Mayberry Mom

Moving on up

2009-05-18T12:40:00.003-06:00

I'm now blogging at MayberryMom.com. See you there! (Please?) And update your links and readers (please?) -- I would really appreciate it.

As my son said to his friend's mother at a birthday party yesterday, "Thank you, EYEBALL!!"

When I am a mom I will never ... Oops.

2009-05-14T20:58:00.003-06:00

I thought I was almost done crossing things off the list of "things I will never allow/resort to/say when I am a parent."

Apparently not, because my car now has stickers on the insides of four (four!) windows. Better yet, two are Sponge Bob, one is Sesame Street, and one is Transformers. They all came from the doctor's office. (I know they didn't come from the haircut place because you should see my shaggy-headed children. It's a little hippie up in here right now.)

Yes, I drive a station wagon. One that's eight years old and has a big dent on one side because I practically rammed it myself with a shopping cart. One that's carpeted with crumbs and critically important crayon drawings and reusable shopping bags and gum wrappers.

But really, the stickers have driven away any last shred of decency and coolness I had left.

Worse than getting your teeth cleaned

2009-05-12T12:00:00.000-06:00

Recently I had a Bad Day, of the grieving subset of Bad Days. I had to go to the dentist and I just knew there would be an awkward moment when the hygienist asked me if I'd had my baby or why I wasn't pregnant. I was dreading it utterly and it happened almost exactly the way I had feared, except I hadn't predicted the part where I spent the entire appointment willing myself not to cry, then lost it in the car afterward.

As I told Maggie after her post IVF Shoes, I only want to talk about our loss with people I really care about and trust. Everyone else, it's a need-to-know basis only. I know they don't know what to say. I don't either and I don't feel like comforting them because I suffered a loss.

Like Maggie did, I bought a necklace as a tribute to my son. And what I like best about it is that it's meaningful to me--the two taller flowers sheltering the little one, each representing one of my three children--but I only need share that meaning if I want to.

Merci beaucoup, Mom

2009-05-10T20:19:00.000-06:00

For this weekend's Mother's Day blog blast, Parent Bloggers Network asked for posts about what our moms have handed down to us. I have an old post that sums that up perfectly, from back when my blog was very new. Here it is, if you're so inclined.

(Photo from my mother's retirement party in 2006 ... two years before she unretired and went back to work.)

Actually, yes, I would like the chest to wear it on too.

2009-05-10T06:37:00.001-06:00

Alternate title: Mother's Day--The Low Road

I know it is petty, but sometimes I would like a teensy bit of credit for the things I do. I bet you do them too. You know, the things that are essential to the running of the household; or maybe just considerate--but that go entirely unnoticed by everyone else. Things like:

Being able to pinpoint exactly where every item of clothing is at any moment: "your middle drawer"/"the hamper"/"in your cubby at school"/"in the too-small box because you outgrew it two years ago"

The biweekly declutter (along with the weekly, semiweekly, daily, and hourly declutters)

Dressing and undressing in the dark if others are sleeping

Unloading the dishwasher 98.7% of the time
Wiping the bathroom sink clean every single night (can't anyone get their toothpaste down the drain? How does it end up on the shelf under the medicine cabinet?)

So for Mother's Day, I am giving myself a giant pat on the back. And here's one for you too; what do you do that no one ever appreciates?

*My husband is very good at holidays so I am sure I will be suitably thanked and celebrated today. It's just the other 364 days a year that sometimes need work.

Food in the round; and what the Internet is for

2009-05-07T20:11:00.005-06:00

I loved this week's creative challenges at Hot by BlogHer. I chose to do the diet challenge:

For this challenge, choose one day this week and photograph every bite you eat, then blog those photos. (Before you eat it, of course.) You'll not only be hyperaware of food choices due to the accountability of blogging it, but you may be surprised when you see your entire day of food in front of you.

