it's a nuthin' burger

how's your morality these days?

2012-01-26T11:26:00.003-05:00

Thanks, Dad, for introducing me to Ted (truly awesome website with videos from masters of industry that are expensive conferences to attend, but free videos to watch of aforementioned expensive conferences).

One of the videos I watched yesterday was by a gentleman named Jonathan Haidt, discussing the moral roots of liberals and conservatives (check it out), and I thought it was something that, regardless of where you fall on that spectrum, would be important to watch. So I'm including a link to it here, and hope you enjoy.

In his talk, he mentions a series of quizzes you can take to evaluate your own morality. As someone who was taught by her parents to think she's really great (thanks Mom and Dad), with exceptional standards and judgment, I thought I would take a few of these quizzes and validate my own wonderfulness. Turns out I have some moral ambiguity, and I thought my favorite readers would enjoy seeing how their own infallible morality stands up. Check it out: www.yourmorals.org

**feel free to check out other great videos by clicking on the word "Ted" above.**

anti-gravity

2012-01-26T11:19:00.001-05:00

I was sitting at home the other day, I have an anti-gravity machine in my house. It's called "baby scream." I watched it in action as I fed Willa the other day. She was sitting in her high-chair playing with her favorite toy--an empty bottle of baby lotion.

As is typical of her age and developmental level, she threw it on the floor, looked at it, looked at me, and screamed until I picked it up. It was amazing. After about four of these experiences, I saw what must be happening through Willa's eyes:

1. I get to play with my favorite toy
2. I push it right to the edge of the tray
3. One little touch and it careens over the edge and makes a fantastic noise on the floor
4. It stays there
5. There's Mom. Why isn't she fixing this? I know...
6. WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH....
7. Hey. There's my favorite toy again. This is awesome.
8. I wonder what happens if I push it right to the edge of the tray again...

Wise to her scam, I realized that I'm doing her (and my back) no favors by trying to teach her that the laws of physics do not apply to babies in high-chairs. I determined to stop.

And then she screamed...

yeah, but...

2012-01-19T16:44:00.002-05:00

Where do we get this need as parents to compare our children to others? Along with the comparison comes a feeling of guilt or remorse if our children aren't "measuring up" to the same milestones met by others.

I've recently been told of several babies, just a few days older than Willa (or in some cases younger), who are sitting up, crawling, and even pulling up to standing. And my own dear niece, whose is a mere week older than Willa, who has already lost her desire for her pacifier. Willa's falling behind (or so my panicked, insane mother voice tells my brain)!

So I tell myself to calm down. Rationally, I know that babies are each different, meeting milestones at their own pace and in their own time. Hell, Einstein didn't even talk until he was FIVE (or so I've heard--always meant to look into that, but never have).

But I couldn't seem to help myself today, as I sat on my floor watching Willa do her military crawl as though trekking through miles of mud under barbed wire, and hoping she would pick up the pace and do what her contemporaries are doing. I watched her "unconventional" crawling and the fact that, though she can sit up, she far prefers to be on her belly skootching (if that's even a word), and not at all interested in standing. When will she catch up?

And then it hit me: if we were to have a fire, she would DEFINITELY be safer than these over-achieving babies, as no one is able to get as low or cover as much ground as quickly as she is with her military crawl.

So beat that you parents of "traditional" crawlers, sitters, and standers!

how to become bee-ootiful

2012-01-12T15:03:00.000-05:00

I saw this in youtube and thought it was pretty funny. Dad...this one's for you!

How to Become Beautiful

mental note

2012-01-12T12:46:00.001-05:00

If mental notes are notes for one's mental, my mental is broken.

I'd given my mental a note about seven years ago when, in the midst of a Vermont winter, my baby dude pooped a poop that got goop over each item of clothing, socks, shoes, and hair, and I'd been remiss in having a change of clothes with me. The mental note on that day--one I thought I'd really taken to heart--was to never leave the house without a change of clothes. Bundling up a baby in a diaper and thin blanket is insufficient for a hearty snowstorm.

Spring forward seven years to where I'm sitting in my car, realizing not only has she pooped (which she wasn't supposed to do since she'd already done her "bidness" once that morning), but she has umber-colored goo on her shirt, pants, socks, and hair; I have a finite amount of diaper wipes (definitely not enough for this momentous job), no diaper, no clothes to change her into, no blanket, and it's about 20 degrees outside. I know exactly where the bag is with all this equipment. It's nestled safely on the shelf in my closet. 60 miles away. Smooth! It was at that specific moment that I realized my mental note taker is either broken, or the darn thing thought it was a note to make you go mental, in which case it's working quite well.

So I take off her diaper and get to work de-gooing her person, sit her on the changing pad I had with me (thank heavens for that!), and she's happy as can be. peeing, she's so happy. on the passenger seat of the car.

"Perfect!! Why would you do that in your diaper while you're spraying sticky all over the yourself? Yeah! Save it for later. By all means."

She twists her body and smiles.

And that's when I tell myself:

"Mental Note number TWO (never had to do two notes for the same thing before):

Don't do this again.

Bring diapers, wipes, spare clothes, and blankets with you.

Everywhere.

Full stop!"

Sunday conversation

2012-01-08T23:52:00.001-05:00

"Are you happy?"

-Yes, Mom. I'm really happy.

"What would it take for you to be completely happy?"

-Maybe if I was a grown up. Then I could build a ship.

"Don't be a grown up. They're all cynical and busy and working all the time. Their lives aren't filled with curiosity and wonder and imagination. Didn't you know that being a child is like living with magic?"

-Then maybe I'll just be a midget.

what yellow tastes like

2012-01-04T23:04:00.003-05:00

I've heard that babies experience their worlds through taste. Our little lady is a case study for this theory. You name it, she wants to taste it.

The other day I was particularly aware of this, and amused by the manifestation of her thought process:

Step 1: Get some new object in her sights
Step 2: Eyes light up
Step 3: Legs kick
Step 4: Arms flail and reach for object
Step 5: Breath shortens
Step 6: Drool commences until the object is in her mouth.

For instance, when she saw one of her striped socks (hot pink and white stripes, if you must know), she begins the aforementioned behaviors until the sock is safely in her mouth.

But then I realized it's not just objects that she wants. She wants colors, too. When she saw a yellow sock, she thought, "Well that thing looks similar to this thing, but that thing is yellow. I wonder what yellow tastes like." And once it's in her mouth, she thinks, "Yellow is wonderful. It tastes totally different than those stripes. I love yellow."

She has had similar experiences with blue, pink, red, green, and orange; polka dots, stripes, argyle, and plaid.

And sound.

She loves to taste sound.

The other day, she heard two wooden blocks strike, and she started her six-step process for engagement. She looked a little disappointed that she couldn't seem to get to taste the actual sound, but the blocks were interesting for a while.

Until she found a metal pot and its lid. That was tasty!

apology letter

2011-12-22T11:58:00.000-05:00

We used to do a version of the "naughty step" where, when Little Dude would do something inappropriate, we would have him sit on the "thinking step" to think about what he'd done and why it wasn't appropriate.

Honestly, it never worked. Instead of thinking, he'd just sit and sing to himself until I came back a few minutes later to talk to him, at which point he'd smile, hug me, kiss me, and say something to the effect of, "Sorry Mom! I definitely learned my lesson this time," before running off to play.

So now that he's a little older, we decided to do the thinking letter, where, when he's done something inappropriate, he has to sit down and write about his thoughts: why he got in trouble, what he thinks about it, and possibly what he could do differently next time.

We'd only done one letter so far. One about honesty. He wrote about what honesty is, why it's important, and things he can do or say when he feels like telling a lie. He didn't enjoy writing the paper, and it was honestly an excruciating experience for me, having to coax and prod him to finish the darn thing (it took over three hours--five if you include his looking the words up in the dictionary and me translating the definitions for him). His heart wasn't in it.

Fortunately, however, it seemed to work pretty well. When we next asked him if he used soap to get all clean when he took a shower, he said, "Well...I felt like saying yes, but I decided to be honest and tell the truth that I didn't do it yet. Can you please help me?"

And so things went for the next few weeks...until the other day when I felt the need to assign another letter.

He had been eating lunch (slowly, as he eats most meals), having finished a glass of milk, and orange, and some cheesy Pirate Booty when he suddenly decided he wanted to be done. He stuffed about half a peanut butter sandwich in his mouth, put his dishes in the sink, and went to the front room to read some books about the Titanic (his current obsession).

As he's putting his dishes in the sink, I head downstairs to put my little lady down for a nap, and as I'm lovingly kissing her forehead, I heard muffled noises and heavy footsteps overhead.

"Mom!"

"Mom!"

"I threw up!"

I roll my eyes, knowing his tendency to stuff food in his mouth and then say it's too full and spit it into the garbage can. Finishing up with putting the girl down, I slowly trudge upstairs, preparing myself for the "starving children in China would be happy to have food to eat" lecture.

But as I approach the top of the stairs, I see globs of goo along the floor and hear him panting in the bathroom. Walking into the bathroom, I'd like to say it's the sight of vomit on every surface that first struck me, but the stench beat it to the sensory punch (if you know what I mean).

I'll spare the nasty details, but the bottom line is that as I'm cleaning off the shower curtain, I tell him that, since he's been kind enough to give me a new task, he can have a new task as well. A new essay: "The problems and risks of stuffing your mouth with food." Here's exactly what he wrote:

"All the Things that Could Happen if You Stuffed Your Mouth with Food

You could:
1. throw up
2. choke
3. spit it out

Dear Mom,
I'm sorry I threw up. I'm so sorry you had to [more on back]
clean it up.

I'll never do it again.
~Calvin"

Chalk this one up to parenting success!

sushi night

2011-12-21T16:08:00.000-05:00

Little dude has developed quite a taste for Japanese restaurants since he discovered miso soup last year. He can't get enough of the stuff. So when, a few nights ago, he found out we were meeting some friends at a nice sushi restaurant, he was thrilled. He got dressed up "fancy" and was ready to go before anyone else, and chanted "miso soup! miso soup!" like you see in cheesy sitcoms when kids have a fork in one hand, spoon in the other, and pound them on the table with each syllable. Total cliché.

It wasn't a surprise, then, when miso soup was the first thing out of his mouth when the waitress came by. He was waiting patiently for its delivery when he started getting a little curious about the other goodies on the table: namely, ginger slices, wasabi, and soy sauce. I explained to him the purpose of each, poured a little soy sauce in his saucer, and explained that many people mix it with wasabi for some good sushi sauce. He was curious about the wasabi, and prodded it with his chopstick. I took a chunk and mixed it in my own saucer, at which point the little man said, "Can I try it, Mom?"

Thinking back to a few weeks ago when he was in tears after ingesting a bit of spicy salsa, I told him I didn't think he'd like it because it was pretty spicy. Usually, this is enough to make him lose attention.

"But I really want to try it. It looks pretty good."

"Bud, it's really spicy."

"Mom, I'm grown up, now. I can handle it."

So, respecting his new-found manliness, I get a speck of wasabi and put it on his saucer thinking I'll add a bit more soy sauce and it will dilute it a bit (he having already gulped down the soy sauce in his saucer thinking it was a delicious drink). He tells me he wants to taste it plain, and after my last vain attempt to dissuade him, I gently dab the speck of wasabi on his tongue.

After the two seconds it takes for his brain to register the sensation on his tongue, his face contorts and his hands cover his mouth. He starts breathing like an ox that just ploughed an entire field in record time, and tears come to his eyes.

I tell him to take a drink of water, which he quickly gulps down (and tells me he doesn't think his stomach can digest the ice he just swallowed whole), and sits quietly for a few moments processing the experience until he finally issues his verdict:

Tears streaming down his face, he says succinctly and in total deadpan, "Well, that was unpleasant."

epilogue

2011-12-21T14:10:00.001-05:00

My little man likes to spend some alone time in his room between the time I tuck him in and the time he turns the light out. I'm never quite sure what he does, but I assume each young person needs a little alone time. Sometimes he tells me in the morning what he did the previous nights: sometimes he draws, sometimes he writes, and sometimes he reads, and I can only imagine that he often plays.

The other night, Aaron went to check on the little man, and he came back chuckling to himself, saying something about an epilogue penned by our little dude. He wouldn't tell me about it, saying only that I needed to experience it for myself, and because I didn't think our little man knew what an epilogue was, I assumed it would be good for a laugh in the morning.

Now, this sketch book has lots of good nuggets in it--stuff you wouldn't expect from a seven year old--including an arbitrary page numbering system, a table of contents, and a pronunciation guide for numbers. My favorite by far, however, is the epilogue, so I've included it here for you to enjoy.

poop story number one

2011-11-17T14:12:00.001-05:00

i have two poop stories for you (one for each of my children):

STORY NUMBER ONE:
my little lady has always been what some might call "regular". it's not unusual for her to poop three, four times a day. and they end up everywhere. why, just on halloween, she came back from trick-or-treating up the block and the poop had moved in a way i can only describe as a slow lava flow. when i got to it, it was up around her shoulders, heading toward her neck. while impressed with the volume, i wasn't surprised and knew precisely what to do.

so a few weeks ago when she went two days without a single poop, i was gobsmacked. i asked a friend of mine (who also happens to be a family practice doctor) if I should just give her a little Miralax, she said she didn't think Miralax was recommended for children under 17 (see next story for appreciation of the timing of that advice). instead, she suggested i try to give her some diluted apple juice, some pureed prunes, and, worse-case scenario, a little glycerin suppository.

little lady won't touch applesauce, apple juice, or (apparently) prunes (which is possibly why we find ourself in this situation--she'll only eat combinations of potato, turnip, beet, and eggplant at the moment). so i move to the worse-case scenario: glycerin suppository.

the pharmacist is very nice, noticing the woman in the laxative/suppository/enema section with a puzzled look on her face, studying the products like she's finding the cure to cancer. he shows me the glycerin suppositories, but can only find a bottle with the adult-sized products (see second story to realize why i should have run away at this point). he said, it's the exact same product, but i should just cut the nuggets into four smaller pieces. "first, cut them lengthwise, then across. oh, and get it wet to lube it up and make it easier to go in. should be painless and easy as pie to get her feeling better," he tells me.

so i do.

i cut it oh-so-carefully. i make sure the water i wet it with is nice and warm so it doesn't alarm her sphincter. i give the little lady a quick look of encouragement to let her know all her problems are about to end, and glide that bad boy in.

but she didn't understand. why was she crying? she wasn't supposed to cry! he assured me it was painless and would be easy as pie. she doesn't look like she thinks it's easy as pie. she's looked at me like, "how could you DO this to me? i TRUSTED you!" and i think to myself, "oh my GOSH! did i just sodomize my child?!?? how do i get it out? abort! abort!"

but there's no going back.

things worked out fine, in the end. after 30 minutes or so, her face turned red and she worked it all out. she felt fine, i'm sure. he squeaked and cacked her happy noises, but i'm still not over that trauma. better start saving up her therapy--hers or mine. probably won't matter...we'd talk about the same thing.

