive group Kapolei's had on the field all night!" A guy sitting right in front of us who looked to be a couple of years older than us chuckled and gave me an appreciative smile, and a few minutes later, two of his kids walked up, and they were band kids. So I had paid him and his family a compliment!

KHS's rockin' band

Jason looked at me and said, "hey, look at that! you said something that didn't insult anyone!" I laughed and replied, "I know, I was just thinking the same thing. Maybe my streak is broken!"

Don't anyone hold their breath, though.

Aloha?? Anyone??

Yesterday I walked out of my house at about 2:45 in the afternoon to go run some errands, only to discover that I had a flat tire. A pain in the ass, but nothing catastrophic, as I have a full spare (no crappy temporary spares for Mercedes!) and I was paying attention the day they taught us how to change a flat in driver's ed. The fact that I'm huge and cumbersome and exhausted was a little bit of an impediment, but the tire needed to be changed, so I sucked it up and got to it. I dragged the (heavy, dirty) spare tire out of the trunk, loosened the lug nuts, and jacked the car up. I was sitting on the ground as I was doing this, so in addition to getting tire shmutz all over my hands and clothes, my butt and legs were getting all dirty and grass stained, plus the size of my belly makes it difficult to sit on the ground comfortably in any event, let alone maneuver big heavy tires on and off of a wheel, all while trying to hold the spare tire in place and line up the lugs at the same time so that I could screw it in place. What I'm saying is, I got the job done, but it wasn't pretty, and to anyone passing by, it would have been obvious that I was having a difficult time.

Oh, yes, did I mention that it was the afternoon, and that people were trickling home from work, and students (including able-bodied high school boys) were trickling home from school, and generally there were many people passing by who could see me? People that I see in the neighborhood every day when I'm out walking the dog or getting the mail or going for a stroll with my husband? People who say hi to me and ask me how my pregnancy is progressing, and therefore know who I am and that I'm hugely pregnant? People like the leasing agent who drove by with some prospective tenants, slowed down to look at me, and then kept driving? Or the landscaping guys, who also slowed down to look at me and then kept going? Or my next door neighbor's 17-year-old son, who walked by me, and was at most 10 feet away, but resolutely kept his eyes on a point in front of him so that he wouldn't have to acknowledge my presence? Yeah, them. All of those people, who know me, who are well aware of my condition, who saw that I was having a hard time, and not fucking one of them stopped to see if they could give me a hand. Say what you will about the South (and I lived there for almost half my life, so I am generally not one to bad-mouth it, but plenty of people do), but if this had happened in Atlanta, not only would multiple people have fallen all over themselves to stop and change the tire for me, but they (or their spouses) would have send me casseroles afterwards and called to make sure I was OK. Hawaiians like to brag about the "aloha spirit" that pervades these islands and makes them such a hospitable, friendly place, but I sure didn't see much evidence of it. Maybe we just need to move to a better neighborhood.

Happy 5768

Tonight is the start of Rosh Ha'Shana, the Jewish New Year. It's the beginning of the Days of Awe, the 10 days leading up to Yom Kippur (the day of atonement), during which time a person is supposed to settle up spiritually, both with people and with God, making right the wrongs of the past year, so that the next year can begin with a clean slate. So tonight I will be going to synagogue, eating apples dipped in honey, and renewing my efforts to be a good and loyal friend, daughter, sister, wife and soon, mother. I wish all of my friends and family a happy, healthy and prosperous year, and may I be worthy of the love and support I am showered with on an embarrassingly regular basis.

I need a book

I've been plowing through all of the books on my must-read list, and I've hit a bit of a lull. Stuff that I've heard so much about -- The Memory Keeper's Daughter, Water for Elephants, to name two -- have left me feeling decidedly unsatisfied. I want to read something that blows me away, like The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay or The House of the Spirits or One Hundred Years of Solitude or Handling Sin. Something smart and original and unique. Any suggestions would be most appreciated, unless it's for an Ayn Rand book, because I think she sucks.