1 Nonfat chai latte; 2 apple slices left from kid's breakfast; 3 oatmeal with blueberries, almonds, and a splash of chai concentrate; 4 stir fry with brown rice, tofu, broccoli, carrots, shiitake mushrooms, and bok choy, plus tea; 5 Annie's peace pasta with parmesan, again with the kid leftovers; 6 sugar snap peas; 7 "club sandwich" wrap with steamed vegetables; 8 roasted cashews with cinnamon and sugar; 9 seltzer

I am amused by the roundness of all my containers. And surprised by the small amount of food (I only ate half of that ridiculously oversized wrap). This is a pretty normal day of eating for me, except we went out to dinner. But not at a decent restaurant, so that wrap was the best thing I could find on the menu. We saw a show and were unable to resist the intoxicating scent of the ($7!) cone of roasted ~~crack~~ cashews.

And as your reward for being interested enough in my daily food intake to read this whole post, here is a clip from the show we saw. Still just as funny as when we first saw it 6(?) years ago.

Who's the mouthiest of them all?

2009-05-06T10:07:00.004-06:00

I've been awake since before 7 a.m. It is now past 11 a.m. and I have yet to sit down to actually do any work. I've been ferrying children to school and also ferrying misplaced stuff all over my house--today was biweekly Declutter Day. Yes, it took almost two hours to move all the upstairs stuff back upstairs and the downstairs stuff back downstairs and the basement stuff back to the basement.

I wonder what the mystery ladies behind The Mouthy Housewives would have to say about that? I may have to click over there and ask for their advice. If I can handle the mouthy truth.

Kids in a crate

2009-05-05T12:25:00.004-06:00

After I saw this caged kids picture at Kimberly's, I had to see her two kids and raise her two with this:

It's an outtake from our recycled fitness toys photo shoot.

Mostly unrelated funny story: Once Jeff was flipping channels and "Snakes on a Plane" came on. I immediately yelled "M-f-ing snakes on a m-f-ing plane!" And he looked at me like I was completely insane, because somehow he had entirely missed the SoaP pop-culture moment.

But within about 30 seconds (no kidding), Samuel L. Jackson delivered the all-important line, and my credibility was rightfully restored.

There's convenience, and then there's ... dumb.

2009-05-04T08:21:00.001-06:00

I have frequently noted here that I am no gourmet cook. I mean, the first time I roasted a chicken all by myself I bragged about it here like I had just earned three Michelin stars. But I have to feed myself and my children every day (my husband, the chef, is never home early enough to make dinner), and I try to make sure that what we eat is reasonably healthy and tasty.

So I am all about convenience foods. I buy bagged salads, Thai Kitchen stir-fry kits, jarred pasta sauce (these are good--no sugar or other junk), premade pizza crusts, and so on. Scrambled eggs, plain cheese quesadillas, and frozen ravioli are in regular rotation at our dinner table.

But there are some things I just don't get. Break-and-bake cookies, for one. I can't believe we need another level of simple below slice-and-bake. And also, Pizza Hut pasta delivery. Seriously? All you have to do to make pasta is boil water. If you have time to wait for the delivery, you have time to boil water and dump some cheese and sauce on top.

Of course, that is how my husband feels about bagged salads. He will pry the Fresh Express packages from my cold, scurvious hands because I'm not giving them up.

*

Also: Foods That Taste Nothing Like What They Are Supposed to Be, But Are Still Delicious*

Pringles
Chips Ahoy
McDonald's Hamburgers

*Although I can't remember the last time I ate any of these.

Behind the scenes

2009-04-30T11:42:00.003-06:00

Over at my other place today I am sharing pictures from a photo shoot I hosted in my very own basement. Check out homemade fitness equipment (plus four cute kids. and a glimpse of me. and also a glimpse of my messy basement).

Rear view

2009-04-29T06:20:00.000-06:00

Suebob asked the other day whether we "bathe in past glory, or nakedly march into the future."

I responded that most of the time, I am too busy with the present to spend much time on either the past or the future. I realized that as a parent, I have become both more and less nostalgic than I once was. If I grew too attached to all the kid stuff in my life, I would DIE in an avalanche of clutter. So I purge, often. But there's really no way I can bring myself to throw away an old envelope on which Opie wrote (really wrote!) "JO JO."

