Bad Omen? Or Nowhere to Go But Up?

My husband likes to say that, when I met him, I'd had the longest winning streak of anyone he knew. That may have been true (I found him, didn't I?), but I've also had some jarring losing streaks (like mono at age 30 that knocked me out of work for a month) to break up the wins. Thankfully, the good times always came back around -- but I'm a little worried about this start to 2010 that's causing me to flashback to five years ago.

In the final days of 2004 and the opening of 2005...

• While visiting family in California, we borrowed our niece's car to drive to San Francisco. The car was vandalized at the train station where we parked outside the city (side and rear windows smashed in). After trying to drive the car back to Davis in the rain, we finally gave up and called my husband's sister and her husband to come rescue us. Oh, and I was about 13 weeks pregnant, so you can imagine how even-keeled I was about the whole thing.
• While trying to get home from California, we sat in the plane on the runway for 3+ hours before finally taking off -- then missed our connecting flight in Chicago after running (literally) through the airport and ended up spending a few hours of sleep in an airport hotel before catching an early morning flight home. Did I mention I was pregnant?
• On my first day back at work after the holidays, my wallet was stolen out of my office by a con-man who (through an elaborate scam that I won't detail here) was able to charge several purchases to my ATM card before I realized what was happening. (Thankfully, the Credit Union took great care of me once we got the mess sorted out -- but let this be a reminder to all to NEVER EVER tell anyone your PIN, even if you think they work for your bank. Ever.) And again, did I mention I was pregnant and emotional and exhausted?

Thankfully, despite the disastrous beginning, 2005 brought us great gifts -- namely, one beautiful, healthy baby boy. He came with his own craziness, but he's definitely worth it.

I tell you all of this now because here's what happened today:

• A water pipe burst under the house this afternoon. It was a comedy of errors (okay, it wasn't funny at the time, but you have to laugh so as not to cry) while I tried to locate the tool to shut off water to the house (we have no inside-the-house shut-off) and then attempted to figure out how to use it while my husband coached me over the phone.
• Our home warranty won't cover the plumbing problem because it involves freezing weather and a hose bib. Really? I'm paying you over $500 a year so that you can NOT cover things that break?
• UNC lost to the College of Charleston tonight. C'mon, Heels!
• When I reminded my husband that 2005 turned out to be a great year after all (because of course, we both went back to that jinx when the pipe burst today), he said, "Oh no. I hope you're not pregnant." But clearly that's not a problem as I started my period this morning -- this may seem like a good thing, except that it also means I'm on a 26-day cycle. At this rate, I'll end up menstruating twice a month before the end of the year.

Okay, so that last one was probably more than you wanted to know. But it really was the perfect ending to a completely stellar day.

The good news? The plumber is coming tomorrow morning, so hopefully we'll have water again by tomorrow afternoon. And in the meantime, we have wonderful neighbors who are going above and beyond the call of duty to take care of us.

Hopefully this is all a good sign that 2010 will be just as fruitful as 2005 was -- but in a totally different way.

A Letter to Santa

Junius wrote his first letter to Santa this week. I'm not sure who was more excited about it -- Junius or his daddy.

Thanks to some really wonderful coaching from Abby, they did a great job -- not sure if you can read Daddy's translation of Junius's drawings in the letter (shown left), but here's what it says:

Dear Santa, I have been good this year. Lightning McQueen and Chick Hicks [illustrations of the cars that he's asking for]. Please bring toys to other children too. Merry Christmas to Santa.

After they wrote the letter, we all went up to North Hills (a convenient substitute for the North Pole) and mailed the letter in the special Santa mailbox outside the toy store.

The whole thing was very sweet, but it left me feeling a little conflicted. I grew up "believing" in Santa the same way I "believed" in Pippi Longstocking, the Narnia siblings and the Muppets -- another great character to enjoy. I never felt deprived of the magic of Christmas, but also never had the crushing he's-not-real-and-everything-is-ruined moment.

