What Not to Do With Your Underwear

I walked into my hotel room and stopped short. The maid had been there.. The wastebasket had been emptied, the sink was wiped down and the beds had been made. Housekeeping had made another discovery, as well. How embarrassing. My turquoise boy-cut Hanes underwear were on top of my pillow, staring at me.

I was in town for the womens' blogging convention, Blogher. Leaving my hotel room bright and early, I was rushing to get to breakfast and then my next session. That's how Blogher is..there is always somewhere to be, and always five minutes ago. Or maybe that's just me.

I have a terrible habit of leaving my underwear under my pillow at home. My giant dog, who can put her head upon my higher-than-normal bed, has a tendency to steal underwear that are left at the foot of the bed at night. After a few mornings of waking up to find my unmentionables had become a snack, I took aversive action. Into the hamper with those skivvies. She found them there, too. Yum yum. Munch, munch, munch, she said. That's when my underwear ended up under my pillow when I sleep.

So here I was, at the Marriott, 5-star resort, and the housekeeper thinks I am

1) a pig.
OR
2) so drunk I either
A) forgot where I put my underwear
B) got lucky and was so carried away I didn't think about where my underwear were

Unfortunately, the truth is a lot more boring. I didn't get drunk. I certainly didn't have sex with anyone. I simply went on auto-pilot without thinking. It's like when you drive the kids to school everyday and then forget that it's a weekend and you are going to the grocery store and you drive there only you end up halfway to school? Again, just me?

It seems silly, I won't ever see the housekeeping staff again. But I realize...I am so boring. I can't help wishing I had at least had sexier, more interesting underwear. Something hot pink, lacy, racy and thongy? I have those, I just didn't wear them. When you get to be my age, sometimes comfort wins over sex appeal. And since I knew no one would be seeing my underwear but me, I didn't really worry about it. (What comes to mind is the age-old momism, "Did you put on clean underwear? What if you get in an accident??") Instead, the maid not only saw my underwear, she had to touch them.

When I left the hotel room, I cleaned up after myself, picking up trash, making my bed, rinsing out the sink. I checked under the pillow twice. And I left a big tip.

My check-in tip on foursquare: "Check under your pillow so you find your underwear before the maid does," Social media for the win. Don't say you haven't been warned.

My Blogher Recap: The Third Time was the Charm, Four Balls, That's a Walk

This is not the popular opinion, and I feel the need to write a disclaimer. This is my fourth Blogher, and it has treated me well, for the most part, but this year the star didn't shine nearly as brightly as it has in the past..

Back from BlogHer and there is one word that comes to mind for my experience: disconnected. I know, sounds like I had an awful time, but that's not true. What is true is that there were a lot of people at BlogHer, which, at times made it very difficult to find my people. It is true that the first night I came this-close to heading back to my room after cruising The People's Party, saying hi to the scant number of people I recognized, and a few I didn't. Then, feeling like a fish out of water, I flopped on to a nearby bench,where I had a great conversation with someone I had never met. Later I went back to the party, and found people I knew. And it was good.

It's true I spent sessions mostly alone or with new people. It's true that I ate lunch, again, mostly by myself, or with new people. I headed into parties and saw a sea of unfamiliar faces, all of whom were already attached. My wing-woman friends didn't make it this year, so I was on my own to find companionship.. It proved to be a challenge. Because, really, how long can you hang out in a cocktail circle of people you know in real life (but better online) without seeming like some sort of creepy stalkerish person? I can tell you. Exactly ten minutes. Beep. Time to find a new circle. Ever wonder how you can be lonely in a sea of 3000? I do. Everyone is very friendly; but where are your friends? Hopefully, you brought those with you. That sounds pathetic. I don't mean to complain.

I don't want you to feel sorry for me. In some respects, I had a great time. There were high points. I did a lot of dancing with friends, (When I could find them) and hung out in hotel rooms for great conversations with both old friends and new..pizza at 2 a.m. in the lobby, as well. I had some nice meals with people I basically foisted myself upon (thank you to you, by the way). In outward appearance, I am sure it looked like I was having a grand old time. I did have fun, in snippets. It was just the overall package that didn't work for me. At some point, you get tired of inviting yourself along and just want to be included by someone who wants you there. You want to be expressly invited to dinner, to the party, to wherever, instead of just...tagging along.

