Nothing says freedom like funfetti

This week I got a bad case of laryngitis. I could barely speak and I felt awful. Though I’m feeling a lot better now, my voice is hoarse and at any given moment, my voice gives out. I have never really lost my voice before this. I’m a talker and not being able to talk has been horrible.

It’s my worst nightmare.

It’s Scott’s dream come true.

I was determined to feel better by the end of the week. Not just because it’s my brother-in-law’s wedding this weekend but also because it’s the 4th of July.

This year I won’t be attending a BBQ or watching any fireworks. But I really wish I was. When you’ve been here for awhile, you start to really miss the hokiness of American holidays.

So, what do you do? You bring the hokiness over. And it comes in all forms - usually lovingly provided by my mother.

To celebrate the United States declaring independence from Britain, I made special patriotic cupcakes and chocolate chip cookies for my (mostly British) coworkers today.

I do realize the festivities are a day early but I won’t be in the office tomorrow. It is Independence Day after all.

1 comment July 3, 2008

Everyone wants to be Prom Queen

My sister sent me this article today. It’s entitled “School leavers want a prom just like on US television show The OC.”

Oh, The OC…it even has the power to make English teenagers wish they were California dreamin’…

The prom - along with football games, Sadie Hawkins, Homecoming Court, student council, and so much more - is something I really want my children to experience. Even if some schools do adopt proms here, I think I will still push for our future children to go to high school in the US. It just wouldn’t be the same here.

Scott was my prom date. When we arranged for him to come for prom, we also arranged for his friend, Nick, to come as well. Nick took my friend Sara to the prom. Seven years later, Nick still talks about how he got to go to a prom. Probably because Scott and him have seen “American Pie” more times than I care to admit.

We had a great time. Our night involved a fancy dinner in Georgetown, a limo ride around the monuments all lit up at night and of course, the dance itself.

It was just one of the festivities to commerate the end of high school and celebrate graduating and going on to college. Which is a big deal and really should be celebrated in a big way.

Of course with all things, people might take it a bit far. Spending more on their prom dress than you would on a wedding dress. The pressure to “go all the way” on prom night which, as far as I can tell, is really just one of those movie cliches.

The one thing that bothered me in this article:

A former primary school head teacher said, ” A friend emailed me to say that outside his local primary school on the night of the Year 6 leaving party, he’d counted four stretch Lincolns, two stretch Hummers, assorted Jags, BMWs and Mercs, all queuing to drop off buffed and puffed sprogs and sprogettes. Doesn’t it make you yearn, just a little, for a more innocent time?”

Innocent like when the kids sat in parks, drinking bottles of White Lightning and setting rubbish bins on fire?

And because Andrea asked so nicely, I have included a photo from prom.

Too bad I don’t have a scanner or you could have seen me and Scott in our Homecoming photos from the year before too. I was sporting braces and the weirdest updo ever.

4 comments July 1, 2008

I’ve got a mortgage to think about

Gone are the days when the most expensive thing I’d ever purchased was a plane ticket, followed by a handbag.

Tomorrow we become homeowners. I can now officially be one of those people who says things like “when the foundation settles” and “I’ve got a mortgage to think about”. I’m not saying I’m not scared to be one of those people who has to think about a mortgage, because I seriously am. But right now, because Scott has been handling the money part of this so far, I am thinking about accent pillows and how to convince Scott that grey is in.

I’m allowed to think about these things because last week I was thinking about more practical things. Like how in the world do you fix a running toilet if you can’t get to the tank?

This was my burning question at the walk-through. The builder said, “Oh, that’s no problem. You just remove the tile panel.”

Ok, so if my toilet is running, there’s no option to do any DIY plumbing. I have to actually get a plumber in to first remove the tiling, then look at the tank. Just another expense for homeowners.

Let’s not dwell on the negatives though.

I’ll tell you something that is really exciting. I may not have a yard or separate laundry room but I do have mixer taps. Gone are the days of running my hands underneath both hot and cold taps (”Too cold! Too hot!”) and trying to find a warm balance to wash my face in the morning.