As a kid, I loved watching Christmas specials, singing carols, decorating the house, waiting for my grandparents to arrive (which really signaled the beginning of the holiday for me). On Christmas Eve, we'd go to mass, then come home and open one present. Once we were in our pajamas, Granny would start looking anxiously out the window declaring, "Oh my stars! I think I see some reindeer out there -- you kids better get to bed!" In retrospect, I'm sure our holidays were filled with plenty of stress for my parents, but for me it was all fun and good times -- even though I didn't really believe that Santa was real.

Now as a mom, I'm at a total loss about how to create that same fun-without-the-pressure for my own kids. They'll be excited about Christmas morning no matter what -- doesn't matter who the presents are from. What I worry about (after listening to my 4-year-old for the past month) is my kids believing that Santa will automatically bring them every gift they want. I'm more worried about their disappointment in Christmas if they believe too much.

At the same time, I don't want to ignore Santa completely -- and I couldn't do that, even if I wanted to, given that he's everywhere and that so many people really want to believe. It's a tough call -- wish I had the answer. I know I'm not alone in this struggle -- see Erin's post at Triangle Mamas.

So tonight, after the kids go to bed, we'll put out a couple of presents under the tree from Santa. And I'll watch them in the morning to see their reaction. And then I'll be thankful that I have another 364 days to figure it out for next time.

Merry Christmas everyone!

I Would Like to Thank the Academy...

I started this blog on a whim and kept going simply because I enjoy it. But truth be told, I also really like knowing that other people are reading it and enjoying it, too.

So imagine my delight when I received this Honest Scrap Award, along with one of the nicest compliments ever, from a fellow blogger and high school classmate (who I probably haven't seen since the ol' GHS days). I don't actually know why it's called the Honest Scrap Award, but these days I'll take the kudos wherever I can get them.

Here's how it works:

1) Say thanks and give a link to the presenter of the award.
Thanks, Dobbygirl! You should all check out her Spry on the Wall blog to learn WAY more about the hottest fashion, coolest hotels and other textile-related gems than you'll ever learn here at Juni&Pip. Plus you might get a glimpse of her sweet red-headed baby as a bonus.

2) Share "10 Honest Things" about myself.
Brace yourselves.

3) Present this award to 7 others whose blogs I find brilliant in content and/or design, or those who have encouraged me. See list at the end of this post.

4) Tell those 7 people they've been awarded HONEST SCRAP and inform them of these guidelines in receiving. Check your latest post for a comment from me, fellow bloggy friends.

Now for the 10 Honest Things:

1. I have never been to a Nascar race. I don't really want to go to one, but feel that it's a gap in my Southern Girl pedigree (which includes eating barbecue and knowing how to dance the shag).
2. I read the funnies every day in the newspaper. I skip "Family Circus," "Wizard of Id," "Hagar the Horrible," "Beetle Bailey," "Curtis" and "B.C." because I just don't think they're funny. Life is too short to waste on bad comics.
   
3. In high school, I totaled my mother's Volvo by accidentally running a red light. It really was an accident and I really was on my way home from volunteering at the homeless shelter. I still think about it every time I drive through that intersection and remember that I'm lucky to be here.
4. My husband has no sense of smell (seriously), so I can fart quietly at home and he never knows it.
5. I find extreme pleasure in peeling the little clear clingy covers off of electronic gadget screens.
6. Before I go to the Harris Teeter at our fancy-schmancy neighborhood shopping center, I feel compelled to put on lipstick. I do not have the same urge when I go to Costco, Food Lion or Kroger.
7. I am not good at walking in high heels, so I don't own them. This makes me sad because I think they're sexy and my husband probably does, too (on me, not him, just to be clear).
8. I had mono when I was 30. And no, I did not get it from kissing. But lost a lot of weight and strangely enjoyed being super thin.
   
9. I love to eat hot dogs and drink Diet Coke at football games. I do not think about what is in either one -- it's better that way.
10. Although I should be old enough to know better, I still get insecure from time to time about whether or not my friends really like me.

TMI? Well, if you need something else to read now, check out these bloggers and newest recipients of the Honest Scrap Award (in no particular order):

• Canape at Don't Take the Repeats - My friend who inspired me to start this blog. I get to live across the street from her (thanks for not moving away!), but you can pretend you do too if you read her fantastic blog.
  