On the way home, I had a lot of time to ruminate and I have decided that as much as I like Blogher, that ship has sailed. That martini has been shaken. That blog has been posted. This was Blogher #4 for me, and I think I am just done. I am at that awkward stage: I am too old to drink 'til distraction, but I still like to stay up until the wee hours. I just feel like I have no business there, with the cool kids. I love almost everyone at Blogher, but am a friend to few. I enjoyed seeing people, but as far as deep connections? Few and far between. I felt in the way, a lot. If you fall off the face of social media and no one is there to see it, do you even make a sound? That's where I am right now.

I will continue to blog, and to tweet, but think during the week of Blogher, I will take a sabbatical. I am too old to feel "in the way." High school was a long, long time ago, and wasn't much fun; I really don't cherish reliving it. So I won't be doing that again.

Ever want to feel like the only girl in the room? Go to Blogher by yourself. The experience will trigger every insecurity you have ever felt. And you will find just how far you have yet to go in order to feel accepted.

Autism is a vampire and it sucks out your soul

Today was promotion Sunday, an annual event through our homeschool group. It is usually a big deal with all the kids going up to receive their promotion certificates, and graduates of both the eighth grade and high school. I don't have any pictures; we barely managed to get there. Today was one of THOSE days. Those who have kids with autism will understand. We just keep on, keeping on, trying not lose ourselves.

My son is twelve, going on sixteen, he thinks. He has a real problem with being told what to do.

every interaction between us seems to go like this:

Me: polite request
Him: protest
me: again,with the polite request
Him: "logical" reason why he should not comply
me: a bit more forceful request
Him: complaints about how I think he is stupid/difficult/it's not his fault, it's mine
me: [frustration ensues...either walk away and take a deep breath or yell]
Him: [depending upon what I do] yells at me, how I am such an idiot and I don't get it..
me: come back,and try again, cajole/plead/explain why he would do whatever it is I wanted him to do in the first place
Him: [grudging compliance]

Part of the problem is that he and my youngest are absolutely oil and water these days. JBean, my youngest, is usually a very happy little girl. Unfortunately, this extends to her high-pitched voice, often singing, or talking, incessantly. It makes my JBear, my son, crazy. He starts lashing out, and getting on edge, and will say mean things to her about can't she just shut up, and her voice is driving him crazy...hurtful things. She doesn't know how to fight back verbally (nor should she learn...he is out of line) so she does one of two things. She will either hit him, or yell at him. Neither of these things are particularly useful in dealing with him, and often make things worse. Where am I, you ask? Probably the bathroom, or taking the dog out, or loading the dishwasher....I cannot be in their face 100% of the time. They have to learn not to aggravate one another. Of course, when there are problems, I am always right there. Often the damage is done.

My son has no remorse. I realize this is part of his autism, no matter how high-functioning it may be. The lack of mirror neurons that allow empathy are definitely a hindrance for him. As a teenager, his cerebral cortex is not quite connected to his brain. He is in fight or flight, all the time...he sees the entire world as against him. He is rarely sorry, and doesn't think he ever does anything wrong. He does not admit mistakes and generally has a self-absorbed entitlement attitude. I did not raise him this way, and am still trying to fix it. Often, I feel like I am banging my head against a wall. I know he is trying...but he just has such a long way to go. I feel like I am not helping him much. I seem to be the problem, as far as he is concerned. He is oblivious to his role in the whole mess.

Today, while I was trying to finish in the kitchen, he was having a hard time with his sister. Everyone ended up yelling at everyone else, and I had had enough. JNerd tries to out yell them, and it doesn't work. I told them all I was not going to live like this anymore; I have had it. We weren't going today, not with the way they were acting. So I decided to take a drive for a bit, to cool down. After about ten minutes, I came back, a bit calmer. Apparently, all hell had broken loose while I was gone. My son had tried to goad my husband into a physical altercation. He hit my husband, as hard as he could. Apparently, it was side-stepped, and I was able to defuse the situation. We ended up going to the ceremony, and everyone was on their best behavior.

