You're going to hate me for this

Current weather in my neck of the woods: 67 degrees and sunny. I keep forgetting it's summer.

Ooh, I can hear you from here: "You bitch!"

[mad cackling from me]

Later tonight I'll post pix of the jaunt The Boy and I took this weekend, when it was about 72 degrees. Don't worry, this won't last. It almost always rains on Independence Day.

Made another sale!

Oh, I hope you weren't putting off buying this one from my Etsy store. It's gone, baby, gone!
My commission client remembered me, and came back for a little more. She bought this notebook for a friend's going-away gift. The best part: the client said, "I was thinking, 'oh, I'll just pick up a notebook at Barnes and Noble' and then I thought, 'wait, why don't I just call Lisa?' "

I'll be savoring that for a while.

Since I brought her a selection to look at in person, she bought it then, so I just took the notebook down from Etsy. However, I've re-listed some other notebooks, so see if there's anything you'd like to take home. You can click on the link in the first sentence of this post. Or use the Etsy widget on the right side of the page, and click on "YoLisaLisa."

Daddy's Day recap

Wow, am I late with this recap. Well, we'll live.

That's how The Husband celebrated the reason why he gets Father's Day gifts: taking The Boy and me to The Boy's first movie theater movie. (The Husband got a couple of books -- that I will break in for him -- and a pedometer he'd actually considered on his own.)

We prepped The Boy for the experience, and he did really well. Went to the bathroom before and afterwards, had a few peanut M&M's, didn't get scared by the "fight" scenes (although he was a little worried that the bad guy was really going to hurt a few other characters), and no more than the usual loud-child's-voice-in-the-theater moments. But that's to be expected in a KID'S movie... anyone who was in there expecting peace and quiet was in the wrong damn showing.

Together with breakfast at our favorite local diner, it was a pretty swell day. Oh, and I remembered to get the cards to the fathers-in-law out in plenty of time. Bonus.

Oh. My. God.

On the back of the can: "Promotes and restores sexual desire, improves circulation and sexual function. These statements have not been evaluated by the FDA. This product is not intended to diagnose, treat, cure, or prevent any disease."

Ya think?

Oh, I just fell off my ass laughing at the packaging. Just wait until I go back to the store and take a picture of the "Sweet Love Rolls." I am not kidding about that name.
The Husband and I decided to investigate the offerings of this market that re-opened up the street from us. We thought it was going to be strictly fresh produce, but it's like the marvelous mega-ethnic market -- with a gigantic selection. Mexican/Central American, Asian (and I do mean all over Asia) and eastern European products, stuff I've seen or read about before as well as things I'd never seen. It was like being back in LA!

Photo courtesy Wikipedia

There were at least five different options to buy durian fruit, for example. Durian is a southeast Asian fruit that smells so strong (read: knock-you-on-your-ass stink) that Thailand doesn't allow

it to be carried on public transportation. Don't ask me why this man apparently didn't get that memo.Photo courtesy Wikipedia

It cannot be imported to this country unless it's frozen first. On my first visit to my father-in-law and stepmother-in-law's house, he served a durian and mango sticky rice dessert to see if I'd eat it.

Photo courtesy Wikipedia

The texture is like a kidney from a cadaver. I think. I don't eat zombie flesh, as a rule.

At the local market, they had thawed durian, whole frozen durian, two brands of frozen slices, and durian "essence," which I can only assume is used as a cooking ingredient/weapon.

The Husband just needed some Thai curry paste for Sunday dinner, and I grabbed a couple other things as well. What I really wanted to do was spend more time taking pictures of the various packagings... the non-alcoholic malt drink apparently made in a Greek monastery... the snacks with anime-style cartoons (Julie would just plotz in there!)... the preserved stuff that probably hasn't been approved for consumption by pregnant women and the elderly... the list goes on.

I ain't tryin' out that Aphrodite stuff until after I see my doctor next week.

Genius. Genius, I tell you

The Boy is showing an interest in "reading" on his own, and he seems to have an inkling on counting things (especially the number of M&Ms that we occasionally dole out). So we started him in a phonics class and then a math class at day care last week, and apparently he's really enjoying himself. Nothing hard-core: the kids his age only do 20 minutes a day in these optional classes, which is about the length of any other activity they do.
My favorite comment on his progress: "He also enjoyed writing in his journal!"

I'm kvelling!

Tagged? I don't see anything on my big toe

Catherine decided it was high time I got tagged again -- "because she is so funny I can hardly wait to read what she comes up with." I gotta come up with something good. Oh, the pressure...