In other news, my life is incredibly boring these days. Work is kind of slow, and I'm so tired all the time that I can't really do much of anything without needing a nap (or a pee break) after 15 minutes. I spend my days either working or reading or watching U.S. Open tennis and Law and Order reruns, and my nights trying to get comfortable or making 3 a.m. runs to Safeway for Pepto Bismol to battle heartburn. Exciting, exciting stuff. Hence my need for a great book.

Where are they now?

Last night I was watching an old episode of Law and Order and when the guest actor playing one of the defense attorneys came on screen, I thought, "I know that guy." Sure enough, it was a classmate from UVa. that I was really good friends with 3rd and 4th year. He and a couple of other guys lived in a house across the street from me 3rd year and we hung out all the time. I did a little internet research and discovered that he is using a different last name, but uses his former last name as a middle name, and it's definitely him. He's a working actor who does lots of plays in New York (including on Broadway) and Washington (at places like Arena Stage), in addition to guest roles on TV shows like Law and Order and Criminal Intent.

The interet is a magical thing for reconnecting with old friends or classmates. Over the years, I have found (or been found by) dozens of people with whom I went to middle school, high school and college. A woman who was in my senior class in India got tremendous shit for dating an Italian guy who, while being smoking hot, was a freshman and the definition of jailbait. Well, it turns out it was true love, because she married him and they live in Italy, where she runs a travel agency. A guy I went to high school with in Israel is an art history professor at a small liberal arts college in South Carolina. A woman I was good friends with at UVa -- she lived in the geek dorm, like me -- became an award winning journalist in San Francisco. A former college roommate is a PhD in Japanese language. My best friend from middle school in Israel is a singer-songwriter in LA. When I knew first knew them, we were so young and stupid and unformed -- learning how to put on makeup, obsessing over silly crushes, worrying about finishing our history homework. It's so interesting to look back on those children and see the adults they've become. Remembering them way back when and learning what they've become is like being in a sculptor's studio the first day he starts working on a big piece of clay, and then coming back years later and seeing the finished result.

Get a job, honey.

We have a neighbor in our complex who is very sweet and nice to us, but she never stops bitching about money. I've gotten to the point where if I see her coming, I wave and pretend to be incredibly busy, because if I engage at all, I'll be stuck in a half hour conversation (or rather, listening to a half hour rant) about her travails with the leasing office because they're trying to raise her rent, or the fact that she had to spend $50 on this or $40 on that and how her husband didn't get any overtime work last week so they're behind on their bills. Her husband, meanwhile, works for a company that is redoing Honolulu's sewer systems. He often has to work the night shift, has skin the color of a fish's underbelly because he never sees the light of day, and is constantly exhausted. The wife, on the other hand, doesn't work and doesn't want to work and seems to think that the solution to her problems is for her husband to work overtime or figure out a way to get more hours in or something.

I don't understand this attitude at all. I thinks she is being a selfish, lazy asshole. She wouldn't need to work full time. Even part-time would be enough to give them the cash to ease the burden, and it would mean that her husband wouldn't be completely fried and stressed out about working and supporting his family. He could spend some time with his kids and she could get off her ass and make herself useful and their lives would be better as a result. But I guess then she wouldn't have as much to complain about, and it seems like she really enjoys the complaining. So maybe she's doing just fine, and I should butt out. But it's much more fun to be nosy and tell people how they should live their lives.

I'm not sure why I'm so irritated about this. Maybe it's that I come from a long line of working women -- my mother had an awesome career in the foreign service, my grandmother owned her own business at a time when most women didn't work -- so the notion that I should get to sit on my ass like a schnorrer (Yiddish for a parasite or a moocher) while someone else works for my benefit is totally foreign to me. But anyway, it bugs me. As you can see.

Zeke has the hiccups

I'm sitting in my office working right now, and my belly is going nuts. The baby is incredibly active all the time anyway, but right now in addition to feeling him squirming around, I can also feel a rhythmic pulse, about every 5 seconds or so, that must be hiccups. I haven't even met this kid yet and already I can't even deal with how cute I think he is or how much I love him.