And please don’t tell me that mixer taps don’t exist in England because everything is old here. We currently rent a new apartment and it has separate taps. That’s not a good enough excuse. Even Iraqi Kurdistan has mixer taps.

In a few weeks, when we’re exhausted from painting/packing/moving and we can’t afford to eat because we’re paying both our mortgage and rent, I don’t know if I’ll be able to muster up a post on the joys of flat-buying. And because there’s nothing more boring then seeing photos of completely empty rooms, you may be waiting awhile for some photos.

Instead I have included photos of us taken in the model flat because Scott got us roped into some fluffy PR piece about how good the builders are.

I’d like to say we look nothing like this in real life. After all, it was two hours of fake smiling.

But what I can say with certainty is that our flat looks nothing like this.

9 comments June 26, 2008

Oh I wish I were…

Oh, I wish I were an Oscar Mayer wiener
That is what I truly want to be
‘Cause if I were an Oscar Mayer wiener
Everyone would be in love with me.

An American icon was parked outside my parents’ house and I missed it.

If you are looking at this and thinking, “What in the…?” then you are probably not American and therefore you need to read up on the Oscar Mayer Wienermobile.

Here is my sister posed with her friend in the Wienermobile. This girl actually drives the giant hot dog for a living.

Apparently the neighborhood kids were lining up to see the giant wiener. (I realize that sentence could sound horrific out of context…but on a side note, I totally think the word wiener should make a come back.)

I’m sorry I missed this bit of Americana.

My mom did send me a Wienerwhistle though.

Be jealous of me.

8 comments June 19, 2008

10 things my dad taught me

The older I get, the more understanding I get about my parents. The more I realize they are just human. The closer I get to the age when I might want to have kids of my own, I realize how much you can screw up a kid and I have to look at my parents and think, wow, you did pretty well.

Today is Father’s Day and not surprisingly, it got me thinking of my dad.

My dad has been living in a house full of women. Every male pet we had died. What does that say about it?

My dad has been in the military most of his life and grew up in a military family. He liked order and rules and many, many times, my mom would say, “They’re just little girls. They’re not soldiers.”

My dad got stationed overseas for a large part of our teenage years and thanks to my mom, my sisters and I managed to emerge child-less and drug-free. While he was gone, I met Scott and my mom would tell my dad, “They are getting serious.” And my dad would say, “Don’t worry about it. It will wither away.”

And then it didn’t wither away and my dad returned to find that a lot had changed. But my dad had also changed. He was a lot more chilled out and I was old enough to realize that he’s just a person. He doesn’t know everything. He doesn’t always say the right things. But he is here and he is trying and that’s enough. I have learned a lot from him and I know there are many more things he’s taught me, but here are ten that come to mind:

1. Value of a dollar

We used to do chores on Saturday mornings. When we were finished, my dad would do inspections and if all was up to standard, we got a $1. I think Lisa actually got 50 cents. But then if we left a light on, we lost a quarter. I left a lot of lights on. Which led to me raiding Lisa’s Peter Rabbit bank full of quarters, but that’s a story for another time.

2. Tough love

When we were younger, Lisa and I used to get into terrible fights. We would hit and punch and kick and Lisa would pinch. She would pinch so hard I’d bleed. One night at the dinner table, I must have done something because Lisa reached over and pinched me until I started bleeding. I screamed and cried. I didn’t have the nails to pinch her back. My dad, tired and annoyed, gave me a fork.

He said, “Take this fork and stab her if you want.” And I blinked back the tears, looking at the fork and then at my little sister. Lisa looked so scared. I told my dad I didn’t want to and he made us hug and make up.

I know this may sound extreme because what if I really did grab the fork and stab my little sister? I can assure you my dad wouldn’t have let that happen. But he knew I wouldn’t do it. He knew we didn’t really want to hurt each other. And that was the lesson. (I’m pretty sure I stole some more quarters from her to make up for it anyway.)

3. I’m fine the way I am

In most of our home videos, you can find my dad stuggling to put dresses on our Barbies or being forced to be Prince Charming in our plays. Once he got past the stage of finding Barbie shoes everywhere, my sisters and I were involved in sports. And not just dance classes. I think, to my dad, I was the closest to a son that he was ever going to get. I was a bit of a tomboy and wanted to wear jeans under all my dresses and I played soccer and baseball.

