Stolen: A Story

It was a perfect morning - a tri-generational girls' day at the beach. We knew it would be a memorable day.

I relished the fact that winter visits to our families mean going to the beach. I look only a little smug in this shot.

 We listened to the waves, watched the boats, soaked up the sun.

Daisy looked at shells...

...and I looked at shells.

Daisy realized that there would never be enough buckets.

Clutching her peanut butter sandwich, Daisy realized something else: she was being watched.
(See one of many culprits on her right...)

It happened. It was a quick, concerted dive on their part, leaving Daisy first screaming, then sobbing into my shirt. The seagulls - not the shells, not the boats, not the bucket - thus became the central theme of the day. "The birdies took my sandwich" can still be heard today at bedtime, in a voice full of wonder and resentment.

But, now we have our story, a memorable day at the beach. As often happens, we look back fondly at events that go wrong, proving to ourselves that we are older, wiser, and remarkably resilient. Thanks for the trip to the beach, Mom/Grandmommy.

Disneyland

While we were in California, Chris and I celebrated our 7th anniversary by taking Daisy to Disneyland. Chris' parents accompanied us, so we couples got to take turns slipping away to the more grown-up rides. For a souvenir, we bought one of those overpriced pictures they take on rides: Chris and I went on Splash Mountain and had our log all to ourselves; we posed by making heart shapes above our heads with our arms as we were falling.

My parents found my sister's now vintage Minnie dress and we layered it on Daisy. We all had a fabulous day. Daisy still talks about going on those rides from her favorite movies, eating at the Pinocchio restaurant, and hugging the characters.

Papa, Daisy, Daddy, and Nana
Walking down Main Street

Daisy's favorite ride: Teacups

Confiding in a princess

I have to confess that a little childhood flutter arose in me when Cinderella looked me in the eye and told me, "I like your coat." Um, thanks Cinderella, I like your dress!

Walking around at Disneyland felt like visiting my old house, elementary school, middle school, and high school all in one. Since we lived so close to the park, my family had passes since I was very young, and then when I got older, I went with groups of friends. Chris is the same - he went a ton as a child, and then worked there as a teenager. Coming as parents with our child was a really special experience for us - almost a rite of passage.

Memories flooded my mind; the layout of Disneyland hasn't really changed at all since twenty years ago. It seemed that every corner drew out childhood images and feelings:

- Marching in parades with band
- After seeing the notice "Children under 7 must be accompanied by an adult," I became very excited to ride by myself once I turned that responsible age. I tried a ride by myself and quickly realized that it's actually more fun to be accompanied by an adult
- Taking my sister on her first time on Matterhorn without telling her there were roaring monsters around some corners...and trying to console her afterward
- Pushing my brother, 13 years younger than I, in his stroller
- Debating the Christian response to The Haunted Mansion
- Waiting in an incredibly long line with my dad in anticipation for my first time on Space Mountain - and chickening out right before it was our turn. I'll never forget his "Really?!" expression on his face, and I'll always remember how he never gave me a hard time about it.
- My first kiss - with all my friends watching
- Doing history homework with my friend Leila while sipping iced mochas - and listening to tourists exclaiming "homework at Disneyland??" We probably so ruined the magic.

I understand the value of returning to places you grew up in. My identity is in my experiences, and nothing helps trigger those experiential memories like smells, sounds, and rides.

"Medium" List

A few months ago, I shared an incredibly long list of the schools that Chris applied to in order to be a professor. The total count was 41. He wasn't picky; we decided that we'd rather have more choice than be snooty about living in Oklahoma, although I'll admit that I am thrilled that Oklahoma is not on our current list.

Our current list, or what I'll call the medium list, includes all the departments which invited Chris to come out for an interview. Eleven is kind of a lot of interviews to take, but, once again, we're not going to be picky yet. Although it's been a long interview process (still not over), and it's really intense, Chris has been living the good life. They're paying for airfare, all his meals, and nice hotels. When he comes home, he only half jokingly asks what's for dessert and if he could please have new towels.

Someday within the next month, he'll see what schools want to give him offers and we'll have a short list. Until then, here's what we're dealing with, in order of ranking (from best to good):

University of Illinois - Urbana-Champaign
Cornell (Ithaca, NY)
University of North Carolina - Chapel Hill
Princeton (NJ)
University of Washington (Seattle)
Emory University (Atlanta, GA)
Iowa State (Ames)
University of Rochester (NY)
University of California - Riverside
Notre Dame (South Bend, IN)
University of Vermont (Burlington)

"I like girls that wear Abercrombie and Fitch..."

My mom always shakes her head whenever the Abercrombie and Fitch clothing brand comes up. She reminds me of how uncool they once were, back when they were selling fishing and hunting clothes to bearded men. Its marketing department somehow (well, with very revealing photos) totally revamped the company's image and it seems to be headed toward eternal trendiness in the teenage/young adult crowd.

Even though there aren't any A and F stores in Germany, the sheer popularity of the brand name has been imported. When I heard that my friend's daughters were wishing for something from the store, I volunteered to shop for them while I was in California.

A couple of days ago, I presented the girls with a couple of hoodies still saturated with the scent of the men's cologne that fills the store.

They fit! They look cute! It was like "Christmas reloaded," my friend said.

The best part of this experience was that the youngest was apparently sharing the exciting news via text message with her friends. She was having a hard time convincing one boy that it was authentic, since he said very authoritatively that there are only two store locations in the world! Oh, the rumors that surround childhood. I remember a friend informing me that a couple needed to make love 7 times before a baby was made.

Anyway, I was sharing with their father the "mountain man" history of Abercrombie and how it didn't used to be so popular. He reminisced about a time when Jägermeister, the digestif, would never be brought to a party, that people used to agree that it was gross. Now, their marketing campaign is so successful that it's sold in little 100 mL bottles next to gum in the check-out lines at the store, picked up by young and old alike.

And it was my turn to admit to him that I had brought back a few of those newly trendy bottles to the US for stocking stuffers last month. Between these stories and my recent initiation into Mad Men, I'm really taking a second look at the advertising industry.