Act Now! Don't Miss it!

Last weekend my mom "babysat" George and Goldie for one hour while I ran some errands.

As I drove out of her driveway I could practically hear George yelling, "She's gone, let's turn on the TV."

When I returned, ONE HOUR LATER, George said the following;

"Mommy, there is a really big sale happening this weekend. They are going to have all the things you like. They even have bedroom sets!"

He also informed me "There's a fair happening. It's called the Puyallup Fair. We have to go. They said 'don't miss it.' That's what they said Mommy, 'don't miss it'."

George and Goldie have never seen broadcast TV at home. We just aren't TV watchers. So, this was George's first exposure to the very helpful world of commercials.

The next day as I was doing laundry, he saw my box of Oxy Clean and said, "Oh, this stuff can get out any stain. Seriously ANY stain."

Days later he was still talking about the Puyallup fair and how he "can't miss it" and I'm getting increasingly annoyed. So I called my mom, who thought all of this was hilarious. I told her that her punishment for corrupting George was to take him to the Puyallup fair.

And she did.

And the first thing she and my dad did when they got there was to buy him a cotton candy as big as his upper torso.



Hooray for T.V.

Ninja Sweatshirts!

So sorry for the silence, we've been busy avoiding earthquakes and hurricanes, both of which we escaped by days.

Yes, we are safely back in Seattle where we have quietly been readjusting to life at home. And truth be told, it's bittersweet.

George started playing on a soccer team and I've realized I'm no soccer mom. Not only do I not drive a mini-van but I know nothing about the sport. I sent him on the first day in seersucker shorts and a white t-shirt where he "played" against bigger kids decked out in fancy polyester shorts, shiny cleats and shin guards. My poor little guy didn't even notice he had a crappy blow up soccer ball that looked more like a beach ball. I did, however, buy him "new" cleats. (They were $1.96 at a consignment store on Camano Island. Score!)

Truth be told, George doesn't care about soccer at all. Tonight he admitted to the coach he's only in it for the team sweat shirt because it has a hood with drawstrings that can make you look like a ninja.

For this $7.99 sweatshirt he's going to make us suffer. Three times a week we have to cart him to the play field. And they couldn't have picked worse hours: Dinner time and Sunday mornings, which could make me miss dinner and brunch engagements.

And we all know George got my athletically challenged genes.

In Clay's younger years, age 32 to be exact, he played a mean game of soccer. Dan Tyler claims that during Clay's first game a teammate pointed at Clay out on the field and asked "who's the chick with the muscles?" Dan eventually realized he was talking about Clay. Clay's hair was quite long at the time. I guess that's what caused the confusion. That and the high heels...

Me and My New Friends

It was a cool and rainy August day. The kind of day you get only on the East Coast where the cool is a balmy 87 and the rain is only for five minutes, yet it soaks you to the bone.

(Clay is trying to edit me as I type, but this is MY story. I need the dramatic beginning. Trust me.)

Anyway, the rain. It was raining. I took Goldie and Milo to a kids' museum and Clay took George to the Spy Museum.

At the kids' museum Goldie and Milo were busy manhandling baby turtles and lizards when one of the staff walked and said, "Whenever famous people come in here with their kids I get totally starstruck." My first reaction was, "Oh Honey, don't get nervous around me, I'm really just one of you when it comes down to it." Then I realized there must be another famous person at the museum and she was itching to tell me who. "Cate Blanchett is here with her sons."

Five minutes later Goldie is sitting next to Cate Blanchett's son and happily painting away. Well holy shit, I'm a little star struck as well. Goldie and her son are practically planning their wedding and Cate and I are new BFF's. Except she isn't looking at me or even acknowledging me, which is understandable because she obviously feels intimidated.

Half an hour later they left for their hotel and I began texting people, "Guess who Goldie just had a play date with?!"

Later in the evening I'm still telling Clay all the details of the museum and how Cate touched Goldie's hair. Meanwhile, Clay's eyes have glazed over. He suggests I walk over to our favorite pizza spot near "our house" and get him a handful of slices for dinner. Not because he wanted pizza, but because he wanted quiet.

It's pouring rain, again, but as his dutiful wife I walk to the pizza place, getting soaked with each step. (Doesn't the rain sound so dramatic?)

At the Pizza Place there's a line to get in. As I get closer I realize it's the damn TSA folks again. They've followed me here from Sea-Tac lookin' for more action. But this time they have hand-held metal detectors. Once again I get frisked and searched but am allowed in. All this strikes me as odd because they don't do this at lunch. They must get a rough dinner crowd.