STORY NUMBER TWO:
Ah, Miralax. for those of you unfamiliar with its power, it is a mighty, mighty thing. when our little dude was about 2, he stopped pooping. for no reason we knew, he just decided he didn't like it, so he'd hold it in, making it a painful experience when he finally couldn't hold it anymore.

the doctor wrote a prescription for miralax and told us to give him about a teaspoon in his drink (instead of the capful--about 2-3 tablespoons--for us grownups). it worked like a charm, and everyone was happy. eventually, we stopped using the miralax and it was forgotten.

fast forward about two years. we were living in connecticut, heading to vermont for the weekend. little dude is constipated and having a hard time working it out. as we're heading out the door, husband suggests we should do something for the little dude, and was looking through out medicine cabinet. he saw the bit bottle of miralax in the back and asked if that worked pretty well. remembering how it had saved our hides years earlier, i commended his brilliance, and told him to give him a little in a drink before we left.

he did.

about 25 minutes into our drive to vermont, little dude starts breathing funny in the backseat of the car. here's what went down:

dude: "uh uh uh" (funny breathing/panting)
me: "what's up, dude? you ok?"
dude: "i think i'm gonna explode."
me: "where are you going to explode?"
dude: "i feel like my po-po is going to explode poop out of it" (still panting)
me (to hubby): "how much did you give him?"
hubby: "i gave him what the bottle said to give him."
me (panicking): "which part of the label? the bottle part or the prescription part?"
hubby (panicking): "the bottle part. what was the prescription?"
me: "pull over at the next bathroom you see. NOW!"

now, the whole time this conversation is going on, little dude is looking pale, panting his panicked poop pant, and trying his best to hold it in. the problem was, hubby gave dude the full adult dose (plus a titch extra for good measure, i'm sure).

hubby: "next exit is in 1/2 a mile. i'll get off and there's a gas station right there."
me: "HURRY!"
dude: "mom...i'm not gonna make it"

noises ensue from the backseat, and he breaks into tears.

hubby speeds up, but i'm sitting there thinking it's really just a recovery mission, now. not much we can do to fix what's already happened.

oh, and did i mention it's snowing? freezing cold. and snowing. so we hit traffic. someone has spun out, so the exit is backed up with rubberneckers and i'm sitting in the passenger seat with a husband sweating and frantic to get to the exit, and a son in the backseat crying and probably covered in who-knows-what (you can guess, though).

finally, we get to the gas station, i fly out of the seat and open the back door to get little dude, and he's refusing to get out of the car. now i KNOW it's bad. his whole back, shirt, pants, car seat, etc., are COVERED in an ash-gray goo. it doesn't even look like poop, though it somethow still smells much, much worse! and somehow i have to get this...STUFF...and this child from where he is and the state he's in to a state of some order and cleanliness. and we're at a gas station. and it's snowing, so the carwash is out of the question.

luckily, we have a suitcase in the car with some clothes and underwear for him, so i collect a few things and carry him into the bathroom, avoiding eye contact with the cashier who will, invariably, have a really crappy (excuse the pun) evening cleaning the women's restroom.

in the filthy restroom, i assess the situation, and it's worse than i thought. in-the-hair-and-dripping-on-the-floor worse. as i take his clothes off, this gray stuff is flying all over the room: on the walls, in my hair...everywhere. somehow, there's comfort in having it not look like poop. in my mind, it's just a mess of tapioca that somehow got everywhere, and i can clean up tapioca!

eventually we somehow get things somewhat cleaned up (it involved almost an entire roll of paper towels and the tiny, dirty sink), and we leave the bathroom a bit cleaner, i think, than when we left it (my parents always taught me to do that) because i had to wipe up some of the goo on the floor and walls that probably hadn't been otherwise touched in quite some time.

hubby had mercifully peeled the carseat cover off and everything was thrown in a plastic bag to be dealt with at the next opportunity. (i wanted to just torch the whole car and be done with it, but was told it wasn't a good idea.) fortunately, everything had been purged from the little dude's body all in one go, so his insides were whistling dixie and he was ready to fill it up again.

i, on the other hand, am still trying to get over the trauma of the ordeal (clearly)!

Friday Jones: Mystery Solver and the Case of the Missing Stapler

2011-10-27T12:33:00.001-04:00

Friday Jones.* Man of impeccable taste and intelligence. Tips his mustache like other men tip their hats. Known for his uncanny ability to solve unsolvable mysteries.

Jones was hired last week for a caper involving a stapler. The stapler in question had been taken from the bedroom desk of a mother. The oldest son was suspected, but said he had no recollection of the theft. Friday Jones, however, with his apt skills at sniffing out missing items, quickly found the stapler in the boy's top drawer of art supplies. The boy, confronted with the evidence, confessed to the crime, and Jones, with a tip of his mustache and a "Good day, my lady", disappeared into anonymity once more.

Thank you Friday Jones...wherever you are.

* Character and eccentricities entirely made up and developed by little dude. Story based on actual events.

sleep, glorious sleep!

2011-10-27T12:28:00.001-04:00

I hadn't realized how very tired I was until I got a nap yesterday. I haven't taken many since the little lady was born, so when I woke up I felt so...different. I thought, "Ho Chi Minh!! That's what it feels like to be me. I'd rather forgotten."

That amazing nap...such a simple thing...gave me so much energy and positive emotion that I had the house cleaned, sheets on beds changed and cleaned, walked to the market to buy some potatoes, turnips, and carrots with which I made about 5 jars of baby food (most of it is already gone), made 10 ghosts with my little dude to hang in windows, and felt downright chipper even though "we" (little dude) had soccer practice in freezing weather after the little lady typically goes to bed (so she cried the whole 75 minutes), and spent some time relaxing in a nice warm bath when I would typically have been a nasty curmudgeon trying to get stuff done before collapsing in bed.

Unfortunately, my little lady didn't oblige today with a repeat, but I think I can draft enough energy from yesterday to keep me going. It made me realize, though, what a wonderful thing sleep is. Totally underrated and underappreciated...until you don't get it and then you do.

You've been Boo'd

2011-10-25T23:51:00.000-04:00

Is there a "scrooge" character for holidays in general? If not, I'd like to apply for the position.

We received a knock on the door at the end of last week. Actually, I didn't even hear the knock. I had my hands in hot sudsy water, dreaming of a bedtime that couldn't come quickly enough, when my little dude comes running into the kitchen to say someone had knocked on the door.

"Okay, okay," I told him, not particularly hurrying. After all, people knocking at the door without an appointment are more problematic to me than telemarketers. They generally want something I don't want to give: time, magazine subscriptions, religious conversations, etc. And I'm not as comfortable slamming the door as I am slamming the phone (I imagine one day I will be, though).

So as I'm walking to the door, I hear another knock, and now I'm thinking the person on the other side of the door is either about to have a baby and needs a room at the inn, or they're really PUSHY. I open the door with what I can only assume is a really put-out expression (my face hides no emotions) only to find that no one is there. I should have been relieved; however, I look down to find that someone has left a Halloween package on my door with a note that says, "Boo!"

As I read the note, it says now I'm obligated to "Boo" two of my neighbors.

"Great!" I think to myself. "Now I have to spend time and money to put out two of my neighbors. That stinks! Although I'd hate to do this to someone I don't know, I like the people I've met and I'd hate to make them feel obligated to do it. If I do nothing, I'll just feel like a schmuck, plus my little man here is jumping up and down like a hot potato, so I can't exactly hide it and pretend it never happened. DANG!"

After several days of avoiding this, last night, Little Dude and I entered the chilly night air to fulfill our part of this ridiculous obligation.

We arrived at the first house: someone I don't particularly know, but they have five children of various ages ranging from 5 to 17 (and not even Mormon) so I thought the chances of someone enjoying it would be highest.

As we walked to their house, I felt really uncomfortable. I thought, "I'm going to knock and run with possibly THE worst hider in the world. This can't end well. We've gone over the plan several times: he will get everything set on the porch first, then knock LOUDLY and run as fast as he can to the end of their walkway to hide behind the shrubs where I'll be waiting."

To make a short story quite long, we walk to the house and realize there's a gate. A gate! I try to convince my co-conspirator that this is a tactical nightmare and that we should switch houses. He won't hear of it. After what was really too much discussion for such a simple task, we slowly approach the gate (crunching on fallen leaves the whole way), he places the package and "Boo" paper, and I get into position behind the shrub. He knocks faintly and RUNS to meet me behind the shrub.

And then he starts talking to me. I mean EVERYTHING in his little head comes spewing out of his mouth:

"This is awesome. Shh! Do you think they heard it? Are they coming? Shh! Oh! I think I see someone. Oh, it was a cat. Shhh! Should I go knock again? This is so awesome! We should do this every night. Shhh! Oh! There's someone by the door. Why are they not opening the door. They keep looking out. Oh, look. Shhh!  There are more people looking out windows. Hee hee! This is SO awesome! Shhhh! etc."

Finally, someone opens the door and sees the package left on the porch, and they say, "Dang it! Does this mean we have to do this to other people?"

"My thoughts exactly!" I think to myself.

A younger brother comes to the door and says, "Thank you!" to the night, to which the older brother says, "Whoever did this is long gone. They're note stupid. I've been watching out the window for a while, and whoever did this has to be gone."

Nope. We're the idiots who stick around.

Finally, they close the door and we wait for a few minutes so they don't see the losers still hiding. Then we book it across the street to do number two (house number two, that is) and get this dumb thing done once and for all.

So we run across the street (with squeals of delight from my partner in crime), and it's decided (not by me) that I will be the one to leave the goodies on the porch, knock, and run this time. So we decide where the hideout will be at the next house, and it's decided that the best place is just around the side of the house. No lights, not too far from the porch, and we can see when someone opens the door. Perfect!

I place the goodies, knock VERY loudly, and run to meet my giddy guy. Again, he can't contain his excitement and he repeats his verbal diarrhea from the previous location (except without the comment about the cat).

"Shh! You're totally missing the point of hiding!" I tell him.

But no one comes to the door.

After about three minutes (which felt like 50 to both of us), he says, "Maybe they're not home. I should go knock again."  And he does. Very quietly.

Another three minutes pass. Still no one.

"I'll go knock again."

Another quiet knock, and another three minutes. Then the lights come on, but still no one comes to the door.

"Maybe I should knock loudly." And he does.

Finally, the mom comes to the door, but he only opens the little metal "peek-a-boo" door--you know, the one where you can only see an adult standing right in front of you--and says, "Hello? Is someone there?" pause   "Hello? Who's out there?"

Silence.

Then she shuts the little peek-a-boo door...

...AND OPENS THE WINDOW RIGHT BY US!!

I see her pressing her head on the screen and trying to see us. I'm thinking, "Who picked this stupid place to hide? How did we pick the two WORST places tonight?!?!!"

"Hello? Is someone there? I can hear you. I think I can see someone there. Who's out there? What do you want?" (none of this is sounding particularly hospitable and friendly)

It's at this point I realize these poor people were robbed two months ago (nothing major--just bikes stolen from the garage), and I don't see her husband's car in the driveway. She's alone with her two small children and probably feeling scared and threatened. I'm thinking, "This will be the first time someone gets arrested for doing a freaking 'Boo' to someone in the neighborhood."

And my little guy is not helping our situation. He's snorting with delight (like he always does when he's hiding, hoping he'll be found) and trying to see her looking for us.

She finally goes to the door, opens it, and sees the package on her doorway, puts two and two together, and (hopefully) realizes she's in no danger. She takes it inside and I finally start feeling like we might make the night without having our mug shots taken.

To avoid being seen, we decide to run to the end of the street, cross the street out of sight, and head home on the other side of the street.

As we're running down the street, my little man trips, rolls on someone's grass and is up and running as seamlessly as any savannah animal. He's SO happy, "whispering" about how AWESOME this was and how we should TOTALLY do this again for Thanksgiving.

Bah humbug!

Toughest vaquera in the West

2011-10-06T15:30:00.003-04:00

This baby of mine is one tough tootsie:

She spits milk at you if you look at her crossways (and even if you don't).

She grabs your skin relentlessly, digging in her nails and twisting until you beg for mercy.

She wakes you in the middle of the night just for fun, and then laughs in your face.

She poops all over your best pants without remorse...when you're in public.

She's AWESOME!

The Latchkey Lament

2011-09-29T19:31:00.001-04:00

What child wouldn't be happy to have Mom home after school having made fresh, warm cookies, helping with homework, and kicking around a soccer ball? Mine. My silly child is wondering if he could be a latchkey kid. He celebrated the other day when, as we walked home, I handed him the key so he could race home to go to the bathroom. As he streaks away he screams, "Hey Mom! I'm finally a latchkey kid. Even if it is for only two minutes."

Weirdo!

Yeah women!

2011-09-22T16:46:00.001-04:00

I recently heard about what sounds like a great documentary. I wanted to shareit. It's called "Miss Representation". In an effort to live more deliberately, I am making a concerted effort to sift through both subliminal and overt messages we receive from our surroundings. Feel free to host screenings in your own communities...we can only get stronger.

self-portrait

2011-09-08T15:19:00.000-04:00

I thought those of you that know my little dude might appreciate his self-portrait. On his cross-country drive this summer, he was given a camera, and going through the uploaded images was hilarious. I imagine by the 5th day straight of driving, he must have really kept himself entertained (he had taken over 700 pictures on the first day of owning the camera). This was one of my particular favorites...his self-portrait. Enjoy!

sorry for the vacation!