My dad felt a lot more comfortable with sports. He would stand on the sidelines, yelling “attack” or “defense.” And for a few years, I didn’t mind it. Then I entered into the pre-teen years and I was suddenly so self-aware and sensitive. I just couldn’t take it and asked him to stand up on a hill where if he shouted, I could barely hear. He never stood on the sidelines again and I quit playing soccer.

I became less and less of a tomboy and just as I was entering high school I was told I had to get braces. I cried and cried. Everyone else had their braces at 11-12 years old. I remember thinking I would be the only person wearing braces in high school. I felt like no one understood me. I hated the orthodontist and hated his receptionist everytime she would tell me I was going to look so pretty once they were off. That’s what everyone said - just think what you’ll look like when you get them off! I wanted to scream, what about now? what about me now?

I didn’t want my dad to think I was being a baby or that I cared so much about the way I looked. I wanted him to still think I was tough. I was torn between wanting to be the son he never had and the daughter that I really was. My mom must have filled my dad (who was in Korea) in on what was going on because I got an email from him shortly after and in the email, he said, “You already have a knockout smile” and at the time, it meant the world to me.

4. How to drive a manual car (the first time)

My dad loves driving manual. He bought Amanda a red Volkswagon rabbit convertible for her first car. The problem was she didn’t know how to drive manual. It became clear very fast that he bought it for himself. When it was my turn to learn to drive, he tried teaching me manual. We drove onto an army base and found some quiet roads. Lisa sat in the backseat, listening to her discman. I was horrible at it. And he really did try to stay patient. I drove us up to a 4-way stop and stalled just as it was my turn. I was in the middle of the intersection. Suddenly cars were coming at every direction. I pleaded with my dad to tell me how to restart. He told me to sit tight. He got out of the car and started directing traffic. I was so embarrassed as cars passed by looking at me and wondering what was going on. Lisa had ducked down in the backseat.

He must have stood there directing traffic around me for 15 minutes. By the time he got back in the car, I was crying and vowed never to drive again.

When I was learning to drive manual ten years later and on the other side of the road in a different country, I thought of this incident and after I stalled in an intersection again, I laughed. And laughed. Mostly because of nerves. But I didn’t cry and I think my instructor is forever grateful that I didn’t. I told my instructor the story later. He laughed too.

5. Wear sensible shoes (when driving)

One summer I was driving in flip flops and I got the flip flop caught under the accelerator. I crashed into the back of the neighbor’s car. Not only did I have to pay for all the damages, I also was forbidden to wear flip flops/sandals/heels while driving. Every once in awhile, my dad would walk out to the car just as I was pulling away and ask for me to show him my shoes. I started wearing sneakers on just my right foot so that I never got in trouble. My car was always filled with right shoes.

6. On boys

When I was 12, I had a big crush on one of the neighborhood boys. At school, he had asked if I was going to see the movie “Tommy Boy” and I desperately wanted to go. I asked my mom but she said no. I sat outside in the frontyard, crying. When my dad got home from work, he asked me what was wrong. I explained about the boy and the movie and how everyone would be there except me and how I would just die if I couldn’t go. My dad gave me $5 and told me to go. My crush sat next to me in the theater and he held my hand for almost the whole movie.

A few years later, my dad picked my friend and me up from school and we asked if he would drive us past my friend’s crush’s house just to see if he was home. And right as we were in front of his house, my dad laid on the horn and laughed hysterically as my friend and I screamed and hid under the seats. I didn’t tell him about my crushes after that.

7. How to efficiently pack a bag

As mentioned before in this blog, we travelled and moved around a lot. We each had our own carry-ons and we learned early on that “you pack it, you carry it.” I can (that doesn’t mean I always do) pack like the best of them. I roll my clothes. I stuff things in my shoes. I layer. Thanks to my dad, I can pack a car like I’m playing a game of Tetris.

