The Mother Lode

Yesterday we sold The Bogus. Goodbye, Bogus. You served us well. We went on road trips in you. We brought a baby home from the hospital in you. We talked, laughed, sung, cried, fought, kissed (whoop), and spilled food in you. I have a feeling that Mike, who saw you on craigslist and paid a song for you, will treat you well (He knows how to play a churango).
The breaking story, here, though is the process of getting the cash from the sale deposited into our bank, which is in another state. My family has a habit of carrying large sums of cash in their ... habits (background: my mom constructed a garment to wear under her clothes for transporting thousands of dollars to Bolivia. Imagine a commando bullet-proof vest, except silky and with lots of pockets for bills sewn all around. No. Wait. ... Don't.). With my mom's story in mind, my main errand today was two-fold (bill-fold): get a new battery for Briton's watch and get a money order.
Oh, I should mention this. I not only had the money from the sale of the car, I also had the money we had withdrawn when we were this close to buying a VW van. Lacking a smugglers camisole, said cash was stuffed into various envelopes which were then stuffed into my "purse".
Syd, Clara and I entered the Fred Meyer Jewelery store to get the watch battery. I was dressed as usual in my crumpled, baby-urp-stained clothing and flip flops. Sydney was decked out in about 50 bow clips, attached to her hair/pony tails/bangs, etc. (She directed her coiffure this morning. Not the picture above). Clara, hostage in the carseat, pretended to not know us by sleeping.

I handed over the watch with my nail-bitten, food-coloring-stained nails to the Pretty Lady with Hand Model fingers. I'm not sure what she was thinking, but I was thinking, "No matter what you're thinking, you're wrong. Because I could buy ANY of this Bling right now. In cash." Then I patted my pregnant purse with a smug smile. Sydney drooled sucker slobber onto the immaculate glass counter-tops and I said, "Oooh! That's a pretty one!" The Pretty Lady (who really did have the most beautiful fingers I've ever seen) changed the battery as quickly as possible.

Next stop. Winco. The customer service cave. Where you can buy money orders for a quarter. I pulled out my quarter and then started counting out stacks of 20's, 50's, and 100's. My heart rate accelerated and respirations quickened. The guy next to me was cashing his work check and I could feel his eyes on the piles. That's when I realized that the premium price banks charge for money orders includes the luxury of private transactions. Possibly worth it. I was already planning how to avert a mugging with two kids in tow. As discretely as possible, I shoved the money across the counter and hissed the total. Whereupon the lady started counting it out again. In plain sight.

It gets worse. Did you ever play skee-ball at ShowBiz pizza? A Chucky Cheese-type establishment? I loved skee-ball because compared to any other game, you'd get miles of tickets. I bring this up because that's what happened next. Apparently, money orders are only available in specified increments. The machine started spitting out money order attached to money order. The lady was rolling them up around her arm/elbow like a garden hose and the neon light above her head kept flashing, "Mug Me. Mug Me." The guy next to me left to set up his stake out. I collected my money orders and then went to go see if I could trade some for a plastic spider or something.

I wondered if the guy was waiting just outside the Winco doors, ready to pounce. Even if he wasn't, were weren't home safe, yet. So I stuffed the wad under Clara, in the carseat. I figured, knowing me, that I was bound to lose the envelope but I would never lose my baby. And the Mugger would never think to look under Clara! Together, we raced back through the parking lot, jumped in the van, and hurried home to post the mother lode to the bank.

The end.

On the Reels

T's Art and Clara

Tulips and Treasure*

*photos courtesy of Grandpa Barker Photography

Grandpa and Grandma Barker were here this past weekend for Clara's blessing. We visited the Woodburn Tulip Farm and Geocached on Saturday. It was a fun day.