2011-08-29T15:26:00.003-04:00

Sorry, folks! I seem to finally be done having babies, moving across the country, and getting settled. Hopefully we're back online. (Thanks for your patience, Pepe!)

warning: graphic language

2011-08-24T13:55:00.004-04:00

Here's what happened the other day...and it got me thinking:

I had just pulled out of a parking garage in my new home town, and because I wasn't familiar with the street, I didn't realize that there was a crosswalk immediately after pulling onto the street. Once I pulled into the right-most of the two lanes headed south, I saw people walking across the street and slammed on my brakes. Thankfully, because I'd only been going about 5 mph, it wasn't a violent stop. I wasn't on the crosswalk, but had stopped somewhat close to it. The man passing closest to me at the time, talking on his cell phone, gave me a crusty look that I probably deserved. I'm sure I startled him.

Suddenly, from my far left, a woman just starting to cross the street on the lane to my left and walking with four or five of her friends, yells at me, "Are you fuckin' kidding me?!??" I must have looked at her as if she had suddenly entered a Dali painting (it seemed about that surreal, since my brain was very SLOWLY trying to process what was happening and why she was yelling at me). Clearly, she didn't appreciate my response, for she followed up her initial greeting with "God! You dumb fuckin' cunt!" and walked off.

I should mention that I don't give any weight to swear words. The only word she said that offended me was "dumb", and I was amused by the ironies of her statement. I did, however, feel a knee-jerk reaction to make a snide comment about the unfortunate tank top and pants straining to contain her mass, or how "cunts" were made for either "fucking" or popping out babies, so if it was doing one of the two, how dumb could it possibly be? And why invoke God in the whole thing at all?!??

Now, there's no way to completely understand all of the variables. Perhaps she had been struck by a car as a child and is therefore overly sensitive to what she perceives to be reckless behavior. Perhaps she has Tourette Syndrome. Perhaps she was just having a bad day. She obviously misunderstood what happened from my point of view (and how often is this the case--or how often do we even attempt to understand what could be happened from another point of view before we jump to our own hasty conclusions?).

Here are my questions, though, and I could use some help with this: Why is anger and a need to retaliate our first response to criticism or a perceived offense? I'm sure it's a bit idealistic, but I imagine days of yore when men tipped their hats; days before stop lights, when drivers would wait for other drivers or pedestrians without resentment or waving a middle finger, and mistakes or wrongs were met with patience and an attempt at understanding. Is it possible to get back to that, or are we, as a society, too far gone?

Two questions:

2011-04-08T14:26:00.005-04:00

1. I don't know why, but yesterday as I did the dishes, I wondered: if pro-lifers believe that life begins at conception, why don't they celebrate the conception day rather than the birth day? It seems like for them, although it admits to a certain level of sexuality, it might be a more significant day.

2. Why are all the news outlets more worried about which political party "loses" if the government shuts down? THE CITIZENS OF THE COUNTRY LOSE! That's who loses. Sheesh, people. The political fallout?!?? Why should anyone care about the political fallout more than the day-to-day implications of a government shutdown on the people who are powerless to do anything about it? Politicians keep their jobs, pensions, and golden health care, while the citizens they "represent" stumble around in the real world trying to figure out what to do when they have no money for groceries or rent.

Happy Birthday, Baby!

2011-04-07T15:49:00.004-04:00

I asked my Main Squeeze what kind of cake he wanted for his birthday, and he said, "a circle one," before he fell asleep watching the news last night. Knowing that, in years past, he has most frequently asked for Black Forest cake, I decided to make some yummy Black Forest cupcakes. Technically, all he asked for was a circle cake, and, though small, these fit the bill.

I'm quite proud of myself, though. After running all over town getting the ingredients, then coming home to make each component for him and assembling the gooey delight, this guy better know how much he's loved in every bite, or else!

Clearly, I'm not a food photographer, but I thought I'd share my feat with you. I had to sample one to make sure they were edible, so that's the one I've shown here. Yes, that's hand-whipped fresh cream, homemade cherry compote (I didn't make the cherries), and low-fat (but sooooo moist) chocolate cake. If anyone's in Rhode Island tonight, I'm sure we'll have an extra.

"April is a FOOL!" says Mother Nature

2011-04-01T13:43:00.008-04:00

I've got a bone to pick with that punk Punxsatawney Phil! I thought he said we wouldn't have extra weeks of winter this year. I guess that's what we get for putting such trust in a marsupial. Much to my chagrin, this morning I awoke to a new blanket of freshly fallen snow on the ground. Little Dude squealed with delight, but I, for the first time all winter, grunted a bit and felt sullen. I think I'm about ready for some warm weather and sunshine.

who knew?

2011-03-26T17:55:00.003-04:00

I remember hearing stories from my grandpa about the Blackfoot squaw that married into the family, but I never really believed it. My sister, though, taking a grad school class about race, had to undergo a DNA test (along with everyone else in the class--she wasn't singled out, here) to find out their own genetic race makeup. Turns out, she's 20% "Indigenous American." (I guess that's what they're calling it these days.) I assume that also makes me 20% Native American. I just think it's so cool!

20 percent! She must have been some squaw.

proud of the birthday boy

2011-03-18T15:16:00.004-04:00

My little dude started his birthday (as in laying in bed, eyes closed, not even fully awake) asking about if it was time to open his presents. I immediately thought his priorities were out of line (but said nothing)! When asked if he'd be disappointed if all he got was underwear, he says enthusiastically, "I love underwear!" (This made me feel a little better--not because I got him underwear, but because I thought at least he didn't have high expectations about presents. He just liked the idea of surprises.)

After school, his first question was "Can I open my presents when we get home?" Again with the presents, I thought. "Bud, you (univeral, not specific "you") open presents after cake and ice cream. Plus, we have to wait until Dad gets home. You wouldn't want to open presents without Dad there, right?" He sighed, but accepted the news well.

The weather was so beautiful, we decided to go for a walk (well, I waddled and he rode his scooter) to feed the swans. (sidenote: the bread was so hard I cut my hands trying to break it into smaller pieces, and even the swans refused to touch it. I almost seriously injured one as I tried to throw it into the water to soften it up a bit. Guess it'd been in the freezer for a while.)

As we sat on the bench watching the boats bob on the water and the swans choking on the bread, he said, "I'm SO excited about my birthday party this weekend." It's his first birthday party with friends over (yes, I'm a lame mom that hasn't given my child a birthday party since he was born!), and I was curious about had him most excited. So I asked. I expected him to say something else about the presents. But to my surprise, he said, "Probably (and then he thought about it for a few moments) spending time with my favorite friends. I'll probably forget what presents I get, but I bet I always remember who came and what we did." THAT'S MY BOY! I gave him a big hug and told him he was probably right.

But nothing made me more proud than this morning when he reminded me that today is Hat Day for Japan at his school. Kids could wear their favorite hats all day at school if they brought in a dollar to donate to the Red Cross for Japanese relief. He picked out the hat he wanted to wear (a winter cap on the one day it's almost 70 degrees here!), so I reminded him that he had to get a dollar from his piggy bank to donate to help the people in Japan. I figured I could have given him a dollar, but I wanted him to understand what it's like to make sacrifices for others. I thought it was important that he use his own money that he's been saving up, thinking I'd be teaching him a valuable lesson about sacrifice. After a little thought, he said, "Mom ... there are a lot of people in Japan, and they probably need more than one dollar. Can I give them the money I got for my birthday yesterday?"

WELL! I'm emotional anyway with all these baby hormones, but it took everything I had not to start crying on the spot. I told him that would be a really nice thing to do, and that if he did that, I'd match his donation. He thought that meant he had to wear that many hats, but I told him he could stick with one hat and we'd just give the extra money to the people in Japan.

He was happy with that, and so was I.

best dentist EVER

2011-03-02T18:20:00.002-05:00

It appears that the only time in my life I get a cavity is when I'm pregnant. The last (and only) cavity I'd had came when I was pregnant with Calvin, and at my checkup a few weeks ago, it turns out I have another one.

So today was my day to get the darn thing drilled and filled. I arrive prompty at 11:00, and find myself leaving with the entire procedure completed 15 minutes later. No shots. That's right! No anesthesia. He asked if it was OK if we didn't numb it up, and I told him it would help me practice getting in my zen place for the labor and delivery. Truth be told, I didn't feel a bit of pain. I just watched bits of tooth dust flying in the air, tasted a little nasty stuff (probably the real reason they numb you up), and was on my way. A little drilling, a little filling, a little filing, and I'm ready to eat some lunch.

Best dentist EVER! (Dr. Gregory Bender on Park Avenue in Cranston, RI, in case you're wondering.)

a little rant'll do

2011-03-01T21:50:00.004-05:00

Here are a few things I just need to get off my chest:

1. What's up with stupid parents taking their children through the Gulf of Aden amidst legitimate threats of piracy? I get having a goal, but seriously! When traveling with the family, PLEASE avoid "one of the most dangerous waterways in the world."

2. Justin Bieber: I've never heard a song of his, never seen a video or movie, but the kid drives me crazy! I'm not convinced he's a boy at all. Every time I see a picture of "him," I think, "Is it just me, or does he look like Hillary Swank in "Boys Don't Cry" when she was only trying (very hard) to look like a boy." The pictures of him with Selena Gomez are TERRIBLY uncomfortable, because I can almost hear his heavy, lusty breathing all over her. Awkward!

3. Who cares about stupid Charlie Sheen, and why is the media fueling his idiotic drug-induced delusions of grandeur? Are we at such a loss for news nowadays?? Gadhafi, anyone? New Zealand? Australia? Haiti? Ivory Coast? Seriously! I know the general public likes to watch a good train wreck, but there are so many more important things going on in the world besides stupid Charlie Sheen!

4. What's up with cutting $900 million from a state education budget, Wisconsin? But it's not even Wisconsin that's bothering me, here. It's politicians all over the freakin' country (and world). Why aren't people demanding that politicians cut their OWN benefits before cutting the benefits of others? Why aren't politicians saying, for example, "Hey, why don't I give myself and all other state and federal lawmakers a salary of $50K a year and cut my own inflated benefits? That way, when I try to cut the benefits of everyone else and take away all collective bargaining, I won't look like such an insensitive bastard? Oh, and I think I'll send my own children to the public schools whose budgets I'm cutting, and take the money I'm spending on private schools and donate that to the empty state coffers, too!" Seriously, it's not like politicians haven't known about the budget problems since the mid-90s! How could they let it get this late in the game to do ANYTHING about it?!?? (Probably because they wanted to get re-elected to cushy jobs instead of doing anything that might rock the boat; however, it's now to the point where the boat is in a typhoon and the only thing left to do is jump.)

I don't know if I feel better yet, but I've been bottling these issues up for a little while.

fun with flowers

2011-02-28T14:33:00.002-05:00

My little man had the week off last week for "Winter Recess." Good times. Most days we didn't get out of our pajamas. It was cold and mucky outside, so we didn't really see the point.

On Thursday we went to the Roger Williams Park Botanical Garden for an Eco-Exploration. We got to learn about different climates and the plants that grow and adapt to them, local animals and how their bodies change based on their environment (webbed feet for water birds, etc.), and we got to hold worms and see how to work to help break down compost. The big joy for the little guy was to make our very own soil pot, plant some seeds, and take them home to watch them grow. He decided to do a scientific experiment to see if his marigolds blood before my beans. So far, I think the marigolds are winning. One of the seeds has a sprout peeking out of the soil.

If anyone wants to conduct the experiment at home, here's how to do it:

What you'll need:

Newspaper

Masking tape

Potting Soil

Seeds

Plastic bag

Squirting water bottle (like what your hair dresser uses to wet your head)

Step 1: Take a piece of newspaper and cut or rip off the bottom 5 or 6 inches so that you have just the bottom of the page.

Step 2: Take a can of whatever you have lying around (we used veggie soup--unopened), and wrap the paper around the can. Tape with masking tape (not scotch) so you have a nice little cylinder.

Step 3: Fold the paper that hangs over the can. Make an X with the masking tape so that it stays put. You should be able to take the can out now and put back in the cupboard. If you've done it correctly, the newspaper should now look like a cup--roughly the same size as the can you just took out of it.

Step 4: Fill newspaper pot with soil

Step 5: Take your finger and stick it into the soil about 3 times to make little craters for the seeds.

Step 6: Pick whatever seeds you'd like to grow: flower, bean, vegetable, etc.. Place one seed in each of the little craters you created on the last step. Once the craters have been filled, use your finger to cover the seeds with the soil displaced when you made the craters.

Step 7: Place your newspaper soil pot inside the plastic bag. Give the soil 3-5 good squirts of water, and then seal up the bag.

You can leave it alone until you see sprouts starting to come up. Once you see sprouts, put it on the windowsill and make sure it's getting enough water.

The nice thing about this project is that once the plants are maturing, you can put the whole thing in a pot or plant it in the ground--newspaper and all.

**disclaimer: I'm not a technical writer, so if you have questions or need additional information because I've left something out, please let me know!**

giving a little back

2011-02-22T09:42:00.008-05:00

My sister is an impressive person. For those of you who don't really know her, Sarah is one hard-core, multi-tasking bit of honey. She's in a graduate program; is the business muscle for her husband's chiropractic business; running health fairs and back clinics, doing the financials, taxes, and helping manage the staff; takes her nine-year-old daughter to ballet and gymnastics; is on the board of her local climbing organization (the Climbers of Hueco Tanks Coalition); and in the meantime she could probably lift me with her pinky. You should see some of the boulders she climbs (see Dec 5, 2007 post with video). Oh, and she's pregnant while she juggles all this.