Thank goodness for my blog and my mother. The latter has organized, edited, and printed all of my digital photos from the past 7 years and put them in albums for me. And the former helps me remember that time we went to the "requarium" at SeaWorld and saw the Shampoo show.

Hey, sister, soul sister

2009-04-28T08:52:00.000-06:00

Thank you, Heather!

The eyes have it

2009-04-27T08:27:00.001-06:00

The other night while we were watching TV, a mascara commercial came on and my husband said, with equal parts incredulity and disgust, "Who wears that stuff?"

"I do," I answered. "Pretty much every day."

He really couldn't believe it. I didn't know whether to be flattered, or bemused at his lack of awareness.

Mostly I just thought it was funny, because after all I don't wear mascara for him. It's for me. A little makeup (whatever can be applied in less than four minutes) helps me feel like the face in the mirror matches the one in my mind's eye.

Call me shallow, but I don't see anything wrong with that.

Shredded cheese

2009-04-24T11:52:00.001-06:00

Time for a shredhead update!

Time for me to hang my head in shame and report that although I have been working out, I swear, and watching my food intake, I swear, it's, uh, not working. I've lost just a couple of pounds in almost two months of near-daily workouts. For all of March I did the 30-Day Shred, and this month I am doing a combination of Bob Harper Biggest Loser workouts--Cardio Max, Body Sculpt, and Weight Loss Yoga. Plus I take a power vinyasa yoga class at the Y twice a week, and according to my activity computer I accumulate at least 60 minutes of activity (walking, stair-climbing, pushing kids on the swings, etc.) several days a week.

So it's discouraging, to say the least. I'm still committed to continuing to work out (I'm supposed to be an expert, after all). At this point, I am in the habit of waking up early and putting in 20-30 minutes of exercise; and Jo is also in the habit of waking up and observing. I have extra motivation to get up because I don't want her to be up for no reason other than to watch some extra TV. Of course, knowing that we are both up means that Opie needs to get up too. He also needs to crawl under me every time I'm in downward-facing dog and to stand close enough to me to get hit in the head with hand weights on a regular basis.

Hmm. Maybe that would explain the lack of progress. The good news is that I do feel more fit, my muscles always have that slight bit of soreness that tells me I worked them, and I can now do headstand and crow pose. These are probably more important victories than the stubborn numbers on the scale but I'd like both kthx?

I just read a post about research showing that consuming blueberries can help reduce belly fat. Dude, I eat blueberries almost every single day for breakfast and still have a totally flabby gut. Don't you hate reading advice and tips and realizing you're already doing everything there is to do, and why on earth isn't it working?!

Julie pointed out that the blueberries probably need to be baked into muffins to have the most effect. I'm trying that next.

Clearly the child should have her own blog

2009-04-22T10:04:00.006-06:00

When I went on a trip to Urbana illanou. My uncal said my hol famliy cood see a huge mashing called Shop Bot work.
In orter to make it work my ant Amy, hoo is an artist, and I had to cerate a dasine. We drew a bunny for a dasine on her conprter. My ant Amy sent the dasine on her conprter to my uncal. My uncal uploaded the bunny dasine into the Shop Bot. The Shop Bot cut the bunny shap out of a picee of wood.

Then we took it back to my ant and uncal's house. To pant it with my ant. We panted it wite and this weekend we will pant it with pingk spots.

I named it Stefeany.
The end.

By Jo and My Dad

(Editor's note: Opie got a plane, natch.)

Enough to send the very best

2009-04-20T08:41:00.004-06:00

Scene: The locker room at the Y, one of my very favorite places evar.

OPIE: Do Crocs care?

ME: Do they care? About what?

OPIE: No! Do they care!

ME: Um. About what? Do Crocs care ... about what?

OPIE: NO! Do. Crocs. care. You know! Do they care about this foot or that foot?

