We bit the bullet and got California licenses this week. We were supposed to do this within 10 days of moving to the state, and let's just say it may have been a little longer than that. Our reason for procrastinating is obvious - going to the DMV is slightly less enjoyable than being fitted for orthodontia. At least the orthodontist give you straight teeth. The DMV gives you nothing but brusque, middle-aged ladies who have been jaded by centuries of working at the DMV. They seem to come from a parallel universe, and (recalling Dave Barry's opinion of lumberyard employees) probably scurry back out of the light at 5pm, only emerging from their underground abode when the building opens at 9 the next morning. I shouldn't say such things - one lady actually changed one of the answers on Marie's written driving exam so she could get a passing score (she didn't study), and we emerged from the building after 2 hours as the proud owners of 2 California licenses and a new registration for our van. In order to secure said items, we had to bring:

1. Checks (NO CREDIT CARDS!)
2. Old car registration
3. Proof of insurance
4. Old car title
5. Old Pennsylvania licenses
6. Marie's green card
7. My passport
8. Our marriage license
9. Smog testing certificate for the car
10. Acceptable eyesight

It probably would have been easier to just wheel our Ikea filing cabinet in the front door. In fact, I'm surprised they didn't ask for my entire dossier from Mom's computer room desk. You know - the one that has our 7th grade report cards in it. Now, we can never leave California - the switching costs are just too high.

Tuesday night was Mormon night at our hometown San Diego Padres' Petco Park. We saw the flyer at the church building, and thought "wow - what could be more fun than that?". So I bought tickets ($10 each) and we even got Stu and Adrianne to come with us. All was good until we actually sat down in the seats. Kai was a holy terror - just like he is at sacrament meeting, but worse since at sacrament meeting there are no pistacio shells to pick up off the ground and eat. Asha insisted on sitting on our laps, reminding us that she is a powerful 40lb. package of pain. Jerome, accustomed to a certain standard of luxury at Aunt-T baseball games, brokedown over the strict "no snacks" regime we implemented. To make matters worse, the game was a 1-0 pitchers duel lost by the Padres. I have successfully weaned myself off of baseball over the past 3 years, so I guess it was good not to even feel any stirrings of interest during the 5.5 innings of our baseball odyssey. Oh well - you live and learn. Next year we will not be fooled so easily.

Last night I went into the bathroom to administer some allergy eye drops because my eyes were itchy. Unfortunately, I confused the eyedrops with another identically-sized squeeze bottle. I am happy to report that my right eye is now totally free of ear wax. I put the drops in, and immediately noticed something was wrong. My eye was burning, well, like I had put Muriene in it. I flushed it out in the sink just like they taught me in chemistry class, and all was fine. I guess I'll be checking the label a little more carefully next time.

Below: baseball game, and Asha helps cut cucumbers in the kitchen.