About six years ago, she decided that it was important that she find a way to give back to the community she's most involved in: the climbing community in El Paso, TX. For a while, although Heuco Tanks State Park has been a beloved spot for climbers from around the world, it had also been a party spot littered with broken glass bottles, flip tops from beer cans, and the people who strayed from the paths had eroded the natural habitat and even vandalized protected rock art.

So my sister sprang into action. Why not restore Heuco Tanks to its rightful splendor? She organized a climber cleanup, using the climbing community to help give back to the spot they all use and love. The first year, only a few climbers/volunteers showed up. But Sarah wasn't dissuaded by this. The next year, they got local companies to donate raffle prizes, they advertised, and provided food and beverages to volunteers. Volunteers would donate about three hours of service in the morning, then have the afternoon to enjoy the climbing the park offers.

Each year, the service project has grown, and this year, the sixth annual Climber Cleanup of Hueco Tanks is a testament to her vision and fortitude. They had 100 people volunteer, the maximum the state park will allow, and they are engaged in cleanup projects to continue removing the glass and can litter, but are also working on projects to reverse erosion and help protect the native plant life.

It's an example to me that individuals can make a difference. If my sister, with everything she has going on in her life, can find a way to make something like this happen in her community, we can all do something, however small it may feel, to improve the world around us. And if everyone does a little something, eventually it will be a really big something.

To see pictures of the cleanup, check out the link: 2011 Climber Cleanup

in honor of my son

2011-01-31T13:55:00.004-05:00

Boys love farts. Making fart noises. Hearing fart sounds. Farts themselves. And especially fart jokes. So, in honor of my fart-loving son, I post a link to YouTube and the great George Carlin...in a surprisingly swear-word-free bit about farts. Enjoy!

George Carlin fart jokes

de hotboine

2011-01-28T13:38:00.005-05:00

So...I have heartburn. Often. Thankfully, only during pregnancy.

Our little man is quite concerned. Especially after dinner, he follows me around with a bottle of Tums and offers them to me as after-dinner treats. And I eat them as such.

But I didn't tell him about my heartburn. I don't complain about it. I don't mention it. So where he got this idea, I'll never know. I don't talk about my heartburn except to complain to Aaron on especially bad nights as I'm trying to go to sleep. Little dude wouldn't hear this, though.

The only thing I can think of, is that he saw a commercial about heartburn several months ago and asked me what it was and what it felt like. He probably asked me if I'd ever had it, and I must have mentioned that I get it during pregnancy. It's the only explanation I can come up with.

Well, the other night I made tortilla soup. We love it! We put lots of tortilla chips, bits of chicken, chunks of avocado, mounds of shredded cheddar and a dollop of sour cream in it (you know, to make it healthy). Well, it gave me terrible heartburn, and I didn't fall asleep until about 3:00 in the morning thanks to its continuing generosity.

The next morning, our concerned son asked me if I had heartburn the previous evening, to which I responded honestly, "yes, but I feel better now."

We had leftover soup that next night, and I look over at this little person, grabbing his chest and making a face like he's about to kiss a cactus. I asked him what was wrong and he said, "OOOH! I gat de hotboine!" (With a really great New England accent and the inflection of a prohibition-era mobster.)

It was awesome. I assured him that, at six years old, he probably won't struggle with heartburn for a while, and that he should take a drink of his milk to dislodge what was probably a piece of chicken he'd swallowed whole. But the image has stayed with me, so I thought I'd share it with you, too.

a relationship with the news

2011-01-28T13:31:00.002-05:00

When Aaron comes home, he usually turns on the news and eats a re-heated dinner. I didn't realize how often this ritual occurs after our little dude is already in bed or sleeping, until two nights ago.

True to form, Aaron comes in, grabs his plate from the microwave, plops down on the sofa and turns on Katie Couric. As I'm doing stuff in the other room, I hear our little dude come downstairs and say, "Oh! I haven't seen Chip Ried in a while. I've missed him."

Aaron and I just laughed that, first, this kid knows who Chip Reid is, and second, that he even cares about what the White House Correspondent is doing on CBS. Who knew?

book recommendations

2011-01-26T14:01:00.002-05:00

So, I've been making my way through a couple end-of-2010 book recommendation lists, and I have a few to recommend and one I recommend you keep at a distance.

To read:

"Shop Class as Soulcraft: An Inquiry Into the Value of Work" by Matthew B. Crawford

This book made me want to enroll in carpentry classes at my local community college (though, realistically, I probably didn't need much of a nudge in that direction). Crawford's insight into his own journey and the need in our society for greater self-reliance and pride in what we do was profound for me. Prior to reading this book, I hadn't really considered the disconnect we have in this country between "knowing" and "doing," and the prejudice and stereotypes we associate with both.

"Let the Great World Spin: A Novel" by Colum McCann

For some reason it took me a little while to get into this one, but it was worth the effort. McCann does a fantastic job with character development and painting scenes so realistically I felt like I was watching a movie unfold instead of text roll by. My one "eh" feeling about the book is that it seemed to tidy things up a bit too nicely at the end, but I guess feeling a satisfied closure at the end of a book isn't the worst that can happen.

Pretty sure I'll recommend:

"The Death and Life of the Great American School System: How Testing and Choice Are Undermining Education" by Diane Ravitch

This is the one on my nightstand at the moment, and I'm really enjoying it so far. If I recall correctly, Ravitch was the Assistant Secretary of Education under the first Bush administration, and bought into things like No Child Left Behind. It's an honest and interesting look into public education in this country, where it's come from, where it is now, and where it's headed if we don't make some changes. Anyone who went through public education, and especially those with children in the system, would be well served to read this and find out a little more about what's going on and what can be done to help.

Recommend avoiding:

"The Ask: A Novel" by Sam Lipsyte

I don't consider myself a prude, but I found the language, content, and plot of this novel fairly offensive. By the end of the novel I assumed this is, perhaps, precisely what Mr. Lipsyte intended, but it just didn't work for me. I think the gist is that this is supposed to be gritty and in-your-face about what life is really like, but the protagonist was completely unrelatable to me, the scenarios felt contrived, and I felt like the book is one that I'll remember only because I'd like to forget.

I'll finish with Ravitch's book soon and have several others on my list, but if anyone has a great book recommendation, I'm always looking for more!

two cool dudes

2011-01-24T17:01:00.004-05:00

Over the weekend, Aaron took our little dude to a nearby ski resort, and the two had a blast! Wish I could have joined them, but my little incubating spawn probably wouldn't have appreciated it. Well, she might have, but I'm fairly certain my doctor wouldn't. Maybe next season.

update: when giving isn't a gift

2011-01-21T14:42:00.003-05:00

I just wanted to say, for the record, that I received a "thank you" note in the mail today from the previously accused. It was nice, thoughtful, and included pictures of the babies.

teaching children to lie

2011-01-21T12:38:00.003-05:00

Last night, for the millionth time, my little man sat for hours trying to eat his dinner. The chicken went down fine. The problem was the grilled eggplant, zucchini, and bell peppers in a delicious tomato and mozzarella sauce (thank you Trader Joe's).

After a long time of sitting, pushing the food around on the plate, and saying, "I just don't like these vegetables," I told him of a story my dad experienced while living in Europe. He was visiting a poor family who, though they had very little, kindly offered the late-teen something to eat. The kind woman pulled out a large tub of something, spread it on a piece of bread, sprinkled it with salt, and handed it humbly, lovingly to my dad.

It didn't take long before he realized what was spread on the bread: lard. Pure, gloopy, brown, gleaming lard. I imagine there's only one nice thing about having lard in your mouth. It lubricates your throat and makes it easier to swallow and get the stuff out of your mouth.

My little dude's face is contorted at this point, and I'm feeling grand that my story is being received in just the way I'd hoped. I follow with, "So what do you do when someone's made you a lard sandwich? You smile, say thank you, and show your graciousness for their generosity and kidness." And then I remind him of the hard work I put into preparing his food (OK, so I was helped by Trader Joe!), and am feeling proud and optimistic that he'll think, "Hey, at least this isn't a lard sandwich!"

But his response?

"Opa lied! He didn't tell the truth! He didn't like the food, but he said he did. That's a lie. He's just a liar. That's bad."

And it occurred to me: one of my most important jobs as a parent is to teach my child how to lie. To wallow and cherish those things we tell others to make them feel good even when it's the furthest thing from the truth. The you're-not-weird-you're-special comments, the you-look-nice-though-sporting-orange-argyle-socks-and-yellow-plaid-pants-pulled-up-to-their-armpits comments, and especially the thank-you-for-making-this-food-when-I-just-want-to-run-from-the-table-screaming comments.

So I may get on his back for saying he washed his hands after a good poop when I know very well he didn't, but I'm teaching him how to do it with a smile! Way to go me!

youngster passion

2011-01-19T12:28:00.016-05:00

As most of you likely know, my little dude had a burning passion for cars for the first six years of his life. Passion might be an understatement. Instead of a pacifier, blanket, or favorite stuffed animal, he had toy cars in his hands at all times. His first words were Ford, Honda, and Decedes Benz [sic]. When we was two, he'd cry in the middle of the night when he couldn't find the Chevy Monte Carlo (I didn't say he had great taste in cars), and as I handed him the first car I could find, he'd wail in the pitch black, "That's my Shelby Cobra. I need my Chevy Monte Carlo."

So we were excited when he added to (or replaced, rather) his love of cars with a love of architecture. Residential architecture. His newfound love coincided with our relocation from a condo setting, where every place looks essentially the same as the others, to a more residential, New England setting. Soon, words like gable and portico are replacing snot rod and spoiler.

Along with this new love, came a love of lego houses. He spends hours upon hours in his closet (workshop) following lego plans or "improving" the designs (usually by adding gables and/or porticos), or freestyling his own creations. He has done numerous chores around the house to save up to buy some sets (these things aren't cheap, you know), and for Christmas, he only wanted more lego house sets. He now has a few houses with which he creates a constantly changing cityscape.

The other day, my cell phone went missing. When I found it, I realized he had taken images of each house and the city he had sprawled (dangerously) across his bedroom floor. I thought I'd include the pictures for my reader's pleasure. The houses are (in order of appearance):

a modified lego family house with two gables and garage

a modified lego apple tree house with two gables and grand entrance

a modified lego beach house with expanded front balcony

a pre-lego paper house with two gables we made one boring afternoon.

a lego duplo school house. He ran out of smaller legos before he realized his town lacked an educational institution. He cut off the top of the bell tower (perhaps photography will be his next passion), which is unfortunate because I think it's brilliant he included one!

a lego city corner, complete with skateboard and pizza shops

a not-so-clear shot of the entire town (and why it was dangerous for our feet to check on him before we went to bed

not shown: lego bus stop and bus

when giving isn't a gift

2011-01-14T16:16:00.002-05:00

Someone my husband works has a wife that just had twins. Their first children. They're not from New England, and are only here for a year while he does some training. They're alone. Adrift. In need of some tender loving kindness.

And nothing gets me more excited than people upon which to bestow some service!

So at first I'd set up weekly lunch get-togethers with the wife, thinking she could use some companionship. She came, but didn't seem too interested. She never initiated anything herself. Never contacted me. But it's fine. New England is my territory. She's probably just intimidated. Or so I'd tell myself.

We invited them to dinner one night. They didn't show up. I sent her a text message to see if everything was OK and she said they decided to stay in. A call would have been nice.

As the babies' delivery got closer, I got them outfits on the gift registry even though money was a bit tight. It just seemed like the right thing to do.

And after they babies got here, I told her I'd love to come by and see her and bring some food. Did they have any allergies? How did they feel about soup?

I got no reply until late Friday morning when she said they were free that day. Uh...OK. No time to make soup. I'll stop at the grocery store and pick up something yummy for them to eat. Whole Foods, perhaps? She just had a baby, after all. Fifty-five dollars later, I drop off the food at her house at which point she stuffs it into the already stuffed fridge, shuts the door, and says, "Thanks for lunch. I'll eat it after you leave."

I'd expected a little more gushing appreciation, but to each his own, right? After a bit I asked whether she'd received the outfits I'd sent. She said, "Oh. I'm not sure. We got a lot of stuff." Excuse me?!?? Not gracious about the food? Not thankful for the clothes? I'm DONE trying to be friendly and nice to these people!

I stewed about it for a day or two, and then it dawned on me: if I'm bitter about a recipient of service or their particular response, then the problem is me. I gave more than I could afford to give if I did it with expectations or conditions attached (unknown though they may have been). And I'm not talking about the monetary expense (though that was certainly the case), but rather, and more importantly, the emotional gift of service.

For me, I realized that if I'm giving of myself, it shouldn't matter what response I get. I should try to give when I can give freely and feel satisfied and content with what I've done without expecting acrobatics of gratitude in return. If I'm wanting or expecting a certain response, then I'm giving pity or performance rather than service.

At least it gives me something to work on over the next few decades.

ROAR!

2011-01-11T14:23:00.004-05:00

Growing up, I still recall Rene Garza tapping his desk before a 7th grade science class began, and telling me that it had more hills than my chest.

He was right. My chest was flatter than the west Texas landscape in which I lived. The only hopes I had left were:

A: I was just a "late bloomer" and my day would soon come (I dreamed of a junior high or high school reunion when I'd walk through the door with my curves and make stupid Rene trip on his drool. I held out this hope until college when I figured the chances of blooming breasts at that stage were pretty remote. I was right to give up.)

or

B: I would one day have children and get a boost from those maternal hormones (My mom once told me that she didn't have breasts until after she had kids. KIDS! That's it! I'll have kids and then I'll get my breasts).

So it was with great excitement during my first pregnancy that I found Mom was right! I had a bra fitting before my son was born and was told to get a 32 DD! ME! A 32 double-freakin-D! At first I was in heaven, but then I realized that breasts, while the epitome of femininity, aren't as easy as they look. They get in the way. They hurt when you jog. They make shirts that once fit well look like jogging bras. Not great. But I could deal with it.

But then they left almost as suddenly as they had arrived. Not only that, but they were actually SMALLER than before. How was that possible?!?? No more did I worry about the inconvenience of breasts. I wanted them back, longing--silently longing--for my feminine curves.