ME: Ohhh. Yes, they need to go on the right feet. This one goes on this foot and this one goes on that foot.

OPIE: Why do shoes care and socks don't care?

***

Back from a weekend away. The score: 12+ hours of driving, 1 unnecessary detour, 0 (!!) potty accidents, and 1 hour of kid car napping. That last was due to the portable DVD player, which I alternately want to marry and throw out the window of the moving vehicle, preferably when driving over a large body of water.

***

Minor league Mayberry

2009-04-15T09:24:00.007-06:00

We observed the first Monday of "spring" break with a minor league baseball game. If you've never done this with your kids, it's totally worth it even if you have less than zero interest in baseball (as I do). It's way easier than a major league game, in terms of parking, stadium size, and cost (and in our case it's at least 90 miles closer to home than the nearest major league park). The ballpark closest to us is clean and very kid-friendly; it even has a playground.

Plus, the goofy activities and cheesy (more on that later) promos are nonstop. Kids can't get bored by the slow pace of baseball when pretty much every inning includes a giveaway, race, or contest.

And when you are freezing your butts off in the bottom of the 5th you can just pack it in and go home, no harm done.

Brrrrrr.

Free baseballs! (Note empty seats. A staffer we talked with was so pleased we were there he handed each child a real! baseball!)

We win a cheesy giveaway (afraid to actually eat them, so far).

I'm telling you, the excitement NEVER STOPS: a cannon that looks like a bratwurst on a bun and shoots packages of brats out into the crowd.

Packed up and ready to go

2009-04-14T12:26:00.004-06:00

We won't be leaving for my brother's place for a few days, but yesterday Opie packed a bag. Stuffed it, actually: "So I'll have choices, Mommy." Here is what he wants to bring:

2 pairs shorts (how optimistic)
1 pair pants (also optimistic, given the limited success of potty training thus far)
3 short-sleeved shirts
2 long-sleeved shirt (it goes without saying that none of the above articles of clothing actually match each other)
1 pair football pants (from Halloween costume)
1 football jersey (from thrift shop)
1 Superfriends coloring book
1 rubber dog-nose mask
2 pairs faux pilot goggles (a spare is important)
1 string Mardi Gras beads (turquoise)
1 6-inch-long piece of grosgrain ribbon (striped)

I guess I'll be packing the socks and underwear in my luggage.

Like Mrs. Chicken, I feel strange posting something frivolous today. I've been unable to write about Maddie (and now Thalon) in part because a silly, petty feeling weighs on me--that every mention of them is a tacit, although certainly unintended, exclusion of so many others: other babies who have been lost (yes, including my own), other families suffering other tragedies, too numerous or too unknown to mention. None of it is fair, none of it. But all I can do is enjoy the children I have.

Easter morning bedhead

2009-04-12T19:39:00.004-06:00

If you're looking for charming Easter pictures of my shiny-haired children (and why would you be unless you are my mother), move along. They both had the rattiest, sticky-uppiest, messiest cases of bedhead this morning. Jo's was reasonably decent by the time we went to church, but Opie's ... forget it.

It actually reminded me of the day of my grandmother's funeral. My brother was in the middle of one of his months-long bike trips and for whatever reason had decided not to cut his hair or shave his beard until he completed the trip. Just try to picture the result of the combination of bike helmet, sweat, and longer and longer hair, day in and day out. Trying to whip him into shape for the funeral, my sister and I each took a huge handful of hair gel and attacked the wiry mop on top of his head. It worked about as well as my attempt to flatten Opie's locks this morning.

And it's still cold here. Which inspired a haiku.

Breath visible on
sunny Easter morn -- want a
nice cool Eggsicle?

"Spring" break ahoy this week (finally). In a few days we're off to visit my brother, who these days has hair so short that hair product is entirely unnecessary.

Wordless Wednesday: Roll with it, baby

2009-04-08T17:10:00.000-06:00

The only decent picture from the roller rink party, and it's not even of the birthday child.