• Abby at My Sweet Babboo - Fellow Triangle Mama blogger and super crafty (in a cool, not-obnoxious way) smart mom. If you're stuck on a rainy day with your kids, you want tips from Abby's blog.
  
• Kristy at Le Petit Blog - I was her babysitter when I was 13. Now she's a grown-up graphic designer offering recipes, decorating tips and pop culture news on her stylish blog. I figure she needs to come redecorate at my house as payback for letting her stay up past bedtime when she was 8.
  
• Stella at So Beautiful and So Ordinary - My long-lost high school friend, delightfully rediscovered on FB, she writes honestly about teaching, parenting and living in San Franciso.
  
• Stephanie at Figments - One of the first bloggers I didn't know in real life who started reading and commenting on my blog (thank you!). Like me, she writes about parenting, work, life, and whatever catches her mind -- good stuff and a lovely design.
  
• Postmark Here - Reading this blog, by a friend from my British-grad-school days (and former L.A. Times reporter), is like getting digital postcards in your blog reader. You'll enjoy the peeks into her travels, whether overseas or just to the corner bar. And her masthead is perfect.
  
• Damon at Little Circostas' Media Grab - Another neighborhood blogger, this is the only blog in my reader written by a dad. He's funny, clever -- and his son is adorable. His wife also has a great blog, but you have to know the secret handshake to get in.
  

Ta-da!

Friday's Five: Girl Reads

My paying job took me to an elementary school media center yesterday, which gave me an opportunity to wander around the shelves remembering all the books I loved when I was a young reader. It's funny how just the book cover can bring back so much of each story, probably because I read them all again and again.

Here are five books I loved when I was a girl, before I graduated to the Sweet Valley High series (admit it, you loved Jessica and Elizabeth Wakefield, too) -- maybe boys read them all, too, but I think of them as being "girl reads." Hopefully one day Pippi will enjoy them, giving me an excuse to read them again.

1. Anastasia Again by Lois Lowry: Of the series of novels about Anastasia, this was my favorite -- and the one that made me want to live in an old house with a turret. I adored Anastasia and her little brother Sam as if I had known them in real life.
   
   
2. Anne of Green Gables by Lucy Maud Montgomery: Another great series with another mischievous girl, I had the box set with the first three novels in it. I think I liked these more than the Little House books, but not sure.
   
   
3. Homecoming by Cynthia Voigt: I had forgotten the title of this book (the first in a series that includes Dicey's Song) until I ran into it again on the shelf -- but I hadn't forgotten how amazing and brave I thought Dicey was.
   
   
4. Are You There, God? It's Me, Margaret by Judy Blume: Is there a girl in America who grew up in the 80s and didn't read this book? How else would I have known about training bras and menstruation?
   
   
5. Nancy Drew Mystery Stories: I don't have a favorite one, but I still have four Nancy Drew books in my collection (two of which were my mother's, now on Pippi's shelves). Always just the right amount of scary, with a matching sweater set.

Did you love these, too? Or were there other favorites on your shelf in 5th grade?

Cardiff: First Week

I was hoping to have another Cardiff post for you by now, but two things have slowed me down:

1. My journal entries are fascinating. To me. But to you, maybe not so much. I'm reliving moments I had long forgotten, but not sure how much is worth sharing. Culling through for good stories to share, but I keep getting lost in the flood of memories.

2. My articles and e-pistles home are all trapped on the hard drive of my old laptop. It was cutting edge when I took it to Cardiff, but now I can't get it to access the internet and it won't read my new flash drives. Hopefully my IT department (aka, my husband) will remedy that problem soon.

In the meantime, here are a few choice lines from my journal from the first week overseas:

• "Tonight I am courage on Xanax." [It had been prescribed before I left to help manage my extreme anxiety.]
  
  
• "Today one of the old ladies in the International Office told me I have a very British face. I hope that's a compliment."
  
  
• "Later that same day, an Indian student told me I look like a slimmer version of Gillian Anderson [I wish!]. Then a Japanese girl told me I look like an American. Do I say 'thank you'?"
  
  
• "Heard a radio ad today for a used car lot. Just didn't have the same effect as used-car dealers in the U.S. With a British accent, the "200 cars that MUST SELL NOW" sounds strangely polite and formal."