Living in paradise doesn't suck

One of the nicest things about being in Hawaii is that everyone wants to come and visit. Last night my parents came to hang out with us for 8 days, and of course they'll be back when the baby is born. It's so nice to have them around. Mom came with me to my exercise class this morning, and we're going to go to the beach and go sightseeing and chill, and I get some extra mommy-pampering. She rubs my belly and marvels at every kick and makes me lie down and rest when I'm tired (which is alot, these days). Visitors are also a great way to do all of the touristy things that I wouldn't ordinarily get off my ass to do, like go to museums and drive around the island just for the hell of it. This really is such a beautiful place -- all of the trees are in blossom and the air smells fragrant and nice trade winds are blowing and the sun is shining. Life is good.

"Aloha casual," indeed

Yesterday Jason and I went to a wedding. The groom, Francis, is a good friend of Jason's from work. Francis and his wife have been together for 9 years and have 3 kids together, but decided to finally tie the knot 9 years to the day after their first kiss. Kinda romantic. Anyway, Francis and Kim were both born and raised on Hawaii, so Jason and I both thought the wedding would have more of a Hawaiian flavor to it, but the ceremony was your run-of-the-mill Christian ceremony that lasted 5 minutes and mentioned Jesus alot.

What was Hawaiian about it was the dress code. Francis had told us that it would be "aloha casual," meaning shorts and slippers (Hawaiian for flip-flops), but the part of me that has lived in the South half my life couldn't believe that people wouldn't at least throw on a decent pair of linen shorts for a casual wedding, so I wore a dress and Jason wore beige linen pants with a nice white shirt. But sure enough, we were more dressed up than anyone else there, except possibly the bride and groom (though the bride wore flip-flops, as did the bridesmaids). The bride's father wore jeans shorts and flip-flops, and many people showed up looking like they were on their way to the grocery store.

The bride's parents

wedding guests

This may take some getting used to. I have a feeling Zeke is going to be the kid in school who gets shit because his mom is always getting on his case to pull up his pants and put on a shirt with a collar, when the other little punks are running around with tribal tattoos and no shoes.

We're still fine

Flossie's projected path has shifted south, so even assuming she takes the northernmost track of the projection "cone," Oahu will not be hit. The past day has been a little windier than normal, and Jason is down at the beach as I write this, taking advantage of the bigger surf, but other than that, nothing is out of the ordinary. The earthquake this morning was on the Big Island -- we didn't feel a thing (in fact, I didn't even know about it until somebody emailed me asking about it).

We'll be fine, weather permitting

A number of people have contacted me asking about Hurricane Flossie, which is on track to pass just south of the Big Island. Oahu is not under a hurricane advisory at the moment -- the storm is expected to pass well to the south of us and bring some big surf (woohoo!) and rain, but nothing more. We've got some small craft advisories in effect, but since I don't own a boat, I'm not really worried.

Am I missing something?

For about 2 months, I've been participating in an exercise class specifically for pregnant women and new moms. We meet in a local park and combine cardio work (power walking, jogging, whatever) with resistance work using stretch bands. Today toward the end of class, we were doing ab work near the playground, and a woman came up with a couple of kids and started talking to the class instructor. Apparently, the woman (Melanie) used to take the class but hasn't been in a while. Anyway, we were all chatting with Melanie and she started telling us about how her 2 year old was acting up the other night when he was supposed to be going to bed, and so she went into his room, "whacked" him without saying a word to him, and left. She was happy to report that he piped down and went to sleep after that. The weird thing was, she sounded almost proud of herself, and from the way she was talking, it appears that smacking her son is a fairly regular occurrence.

Now, I recognize that reasonable minds can differ about whether a mild spank from time to time is an appropriate form of discipline, but among the people I tend to associate with, it's not really accepted. And maybe I'm hyper-sensitive because as a child, my husband suffered some pretty horrific beatings at the hands of his (ex) step-father (not his mom's current husband, but her previous one). So to me, it's totally verboten -- neither Jason nor I have any stomach for physical punishment. But my delicate sensibilities aside, I still found Melanie's almost gleeful recounting of hitting her kid to be repulsive. Is it me? Has it become cool to beat your child?