Gossip girl's birthday party roundup

2009-04-07T12:17:00.004-06:00

If you don't like gossip, you can skip this one (I'll probably delete it in a few days). If you're in more of a Dorothy Parker mood and would like to sit by someone who doesn't have anything nice to say, stick around.

We had both kids' birthday parties this weekend, one Saturday at home and one Sunday at a roller rink. Saturday I had to clean up vomit (canine) before the party. Sunday I had to clean up crap (human) before the party. I'm glad we didn't have a party on Monday because I wasn't interested in mopping up any blood.

Since Opie wanted to have his party at home, we kept the guest list small--a bunch of his friends from child care plus a few neighbors. The response was abysmal. Out of nine kids, only one showed, and only three others actually sent regrets. At the last minute I invited some other neighbors, a family of four kids--thank God, because they made up pretty much the entire party.

Luckily, Opie didn't seem to care. His best buddy from school was there (and his parents did some heroic schedule-shifting to make that possible). He had a Superman cake and a Superman pinata and everyone got to wear a cape.

Jo's party was the opposite. Her guest list kept growing as she begged to invite "just one more" kid from her class. And all except one replied in the affirmative. Which, fine. The roller rink was a dirt-cheap venue: $5/kid. (The place clearly has changed neither its decor, or its music selections, or its prices since 1985.)

(Here's where the gossip comes in.) A few days before the party one of her friend's moms, who I know, called because she was having transportation issues. We eventually worked out that the child's cousin would bring her to our house, then we'd take her to the party; another friend would take her home. Easy.

Then another mom calls--someone I don't know at all. And she gives me chapter and verse on her recent hysterectomy/gallbladder surgery/"total abdominal reconstruction" and how she can't drive and is there any way I could ... ? So I say yes, of course, we can pick up your daughter and take her to the party and bring her home.

I'm glad she asked for help and I was glad we could offer it. I really didn't need so many details. But it got better. An hour before the party--when I was cleaning up the aforementioned crap, which happened to land on the one small patch of white carpeting we have in our house--Hysterectomy Mom calls back. This time she wants to know if her son can tag along. She'll pay for him, he can just skate, etc. Once again I get a whole saga of a bad night's sleep, Xanax didn't help, yadda yadda. I quickly calculate whether we can fit all of these kids in our station wagon and determine that we can. So I promise to pick up the birthday guest and the brother in half an hour.

We pile into the car and I am wedged into the front passenger seat with a huge box filled with goody bags and party favors. I can't move at all. We get to the kids' house and I make Jeff get out to say hello to the kids and the mom. She comes out in her pajamas and proceeds to pull from her pants pockets:

two drainage pouches filled with pus.

Like we needed proof that she had had this surgery. Good gravy. Really, how do you respond to such a thing? We backed out of the driveway as quickly as we possibly could. I think she was still talking about how many cc's of fluid she needed to allow to drain before she could have the tubes removed.

At the end of the party, some other mom volunteered to take those two kids home.

We said yes.

Golden boy

2009-04-04T07:00:00.000-06:00

I never heard of the "golden birthday" tradition until mine (my ninth) had long since passed, and always felt just the littlest bit cheated.

So: Happy GOLDEN birthday, Opie. Can it be that he is four? On 4/04? As my younger child, it's much harder for me to let him grow up. He is still my littlest boy. I still carry him on my hip and sway him to sleep. He burrows into my bed nearly every night and I secretly love it.

Yet every week after his music class, his teacher notes that he "was a big helper with the smaller kids." Smaller kids? He IS a small kid! But this year, he gave up his Nuk. He dresses himself (capably, if not fashionably). He rides a bike. He recites whole pages of his favorite books. He makes up stories and songs and games. He sometimes--God help us--wears big-boy underpants. He can write his name!

Happy fourth, my beautiful boy. Your future is bright, and you make me smile like no one else can.

Seven years of good luck

2009-04-03T08:23:00.000-06:00

I took these pictures on the morning of Jo's first birthday. I wanted to remember exactly what she looked like at that moment: Simultaneously eager to explore the world, and pensive too.