The rest of the journal entries from those early days are consumed with pitiful homesickness and tedious logistics as I tried desperately to get settled. Hope to have a better post for you soon...

Image from Fused Film.

Handsome Guy Wins Heart of Younger Girl, Romance Ensues

News of Patrick Swayze's death this week has no doubt prompted thousands of blog posts. This post comes by specific request from one of my BFFs, with whom I watched Dirty Dancing many times and who emailed me yesterday to say, "If I still had a Netflix subscription, I would move it to the top of my queue."

When Dirty Dancing came out in 1987, I was in 9th grade. It was an awkward, but hopeful time for me. As a high school freshman, the movie played nicely into my imaginary world (along with Sixteen Candles and Pretty in Pink), where the handsome, popular, older guy suddenly noticed quiet, smart, younger (and let's be honest, somewhat dorky) me and swept me off my feet and into the time of my life.

Sadly, that never quite happened in high school. But it didn't stop me from watching Dirty Dancing over and over and over again, particularly at sleepover parties with my girlfriends. Although we never discussed it, I assume we were all thinking the same thing:

"If it can happen to Baby, it can happen to me! No one will put me in a corner!"

As it turned out, the handsome, popular, older guy did notice me in (grad) school one day, years later when I'd convinced myself that those things didn't happen in real life. There was less leaping and dancing in my version (and fewer cut-off jean shorts), but just as much knee-weakening and heart-fluttering. Now when Pippi is old enough to watch Dirty Dancing, I'll be able to tell her -- after she finishes mocking the 80s -- to believe in the dream, to trust that true love will find her, to know that she is beautiful.

Of course, then I'll tell her that she has a 10 o'clock curfew and isn't allowed to go anywhere alone with a boy. And just like that, I'll find myself identifying less with Baby and more with Baby's parents. Wow.

Photo from Virgin Media.

For My Husband

As I walked down the aisle eight years ago today, arm-in-arm with my parents, my hands were shaking so badly that I thought I might drop my bouquet. It wasn't so much nerves as excitement and emotional overload.

When I got to the front of the church, I took my soon-to-be-husband's hand, kissed him on the mouth and promptly stopped shaking.

After the wedding, I got a lot of teasing about how I was supposed to wait until the end of the ceremony for the big kiss. But it was totally worth it.

We might have surprised a few people with our choice of song for our first dance, too -- although not our next door neighbor, who didn't realize he'd been listening to us practice our shag moves (no, not that kind of shag) every time it played.


Happy anniversary, my love. Only 42 more years until you get to renegotiate the contract.

Thankful for Blue Skies

Friday's Five will return next week. Today's date simply required a different post than usual.

Today is a day for remembering, a date that has become a proper noun -- Nine-Eleven. For many people, today means mourning the loss of loved ones, recounting stories of where they were when they heard the horrible news, honoring those who worked so hard to save the lives of others, wondering how eight years have passed so quickly. It is a day that reminds us of endings.

For me, today also brings memories of beginnings. I got married on the Saturday after 9/11, on what would have been an ordinary, blue-sky wedding day but what became a much-needed reminder that there was still life to celebrate in spite of the extraordinary tragedy of that week.

Although several family members and friends were unable to make it to our wedding (no flights from California or Texas -- and as my brother-in-law said, by the time their flight was officially canceled, they couldn't have driven to North Carolina in time), we were fortunate that our "big day" still took place as planned. And we were truly honored by the extra effort many friends and family made in order to be there with us, driving long distances or (in the case of two friends) catching the first re-scheduled flights out.

It was a beautiful day, that Saturday. I was a crazy bride, and probably owe apologies all around, but it really was beautiful. And it was such a blessing, on that day of all days, to be able to sing and dance and laugh and love and kiss and hope and be thankful.

This photo, taken by my cousin on the afternoon following the wedding, appears to be simply a shot of the country club where we had our reception -- at first glance, I thought this picture did nothing more than show how perfect the weather was that day.