Baby gear bonanza

Now that I'm in my third trimester, Jason and I figured it was time to get serious about loading up on baby gear before Zeke is born. I've been keeping an eye on some furniture stores and baby outlets, and also trolling craigslist for deals. Then my exercise instructor announced that she and her husband were leaving Hawaii and moving back to the mainland, and that they were selling absolutely everything, including all of their baby stuff. So I got a wooden crib (plus mattress and tons of bedding), a pack n' play, a stroller, 2 baby seats (with attachments), a nursing pillow (with attachments), a diaper genie, a chair that attaches to a countertop or table, and a couple of other things, all for $300. I'm so psyched. After we left her house, all the rest of the day Jason and I kept looking at each other and saying, "Jesus, I can't believe how much we just scored." All I need now is a car seat and a changing table and I'm all set. And of course, I need to figure out where I'm going to put all of this shit.

Moon over Kailua

My friend Bob was in town this past weekend taking a trip with his girlfriend. She has friends that live in Kailua, on the windward side of the island, and they invited us over for dinner. They have this unbelievable place right on the beach with a pool and a hottub and a huge house that catches all of the best island breezes. It's seriously my dream house. Anyway, sitting out on the back patio was almost magical -- the air was balmy, the breeze caught the scent of plumeria, and then a full orange moon started to rise out of the ocean. Living in Hawaii definitely has its perks. I'm not a good enough photographer to do the view justice -- it's really hard to photograph the moon at night with a standard camera -- but here's a glimpse of what we were looking at:

Mt. Kilauea

Jason and Dean went to the Big Island last weekend and saw Mt. Kilauea erupting. Apparently it started firing about 2 hours before they got there, and by the time they went over it in a helicopter, there were rivers of lava flowing down into the ocean. Pretty freakin' cool.

Shark Week

My brother-in-law Dean is visiting us right now. This morning while I was upstairs working, he was chilling downstairs watching Shark Week on the Discovery Channel. At around 1:30, he went down to the beach to have a swim. Before he left, he said, "with all the shark stuff I've been watching, I'm almost nervous to go in the water." He came back an hour later because the beach had been closed and everyone pulled out of the water because there was a shark sighting. Too weird.

At last: rest

It's been a crazy week or two. First I was going nuts trying to finish and file a big brief that, for reasons that drove me crazy, came down to the wire. Then I was getting for my trip to Atlanta and New Hampshire, and getting the house ready for Jason's brother's visit (not that it took much, but I wanted to get some new bedding and rearrange a few things so he'd be comfortable). Then I took the red-eye on Friday night to Atlanta, got off the plane, went shopping with Kathleen, met a friend for lunch, took a brief nap, went to a baby shower that Michele hosted for me, which led right into a party. The next morning, I got up early to meet Michelle at the Y to go for a swim, then spent the rest of the day first at a wedding shower for Michelle, then at a massive party that Kathleen and Rich hosted for Addie and Lula that included a water slide, a moon bounce, tie-dying, face painting, and about a million little monkeys under the age of 6. The party started at 3 and ended at about 9. We went through 40 veggie corn-dogs, countless spinach pies and mini-pizzas, a huge bowl of crab dip, bottles of wine, bottles of water, juice boxes, and God knows what else. That night, Lula was having a really rough time settling down and it was freaking Addie out, so at about midnight I brought Addie into my bed to sleep with me. I had to be up early to get to the airport to make my 9:30 am flight, but like an idiot, I left my driver's license at Kathleen's house. I discovered the error early -- I only lost about 15 minutes -- but the 15 minutes was enough to make me miss my flight to Manchester because the fucking security line was an hour and a half long. I got to the gate about 2 minutes after they closed the flight, having run all the way down the terminal because of course my gate was as far away from the terminal entrance as it possible could have been. I see the ladies closing the door as I'm sprinting up there with my huge belly heaving, and I yell "NOOOOOOOOO!!!!" They look at me blankly and say, "sorry, flight's closed." At which point I burst into tears and stood in the middle of the gate area sobbing like a baby, with mascara running down my face. The next flight to Manchester wasn't for another 5 1/2 hours, so I had to sit there and wait. I was so angry and stressed and tired that it took about 45 minutes for me to calm down, so I sat there crying and doing that "huh-huh-huh" breathing thing that little kids do when they can't calm down, all the while trying to read my Harry Potter book. Finally I calmed down, got a new boarding pass for the next flight, and read my book. I finished it, too. When I got off the plane in Manchester, I took one look at my mother and Emma, who were meeting me at the airport, and promptly started to cry again. Oy.