Six years later, her personality is much the same--95% go-getter, 5% ponderer. She doesn't tumble head-over-heels into things without thinking, but she does have confidence and self-possession in spades. (And yes, this is borderline obnoxious, so we work on knowing when to speak up and when to let others have a turn.) Despite her small size, she holds her own in a classroom full of children as much as three years older. She is fearless when it comes to swimming, climbing, public speaking--all those things that so many adults have trouble confronting.

Since turning 6, she's lost many of her front teeth and, famously, her appendix. She's become a strong reader and continued her interest in math and science. She has discovered a love of the stage (big surprise; see #4 below). She likes to get up early in the morning so she can spend a little extra time with me (and of couse, provide helpful comments) while I am working out. One of the best treats we can give her is to let her sneak downstairs after Opie is in bed and snuggle up on the couch to watch "a decorating show."(The other best treat we can give her is to let her watch any show, 24/7, but that doesn't happen except under extreme duress--e.g., hospitalization.)

She just brought home a huge stack of papers from school. These four cracked me up and deserve to be recorded here for posterity.

1. Name badge from field trip to hospital--the picture is of her in the CT scanner, or as she called it during her hospital stay, "the doughnut machine." She was in there 5 times last summer. I think she drew a pretty good likeness.

2. Recently adopted signature. I thought this didn't happen until about age 10.

3. "Writer's Workshop: Tru Storry," meditation on the theme of "making a mess."

4. "My Dream"

Happy birthday, Jo. May all your dreams come true, even the ones about getting your "her" done and wearing "macop."

Shreddy Eddie

2009-04-01T07:53:00.002-06:00

I did it!

OK, I mostly did it. I missed 3 days out of 30 on the 30-Day Shred. But I also did 75 minutes of vinyasa yoga twice a week for all four weeks. And I've been testing out a watch/monitor that tracks active time; I reach 60 minutes most days (that includes marching in place in my bathroom at 11 p.m. when I realize I am up to 57 minutes).

I didn't take before/after pictures, but I doubt they'd match the amazing results shown by Kristen, Christina, and Nancy (among many others I'm sure). I still have the flab spilling over the waistband of all my pants, although I do notice that I am not quite as desperate to switch to PJs in the evening as I was before. (Small victories, people. Small victories.)

Still, I am very glad I participated. I'll put up my lessons learned over at my fitness blog on Thursday (got an April Fool's post planned there today!). And as of today, go Team Bob!

*

Continuity updates:

We are getting a fat tax refund. I know that's not, actually, a good thing (means we've been lending our $ to the feds all year) but this was an unpredictable year for us, income-wise, so we're going to take the money and run. And smile. And pay some bills.
Two birthday parties planned for this weekend. So far ALL of Jo's invited guests are yesses and ONE of Opie's is. Scrounging for additional 4-year-old boy invitees now. Jeff hand-made 10 Superman capes and we have no one to wear them! snif.
I never did cut anyone off Bloglines. Am total addict.
Most importantly: Our grocery store rescinded its dumb policy about reusable bags. I found out when I went to the website to deliver a scathing e-mail.

Lots of good news. No foolin'. Hope you get some today too.

Hump the Bump

2009-03-30T08:41:00.003-06:00

Saturday morning: Chili Peppers 'n' pancake prep.

My kind of spring cleaning

2009-03-27T10:14:00.004-06:00

I am not talking about the real kind of spring cleaning (heaven forfend). I am lucky if I remember to change the sheets regularly, and our windows haven't been washed in at least two years.

But even though it's still freezing cold, with snow predicted for the next two days, I am on an out-with-the-old roll lately. I am mercilessly cutting Bloglines subscriptions; I just can't follow over 100 blogs anymore (but I'm sure yours is still on there). We are meeting with the accountant today to finally wrap up our 2008 taxes. I am changing my habits by shredding every day and being more thoughtful about what I eat. I am actually keeping alive the two new plants that recently came to live in our house. I am itching to put away my sweaters and corduroys in favor of skirts and t-shirts.