8. About sex

People who know my dad are choking on their morning coffee right about now. The truth is, my dad did not give me the birds and the bees talk. My mom did (as did the TV, books, friends, etc). But when I was 18 and going to visit Scott for the first time by myself, my dad came into my room and sat awkwardly on my bed. He stared at his hands for a long time and then slapped his hands against his knees as if he had just come up with a great idea. He said, “Look, don’t f@#k up your life. And I mean that in every sense of the word.” And then he patted my shoulder and walked out.

9. Dream big

Both my parents encouraged my sisters and me to be whatever we wanted to be. When it came to applying for university, my dad told us, “You get in and I’ll find a way to get you there.” While most of my friends were tied to applying to state schools, I had my heart set on getting away. Boston, New York, Chicago, London. All the while, my parents said, “Keep your grades up. If you get in, we’ll talk about it.” And I got in and my dad took out a loan and moved me in.

Then he said, “Keep your grades up. If you make Dean’s list, you won’t have to pay me back.” And so I did (except one quarter…damn economics!) and then I told my parents I wanted to study abroad. And my dad said, “You get accepted and we’ll get you there.” And I did and I spent four amazing months in London.

Two years later, Scott asked my dad for his permission to marry me. And my dad said, “If you treat her as well in marriage as you have in courtship, you’ve got my blessing.” And Scott does.

10. Don’t grow up so fast

There is one thing I think about every once and awhile and when I do, I feel this guilt and sadness that I have a hard time even putting into words. Years ago - I think I was 15 - my dad was preparing to move to Korea for two years. It was a difficult time for everyone in the family. I was at that age when I wouldn’t be caught dead with my dad at the mall.

And there we were, at the mall. I can’t remember what we were doing there but my dad parked the car and was trying to talk to me about stuff, and I was so focused on getting in and out before someone saw me with my dad. As we were walking towards the doors, my dad reached for my hand and he held my hand for a second before I pulled away. I remember thinking, ohmygod, what if someone thinks we’re together? Gross!

I was too old to hold hands with my dad but now I know I was also too young to realize that moments like this - moments with my dad - would become more and more rare. I now know I should have given his hand a squeeze before letting go.

8 comments June 15, 2008

Put your hands where I can see them

Last September we found ourselves standing in the Non-US Citizen line at Immigration in Washington, DC. This was before we were told that we don’t have to wait in that line if we’re travelling together since I am a US citizen. They never bothered to tell us until…oh, I don’t know…our 57th trip through Dulles Airport!

Anyway, now we know. But back then we had no idea so we just waited and waited and we talked about how maybe one day we can go through the fast line together.

As we were being shuffled up and down the Immigration hall, we watched two small English boys in front of us get very close to a major “we-are-so-bored/hungry/hot/tired-are-we-there-yet” meltdown before their mother grabbed the passports out of the father’s hands and thrusted them at her sons.

Suddenly the boys jumped up, put their sunglasses on, flipped open their passports and said, “FBI, you’re under arrest!”

They did this over and over again. They never tired of it. They practiced whipping the passports out of their back pockets. They jumped out from behind their mom. They pretended to handcuff their father. The parents just stood there, most likely having their own internal “we-are-so-bored/hungry/hot/tired-are-we-there-yet” meltdown.

This FBI game carried on until they reached the front of the line and stopped just before reaching the plexiglass booth which held a surly Immigration officer. The boys stood there, open-mouthed and wide-eyed, watching as the officer flicked through their passports and instructed their father to place his finger on the fingerprint identification scanner.

Then the Immigration officer handed the older boy his passport and the boy stared curiously at the stamp. Then, behind his parents who were answering questions, the boy flipped open his passport, pressed it into his little brother’s face and whispered, “FBI. Got ya.”

On Saturday I got my passport back with a shiny new page: Indefinite Leave to Remain. It has my photo, and my name and some other details. But the most exciting one is the line that reads: Vulcan 2. I don’t know what it means but it sounds cool.

I can see how I am now going to pass the time spent waiting in Immigration lines at Heathrow. “MI5. Vulcan 2.”

6 comments June 9, 2008

Like rush hour, but fun.