A few weeks ago, as I sat in the living room talking to my husband and son, a strange thing happened. I felt an explosion. A liberation. At first I thought, "Huh! That's weird. I must have twisted or something, and it somehow unsnapped my bra. Huh! That's never happened before." But no. It exploded. My bra exploded! And with such force that, had it not been contained within the shirt I wore, I fear someone or something might have been injured.

And while I'll put off the inevitable deflation with a bit of nursing, I know that soon I'll be back to my post-pregnancy breast size of "band-aids." But in the meantime, I can't express the satisfaction of my woman's roar that night. My bra had declared my muliebrity.

the illicit afternoon

2011-01-11T14:02:00.002-05:00

A typical day for me looks a little something like this:
7:30 a.m.: Wake up son and beg and plead for him to get ready and EAT!
8:30 a.m.: Take son to school
8:31 a.m. - 2:40 p.m.: chores, work, work, lunch, work, and a few more chores
2:45: Pick up son from school
2:46: More chores and work, homework with son, make dinner, bedtime routine, and finally
9:00: Curl up in warm bed with good book

And yesterday started out no different. But yesterday brought with it an infusion of spontaneity from which I have not quite recovered. It went a little something like this:

8:30 a.m.: Take son to school
8:45 a.m.: Start working on spreadsheets
10:30 a.m.: Swept away by tall stranger for afternoon of romance:
11:30 a.m.: Eat lunch in a booth at the back of an empty restaurant with attractive man
1:30 p.m.: Movie at theatre (with same attractive man)
4:00 p.m.: Pick up none-the-wiser son from school's after-school French class

Admittedly, it might not sound like much, but for someone who is ruled by the monotony of the aforementioned routine, it sure was an exciting day! I can't tell you the last time I'd been to a non-Disney movie in the theatre, and the Coen brothers did NOT disappoint. Thank heaven's for husbands and their random vacation days, and for including balls-and-chains in the relaxation and fun.

addendum to emotional crisis

2011-01-11T13:53:00.002-05:00

In reviewing what I wrote, I feel it important to clarify that my mom is not (nor has she ever been) a grotesque monster with reptilian skin that doesn't take care of herself. Her body has aged better than I could hope for myself, and her mind and spirit seem to only improve with time and experience. The narrow representation of her feet and hands was merely a snapshot of moments I had as a clueless and naive child.

I projected my own fears and uncertainty about aging on her narrowly for the purpose of understanding and placing my own insecurities. Thankfully for me, she has always spent more time and effort on her children and family than on herself. I see the work and service she's done with her hands, the amazing of art she creates, and see in her hands instruments for greatness, and each cut, scar, or callous only deepens my respect. And in her feet I see a mighty journey--metaphorical, of course--and her unceasing will to continue at any cost.

in search of yellow snow

2011-01-06T09:11:00.003-05:00

My son knew nothing of yellow snow.

He and a friend were playing in the snow the other day (the snow that looks like it's been overly peppered at this point) and I peeked out the window to see them eating it.

Disgusting!

So I, thinking myself wise, tell them not to eat the dirty snow, and especially not the yellow stuff.

"There's such a thing as yellow snow?" They say in unison and look at each other. "Cool!"

They spent the rest of the time that day looking in the back yard for yellow snow. We don't have a dog.

Oh brother! What have I done?

So now, every time we walk to or from school, every time we go outside, we're on a search for yellow snow. He takes great pride in pointing out all the frozen "lincoln logs" or "tootsie rolls" sprinkled along the sidewalk, but we haven't found the elusive yellow snow.

So if anyone has pictures or unpleasant experiences with it, please share. I'm on a mission to dissuade its consumption.

my emotional crisis

2011-01-05T10:45:00.004-05:00

I'm not old. 34 is not old. But it's the oldest I've ever been, so I'm old for me. And the other day when my little dude pointed out the "star creases" on my skin, I immediately flashed back to a moment in my early childhood when I compared my mom's rough, clearly not-new skin (then in her early 30s) to my fresh, bouncy, smooth skin, I remember thinking, "Gee, I hope my skin never looks like that!"

And then there were her feet: white around the heels, cracked and chips of skin peeling off like neglected paint. Sheesh! How could a person let their feet do that? But when I glaced at my feet the other day, I was that kid again, looking at my mom's feet. Twenty minutes of sanding later, they looked better, but it forced me to accept the fact that I'm not "young" anymore. I'm no longer the person that would make an occassional head turn or felt invincible. I've become a person with a washed-out complexion, a gray hair here and there, and invisible on sidewalks and office parties.

But what does that mean, not to be "young"? Hollywood and television (refer to aforementioned addiction) glamorize youth and make "aging" women silly or disgusting (men somehow evade this curse). And though we are likely aware of this, we buy it. I mean, I buy it. Only I didn't know I did.

It dawned on me: my little dude will be seven this year, which means it's only a matter of time until he's ten, and that's only a hop away from the teens. Before I know it, he'll be off to college, and while it's exciting for him now (as it was exciting for me then), I realize that I have to prepare him for his WHOLE life. Not just the glamorous parts of youth that are built up as eternal.

I say this because I just realized it this morning that I have only anticipated life until my early 30s. I had thought about college, living "the good life" as a single person, travelling, having a career, and even getting married and starting a family. But I never thought of raising a family, or what I would do with older children. Briefly, after this little man was born, I contemplated the sweet silence and freedom of retirement, but not once did I contemplate my 40s and 50s. They're a black hole in my life.

Or so Hollywood stereotypes have led me to believe. It's time to get planning. It's time to step off the conveyor belt of pre-packaged life expectations and start making plans. Not for later, but for now: for this golden time in my life that I'll never get back. The worst I can imagine is looking back and still seeing my late 30s, 40s, and 50s as the black hole I have avoided, and all the opportunities I never savoured.

So keep on me for this one! I need a support group. I need ideas. I need inspiration.

unplugged and happy

2011-01-04T16:56:00.002-05:00

So, a few weeks ago as I sat on the couch and flipped through meaningless television for the third hour in a row, I realized that I've contributed far too much of my life to that blasted inanimate object. It gives me nothing in return except for feelings of inadequacy or jealousy, depending on which show I've been watching.

I decided that night that I'd go on a TV detox, in much the same way others might need to detox from alcohol, drugs, or any other addiction. Because for me, TV gave me a fix. I literally couldn't go to bed if I hadn't watched at least SOMETHING. And then one something turned into hours and hours of TV. And at the end of it all I felt worse, not better, and knew that the next night I'd be jonesin' for my next fix.

So the first few days were PAINFUL. I didn't know what to do with myself. It occurred to me that watching TV had actually sucked my creativity from me. I didn't know what to do other than sit down and plug in. So without TV, at first, I'd walk around the house, be a complete nightmare to be around, and go to bed early, staring at the ceiling and wondering what I was missing on that night's shows.

But eventually I found that I wanted to read interesting stuff. Or do something I'd been meaning to get around to for a while. Write to friends I'd neglected. And now, though it's been only a few weeks, I feel myself thinking again and feeling happy without TV. Don't get me wrong, I still feel a pull at the end of a long day when I really just want to numb myself and forget life for a bit(each day is a struggle, actually), but I've read some great books ("Shop Class as Soulcraft: An Inquiry in the Value of Work" by Matthew B. Crawford, and "The Imperfectionists" by Thomas Rachman so far), and am feeling like a much more well rounded and productive citizen.

Just thought I'd share my experience.

Happy MMXI to you all!

2011-01-03T08:54:00.002-05:00

Very excited to ring in a new year, though it was a bit anticlimactic on this end. Aaron was on call, so he went to bed around 9:00 in anticipation of the calls he'd get all night. Our little dude shared in some festivities at our New Year's party at 7:00 p.m. on New Year's Eve. He went to bed shortly thereafter, and I ended up trying to find something to watch on TV that wasn't Snooki and the cast of Jersey Shore or Ryan "I think I'm hot stuff" Seacrest and the host formally known as Dick Clark.

So I hope you had a better time than that and rang in the new year with passion and conviction. I have a good feeling about this one! May everyone have all the joy, happiness, health, and prosperity they deserve in this new year!

The sinister side of Santa

2010-12-20T12:52:00.006-05:00

Our house and cars have been a Christmas carol-fest since early December, but it wasn't until the last few days that I realized how traumatic that's been for our little dude. Occasionally, we'd receive the random probing questions, such as, "Mommy, would you ever do anything to make Daddy leave us?" Or "Mom, have you ever kissed someone else?"

But the other day, we finally put the puzzle pieces together as we're driving in the car and Michael Jackson's version of "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus" came on the radio. It's not a harmless song. Totally inappropriate to be played for children, with talk of kissing and "tickling" Santa as a child watches. Well, you might imagine the "hypothetical" questions that poured forth at the end of the song. "Dad, what would you do if you saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus? Would you be mad enough to leave? If you did leave, would you come back?"

Aaron, probably not as aware of the solace a child needs in this type of situation, replies, "How do you think Mommy got pregnant?" To which our little man answers, "Well, I guess we'll know if she comes out with a little white beard. You'll stick around to find out, right?"

So what started as mere appreciation of Christmas music has turned into a therapy-inducing trauma of childhood. Yeah, Christmas!

sorry for the delay, but we're back online

2010-12-17T12:46:00.003-05:00

Between Thanksgiving (my favorite holiday of the year), the job interviews, and travel, I'm sorry to say (as if you hadn't noticed) that I was offline for a few weeks. Thanks for your patience. I'm happy to be back.

DOWN WITH MONSANTO AND GENETICALLY MODIFIED FOODS!

2010-11-03T20:35:00.002-04:00

I recently watched an interesting documentary called "The Future of Food," and am infuriated by the multi-national food conglomerates like Monsanto and ConAgra. If anyone is interested in this more, please let me know...I could vent for hours...but the bottom line is that we need to make some changes in what we allow into our local markets and the world food market.

What can we do?

1. Buy organic. We vote with our dollars.

2. Support local farmers and buy from farmers' markets or join a local growing co-op.

3. Petition government to remove farm subsidies. They promote the overproduction of wheat, corn, cotton, and soybeans, which only lines the coffers of companies like Monsanto and are leading to starvation in third world countries around the globe that can no longer afford to compete with these inexpensive, genetically modified foods imported from the US.

4. Petition government to make it mandatory to label foods that have genetically modified ingredients. Since 2002, The Genetically Engineered Food Right to Know Act has been introduced, but has never been voted upon. It's about time we understand what goes into the food we purchase.

5. Get informed. It's simple. The more you know, the more you'll want to make changes. And I hope you do.

The "mobile" home

2010-11-02T14:03:00.009-04:00

Well, Halloween was a hit. I hope it was for you as well. We had a school party on Friday night, neighborhood costume parade and party at the park with live music and trick-or-treating (which, let's face it is always the treating part) on Saturday, and the actual trick-or-treating on Sunday.

I finished the costume with five minutes to spare (spent blow-drying the "terra cotta" roof), so it was down to the wire, but my little dude was quite happy with the results...even if he was a bit "embarrassed" at the school party.

Here are some images of the project, inspiration, mid-construction (with the recycle bin), and the final product. I've sworn off major home projects for the next few months, but we had a good time with it.

Happy Election Day!

2010-11-02T08:57:00.002-04:00

I've never been more happy to have the excuse of not being registered to vote in our temporary state of Rhode Island. Never have I been more disenchanted with politics or the political process. It seems the only things elections decide is whether or not one side wins a majority and gets bragging rights for the next 2 years. I would have loved to attend John Stewart's "Rally to Restore Sanity" since sanity and reason seem to be the two things missing most from the Washington political machine. I'm tired of both sides pointing fingers at each other. Seriously, if my six year old can find a way to get things done, what is the excuse from "adults" that should know better. Politicians on both sides are behaving worse than children, and I'm tired of the whole thing.

So...anyone have any solutions to the problem?

English has rules?!??

2010-10-28T10:37:00.002-04:00

So, I took a cool class called "The History of the English Language," and learned a bit about how ridiculous English is (like that we have several letters we don't even need, like X, for example). However, it's been having a child that enjoys trying to spell words that has made me keenly aware of just how silly our language really is.

Here are just six of the words we talked about so far today that he tries to spell phonetically, and how, based upon the established rules of English, they ought to be spelled:

Enough: Enuff
Exhaust: egsawst
Friend: frend
Opposite: opisit
Ought: ot
Through: throo

Daddy's not coming home!

2010-10-26T11:36:00.002-04:00

So I pick up my little dude from school yesterday, and he looks terribly upset. I ask him what's up. Did something happen at school? Did someone do or say something mean?

"Daddy's not coming home!"

What? Why not? Did you get a call? (Obviously, my rational mind isn't working to think that someone would call his school rather than my phone to tell me that something's happened to my husband!)

"Barack Obama is coming to our state today, and they're shutting down the freeway. Daddy can't come home anymore."

What? My six year old knows about a presidential visit and I don't? What does that have to do with Daddy making it home or not? And then I start connecting the dots.

I stifle some laughter and tell him that Daddy knows some other ways to get home, "So don't worry, Bud. Daddy'll come home sometime."

It took some convincing, but he finally calmed down. And Daddy finally came home (unaware about a presidential visit, too).

Hallelujah!

2010-10-25T09:44:00.005-04:00

Our neighbors invited us to attend the Grace Episcopal Church with them yesterday to listen their daughter sing in the choir. The cathedral was beautiful! Fairly simple, but ornate painted glass and intricate murals near the ceiling and on the amazing organ pipes.

My little dude was pretty happy to hear the grand church bells ringing as we entered the building. I think it was the highlight of his day. His only disappointment was that he didn't get to see the belfry.

I don't know that I'd ever been to an episcopalian service before, but it rather reminded me of a catholic mass (go figure). Because I didn't grow up with those ultra-traditional and ceremonial services, I always feel completely clueless. Sometimes you stand, sometimes you sit. Sometimes you get the red book to follow along, sometimes you have the hymnal, sometimes you have the insert for the program. I'm always completely lost.