I can't decide what to do with all of the baby and maternity clothes, though. I know I am placing a lot of pressure on myself to make a decision, but it's driving me crazy to have all this stuff around. If we're done, I'd like to try to move on, to celebrate the new time and space it might create in our lives while also mourning the babies, real and imagined, we'll never have. If we're not done, well, time's a-wasting, you know? Limbo is just not a place I like to be.

Who says you can't make gingerbread cookies in March?

2009-03-25T06:28:00.000-06:00

Thunder rerun

2009-03-24T06:06:00.002-06:00

This is from almost exactly two years ago. The weather today is the same as it was when I wrote it, so I am reposting it today.

Two years ago this week, I bumped into a neighbor who's married to an ob-gyn. Making small talk about my impending delivery, I said I hoped the coming full moon would do the trick. "Or maybe we'll get a thunderstorm," she replied.

I'd never heard that before, but she swore that she, her husband, and his colleagues over the years had noticed a significant uptick in births during and just after storms. Thunderstorms are a summer phenomenon, I thought; the snow is just barely receding. There's no way we'll get one now.

Sure enough, a few days later thunder clapped through the sky, lightning flashed, slashing rain fell, my dog curled into a tiny ball, trembling and panting. And my baby ... stayed firmly put. He didn't emerge until more than a week later.

Tonight we ushered in spring with a rousing storm. This time, no restless baby kicking at my insides, keeping me guessing on when he'd come and who he'd be. Now a toddler demanding "more boom!" Now a tiny boy following his big sister's lead, hovering over a terrified dog, patting and soothing. "Okay, Fah-ee. Okay." Now a blond head nodding to sleep on my shoulder as the lightning bursts through the window blinds. Now my own Opie.

Driving along in my automobile. Well, someone's.

2009-03-20T13:44:00.005-06:00

Last month Nancy reminisced about cars in her past, and I commented that, even at my advanced age, I've never had my own car, not counting the ones I now share with my husband. In high school I had to walk, borrow from my parents, and even (horrors!) had a babysitter whose main job function was to drive me and my younger siblings around after school.

I went to college in West Philadelphia where a car was unnecessary and expensive, not to mention a certain target for theft and destruction. Then I moved to Manhattan--same situation, multiplied a few dozen times.

Apparently I moved in with my then-boyfriend, now-husband, just to get my hands on his car keys.

Still, when I was a magazine editor I went on two trips to test-drive cars. The first one was for Buick Regal and GM put us up at a very swanky hotel (no wonder they are out of money now). I spent a couple of days driving the car around a parking lot with all kinds of simulated hazards. During an evening cocktail party with the GM PR people I let slip that I lived in New York and hadn't actually been behind the wheel of a car in four or five years. PR man almost choked on his hors d'oeuvre.

That one trip made me an expert in test driving, apparently, so my editor also sent me to Alaska to preview a Volvo station wagon. And just to emphasize the ruggedness of the car which is now, in fact, my own mommymobile, I also learned how to shoot a rifle and go salmon fishing (with hip waders and everything). Besides seeing Alaska for the first and so far only time, I also got to meet a lot of blond Swedish dudes.

These days, the blonds I share my car with are the ones I gave birth to; and I will be happy to trade my four wheels for two as soon as it's warm enough to get out my bike again. But if anyone wants to send me to Sweden (or Santa Fe, or Seattle, or frankly, Stroudsburg) to check out the latest offerings, my bags can be packed in a matter of minutes.

The Mad Family

2009-03-18T18:39:00.003-06:00

Mad drawing skillz, that is!

The assignment was to draw a self-portrait, so Opie drew himself "with a mad face" (top left; apparently also with some kind of bunny ear/mohawk thing going on. And also he's holding a sword, one that "shoots needles"). Then he required everyone else to draw a Mad self-portrait. Jo is on the upper right with the unibrow. Jeff is at the bottom left, being shot by a needle and shouting at the sword-bearer. Also he's on fire. I am on the far right with angry eyebrows and bared teeth. And in the bottom center, Jo's "surprise" look.

