I need your help. I really do.

Just got a note from the AIDS/LifeCyle:

"With just nine (yep-nine!) weeks to go before the big ride in June, we're keeping our fingers crossed that more sunshine comes our way..."

GAAAHHHH!!!!!

I'm a bit nervous over here. That's nine weeks to get up to speed on the cycle-- which I KNOW I can do-- but moreover, nine weeks to raise $900.

That's $100 per week!! (See? I took high school math.)

For those out there who are sitting on the fence, please, please donate. It is an amazing cause, and a tax-deductible one at that. Any amount will help.

Thank you!!!

And the Oscar goes to…

My dream of hearing these words has changed over time, from having my name immediately appended to the phrase, to the realization that it will likely be my daughter's. I know this because she is seriously one of the greatest dramatic actresses of the modern age.

To wit: Last night, as her dad is bringing her home, my barrel of sunshine leaps into my arms, giggly and happy and filled with sugary-babygirl sweetness. "Bye, Dad!" she sings, as she throws her arms around my neck, kissing my cheeks, dancing back and forth in my arms. Filled with giggles she announces that she wants to watch t.v.

It is at this point in the story that I must add that I am totally a second-rate parent, one who apparently completely ignores the constant ringing of the clue phone in the background. Had being a mom required a college degree, forget the ivy league, baby-- Bob's College and Janitorial Supplies is more my level.

Completely ignoring the scene at hand, the fact that she's almost 3 and that she's been pushing her independence buttons more than one would think humanly possible, I smile at my sunny monkey and say, "Awww, we're done with t.v. for today. It's time for --"

With laser-swift speed, my daughter's tiny face cracks wide-open, tears exploding from her eyes. Before I can even finish the sentence, "nigh-nights," (READ: Bedtime) she throws her head back, shakes her tiny fists at the heavens and howls, "Noooooooooooooooooooo!!! NOO NOOO NOOOOOOOOO!!!!"

My bored expression turns to see her father's rolling eyes.

Ms. Bernhardt pushes her face into my shoulder as she begins to wail. Said wailing continues for several minutes until her father, interrupts, saying his goodbyes.

Up pops the little head, wet faced but returned to calm, and out pops a charming "Bye, Dad!" complete with smallish grin. She then looks at me, throws her head back again, and resumes her Shatneresque wailing. ("Kaaaaahhhhnnnnn!!!)

I kept waiting for her to shout, "SCENE."

Tonight’s sunset

Tonight's sunset
Originally uploaded by girlm0nkey.

The throne

The throne
Originally uploaded by girlm0nkey.

Proof of previously posted discussion, Lunch Break Notes. (She was watching Clifford, btw.)

MISSION: San Diego

On Saturday a general perusal of Harrison's folder revealed that the fourth grade mission project was upon us. For those out-of-staters, California was originally settled by Native Americans, followed by Mexicans, prospectors, prostitutes, Levi Strauss, and Catholic Missionaries, I think in that order. The missions are a huge part of California History, which is what every able-bodied fourth grader is forced to study. As part of the project, you pick a mission, bone up on its architecture, and build a model out of household goods.

My ten-year old is generally mum about anything schoolwork related, vascillating between being such an acute smarty as to finish all his homework on the bus before it leaves the school parking lot; or leaving projects so painfully to the last minute that we scramble to finish them in the car, on the way to the busstop in the morning. Rarely are we so fortunate as to have an in-between.

With this assignment, we actually had time to cut, glue, paint, paste, mold, curse, recut, dry, and form the project sometime not the day before.

A rarity in our house.

That afternoon we raided Michael's, along with 30 other students and studious looking parents.

It was charming listening to kids work with their folks. "Dad, we need glue," says an intent young man. "Mom, let's build it out of clay," another is heard to say.

And then there is me. "Please put that down. Let's look at the--honey, no, we're not getting that... seriously, no--, you do not need feathers for this thing." To shorten the dialogue, nor did we need knitting needles, a giant plastic sunflower, the $7 set of silver bells, nor the package of edible modeling clay.

Harry did have some interesting ideas. Yes, I suppose we *could* have built the piece out of styrofoam cut into small blocks and used chopsticks to paint the exterior of the mission. I went the more traditional route of foamboard and tempura paint.

The truth is I am a sucker for this kind of project-- or really, anything that allows for the use of an exacto knife. I am so overboard, in fact, that I think my children actually fear parent/student projects, because all of my fascist stage-design class tendencies burst out.

But in my defense, when in the life of Web design do you get to build anything, you know, tactile? Crikey, when do I ever get to use a freakin' pencil??

The worst part, I guess, is that I am one of those people who likes to *think* I am creative; admittedly I have many brilliant ideas; sadly, I execute them flawfully. Which is to say, I can't cut straight, I can't measure at all, I'm a sloppy gluer and I wear my frustration on my sleeve.

Lucky, lucky Harry.