Then it occurs to me, The President must be here! I immediately ask the TSA guy what's going on and realize this TSA guy is actually Secret Service. He says, in one breath, "We have a special guest dining here and it's not the president."

I'm certain it must be a senator I've never heard of.

Then the adorable girl ringing up my pizza confides Michelle Obama is upstairs. She's giddy with excitement. The girl, not Michelle. Michelle's upstairs and I can't see her.

Side note: Just yesterday we went to the American History Museum where Goldie and I saw the gown Michelle Obama wore to the Inauguration and I told Clay seeing her dress literally made me tear up.

I need to see Michelle.

I plunk myself down at a table next to the stairs with Clay's pork infested pizza and pretend to eat. I figured she'll need to come downstairs at some point.

And she did. First Malia came down. Then Sasha, who was practically running, and lastly Michelle. I was arms length from the first lady when we made eye contact and she smiled at me. And yes, she was smiling at ME, I was the only person, besides the TSA guys, in the room.

And then I started to feel sad for Clay. I knew he was going to hear about "my dinner with Michelle and the girls" for the next few weeks.

So I walked home in the rain. And I didn't even mind.

An Open Letter to My Husband

Dear Clay Martin,

I wanted to post the above picture of George and Goldie just because it's so darned cute. But you said posting pictures of cute kids with no accompanying narrative is just a cop out. Your exact words were "You might as well take some adorable cat pictures and post that instead. You'd probably get more hits."

Well, you know what? There just happens to be a very attractive cat living with us right now during our house swap. So, I'm going to take your advice and post both pictures. Cute kids AND cute cats. Hah! I'll double my traffic. You know what's really a cop out? Your attitude is a cop out.

This is Kittyman. Adorable!



You loving wife,
Robin

And by the way: Rubbing the perfume samples from your Vanity Fair on the underarms of your shirt is NOT a substitute for bathing.

The Day I Went Out to Get Pancakes With My Dad

By George Martin, Age 6 and 1/4

Once upon a time when I woke up my dad told me we got to go and have pancakes and look for things. Here are some things we saw.

These are super hero puppets at the flea sale. We didn't see any fleas so I don't know why it's called a flea sale.





I ate all my pancakes and can even prove it since there is a picture of it.




This is a picture of a wizard that I like to pretend is Harry Potter. He's on my cup from the pancake restaurant.




This is a dead cicada that I kicked over that way it was on the right side. I then captured it with the camera.
I can prove it since there is a picture of it.



This is a picture with a car and a leaf fell off the plant and landed on the tire. Isn't that funny?



And that's the day with my dad. Except the day isn't over, it's just what we did this morning.

To learn more about George, see his blog at www.supergeorgemartin.blogspot.com

Della Where?

We're back in D.C. after taking a "vacation within a vacation," as George called it. We visited our good friends Errol and Ruth Ann in Wilmington, Delaware.

OK. I know what you're thinking: "You didn't go to Delaware. It doesn't really exist."

Before this trip I had never been to Delaware. I had never met anyone who had ever been to Delaware. I knew one person, Leora, who claimed to be from "Delaware" but she has a funny accent and can't say 'tomato' correctly. She is not a credible source. I had never seen a news item about Delaware. I don't think I had even ever seen a picture from Delaware. I was convinced it was an elaborate tax scam leftover from the 70s.

Well, I'm here to let you know it's all for real. Delaware exists and it's as cute as a bug. We visited a faerie garden and an ice cream farm and waded in a river and walked barefoot in a deserted field next to a pond, where from out of the woods emerged a woman riding a horse-drawn carriage. She galloped past and disappeared around a bend in the rolling hills, but not before Clay was able to capture photographic evidence:









And here's more photographic evidence of this magic land they call Delaware, where the birds nests are REALLY big (and the birds really cute).



Delaware does exist. And it's magical.

Aspirin-Flavored Cupcakes

On Sunday we went to a cute, but not super delicious, cupcake place called Sprinkles. Amongst the red velvet, salted caramel, mint chocolate, and other yummy flavors I noticed one was Walgreen's flavored. What!? I was very curious. What would a Walgreen's flavored cupcake taste like? Aspirin?



Then, after we had sat down to enjoy our four non-Walgreen's flavored choices, I heard someone order a Washington Nationals cupcake. D'oh!

For the other non-sports fans out there, the Washington Nationals are DC's baseball team.

Does Walgreens know they ripped off their logo? I smell a lawsuit.