But I have to say, I could sit in that room by myself and listen to the music all day long. As the congregation sings the opening hymn, the choir walks around the congregation and eventually ends up in their place at the front of the cathedral. About verse three, they join in the song and I tell you what...it was about the most beautiful thing I'd heard. The acoustics and the voices of the sopranos in general, soaring about the congregation, was about as transcendant as I'd been in a long time.

Best time of my life!

2010-10-22T09:35:00.002-04:00

So the weather's getting a little chilly here--last night the low was around 36 degrees Fahrenheit by my husband loves to sleep with both the window open and the fan on. Lovely!

Well, in the morning my little dude has quite the bed head, so we end up squirting water on his hair and brushing it out to remove the bird's nest from the back of his head. Because it's getting colder, if we have time, I'll blow dry his hair so he doesn't have to walk to school with wet hair.

This morning, as I mentioned, it was a little extra cold, so I blow dried his hands, lifted the back of his shirt and blew the dryer down his shirt, and then he lifted up his shirt a bit and I blew the warm air on his belly. As I did so, he got a huge smile on his face and said, "This is just the BEST time of my life!"

How can you disagree when it's so simple to make someone so happy?

May you all have some little joys today that make it the best time of your life.

Couple of cool websites

2010-10-21T18:30:00.003-04:00

I just want to put in a plug for a couple of the websites I love to visit.

First, Etsy (www.etsy.com). The stuff I've got from there has been great and at a great price, plus you have the reassurance of knowing that you're supporting industrious people who make what they love. I just got a great onesy for a friend of mine that says "iPood". How great is that?!?? But I've also purchased earrings and have been eyeing some of the shoes--sandals in particular. Sure, some of the stuff is a little "moonbeams and sprinkle powder," but they also have some really high-end clothing, gifts, jewelry, and pretty much anything else you need.

The other? A blog about fashion called "the Sartorialist" (www.thesartorialist.blogspot.com). It's supposed to be "street fashion," but I must be on the wrong streets. It's just a time-sucking way to people watch and enjoy personal style. I LOVE it!

Bénévole!

2010-10-18T10:48:00.003-04:00

One of the happiest phases of my life was when I joined the service organization with Janna et al. Setting aside time for other people, even though I was busy with work and creating a new life for myself after a divorce, really forced me to set myself aside and focus on people that I didn't know, but whom I could serve. From weeding gardens to reading books to offering companionship to taking a wife to see her ailing husband in assisted living, the service made me genuinely happy.

And it's been a while since I'd done any.

Once we moved to Rhode Island, I met a woman named Alissa. Alissa wants to save the world one child at a time. She had been the director of a preschool for refugee children, teaching them the basic skills they would need to transition more easily into a mainstream school environment. Since they lost the funding for her school, she has been setting up a preschool program at a local food bank. Often the children wait in line for hours with their parents, sometimes outside in the freezing weather, and often they have had little or no food for at least that day, sometimes longer.

So Alissa was telling me and another mother about this program while we waited for our kids to get out of school. They would offer the kids a warm, safe place to wait for their parents where they could eat some nutritious food and learn and practice some English and basic concepts for school: shapes, numbers, colors, etc. Alissa mentioned that they always need volunteers to help watch the kids.

Now, to be honest, I generally don't enjoy children. Of course I love my own and a few others, but I don't relish the opportunity to be around a lot of strange kids I don't know and I certainly don't have the patience to be a teacher.

But I volunteered. It sounded like something nice to do, and I remembered how much I enjoyed the volunteering with Janna et al. So I got there and there was one little girl playing at the sand table. Eventually more kids came, and we played with play-doh, painted with water colors, did some puzzles, played with wood blocks, etc. I didn't feel like there was much that I'd done ... until a little boy showed up toward the end of the morning.

This little boy was a little different than the other kids. He didn't speak much. He didn't seem to respond much to the other kids speaking Spanish or Portuguese or English, and we thought perhaps he was just a little shy.

Turns out, the little boy comes from a home with African parents, and they speak primarily either their tribal dialect or French. FRENCH! I was a little worried because my conversational French is limited (to say the least), but no one else spoke a word, so I turned to the little boy and said, "Je ne sais pas que tu parle le francais! Est-ce que tu comprends?"

The look on his little face was priceless! He grabbed my hand, pulled me over to the sand table, and we talked about colors, number, and shapes for the rest of the morning (testing the capacities of my conversational French, of course).

I was so glad I had stepped outside myself to be there that morning. Would he have been fine without me there? Absolutely! Would I have been fine staying home that morning? You betcha! But something happened that reminded me that we're all connected. We all need someone to understand us. And sometimes we just need a little help, and most of us either don't know how to ask or refuse to do so.

So get out and do something selfless for someone this week! Volunteer a bit of yourself to make the world around you a little bit better!

tawk amungst yuhselves

2010-10-15T09:48:00.004-04:00

courtesy of www.jokesduniya.com

Creepy Neighbor

2010-10-14T10:25:00.003-04:00

My special child is always doing his own thing. I can't even say he marches to the beat of his own drum. He marches to a harmonica or lute.

So when it comes to Halloween, it's always an interesting adventure. Where most children want to be something like a superhero, witch, princess or pirate, for instance, mine is a train or a ghost pumpkin.

Because I was in school last year, he used a great hand-me-down costume from my sister, but he had little idea who Eeyore was (which, consequently, I learned from my History of Language class should be pronounced "ee-aw" like the sound a donkey would make, rather then "ee-yore" he's typically called), let alone did he ever dream of being it for Halloween.

To make it up to him this year, I told him I would let him pick whatever he wanted to be again, and I'd make the costume. Little did I realize that such a simple promise would make me the creepy, stalker, probably-under-cover neighbor.

The problem? He wants to be a house. And not any house...64 Bluff Avenue. 64 freakin' Bluff Avenue! So I'm walking down the street with my camera, taking pictures of each angle of the house. People are walking by and giving me strange looks. "My son wants to be this house for Halloween," I'd say, trying to somehow make it less awkward.

Turns out, that only sounds more creepy. What kid in his right mind wants to be a freakin' house for Halloween. And why should it require a recon mission?

Well, this is where my special son comes in. He has recently transferred his passion for cars to architecture. The gable windows must be in the right place, the two chimney have to be set correctly: one jutting out slightly from the left side, while the right chimney meets the edge of the roof. The copper awning must be placed appropriately over the back door. And the tile roof? Don't get me started on the tile roof! Or the stucco.

So if I'm MIA for a few days, I'm slaving over 64 Bluff Avenue and the recycle bin candy receptacle (because what self-respecting house doesn't put its garbage in a recycle bin?).

In the meantime, if any has any ideas of things I can do to make this work, feel free to let me know!

can't we be nice to each other?

2010-10-08T17:17:00.003-04:00

I've been really saddened by all these senseless teenage suicides. It all seems so unnecessary. When are people going to realize that everyone struggles, everyone feels weird, everyone is different, and everyone needs kindness? Any ideas of things that can be done to make a difference?

It reminds me of "Tony" from Patty Griffin. I hope you enjoy it. If you have a chance to hear the original on her album "Flaming Red" I highly recommend it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KeUBweC0B5Q

Beware Online Image Searches!

2010-10-08T08:58:00.003-04:00

So, our little dude has been pretty excited about a sibling, and daily wants to know what it looks like. I did what people of my generation do: went to the internet.

I typed in "9 week fetus," and (without thinking) expected to find some relatively benign images, perhaps some pencil drawings or images from medical websites.

However, what popped up were gruesome images of mangled and bloody aborted fetuses. I feverishly tried to scroll down so he wouldn't see them, but almost each line was about aborted rather than live or viable fetuses. You'd think all we did was kill babies!

So if you endeavor to find something benign or seemingly harmless...don't let your kids in the room until you've secured just the right image you're looking for.

what I did while I was gone

2010-10-06T09:14:00.003-04:00

Well, I figure I'd been gone so long, there should be at least a small accounting of what I did while I was gone. Although I'd considered some Shakespeare essays, I settled on three poems I wrote while I was in school. I hope you enjoy! (The format isn't right for "Poetical," but there's not much it seems I can do on the blog about that. Sorry!)

The Visit

A boulder sits unmoved

Stuck in the cool brown mud
Of a lonely valley floor
With Thoughts of a journey once taken.

Peering humbly at the
Jagged cliffs above
It recalls a painful fall:

Buffeted and smoothed
Until landing in its
Sludgy home
Feeling small.

It hasn't much else it can do but
Gaze at the craggy cliffs,
Dreaming of a visit from punished Sisyphus
To shift it from its solitude.

Shattering the thought comes a kiss
From the sticky feet of a passing frog
Pausing on its journey to Nowhere Fast.

And no one cared
Or saw
Or said a word
About a sight so oddly ordinary
To everything
But a rock
Sitting on a lonely valley floor.

Long after the frog alights,
The rock soaks up the feeling
Of its feet
Whose upward leap takes with it
The hopes of a lonesome rock
That sits unmoved in the mud.

Calm
The sweat on my son's nose
Reminds me of dew on morning grass,
And the lids of his eyes
Undulate like moving clouds.

He rolls toward me
And I watch his small ribs
Rise and fall
With a faint "pfff"
Coming from his relaxed lips.

I can tell what he had for lunch.
Kissing his cheek
My lips stick to the peanut butter
He tried wiping on his sleeve
And missed.

Still asleep,
His hand seeks my cheek
Instinctively.

His sticky fingers search,
Brow twitching,
Breath quickening:
Unsettled,
Until he creased palm
Cups the apple of my cheek
And calm returns.

Poetical

I'm trying to be poetical
My lines, they are frenetical
They must end in rhyme,
Though I haven't the time
To make it deep,
Metaphoretical.

The language I use
I mustn't abuse
It must be lyric and flow
To the river of Styx,
And I hope I don't mix
My mytholological know.

The lines that I write
Are not filled with spite
But it's hard to think in this way.
And so I must go--
Must get on with the show--
I haven't much else I can say.

happy birthday to family!

2010-09-30T12:20:00.003-04:00

Well, the news is fairly well out. It's my birthday. And I want sushi. Lots of sushi. Dripping in wasabi and soy sauce.

And a haircut.

And my son to eat food in a reasonable amount of time.

But this year isn't about getting gifts. It's about giving. I've decided to, rather than worry about my own gifts, give a gift to the family. I'll delay my appetite for sushi (well, proper sushi, anyway) so I can assure that the little thing I'm incubating will turn out without any "unusual features."

See you in about 7 months, sushi. I'll miss you.

Campaign for discretion and privacy

2010-09-29T15:16:00.004-04:00

Don't get me wrong, I love having people to talk to. I'm a woman. It's what we do. Whether it's a hangnail or a fashion faux pas, we talk to others about the goings on in our lives.

But PLEASE, women, you must stop oversharing information. If I've just met you, I don't need to know about your husband's sexual needs. I don't need to know about bowel issues, and I certainly don't need to see scars from a recent abdominal surgery or mastectomy while my son plays nearby. It's our first playdate!

It's not that I'm not interested in you as a person, but it's awkward to have just met someone and know information that should be "inner circle" information. I firmly believe that there's some information to be reserved for a physician, a therapist, or family member (my husband, at times, doubles as a bit of all three, but I know I'm fortunate in that regard).

Crises should be left to experts. I have no training for it and usually feel obligated to start giving advice in areas I know nothing about. I know this. I shouldn't be trusted! I just hate silence and will fill it with things that, even at the time, I don't believe. It's too much pressure.

So ladies (and gentlemen, if you feel it applies to you), let's bring back a bit of discretion. No more sharing financial struggles with people who are, for all intents and purposes, strangers. It's just uncomfortable. I'm not Warren Buffet, and I suspect that if I were, I might only be a bit more irritated.

I move to keep private things private. Who's with me?

Happy Birthday, Liz!

2010-09-22T10:25:00.002-04:00

My sweet Lizzle!

May your birthday be filled with lots of decadent food, copious amounts of free time, and a trip somewhere foreign without the kids.

dropped a Dumbledore

2010-09-22T10:09:00.002-04:00

The little dude is now in soccer, and had a recent practice. About 10 minutes before practice is over, he comes running up to me, whispering, "Mom, I really have to go to the bathroom."

I must explain something about the practice field. It's in a fairly industrial part of town, there are no bathrooms, and nowhere nearby to really go. I spot some trees in the distance, so we start heading over. All the while I'm thinking, "I'm sure glad he's a boy. This sort of thing is always so much more complicated for a girl." So we get over to the trees, which, unfortunately, are quite near the playground. I tell him that I'll try to block him, but he can just drop them and aim at the tree. He looks up at me with a panicked face, and it's at this point I start getting a bit worried.

"But Mom! I have to poop!"

Then I get the panicked look on my face. What are we going to do? Poison ivy is in there. No bathrooms around here. No restaurants close. Home is 20 minutes away. Poop in pants is messy! He has cleats on and no way to get his pants off.

Dang it!

"Can't you hold it, bud?"

"No. It's coming!" (while dancing and panicking)

Through the trees we go. Poison ivy be damned. I'm looking around for a small hole or rock or stick with which to make one. He's got his pants down and trying to figure out what to do with stuff coming out in front and in back. Damn cleats! Can't get pants down. "This is really happening," I think to myself. "This one's gonna go down in the books."

I hear grunting. The hole's definitely not done, and he's nowhere near it even if it were. I don't know the difference between poison ivy and the other leaves on the vines nearby, so I'm definitely not gonna wipe him with anything I can see nearby. He's got pee all over the back of his pants (damn cleats!), and peanut butter between his cheeks. It's definitely a not-so-fresh moment.

I've got pee on my hands from pulling up his pants, and am trying (in vain) to cover up his steaming pile of poop, but the dirt is too hard and the rocks aren't working. We step out of the trees, methane wafting through the air, and he runs happily back to soccer practice.

Next time I'm bringing the camping gear to soccer practice.

WELCOME BACK!