When we returned home, I tried talking to my son, and he was not receptive at that point. He hates to be called out on his behavior, and will deflect as much as he can. I stayed calm for the most part, and finally was able to get through to him, for now. Eventually, my son did admit he was wrong, but it was several hours later.

Remember, on top of this, I also deal with a younger one who was diagnosed with autism, as well. She has her own issues, usually pertaining to transitions, change, rigidity, anxiety and MamaMustBeThereAtAllTimes. The worse he gets, the more she clings to me. The more unrest in our home the more she clings to me. She tries so hard, but she has a hard time coping at times. That means relying upon me, more often than not.

I am DRAINED. Exhausted, and really questioning every decision for my children I have made thus far. I am hoping tomorrow will bring more clarity. So tonight, I sleep. And pray and hope that I figure out what I am doing wrong. Autism is hard. Teen boy is hard. Putting the two together: feels insurmountable. My migraines have gotten more frequent and worse. I don't sleep well. I am, so far, staving off the depression that threatens to crush me. (I eat well and exercise, both help) But so help me, if I survive his growth into manhood, I hope it is with my soul intact.

The fear that I am facing

Let's just get this over with. I have been agonizing over it, panicking and just generally freaking the hell out to even admit this, but here I go. She can't read. There, I said it. Call Social Services now. She is 9 years old, on the autism spectrum, home schooled and she can't read.

Ok, she can read a little bit. Like C-V-C words. Three letters, four. Not difficult combinations. So what the heck do I do all day, right? Since my kid can't read? And I am responsible? And I sit on the Internet all day? Whoah. Let's back the truck up, Jack. I have been homeschooling my children for 6 years now, and I am good at it. My eldest daughter is amazing, and gifted. My son has great spatial relations and comes up with some of the most interesting questions. And then? There is my youngest daughter.

If you have been reading very long, you know she is a complex enigma. She is smart. There is no getting around that. When she sits to do school work, I have to pry her away from it. She works really hard. She also has amazing imaginary skills. I would say she often lives in her imaginary world. Most of the time it works. We don't forbid her from doing what she likes, like playing with Playmobil and small figures.

But, she can't read. I used to think it was me...I was doing something wrong. I teach her the same way I taught my son. And teaching him was a challenge, because not only is he on the autism spectrum, he is also dyslexic. I had to learn a completely different way to teach. But it has paid off, for the most part. I was doing computer programs with my youngest, sitting together to read, doing a multi-sensory tile-based phonics program, and she still was not progressing. And that's when she told me.

"Mama, when I read, the words and letters move all over the page." Aha! I had long suspected dyslexia, now I had some idea that was part of the problem. I took her to her speech teacher (What? you didn't know she took speech?) and told her the problem. I told her I was thinking of eye therapy, and that we were headed in for an evaluation. She agreed that was a good idea.

The eye evaluation simply confirmed what I already knew. Her eyes have a difficult time tracking together, and her depth perception is off. Luckily, this can be corrected. It isn't that she cannot read because she can't...she can't read because her eyes aren't working together.

She sees her eye therapist every week. She sees her speech teacher every week. And with luck, and a A LOT of hard work (we have 20 minutes of eye exercises every day) her eyes will improve. When that happens, she will be able to read. I hope. Of course, there is a nagging fear that she will never know what it is like to pick up a book with ease and while away the afternoon. That maybe, though we are all good readers in this house, she will continually struggle and never really take off. That fear makes me want to curl into a fetal position and never move. But you know that's just not the way I roll. I will make this latest hurdle my bitch, the way I always do. And you'd best believe that I (along with her speech/reading teacher) will make sure she catches up. You will be one of the first to know when that happens.

posted from my iPad

Lullabye and good night, already..before I lock you in a closet*

I used to have alone time. It was wonderful. Nine o' clock rolled around and my kids were in bed. Oops, sorry! You have five minutes until bedtime. No I can't help it, that's the rule. As though it wasn't within my control. And they bought it. Never questioned it, it was a House Rule, and they would obediently trot off to bed. I was blessed. Until this year.