Sydney is holding a small book with blank pages inside. The cover had a girl on it with the inscription: "I Love To Shop." Syd read the book the rest of the day whenever she was in her carseat. She'd repeat over and over in her soft chirrup, "I love to shop. I love to shop," as she turned each page. Sadly, this book never made it out of nursery the next day.A park provided a pit stop after a failed effort to find an elusive cache. Apparently, there is no disappointment in not finding treasure if there are swings nearby. I think there is a good lesson in there for all of us.

Early April

"What's a Twinkie?"

I felt like a virtuous mother, indeed, when Talmage asked this question during the construction of the kid's "Easter" treat: Peep Bunny Racecars.We celebrated Easter with a fun dinner with the Morgan and Farrer clans.

We do not allow utensils in our house.

The dinner menu, after some deliberation:

Lemon-Rosemary Pork Tenderloin

Twice-Baked Potatoes

Spring Asparagus

Broccoli Salad

Bread

Served on white platters [insert dreamy "mmmm"].

Dessert, now, has specific requirements. Easter dessert MUST be: "light, springy, and stand out in a crowd, like a graceful, ethereal woman" (from DearAlisha).

Trifle. Check. Until you scoop any out (notice the ethereal woman).


Portland Mormon Choir and Orchestra

Briton, with a couple friends, at the PMCO performance this month. The choir sang, among other things, John Rutter's "Requiem." This was a great experience for Briton. I thoroughly enjoyed hearing them perform and seeing Briton up there doing something he loves. I'd never heard this piece by Rutter before and it is now, easily, one of my top favorite pieces of music.

Cook Park: Sunday Stroll

One picture before the camera battery died. We enjoyed the good weather after Stake Conference with a stroll/run (speed dependent on if you were 3 years old and under or not) with D and her kiddos. First time here. Hopefully not the last. Canoe trip down the Tualatin River, anyone?

Clear Skies

=barefeet fun

Clara, good-natured and pleasant, as usual.

Conferring on the alphabet, and other weighty matters.

In a Probationary State

Last week I was pulled over by a motorcycle police guy for not coming to a complete stop at a stop sign. The reason that is extra bad is because you might recall that I was cited two months ago for busting a police barricade. It was a very expensive citation. To be pulled over again after just two months is like the worst nightmare EVER. As the officer approached my car, I kept repeating, "Oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no [repeat]." Then I curled into the fetal position and started sucking my thumb.

The officer asked for my license and registration. [plot spoiler follows: I rarely drive with my license]. "Ummm. I dont' have my license."

Motorcycle Police Guy: You do have a license?

Me: Yeah. I just left it at home.

MPG: I'll still need to see your registration

I hand it over with shaky hands.

MPG: And I'll need your birthdate.

I dictate and he writes it on his thumb (truly). I guess when you're a motorcycle cop you have to travel light. He leaves. I start my mantra again. He comes back and says (this is true, too):

MPG: Are you on probation?

Me: [to myself: what the heck?!] [To MPG]: Probation!??!?

MPG: Yes. Probation out of Columbia County

For the record - I don't even know where Columbia County IS.

He said some other stuff about felonies and clarified my birthdate again on his thumb: 13-27-05.

Me: Nope. I'm not on probation. Promise. I'm just, like, a ... a soccer mom (it was the most benign thing I could think of. But I guess I could have told him I make puff pastries for a living or something like that. It would have been equally relevant and persuasive).

He mutters into his radio. I can hear the recorder (or whoever) mumbling something else on the other end. The officer says, "Yes. The birthdate is important."

Then he says, "Oh."

Then he says, "There's a Robin Barker on probation born on 13-24-05." (same month, same year, only three days older - just a little clarification since those are Bogus birthdates to protect the identity of the innocent)

Then he says, "I'm not going to give you a ticket."

I uncurled myself from fetal position.

This whole exchange left me reeling with different emotions: relief not to get a another ticket, impressed that my doppleganger is an escaped felon, anxious that I was late picking Talmage up from preschool; and lots of funniness that the officer didn't have a notepad.