But we got to the beach house and I got some food in my belly and finally, finally got a decent night's sleep, plus a 3 hour nap about an hour after I got up, so for the first time in I don't know how long, I feel rested. And I can reflect a little bit on my trip.

It was so wonderful to see all of my Atlanta friends and their children. It was a little bit overwhelming to have the activities packed in one after the other for a solid 36 hours, but I got a good love fix in. I miss those people so much.

But what really amazed me was how much I miss Jason. Of course I love my husband, but I will only be gone a week, so I shouldn't be such a sap. But sitting in the airport terminal, my first thought wasn't, "I want my mother," which is whom I normally yearn for when I'm stressed and tired. It was, "I want my husband." I just wanted him to come and give me a big hug and let me sleep on his shoulder. Thinking about it on the plane made me weepy all over again. He's a keeper, he is. The baby is kicking like crazy these days and all I can think about is how excited Jason and I both are to meet this little monkey and be good parents to him and teach him how to surf and read him stories and make him giggle by blowing on his belly. I can't wait.

It's alive!!

I have a terribly brown thumb. I love pretty flowers, but I don't have the patience to be a good gardener. I'll get really excited about gardening and go crazy planting and tending and digging, and then I lose interest and things start dying.

About a month a go, Jason gave me an orchid. It sat in its little pot looking pretty. I watered it a couple of times, but it didn't seem to be doing well, and then started drooping and getting yellow leaves and looking very sad. I didn't want to kill a plant that my husband had been sweet enough to bring me for no reason other than he loves me, so I went to KMart and bought a new pot for it and some soil and Miracle Gro, and I re-potted it. I even mixed coffee grounds into the soil, at the suggestion of one of our neighbors who has a yardful of beautiful orchids. Two weeks later, new shoots are growing, it's leaves have perked up, and the flowers are looking peppy. Maybe there's hope for me after all.

Grumpy

I'm so grumpy today. Grumpy grumpy grumpy. I'm working on a brief on which we've already gotten more than a two week extension, and yet 3 lawyers in the firm (me included) are busting our asses to get the thing ready to file on Monday. My problem is that I'm sort of the coordinator of the master document, so I synthesize all of everybody else's work product into one final brief so that it all flows and makes sense and is persuasive. Of course, this means that for me to finish what I have to do, other people have to finish what they have to do, and they've all been lollygagging and dilly-dalling and procrastinating and making me crazy. I know I have to just suck it up and do the work and get it over with, but I'm so irritated I'm having a hard time focusing. The only bright side is that for the first time since we moved here, it is grey and misty and ugly outside, so I don't have to be further aggravated by the fact that I'm losing valuable beach time by having to work.

I'm also officially over being pregnant. I'm tired of the swollen feet and ankles, the heart-burn, feeling like a beached whale, not being able to lie on my back without feeling woozy, having a fatter ass than I've ever had in my life, having my boobs back at their pre-reduction size, not being able to do the physical activities that I love, and having this little alien monkey inside me kicking me at all hours of the night and disrupting the few hours of sleep that I might otherwise have been able to get (which, as a chronic insomniac, wouldn't have been many in any event). And I don't want to hear about how it's only going to get worse over the next few months (duh, thanks for reminding me) or alternatively, how it's such a beautiful wonderful experience and pregnancy is such a miracle blah blah blah. Fuck off, jolly pregnant ladies. You're weird.