My oldest daughter, at 16, thinks she can stay up as late as she wants. There are times I go to bed in exasperation, telling her to lock up when she's done. Mostly, she stays out of our way, so out of sight is out of mind. Mostly. Now my son, He Who Used to Sleep by 9, is up past 10 as well. Puberty may be striking, and it is playing havoc with his sleep schedule. He used to be up with the sun, now he actually sleeps in a few days a week. But he is also not tired at bedtime, and too busy to follow the slumber rules. Trying to get him off of video games or to stop reading a book is damn near impossible. And when I do finally get him to go to bed (tonight was quite after 11) he gets up at least five times.

Tonight was no exception. I was being tag-teamed by the both of them.Finally, after medicine to help JBug's bug bites, a question or three, she finally left us alone enough to get through the television show we had on DVR.(Doctor Who, thank you very much). By that time, it was midnight. AND…the dog needed to go out. Pause the show, again. Then JBear showed up,with a broken fingernail, and needed a bandaid. And shortly after that, he needed Advil because his legs hurt. And a bit after that, he needed a drink. And then the bathroom. And, of course, each time, we paused the show and waited.

I don't know about you, but my Mom Sense just cannot relax as long as I have a kid who isn't tucked in for the night. Call it obsessive, call it anxiety-prone, if you'd like. I call it being on duty, 24/7. And I cannot let go. I have tried. But Mama Bear just stays at the ready. Once the little cubs are safe in their dens, I relent, breathe deeply, and have a martini. Of course, if they don't get into bed before midnight… no cocktails for me. And no cocktails makes for a very unhappy mama.

And, as the old adage goes, "If mama ain't happy, well you can just get your butt back to bed or so help me God, I won't be responsible for what happens next." Or something along those lines. I could be paraphrasing, but that's how I remember it, anyway.

*I am only kidding about that last part. Mostly.

How about you? How do you get your "alone time?"Click and tell me in comments

T, who is up way too late in order to get some time to herself

Comparing Oranges to ... Real Life?

I just want to get this straight. I live in the real Orange County. Not the Orange County with the multi-million dollar houses. I don't live behind a locked gate, sipping vodka martinis in a hot tub. I haven't had any "work" done, besides the standard semi-exercise to keep my butt from sagging to my knees. I like yoga, and I flirt with Pilates, and I suck at karate, but don't have a personal trainer, and certainly not one with a six-pack named Del or Hans or Antony. I own a scale, but I never look at it. I would rather poke out an eye than to let anyone near my face with a syringe full of toxin, image bedamned.

I am not a Lady of Leisure. The only ones I lunch with are the ones who are in my charge. I have three kids, and they keep me hopping. I load my own dishwasher, and can't rationalize paying someone else to clean the hair out of my tub when I am home all day. (if you want to, that's cool, I just have that liberal guilt thing that plagues me). I don't play tennis, or belong to a country club. My big night out is dinner and a movie with my software-engineer husband.

I realize this kills the Dream for some of you. Watching The O.C. as they prance on the beach makes you believe that we all live that way. Sorry to disappoint. I don't surf. In fact, my children barely swim. I own a pass for the beach but hardly ever get there. It's only twenty minutes away, but it might as well be fifty miles. Life is busy. I drive my paid-for minivan to the grocery store and to ballet and to karate. We live in a little 50's ranch house small but cozy. We budget. Tonight for dinner? Hot dogs. So much for the romance, eh? I do live five minutes from The Happiest Place on Earth, and we have annual passes, so that has to count for something. But it isn't what you envision.

If you ever saw Bravo airing "The Real Housewives of Orange County" then you saw someone's fantasy, and definitely not my reality, or that of my friends. Recently I watched a rerun, and I snorted and guffawed my way thorough it. It was ridiculous, it was a train wreck; it was entertainment. Reality is is reality, and television is television. But reality television is not reality.Laguna Beach is an great little bedroom arts community, not a hotbed of immorality for teens. And I have no idea where "The Hills" even are.