But look closely -- although it's hard to make out in the scanned-in reproduction, there are two telling signs of the week captured here. See the flag? Even four days later, it is still at half-staff. And just above it? A fine white line of jet exhaust. Flights started taking off from PTI that morning.

This picture captures nothing of the ceremony or the celebration that kicked off our now eight years of marriage. But I treasure it as a reminder of how fortunate we are to be living a beautiful, ordinary, blue sky life.

Pizza Nostalgia

Even though Thomas Wolfe, himself a Tar Heel, said you can't go home again, I always like to try anyway when it comes to Chapel Hill. I spent four years there as an undergrad, then returned five years later for graduate school.

Over the years, one restaurant retained my unfailing loyalty:
Pepper's Pizza.

A couple weeks ago I had a work-related meeting in Chapel Hill, so I took the opportunity to head to the Hill early and treat myself to lunch at Pepper's. It's been a few years since I had eaten there, and I knew that the restaurant had changed locations, moving up Franklin Street a few spaces from its original site (shown here). I was nervous, hopeful, a little skeptical -- but I needed to know if it was still My Pepper's.

As I enjoyed my lunch (my "usual": diet coke, side salad no peppers no onions with ranch dressing, and a slice with zucchini and feta) which was thank goodness exactly wonderfully like it had always been, I had to laugh about how much things have changed.

Of course, the space is new -- much brighter and less grunge than the old space, with four televisions mounted on the walls. The wait staff still looked college-town-quirky, but none of the employees had multi-colored hair, large tattoos or excessive piercings. And even the music was different -- instead of head-banging alternative noise, I actually heard "Walking on Sunshine" (although, to be fair, that is one of my all-time favorite songs -- seriously, click the link and thank me later for putting that feel-good tune in your head and a skip in your step).

But what had really changed? Me.

Instead of walking up to Franklin from class or the dorm with a group of friends, I drove to the parking garage and ate alone with a magazine (and enjoyed it! how else would I get to read The New Yorker in peace?). Instead of wearing jeans and a t-shirt with birks, I was in suit trousers, dressy top, pearls and heels -- professional attire for my meeting, of course. After lunch, when the waitress shooed me back to my table (apparently you don't pay at the counter in Fancy Pepper's), I handed her my AmEx card instead of a wad of change and bills out of the pocket on my backpack.

But the salad was still the right balance of lettuce, tomatoes and mozzarella with just the right amount of dressing. And the pizza still has that perfect-not-too-thick-not-too-thin crust with just enough sauce, thinly sliced veggies and salty feta cheese. And the diet coke, refilled at exactly the right moment, still comes with that delightful pebbly ice.

So I decided I'm okay with the changes at Pepper's because the food is what matters most. And I'm more than okay with the changes in me because it's a good life I've got here -- even if I did look a bit dorky at lunch.

Photo from UrbanSpoon.com.

Remembrance of Summers Past

It's not as elegant as Proust's madeleine, but I had the strangest moment last week when I fixed the beverage shown above.

The glass is one of those Looney Tunes glasses that you used to be able to get with a purchase at Burger King or McDonalds back in the 70s and 80s. My favorite one was a Miss Piggy glass (she's on the motorcycle bursting through the stained glass window in The Great Muppet Caper) -- found this picture on Ebay that shows the whole set; sadly, my glass broke when I took it to college.
Anyway, back to the Looney Tunes glass, which I inherited from my Nana after she died more than 15 years ago. I always loved using those glasses when we would visit her house on the river. She'd fill them with ice and Pepsi-Cola to take down on the pier. As strange as it sounds, that was a luxury -- we didn't drink sodas at home when I was young.

So the other day, I needed some caffeine to avoid joining my kids during their naptime, so I popped open a can of Diet Coke. It was room temperature, so I reached into the cabinet and pulled out this Foghorn Leghorn glass without thinking about anything in particular, added some ice and poured in the drink.

Then I stopped and looked at the glass, suddenly filled with memories of my Nana, of playful summer afternoons by the river, of being young and finding great pleasure in the smallest treats. I was so grateful to have had the sort of childhood that could be summoned up like that. And I imagine that my parents and my in-laws are creating little things like that now for my children, without even knowing it, that will become the catalyst for their own fond memories one day.