2010-09-22T10:07:00.003-04:00

Yes, it's been a long hiatus, but we're back on the grid. School is over (for me, at least), and I seem to now find some time between work and play to sit down and write, and the last few days have had a few great things to write about. So keep checking in and I won't disappoint (at least for quantity--quality has no guarantees).

damn you punxsutawney phil

2009-03-01T20:48:00.003-05:00

You got a lot of nerve you little rodent! Sentencing us to six additional weeks of winter just 'cause you saw a shadow? Who came up with this ridiculous tradition anyhow?

So here I sit, first day of March, preparing for a foot of snow. Joy! On the up side, I don't think I've warmed up since November, so another few weeks shouldn't make a difference. Still...it will be nice to feel my toes again.

gypsy kings

2009-02-20T14:30:00.004-05:00

I had a date! Last night we went to see the Gypsy Kings...good times had by all (and by all I mean just the two of us!). I sometimes forget what it is to be a couple sans children--and I forget that I forget until I have a date and remember what it was once like.

It would have been a truly wonderful night were it not for the blizzard going to and coming from the venue, but all turned out well despite my neurotic white knuckles at the time.

Thanks Izzos for making it all possible! :)

seriously!

2009-02-16T21:33:00.002-05:00

Who the freak cares about whether Joaquin Phoenix has decided to quit acting and start singing? Sure, he's been a bit fruity lately and the beard isn't his finest look, but SERIOUSLY! Is that the most important thing to talk about? It may be a slow news week, but how about people give up dwelling on Joaquin Phoenix and do something noteworthy in their own communities. Get a hobby, for heaven's sake! Volunteer at a soup kitchen!

And Chris Brown...who the freak cares whether he beat up Rhianna or his mama? He's a bad boy for hitting any woman. Point taken. Now move on, people! Aren't there starving people in Africa or innocent civilians getting gunned down by Tamil Tigers in Sri Lanka that we should be upset about??

Seriously!

squeeze those you love a little more, a little longer

2009-02-12T20:36:00.006-05:00

In honor of Valentine's day, I'll share one of my new loves: Ray Lamontagne

p.s. I also suggest listening to his songs Jolene, Let It Be Me, and he does an awesome cover of Crazy by Gnarls Barkley

oompa loompas and ashtrays

2009-02-08T20:41:00.004-05:00

Well, I finally had my first full week of college...for the third time. This college is far different from the other two I've attended, however. Even at UVM with its reputation as a party school and the prevalent smell of pot in each class, I felt quite at home despite my age and the fact that I was the only person I saw on campus that was busting a baby out my belly.

Southern is a funny place. Walking up the littered stairs I felt like I was in a prime-time news story about high schools in America. The students are young and the girls all wear skin-tight jeans, uggs, and have their hair flat-ironed in precisely the same uniform way. The guys all have their hair spiked up like the Gotti sons, oozing feigned machismo from each gel-tipped spike.

Surprising, also, is the amount of orange-colored people on campus. I'm not sure what the politically correct term is, but I like to refer to them as Oompa-Loompa-Americans. I don't want to make it seem like I don't welcome them, but honestly it creeps me out! If you look at them long enough (which I try not to do in an obvious way) you can see them emitting some sort of low-res, pulsating glow.

As I said, though, the only thing different from this University (which I call Southern Connecticut State High School University) is the amount of ashtrays (and young whipper-snappers congregating around them between classes) and the profanity from the professors. Otherwise it's all the same cliques (minus the "kickers"), the same conversations ("I can't believe he didn't call!" or "Dude, I'd totally sleep with HER" NOT looking at me, thankfully!), and the same homework.

It's good to be back in school.

tanks in my belly

2009-02-05T18:30:00.002-05:00

Mommy, I have two tanks in my belly that hold words and they're both empty. I'm just all out of words.

But I still have kisses and "I love yous. I always have those for you and Daddy."

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ISIS!

2009-01-22T21:21:00.004-05:00

What can I say, Isis. You rock.

And...I'm a bad sister. I'm a bad sister-in-law. I'm a bad aunt.

You, however, are awesome. You're a blunt, say-it-like-it-is kid who looks like Nanny with your haircut, Wendy with your expressions, and Asa because you look just like him. You're fearless of cold oceans, are unapologetic about your cereal dripping down your neck while you eat, and when you laugh, everyone laughs with you because it's awesome.

I'm sorry I missed your birthday AGAIN! You're four and I still haven't sent you the card I got for your first birthday.

I'm bad.

I thought I might use it for Nadan, but he'll be two in December, and I doubt I'll get that one in time either. I figure I may just stay behind the eight ball and cut you a check for your 18th birthday to cover the counseling to deal with the abandonment and anger.

Uh, happy birthday.

is this the life I wanted?

2009-01-22T20:37:00.004-05:00

Sorry folks! Another long story to say something really simple. :)

Lately I've questioned what the devil I'm doing with this thing called my life. I'm certainly not where I anticipated as a child, and during what one might call a mid-life crisis of sorts, realized that this really IS the only life I have and that sitting in an office being constantly scrutinized, criticized, and controlled is not exactly what I want to look back and remember.

And so I made a few changes.

Starting Monday I embark on a new old adventure...college. It will be great to have this freakin' degree off the checklist of things to do in life before I die and get on with other, more exciting things on the list. It's a bit embarrassing that after applying and transferring credits from two universities (representing probably six total years of college) that I'm entering as a Junior and was told initially that I might be able to finish in two years if I pushed it. It hasn't been an easy decision, and (like most decisions I make) has been riddled with doubt and angst; however, when I went to university on Wednesday to purchase books for the semester I realized...I'm actually doing this.

And just to remind me that the cosmos look upon me favorably, a company with which I had applied for a full-time job in September of last year (to get away from aforementioned hated job at whatever cost) called out of the blue a week ago to offer me a job. I told them that I had decided to return to school and would, unfortunately, be unable to accept the exciting position. To my surprise he said he would be flexible with a part-time schedule and would really appreciate consideration of the position. I met with them yesterday it has an exciting work environment given my prior experience, the work is precisely what I enjoy, and the people are nice with similar professional ideals. What a relief!

As Calvin got dressed for bed tonight we talked about what he thought about Mommy being in school while he's in school. He said, "That's pretty cool." I told him I was a little scared to which he quickly and effortlessly replied, "Don't be scared. Everyone will like you. You're really different."

And then I realized that whether or not I get lost at a new campus or my teachers like my work or my grades are up to my standards, I get to come home and be with people that like me no matter what happens. And that's when I realized this is exactly the life I want.

happy 2009

2009-01-01T10:28:00.002-05:00

Since I missed the Christmas, Channukah, Kwanzaa, etc. holiday excitement, I'd like to wish everyone a happy 2009. I hope the new year brings as much safety and much more excitement to me and everyone else than I started with.

Unless you like sitting on a couch watching episodes of 30 Rock for a year.

Let me also state, for the record, that I feel truly grateful for having such awesome, genuine friends and such a supportive, loving, and wonderful family. I feel about my life that if I didn't have the life, friends and family that I have now, I would be jealous and resentful of someone else that did.

over the river and through the woods

2009-01-01T10:19:00.005-05:00

Yesterday, New Years Eve, both Aaron and I had to work and Calvin's school was closed, creating a perfect storm of problems regarding childcare. For weeks we had been trying to figure out a safe solution we would be comfortable with. Fortunately, some very good friends (and parents of another boy that attends Calvin's school) offered to watch Calvin all day. Problem solved.

Well, since we found out, Calvin has been looking forward to playing at Eric's house with great anticipation. Each morning he'd ask, "Is today the day I get to play at Eric's house?" So when we got in the car and set off for Eric's house yesterday morning, Calvin was a bundle of excitement.

As we turned out of our driveway, the conversation went a little something like this:

Calvin: "Oooo! Is THIS the way to Eric's house?"

Me: "Yes."

Calvin: "Oh. I didn't know that. This is a good way. I've never been this way before."

Me: "Yes you have. You may have forgotten though. It's a fun road, huh?

By fun road, I mean treacherous--particularly on a day with 2-6 inches of snow forecast, and on steep, windy hills through the woods. At one point we drove up the windiest, steepest part of the hill and Calvin squeeled with delight from the back seat of the car.

Me: "Oh my goodness. We're going up, up, up, up. Almost at the top. Will we make it? Oh, see that sign with a truck going down a steep hill? Once we're at the top we'll start going down down down! Here we go. Weeeee!"

At the top of the hill it looks like the road drops off the world. It's a steep down-hill grade with a turn, so it looked (initially) like we might just drive off into the treetops. Fortunately, at just the right moment, we veer appropriately and speed down the hill.

Calvin: "Oh Mommy! It makes my stenticles tingle!"

I should probable leave the story right there. It sums it up so well. But I'll venture to add the rest.

I should also state that, while I've never had testicles, his statement reminded me of my youth, driving up the winding roads in the Rockys and feeling that same (or I suppose similar) feeling of fear and excitement that tingled in my belly (Aaron would likely say something about that being where female testicles are located).

Calvin went on to say that he couldn't wait to tell Dale (Eric's mom) when we got to her house that his stenticles tingled when we went down the hill.

Me: "Calvin, testicles really aren't things we talk about with people. They're really just for you. I appreciate that you share it with me and Daddy--you can always tell us anything--but it's not really something you have to tell Eric's mom."

Calvin: "Oh."

long pause

Calvin: "Mommy? My testicles tingled when we went down the hill."

Me: "I know Calvin. I know." (mine too)

tentacles

2009-01-01T10:07:00.004-05:00

The other day I was taking Calvin upstairs to bed. I often give him the option of having a ride on the rocket ship (i.e., piggy-back ride) or a race (something to motivate him to come with me).

On this particular evening he chose the former and off we went, bouncing merrily up the stairs. At first he laughed and enjoyed the ride, but suddenly he said, "Ow! Ow! Ow! Mommy." Of course, I stopped bouncing and asked him what hurt. Was I pinching his legs? Squeezing too hard? I was not prepared for his response.

Calvin: "Mommy! My tentacles hurt."

Me: "Calvin, by tentacles, do you mean your arms and legs like an octopus?

Calvin: "No, no, no" (obviously he enjoys saying things in groups of threes). "My tentacles are by my penis."

Me: "Oh, you mean your testicles."

Calvin: "Oh. heh heh. Sorry. I meant testicles."

Funniest thing I think I ever heard.

pass the soap

2008-11-25T18:33:00.004-05:00

As I sat at work today dealing with yet another frustration, I realized that, over the past month, my new favorite word has been f@!* Yes that word! The same word that rhymes with duck and starts with the same letter as "freak-of-nature." The same word that found Ralphie suckin' on soap in "A Christmas Story".

As I sat amidst chaos with more requests heaped upon my already breaking threshold and this word came to mind, I realized that this word has been my comfort, my solace, and my good feeling for the last month. When I got out of my car and realized my soccer cleats were 30 miles away at home, this word made me feel a little less helpless. When I realized that, because my cleats were at home and I had to borrow small shoes for the game which caused me to jam my toe, lose a toenail and get frostbite (all on same toe, by the way), this word made me happy again.

Why not puppy? Or squiggle? Why this word?

Perhaps because it makes me giggle every time I say or think it. It just makes me giggle. Perhaps it's because I feel as ridiculous as Ralphie sounded when HE said the word. It makes me feel like that little naughty kid that would break the rules, and feel a sly satisfaction when I realized I would get away with it. It makes me feel free. And if one word can make me feel that way, I say f#*@ it!

when calvin saw the racecars

2008-11-23T21:45:00.002-05:00

I forgot to mention that Calvin's teacher at school has a husband that drives racecars. In fact, the picture of his car was attached to a magnet and is a mainstay of the refrigerator.

Well, every spring they have a "pit party" where the cars all line up on the race track, and the kids can meet the drivers, get candy and balloon animals from the clowns and wait for 1.5 hours while rowdy children, stuffing their faces with fried dough and chunky velveeta on corn chips.

The only downside is that, based on Calvin's reaction and his overall love of racecars clearly evident from two months old to present, I fear that this life is really only a shadow of more to come. Good thing I love you, Calvin.

just the old fart

2008-11-13T23:11:00.003-05:00

Picking up pictures at Walgreens this evening (something we technically should have done three months ago for Calvin's school), I learned the irony of "that old fart". As Calvin and I approached the register--me with a feeling of accomplishment at having finally completed this marathon task--I hadn't noticed the older gentleman standing behind us, facing the opposite direction, looking at disposable cameras and denture cream, until I heard a rather un-gentleman-like noise coming quite obviously from his nether regions.

Of course, knowing I had a candid four year old hearing exactly the same thing, my body tensed a bit in panic-stricken anticipation of what unapologetic and socially inappropriate thing he'd say. The conversation went a little something like this:

Calvin: "MOM! Was that you?"
Me (with hand over face): "No, honey. It wasn't."
Calvin: "It was a really loud fart, though. That's funny."
Me to myself: "I hope that's all he'll say."

optimistic pause

Calvin: "Mom, it was stinky."
Me to myself: "Thank heavens the old fart seems to have ear drums as weak as his sphincter!"

a little friendly advice

2008-11-12T20:37:00.006-05:00

DISCLAIMER: I'm a bit disgruntled this evening, so forgive the uncharacteristic poopy attitude if you continue reading this post.

A bit of advice:

If you're going to talk negatively about a person behind her back, even in a whisper, make sure you're far enough away from her back so she doesn't actually hear what you're saying. Better yet, don't do it in the office across the hall with the door wide open and live acoustics. I'll be able to hear you!

And when you try to bring up your concerns later, don't try to pretend you just realized the mistake and are amused by it. I'm not too proud to mention your faux pas.

Oh, and it would also help if you yourself didn't make the same mistakes.