Just remember...When you watch Supernanny or Wife Swap or The Real Housewives of Orange County or Atlanta or wherever the hell they are this season…keep in mind . It's not real life for 98% of the people you know. Being a fly on the wall in my real life, well you wouldn't really believe it. No one could write it, and you would not want to watch it. Trust me. Just thought you should know.

T, who really does drive a minivan, probably older than yours (2001)

picture of my girls taken by my friend, Bobbie Schafer

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You're small fry, stop baiting your mom

I think I'm a pretty good mom. I don't beat my children, and I give them dessert once in a while. I work hard to be painstakingly fair. I let my oldest daughter borrow my shoes. I take my son to the mall to buy a used video game he desperately wants. (even though he was grounded from the Nintendo at the time). I cuddle and read and go fun places. I strive for consistency. But these days, it feels like my children hate me. This is a sample of what I have heard this week from my little guppies:

• You're so evil!
• I wish you were dead!
• Get off my back!
• Leave me the hell alone!
• I don't have to listen to you!
• Go away go away go away!

I recognize it's not always going to be unicorns and rainbows and lollipops and cotton candy, but it is disheartening. I don't particularly like fishhooks and sea monsters in trade. Maybe just a little cotton candy once in a while would be nice.

My son is 11 now. And I can't stand him on more occasion than not. He is belligerent and snotty and just generally thinks he doesn't have to listen to me half the time. The other half the time he spends begging me for:

• money
• a ride somewhere to buy something
• more video game/computer/toy time/snacks/insert whatever the hell he wants at any given moment

I have no idea if this is typical behavior, or if it is perseveration from the Asperger's on his part. He is like a mongrel dog with a piece of meat: once he gets hold of something in his head, I dare you to try to reach out and pull it away from him. It's just not going to happen. And if you try, be prepared to lose a digit or two. He doesn't back down, and he says what he is thinking. You know all those things we hold in our head that we never speak? He speaks them. At least to me. He just doesn't seem to get it. He doesn't quit. He generally says what he is thinking, no matter how hurtful it may be. Two days ago, he made me cry by calling me names. I tried something new: I grounded him from all electronics. He won't shut up about wanting to play video games. I have mentioned, "I said no, geez, stop badgering me!" Only to hear, "badger, badger, badger…." (oh Internet why must you taunt me so?) I have added more time, and he still won't stop asking, over and over again, whining about how mean I am, and just generally being a boil on my backside. I told him, "Son, you are completely in control of how this plays out. Your mouth is what got you in trouble. Once you stop, it stops." He doesn't have that limit line that most of us have, at least when it comes to me. It concerns me because if he has this attitude now, what will it be like when he is sixteen?

Speaking of sixteen, it sucks, thank you very much. I am not so old that I don't remember what it is to be a teenager. I know that it feels that your parents are on your case constantly, that you can't do anything right, that they think you are stupid. I know how much you yearn for independence and wish you could do things on your own without everyone watching to make sure you complete homework, make deadlines and do chores. I know that feeling. BUT. As a teenager, there is a lack of concern for the above. Priorities don't always match up with what you think is important. So, the internet may appear to have more appeal than say, getting an assignment done for school. And maybe, in my daughter's case, parents have to step in and make sure that the distraction disappears long enough to get said assignment done. And in doing so, that parent may end up feeling exactly the way they swore they never would based upon doing the exact thing they swore they never would. (By the way, this is probably where I say "SORRY MOM!" if you're reading this..I guess you were right and I was a shit as a teenager). Anyway.

I admit since I have been home from New Zealand, my tolerance for crap has been extremely low. I have stepped up my game and been more firm, because I am seeing that not setting clear boundaries for my children is starting to bite me in the butt. I am not a pushover, but I never saw the value in what I saw as authoritarian parenting. I always listened to my children, let them logically discuss issues. These days, that flat isn't working, and it is like living with lawyers. If there is a weak point or a loophole in my argument, they will find it. And you know what? I am just too damned tired to argue with them. Sometimes, you have to do things you really don't want to do. That's just life. And you don't get a choice, and you don't get explanations of why the dishwasher needs to be unloaded in the morning first thing (because if the dishes are clean, there is nowhere to put anything and the the dirty dishes just pile up in the sink, making more work for everyone for your simple convenience of doing the dishwasher later because you "don't want to, and if you want it done right now, why don't you just do it yourself" And? I'm the MOM).