Here are the rules:

1. Write the title to your own memoir using 6 words.

2. Post it on your blog.

3. Link to the person who tagged you.

4. Tag 5 more blogs.

Alrighty then. My memoir would start out with the title "High-Functioning?" You Must be Joking. But I think I'd change it to First Hundred Years: Always the Hardest.

Aaaack! I don't think I have the requisite number of blog friends who will play, but I think Tally and Laurel might be into it.

Thank you, Laurel!

Laurel, aka Rueschka, sent me a lil' thank you for turning her on to Google Reader. She'd been looking for an easier-to-use RSS feed reader that would send her the latest posts from her favorite blogs. So I threw in my two cents, and voila.

It's a little hard to see even in person, but she stamped a beautiful sun on the patterned paper.
I'm not exactly an early adopter of technology, but I caved and took The Husband's suggestion to try Google Reader. It was like the first time you surf the internets on your own. Whee!
Look at all the pretties Laurel sent. Including a charm with my favorite mermaid on it.
This may be the one time I gave advice and was rewarded for it.

Let's just nip that in the bud.

I don't care how cute they are. I don't care that the word's an endearment to some. No one is allowed to call my kid "monkey."

I just had one of those weird moments as an African American parent, where I had to shut down someone who meant well before they did any lasting damage to The Boy.

Today The Boy and I encountered someone who loves The Boy to pieces, someone who likes to steal kisses from his cheek, tickle him and generally tell him he's adorable. But this morning, she ran her fingers through The Boy's curls and greeted him with, "Hi, monkey!"

And instantly my brain broke in half. One half said, "it's just an endearment!" while struggling to block the other half from attacking the speaker. But the other half got free and, showing some restraint, opened my mouth to say, "I'd really appreciate you not calling him that."

The speaker was surprised (she's kinda young) and said, "Really?" "Anything but that," I replied. And the world continued spinning on its axis.

It's clear that she meant no harm, but she's also old enough to learn equating African Americans to monkeys is enough to get you sent to HR for a talking-to, at the very least. You don't have to look too far into the past to find someone calling black people monkeys. Go back, oh, less than a month.

Woman protests racial slur on t-shirts sold at bar in background.
Photo credit: Frank Niemeir, Atlanta Journal Constitution

And yet I felt like I'd been slightly harsh today. Even though I was just deflecting an unacceptable comment away from The Boy. Man, I wish I could talk to my parents right now.

A la weekend (On the weekend)

I finished the page I made for The Boy's scrapbook. Lots of transfers and transparencies, and a few Mexican lotería cards too. I know that "El Catrín" means "guy" or "dandy", and that it has nothing to do with Hurricane Katrina, but I added it anyway. Elsewhere on the page, there's a transparency of The Boy over a pierced-heart lotería card... but it shows his face. (And when was the last time you saw an unblocked picture of The Boy? Not never. Right.)

The Boy was just over six months old when Hurricane Katrina hit New Orleans. (This satellite picture is printed on white rice paper with a swirl pattern.)
I kept up with the devastation only through listening to the radio in the mornings. Katrina hit not long after I left reporting, so I had some professional interest in the coverage. But I couldn't bring myself to watch on TV. Yes, The Boy was far too young to be watching any TV with me, let alone disaster coverage. But I have to admit I was too much of a chickenshit to expose myself to the misery of children.
Here I was, safe and sound, big ol' Costco boxes of baby diapers at hand whenever I needed them, and there babies were blistering in the heat and diaper rash, lucky to get anything they could digest.

At the time, I wasn't working, and The Husband was working exclusively on his websites, so more money was going out than coming into our household. We did send a donation to the American Red Cross, but I still felt guilty for not doing more. This is why I now take unused diapers to our local YWCA, since they take in battered women and children.

The page is probably a little, um, dark for a scrapbook about a child... but that's how I roll.

On the lighter side, The Boy wandered over to see what I was doing as I finished the page, and asked if he could play. So I helped him make his first ATCs with textured paper scraps. We used matte medium as a glue and sealer.
No shopping involved, minimal mess, and he got to play with Mommy's art supplies. Then he "signed" them on the back with a red Tombo marker. He was very reluctant to give up the pen, but Mommy insisted. (He should count himself lucky. Mommy's been very territorial ever since her brother used to break her crayons as a kid.)

Must start on the next postcard for Tally, and the fatbook page I promised my Artfest dorm buddy Kristie.