And if you have an experience like the aforementioned, make sure you have a good pair of arms to hug you when you get home. It's amazing how a good hug (and a smaller one from a half-pint around my knees) puts everything in perspective again. Everyone should have a reliable hugger.

when a bathroom's not just a bathroom

2008-11-09T22:08:00.004-05:00

Bathrooms in our house are portals to other places. It's not uncommon to hear, "Come here, Mom! Come here! We need to take the elevator to the moon!" coming from the bathroom. On this day, however, I rushed to the bathroom to see Calvin sitting on his stool (step may be more appropriate seeing as we ARE talking about the lavatory and I wouldn't want people to become confused). He told me to sit on the toilet since he's the pilot of the rocket that's about to take off. Of course I insisted we buckle up first, and off we went. Calvin used the knobs on the cabinet to see and steer, and Aaron was kind enough to take pictures to commemorate the event. We spent a good 20 minutes in the bathroom on this outing and saw Pluto, the PlanetOID, spun around on Saturns rings, and flew to Texas to see Nanny and Opa. We went so fast, and I braced for impact. Calvin told me the speed was 200, and I believed him.

and then i cried some more

2008-11-05T12:07:00.006-05:00

Eager to show Calvin the power of a democracy, you can imagine my disappointment to find that, once standing in the voting line early Tuesday morning before rushing off to work, my driver's license was hiding comfortably at home with my soccer cleats.

"Oh good! Now we can go tonight with Daddy!" Calvin reassured. I tried to convince myself this was a better plan, but was wounded by my lack of foresight with pangs of regret throughout the day. I didn't have my "I Voted" sticker, a badge of honor on any election day and especially coveted in an election for which I felt so strongly. I made a makeshift Obama sticker for consolation.

After a grueling day at work, and hurrying to get Calvin fed before standing in what I thought would be long lines (we eventually gave up with his permission), we glided in and out of the elementary school auditorium voting stations, and went home to watch the election results pour in. I felt like getting dressed up for the election results as though I was preparing for the Oscars, realizing that, unlike those movie-star-filled nights, these results actually MEANT something.

I was surprised at how emotional I became when Barack Obama was announced President-Elect last night. I had checked in with my parents occasionally throughout the evening, and when California's results came in and the election called, I burst into tears watching the crowds cheering and feeling the electricity of its global ramifications. My mom called and I had to hang up so I could just be emotional and absorb every emotional flicker of the evening. Despite my typical tendencies I have to say I felt quite patriotic. American, really; something most who know me would be surprised to hear.

John McCain's speech was rousing. Perhaps if he'd sounded a bit more like he did last night the election might have been a bit closer. But Barack Obama's speech was one for the ages. It was a speech like those of JFK, Churchill, or Martin Luther King, Jr.: powerful, significant, relevant, authoritative, humble, and human.

I sat on the sofa, curled up under a blanket... and then I cried some more.

Ghost Pumpkins and Rednecks

2008-10-31T19:27:00.008-04:00

Well, here we are as a glam cowboy rocker (Aaron would have said redneck, and too bad you can't see the Bonner Erection hat he's wearing. It's an actual company!) here with his baby mama and Redneck Junior. The image isn't close enough to adequately show off my killer blue eye shadow and brown lip-liner. I spent a lot of time on the lip liner. As it turns out it's harder than it looks to get a good lip liner goin'. Props to all the ladies out there with a hand steady enough to really define the space on your face.

The boobs were soccer balls that kept rollin' around in my shirt all night. Rather awkward.

Maybe the picture is a little closer to reality than we care to admit.

And as for the ghost pumpkin. Here's the little angel. I ran out of time to tuft the costume, and the hat was supposed to be covered in muslin with a paper mache stem and leaf, but ... maybe next year. We added his gardening gloves as a little homage to where Patches, the Ghost Pumpkin came from. Bless his heart.

Also on display here is the fantastic blue berber carpet chosen by the previous owners, bless their hearts, and Calvin's "really scary pumpkin" design. Fierce!

easy, ladies. there's enough for everyone

2008-10-31T19:27:00.002-04:00

I thought the college women had a flare for hyperbole when they complained about the length between blog postings, but when I checked, I guess four months is a legitimate complaint.

Sorry.

What a great time in New Hampshire gnoshing and joshing with the ladies last weekend. Can't believe it's already been a week! It did make the week a bit easier to bare. How about another one next weekend so I can get through to the holidays? Anyone?

Anyone?

My weekend highlights:

1. running without pushing a stroller or feeling rushed to get home
2. jill made my bed two times!
3. idyllic location (thank you for the generosity Melinda's aunt-in-law!)
4. seeing sunny as a mom--i wish you lived closer
5. realizing that i'm not running from the past; everyone has moved on
6. melinda (most especially her outlook on life, parenting style, and witty self-expression)
7. feeling good about being me in my own skin
8. the food
9. finding a chandelier even though I only took about 10 steps in the whole store
10. chatting with natalie, jill, and anne on the way to the airport
11. life-threatening hikes and watching sunny do it just like everyone else even though she was carrying a three-month-old baby the whole time.
12. being with strong, independent, individual women
13. listening to debates about guns and porn
14. sarah hill is still that girl that walked into my dorm all those years ago
15. margo will always be margo, no matter how many kids she has
16. realizing that, just like in college, i want to be healthy and fit like beada with her unapologetic way she has of being nothing other than who she is

Because I forgot the camera, I'll attach pictures when someone sends theirs (hint hint)

there's more, but I have to go to a Halloween party with Patches, the ghost pumpkin and my redneck husband (remind me to blog about that, later).

looking for the perfect job

2008-06-02T21:44:00.008-04:00

Here's what I want to do for employment:

something creative
flexible hours*
would love something that lets me live or travel or work closely with people abroad (i.e., outside the U.S.)

Here are my qualifications:

hard-working
enjoy creativity
industrious
smarty pants
winning personality (obviously!)

Things that make me happy at work:

interacting with people
putting things together
problem-solving
working with my hands
working with fun people in a relaxed-yet-hard-working environment
managing stuff
exciting job titles

Outside interests that may help brainstorm:

Sewing and knitting
Design (fashion, graphic, landscape)
Gardening
Pop culture
Movies and Music of various genres
Good books (bad books are bad)
Eating good food (sweet or savory, but probably more sweet)
Baking, as long as I don't have to get up before the sun to do it

Please feel free to donate ideas and opportunities

**flexible hours does NOT mean minimal hours. I'd just like something that doesn't swallow all free time. I'd like to spend time with husband and son, you know? Balance is important.

basil...not just a good name

2008-06-02T21:38:00.002-04:00

Thanks Liz. I think cilantro and basil go quite nicely together.

You Are Basil

You are quite popular and loved by post people.
You have a mild temperament, but your style is definitely distinctive.
You are sweet, attractive, and you often smell good.

http://www.blogthings.com/whatspiceareyouquiz/

can I have the key, please?

2008-06-02T21:24:00.005-04:00

Well, it's happened. I got a job at "The Office". Dwight Shrute is my boss, complete with bathroom keys at the front desk, disciplinary action for one-minute tardiness, phone and e-mail surveillance, and closed-door meetings about the one-minute surprise office visit from my husband who just got his hair cut at a salon in my building.

Fabulous!

(No exaggeration was used in the making of this post)

addition

2008-03-25T15:44:00.004-04:00

Welcome to the family, Nadan!

pass me that calculator, please!

2008-03-25T15:16:00.004-04:00

So, tomorrow I start new, gainful employment.

I chose to work for a staffing agency in town rather than an administrative position that paid much more but was about 20 minutes away on a good day. I console myself by realizing that the people at the staffing agency are very nice, busy (which makes time go oh so quickly), and at least I'll be doing something that really helps people rather than just helping sell more crap.

So what will I be doing? I'll be the numbers person at a staffing agency. And, yes, I hear you laughing. Whether it's laughing at me or at the staffing agency for employing me in that capacity is irrelevant. The bottom line is that it's a block from our house so I won't have to get a new car--I was hoping for a porsche to make Calvin happy--and I won't have to sit in traffic instead of spending time with Calvin.

And for those of you who didn't even know I was looking for a job, I was. mTrove is still kicking it on the sidelines, so I'll be playing with that on an occasional evening, but for the most part I'll just get free time with the family, so I guess everyone wins.

Liz tagged me!

2008-02-08T21:36:00.001-05:00

A. The Rules are posted at the beginning. B. Each player answers about themselves. C. At the end of the post, the player tags 5 people, posts their names, and goes to their blogs letting them know they've been tagged.*

5 Things I Was Doing 10 Years Ago:
1. Was I alive 10 years ago? Man!
2. I was in a sad marriage (which ended a year later).
3. Living in a fog.
4. Dropping out of college and working for an ESL software company
5. Watching lots of TV and getting no exercise.

5 Things On My To-Do List Today:
1. Laundry
2. Get Calvin to and from school
3. Start making Valentine cards
4. Make dinner
5. Clean the house for Nathan's visit and get ready to go see Liz in Vermont (wahoo!)

5 Snacks I Enjoy:
1. Cheese
2. Granola (and granola bars...I love all things granola)
3. Fruit
4. Chocolate or nuts
5. Graham crackers and milk

5 Things I'd Do if I Were a Billionaire:
1. Consult a financial planner
2. Get a good home security system
3. Pay off Aaron's student loans
4. Travel a lot!
5. Buy a hybrid car
6. I like Liz's idea of paying off the mortgages of family members and close friends
7. Philanothropy

3 Bad Habits:
1. Interrupting (me too, Liz!)
2. Biting my fingernails
3. Forgetting to call people I care about

5 Jobs I've Had:
1. Oboist in Midland/Odessa Symphony
2. Clerk at bookstore
3. Print Production Coordinator at Pyro Brand Development
4. Psychiatry Coordinator at UVM--probably my favorite job because not only was I in Vermont, but I got to work with some of the most amazing people I've ever met!
5. Creative Director for mTrove (I love my job!)

5 Things You Probably Don't Know About Me
1. I want to live in a chateau in France with my entire family and best friends (not really that many people).
2. I love to garden.
3. I think about my brother Asa more than anyone else alive (except for Aaron and Calvin because they live with me).
4. I'm REALLY excited for Bush to leave office!
5. I farted. (What can I say? My life is an open book and most people know most things about me, I think.)

*I don't think I know 5 people with a blog well enough to tag them.

I have a Porsche!

2008-02-04T14:36:00.000-05:00

No! I didn't get a new car. I just feel better about the one I already have.

I no longer see the rusty door that takes the strength of a linebacker to open and close. Gone are the frets about transmissions falling out on the freeway or concerns about the jittery nature of the wheels when I reach 50 mph.

The other day I was getting into my 1994 forest green Ford Explorer Sport with my son when he said, "Mom! Are you going to drive your Ford Explorer Porsche?"

"Yes, honey. Yes I am."

mai oui!

2008-02-04T14:30:00.000-05:00

I'm excited to say that I started a French class last week! I've been uber proud of my Frenchiness my whole life--eagerly listening to fantastic stories of Meme growing up in Morocco, her Parisian mother standing up defiantly to the invading Nazis, listening with pride as Mummy spoke effortlessly to a French-speaking stranger, and speaking jibberish with a French accent to my stuffed animals as a child, among other things--so it surprises people to find out that I don't actually speak French other than to say, "Je ne parle pas Francais" (which, I think, means I don't speak French).

Don't worry...by the end of the eight-week course I'll be fluent in French and the only thing left for me to do is put on my beret and buy a baguette, some Camembert, and a Pinot Noir.

gotta watch this

2008-01-31T12:06:00.000-05:00

http://www.storyofstuff.com/

climbing superstar

2007-12-05T10:56:00.000-05:00

My sister is the first toughy on tape here. What a woman!

superstar sister

haiku for bill o'reilly

2007-09-27T13:52:00.000-04:00

bill o'reilly* stinks
Anything I hear him say
Makes my stomach turn

*name not capitalized intentionally; he is undeserving of the respect it indicates

one day I'll get a new car, but

2007-09-24T20:37:00.000-04:00

in the meantime I keep waiting for this stupid piece of junk to break down for good. Of course, it doesn't help that "someone" thought the seat belt slots looked like great places to put pirate coins from a birthday party we went to last year that keep appearing despite best efforts to throw them all away. "Someone else" didn't know this slot game had taken place and shoved, cursed, and forced the seat belt into the slot, and just as it clicked in place, "someone" said, "Oh, did I put coins in there?"

The seat belt wouldn't come out.

More cursing.

"Someone male with much patience" fixed said problem, but was only able to retrieve the majority of coin in key seatbelt and the fragment that remained didn't seem to cause a problem until last week when key seatbelt no longer unclicks and not even "someone male with much patience" has been able to fix this problem.

"Someone" has had to contort his/her way into problem seatbelt for a few weeks, now, and the problem doesn't look like it will fix itself in the near or distant future.

Why not simply use another seatbelt? Good question. Only two seatbelts are available in the back of this lovely car, and one seatbelt hasn't worked for well close to two years now, and "someone" is not able to sit in the front seat of a car for about six more years. Until then we may have to look into yoga or limb reduction techniques so that "someone" is able to continually use said seatbelt for the duration of that time.

Man, I can't wait 'til my man gets a job!

You wanna piece of ME?

2007-09-11T09:37:00.000-04:00

Calvin loves Owen! They take turns bossing each other around; first, Owen wants Calvin to go upstairs with him so they can play with cars on the "car slide" (parking garage), then Calvin wants Owen to stand THERE so they can play with their respective refrigerator letter magnets. Neither seems to mind the other's opinionated direction. They've never fought about anything, which is quite a feat for two three-year-old boys, hug unabashedly, and instantly understand a new made-up game called "You wanna piece of ME?" where they both yell "You wanna piece of ME?" before hitting a pillow and laughing hysterically.

Every kid deserves a best friend.

at what point do you know your child will be a mechanic when he grows up?

2007-08-27T10:26:00.000-04:00

Possibly when they roll their car over the air return and pretend they're giving said car an oil change? Or when they repeatedly give their car tire changes complete with power drill noises. Poor kid lay on the floor for a good 45 minutes working on his car.

Isn't my dad awesome?

2007-08-15T23:28:00.000-04:00

Jason, I hope this satisfies your need for skin. I saw it and immediately knew this is what you were talking about. It isn't exactly nudity, but I always think that leaving a little something to the imagination is more powerful than making everything so obvious (Britney Spears take note). Such a tragedy to waste a good imagination. When was the last time yours had a good workout?

**not really my dad. His suit is yellow.**