Feeling Like a Lousy Parent?

Tonight I have a book recommendation for anyone who is feeling like a lousy parent: The Glass Castle. If you've spent any part of your day feeling guilty about any number of parental shortcomings (i.e. "Oh no, I didn't spend 20 minutes reading with my child", or "Darn it, I don't think my toddler ate his 5 servings of fruits and vegetables today") then you should read this book.

Although the author, Jeannette Walls, ends up finding peace and affection for her parents, her memoir left me feeling shocked that children with such a neglectful and dysfunctional upbringing could survive to become fuctioning members of society.

If you like books like A Tree Grows in Brooklyn and Angela's Ashes, or if you have any level of parental guilt, I think you'll like this book.

My Favorite Assassin

Last night Dan and I hired our babysitters (twin sisters) for a rare night out. I've been dying to see the new Bourne movie. We ate dinner at Rumbi (I love that salad with the mangoes and gorgonzola cheese) and hurried over to the show. It was great! I have to say that it was not a good movie to exit for a potty break, though. I'm already famous for having to use the bathroom half way through a movie, but add to that the fact that I'm 6 months pregnant and there's no chance I was going to make it all the way through. I kept waiting for a break in the action and suspense to make my exit but it never came. I ended up *running* out of the theater during a car chase. I didn't seem to miss much of the story line. Thank goodness for car chases!

This is not my usual movie genre (Yahoo: "Action/Adventure, Thriller"). I keep contemplating why it is that I love the Jason Bourne movies. These are my conclusions:

(1) An assassin with a conscience
(2) Who can say no to Matt Damon?
(3) Shot on location all over Europe and it feels like the real thing: the crowded train stations, the sidewalk cafes, the hotel interiors... I guess it's an escape and makes me reminisce of another time.
(4) They resemble my all-time favorite movie (one of them, anyway) "La Femme Nikita". Not the Americanized one, not the made for TV one... the real one with Anne Parillaud that my French sister, Sophie, and I snuck out to see while I was visiting her in France.

The Miracle of Concrete

What excitement! Who knew that concrete guys were such celebreties? Who knew that chosing a career in the concrete arts would make you such a diva? The driver of our cement truck was so honored with the attention that he let the kids have a photo op on his truck and he let the most awe-stricken child of them all (Gavin ofcourse, just look at the shirt he chose to wear) HONK HIS HORN! We won't forget this day for a long, long, time.

My dilemna now is whether to get Tristan and Jolie from their respective schools at noon so they can put their handprints in the partially-set concrete. It really comes down to what type of mom I am today... am I the mom who needs to get 57 things done between now and 3:45 and thus doesn't want to go to the hassle? Or am I the mom who values the experience and the memories and all that? We'll see...

Destruction on a Larger Scale

This morning Gavin and I were surprised by an unexpected visitor who was ringing our doorbell impatiently at 9:00 a.m. It was "Howard", our contractor's burly, tank-top-wearing demo guy. After I changed into something more presentable and answered the door, he announced that he was here to tear out our driveway and he needed me to move our car. Gavin and I delayed our morning walk for a while so that we could observe destruction on a very large scale. What could be more exciting to a 3 year old boy than not one, not two, not three, but FOUR pieces of construction equipment in his very own yard (for the record: a huge bulldozer, a tractor, dump truck and another piece of equipment I can't accuratly identify but we call it a "grader".) We watched Howard for a while and then went on our walk. The whole time we were gone Gavin kept asking if we could go home. Sitting in a stroller and listening to your mother pant breathlessly apparently isn't as exciting as watching a big guy operate a bulldozer.

For the record, our contractor poured our retaining wall yesterday and they're getting ready to pour the basketball court and side-drive. It looks like we'll be parking on the street for a while since the driveway is mostly demo'd. I don't know when they'll get started on tearing out our front steps and grading for the walkway (which is currently the location of our dead lawn.) I'm learning that it doesn't matter how much you hate looking at your dead lawn though, these things happen as your contractor's schedule allows (and when your contractor only works 4 hours a day, it may be a while!)

Signs that the world knows you're pregnant

I think I can say that I'm officially "showing". These are the signs that have led me to believe this...

(1) At church today, a woman referred to me as "you cute thing".
(2) Another couple of people asked me how I was feeling (isn't it ironic that during my 16 weeks of vomitting and feeling like DEATH, nobody asked me that question...)
(3) This week the manager at Albertson's greeted me warmly, thanked me for shopping at his store, and asked if he could help me out with my basket of groceries.
(4) Lots of up-and-down glances from people who know me well enough but not "well enough".

I thought about posting a photo of my belly but that will have to wait for a day when I'm feeling a little less fat. I'm not one of those women who start wearing maternity clothes (ickkk!) 10 minutes after a positive pregnancy test and who take pride in their growing belly. Actually, it's a hard thing to look in the mirror and see myself blowing up like a balloon.