Maybe the answer is just..because I said so. God, how I hate that I have turned into that kind of mother. But. I am tired. Really, really tired. And I cannot explain one more damned thing to ungrateful little yuppie larvae. It just so happens they were spawned by me. Doesn't change the fact that I just can't do it anymore. So.

Just. Do. It.

And, oh God, here it comes…Because I said so.

Or I will take you to Laguna Beach, and so help me, I will feed you to a really big fish.*

*I wrote this before the Sea World catastrophe, and while it may not be in the best taste, I am not changing it. It's humor. Deal with it.

T, who is at a loss

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The one where we go uphill...both ways!

Day 3 here in Wellington, New Zealand dawned warm and sunny. Just the kind of glorious day that makes you glad to be alive. The tour started out with a walk along the water front. We had a tour of the capital building, called the Beehive. See if you can figure out why!

We had to go through security, and check all of our bags. There was no photographing of the building, so I missed out on some nice shots. Kiwis are very proud of their heritage. And symbolism is very high on their list of priorities. The artwork in the gallery area of the courtyard is fraught with meaning: the earth, the sky, the night, it all has a deeper point. It was interesting.

Afterwards, we set out for a walking tour of the Thorndon area, where there are some quaint cottages. We started out touring a beautiful old church, and I didn't want to leave. It was spectacular.

We walked to the Botanic Gardens (uphill, thank you very much!) and stopped for lunch. Then there was time for a wander as we hiked up more steep hills to to get to the top and take the cable car back down to the city. What's wrong with this picture, you ask? Shouldn't we have taken the cable car UP and then walked back DOWN hill, you ask? And, you would be right to question it. I don't make the rules though, so though it killed a lot of us, we just toughed it out.

Here you can see just how high we were. YES, we had to walk the entire hill to get there. Flat ground, to mountain slope, complete with switchbacks. I now know why people in Wellington are so fit! They are masochists!

Back in town, the geeks cooked dinner at the hotel and we were in for the night. I was really too tired after my hike to go much of anywhere!

T, who figures I'll be a size 2 by the time I go home

Christmas, OCD & me

It's in the air. If you are quiet, you can hear it. The ringing of bells by bored Salvation Army volunteers. The muttered cussing of a mother as she tries to find a parking space at the mall. The movement of boxes as Daddy tries to find the lights so he can string them on to the Christmas tree. The hollow "Oof!" as I am elbowed in the ribs to get the last copy of the only game my son wants for Christmas this year, bar none. The screams of yet another child placed on Santa's lap against his will by a well-meaning mother, trying to simply make memories for her family. Poor woman. I learned the hard way with that one: just not worth it. This time of year fills me with dread.

I used to have a brain, but somewhere around Nov, specifically the third week or so, my brain goes missing. Some call it anxiety over perfectionism. I call it par-for-the-course. But it makes the holidays stressful, not fun, and a lot more work than they need to be. I can't figure out how to change this, try as I might. It is a mountain I am tired of climbing. ( a chimney I am tired of going down?) One of these days, I am going to say "Screw it," and we will head somewhere warm, sunny and sandy for the holidays. But not this year. This year, I just have to get through it. Come January 4th, all will be okay again.

There just seems to be so much to do, and every year, I tell myself I will simplify. But how? When you create traditions (which, in this house, means you did it twice) you have to keep with them, or the kids see the sky falling and run to tell the king. So, I prepare. I buy Christmas Eve Pajamas. I make the Christmas Morning breakfast ahead of time. I take pictures of artfully arranged presents under the tree for the umpteenth time. I call my doctor for a prescription of Xanax. (that last part is just on the wish list inside my head…I don't actually do drugs).

Parents always want to do better for their kids than was done for them, but in my case, my mother set the bar quite high when it comes to Christmas. She has a knack for giving the Perfect Gift, Just What I Always Wanted, and unfortunately, that talent skipped a generation. Don't get me wrong, I know how to give good gifts. But I don't have a sixth sense about it. I suppose that I will have to content myself with my writing prowess and my wit. Oh, and my humility.