It is not uncommon for me to sit across from an impeccably dressed businessman on the train and as I’m opening my magazine, he’s opening a can of beer. Some would say it is the perfect way to wind down after a rough day at the office.

As of June 1, no one is allowed to crack open a brewski on the London underground. This won’t change what I see on my commute since drinking booze is still allowed onboard the overland trains but it has outraged people. Especially since this is the first piece of legislation the new mayor of London has pushed through. Talk about priorities!

About a month ago, we started to see promotional material about the upcoming ban on drinking and carrying open containers of alcohol on the Tube. Soon after, groups started forming on facebook and suddenly everyone was talking about “Last Orders” - a party on the Circle Line the night before the alcohol ban.

We didn’t intend on being part of the celebrations but if you were in London on Saturday night and you were using public transport, you could not have missed the party. And we actually had alcohol on us since we had just come from a BYOB restaurant and we overestimated the amount of alcohol we’d actually drink with our Indian meal. So we passed around our bottles and joined in.

We stood on the platform at Aldgate East and waited and waited for our train. Several trains past, filled with people. And this was the District Line, not even where the party was. Six stations closed due to overcrowding.

What we saw on Saturday night was a true testament to the powers of social networking sites. Sadly as the BBC reported, some party-goers got out of hand and several people were hurt. But for many, it was, as one party-goer said, “Like rush hour, but fun.”

Here are some photos from the night (taken from readers’ photos on thelondonpaper.com and bbc.com)

People dressed up as the new mayor, Boris Johnson:

And a video I took of some action at Aldgate East station before it was closed. What you’re seeing is a packed train and you’re hearing the shouting and screaming of the cocktail party.

5 comments June 4, 2008

England finally gets something before the US and this is the reaction we get!

From: Caitlin
Sent: 29 May 2008 11:42
To: Scott
Subject: satc

Message from Jane:

have a good day
and ENJOY the movie
text me after with your impressions
i will say this:
as a movie…it wasn’t great
it was just amazing because it was “Sex and the City”
you may want to warn scott

From: Scott
Sent: 29 May 2008 11:48
To: Caitlin
Subject: RE: satc

So it’s not even that good. Boo.

From: Caitlin
Sent: 29 May 2008 11:55
To: Scott
Subject: RE: satc

I think it will be like the Simpsons movie. Just like a long episode.

You like the Simpsons.

From: Scott
Sent: 29 May 2008 12:10
To: Caitlin
Subject: RE: satc

Yes, I like the Simpsons. The SIMPSONS.

3 comments May 29, 2008

Under promise, over deliver

A couple months ago, I went out to dinner with my friend, Jane, and her mom, who was visiting from the US. Her mom asked me to tell her about our new flat.

I gave her some details and then said, “It’s 688 sq feet.”

And Jane’s mom said, “Ok, and what is it total?”

I replied, “No, that’s it. 688 sq feet total.”

The look on her face was priceless.

I also had to tell her I hadn’t actually seen the flat. We had seen model flats but none of them were the exact set-up as ours. I had also seen the blue prints but it’s too hard to imagine real walls and doors. Not to mention the fact that radiators are the norm here and they are always in the most inconvenient spots of a room. So as I was imagining where we’d put our bed and where my new overstuffed armchair would go, I had to keep in mind that there would probably be a big, ol’ radiator right smack in the middle of the wall.

Scott and I agreed that when we did finally get to see our new home, we wouldn’t be negative. After all, we’d just committed to paying more money than I ever thought we would at this stage in life. Scott, knowing that I probably couldn’t control my emotions on the day, had been managing my expectations all along. When I would look at our current kitchen and say, “Our new kitchen will feel a lot bigger, right?” Scott would answer, “It will be a bit bigger, but not much.”

The “under promise, over deliver” mantra worked well. As did the pep talk we had in the parking lot before going in.

This weekend we saw all 688 sq feet of our new place. And I was pleasantly surprised.

4 comments May 27, 2008

That thing called love - and CompuServe

Well, I’ll be damned.

Chicago couple blazed the trail for Internet love

And we thought we were trailblazers ten years ago.

Add comment May 22, 2008

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