Even with preparation, I am terrified I will forget something and it will be too late. I guarantee that on Dec. 24th at about 9 p.m. I will, in a panic, realize that the gifts aren't quite even, and send my husband out into the cold, foraging for toys at the local drug store that is open until midnight. This happens every year. When making cookies? I will get halfway through the recipe and remember that I needed butter. Or shortening, that I swear I purchased last week, but cannot find. Again with the venturing out into the cold in search of baking supplies. He is so good to me.

I am worried I am doing it wrong, I have a master list of gifts for Christmas morning. Santa isn't the only one who makes a list and checks it twice! Mine is a symbol chart with the gifts in numerical order. I color code the wrapping paper to reduce the chance of JBug getting a Star Wars Lego set or JBean, the bug phobic getting an ant farm. Drop the ball once, and they never let you live it down. Now I remember who belongs to what gift. But it means having six different kinds of wrapping paper, and I like lots of different colors, so the wrap has to be in complementary colors. We don't discuss the Bowing of the Presents…of course there must be bows and curling ribbon. It's a sickness. After comes the arranging of the presents… they all must be seen correctly, with the small ones in front of the larger ones, and mixed up according to who they belong to. No wonder I am tired.

Still, as much as I obsess, as much as I worry, it all seems to come together, every year. And the results are worth it. When I hear the excited whispers on Christmas morning, feign sleep and wait for my little one to wake me with giggles and "Santa was here!" I remember why I do it. Come to think of it, it's why I do most everything: the joy on the faces of my children. Seen through their eyes, I can finally find the magic that this old jaded heart was missing. It's then that I remember what Christmas is all about.

T, who wishes you and yours the happiest of holidays

So. How was YOUR day?

For reasons I cannot go into, I neeeeed my dryer! Guess I will be headed to the laundromat tomorrow. Don't ask.

T, who hopes your day is better than mine

Happy Thanksgiving Everyone!

T, who is eating PIE

Coffee is good, but good coffee is great!

This Friday night was date night with my husband and we found ourselves in a little-known coffee house in Fullerton. Down a small alley on a not-well-traveled side street off Harbor Blvd. is Max Blooms Cafe Noir, a newly opened treasure. Entering into the store is like going back in time.

Part museum, part coffee house, the love of 1940's era is everywhere: from the vintage photos of Fullerton, the antique typewriter as well as the antique piano that is still played in the establishment today, the joint oozes atmosphere. You expect Mickey Spillane to step out of the shadows any minute. Mixed about with the authentic film-noir era movie posters, you will find an eclectic collection of movies for sale. It's a sort of rental system, buy the movie for $15, and they buy it back from you for $12. A bank of theatre seats faces a television and a shelf of books ranging from "Husband-Tested Recipes," an old paperback cookbook from the era, and a ton of books on old films and directors. It's the kind of place you can spend some time exploring. There's even a map to point out pieces in the collection.

Everywhere you look is a testimony of the labor of love that is Max Bloom's. And the coffee? Oh, the coffee!

Like nothing you have tasted. Roasted personally by owner Stephen Sprague, it is smooth, and toasty without a hint of bitterness. I am still dreaming of the amazing mocha latte I had. It was perfect. Smooth, creamy, with a touch of chocolate, and in a mug, no less! My husband had the regular coffee, and it was just as good. And where can you get a cup of joe for $ .89? Coffee is a passion for Stephen, and it shows.

Coffee is serious business. He explained to me how to make the perfect cappuccino, and why they don't travel well. (the perfect capp is 1/3 espresso, 1/3 milk and 1/3 foam...so you can't make it to go). He can make you a latte, though. And it will be the best you have ever had.

And, with bakery treats and a refrigerator stocked with old-fashioned sodas, they have something for everyone. But don't forget your wallet, because Max Bloom's only takes cash.

If you are tired of big-chain coffee, maybe you need to stop in and see Max Bloom.

Max Bloom's Cafe Noir

220 N. Malden Ave

Fullerton, CA 92832

(714) 871-2600

CASH ONLY

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T, who loves coffee

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