Here's what I found irksome the other day: Our grocery store changed its policy on reusable bags. They no longer offer a 5-cent rebate for each bag you supply--only their branded bags count. I don't use the reusables for the cash, but come on! What a stupid policy.

And you?

Shamrock shred*

2009-03-17T13:49:00.004-06:00

Two weeks down, two to go! I weighed myself on the Wii Fit the other day and I am down about two pounds. I don't think that is particularly meaningful because I have no idea what I was wearing the first time I weighed myself, or what time of day it was, or whether I ate a big plate of corned beef and cabbage that day (um, no). But it's always nice to see that graph sloping downward, and to hear a little bit of positive feedback from the chirpy little board.

I've been shredding faithfully, except for the day my kid was sick and my neck was sore, and also today because I worked myself into a lather hosting book club last night (and I did do a challenging yoga class today).

As I commented at Hot By Blogher, I think this will be the biggest lesson learned from drill sgt. Jillian (aside from "If 400-lb people can do jumping jacks, so can you"): Yes, I do have at least 25 minutes a day to devote to exercise. I may not (oh, who am I kidding with the may) continue the daily shred past these 30 days, but I can mix it in with everything else and use it on days when I am crunched (ha, or planked) for time or when I need a boot-camp tune-up.

*I am prefixing everything with "shamrock" today, BTW. Whatever random leftovers we have for dinner (much like the randomness of this post) will be dubbed "Shamrock salad," "Shamrock stew," and so on. It's gonna be huge.

Almost as cute as that sneezing baby panda

2009-03-15T09:56:00.000-06:00

We went to an "open barn" at a lamb farm yesterday to check out the itty bitty lambies, ranging from 12 hours to a few weeks old. Here are some with their own little mini-Snuggies:

The kids got to hold one that was about two weeks old:

And here's a similar scene, with sound effect:

The teenage kids who help raise these animals are the fifth generation to live at this farm and raise sheep.

Of course, we only found out after we'd fallen in love with the cute wittle babies that this breed is raised for meat, not wool. And after we toured the barn, we were invited inside the house for some samples of ... lamb stew.

Faaaaaaarm livin' is the life for me! Um, maybe not.

There oughtta be a law...

2009-03-12T11:37:00.003-06:00

...against kids being home sick from school more than two days in one week.

...against bagged salad containing any of those yucky rib pieces.

...against the temperature being below 10 degrees F in March.

...subsidizing home delivery of groceries to mothers stuck at home with kids horking up their body weight in snot on an hourly basis.

Can you tell what my week has been like? I have such bad cabin fever that I am actually looking forward to a PTA meeting tonight.

#helpme!

WW: The show must go on

2009-03-11T06:37:00.000-06:00

Jo, far right, as an Oompa Loompa. Moments before she exited, stage left, to puke in a trash can backstage.

I am so dense when it comes to realizing that my children are sick.

How did I end up in Mayberry, anyway?

2009-03-10T10:51:00.002-06:00

Get the answer in my guest post at Midwest Parents!

Thanks, Heather, for the invitation and the warm welcome.

Spells R-E-L-I-E-F

2009-03-09T08:23:00.001-06:00

"Take savasana."

"That concludes our winter pledge drive here on public radio."

"One minute of abs and we are out of workout 1."*

"The 3-hour meeting was cancelled."

"OK, you can empty your bladder now."

"You'll be getting a tax refund this year."

[Child:] "Zzzzzzz."

*Forgive me, mother(hood uncensored), for I have skipped a day of shredding. I tweaked my neck somehow--not from the Shred--so I gave myself yesterday off. Today, though, it's back on. Even though I have company at home (a kid waiting out her "24 hours fever-free" quarantine).

What happens when your 1st grader is in a classroom with 3rd graders

2009-03-06T08:38:00.000-06:00

Better yet, I taught her the version of the song that I remember, the one about the naked ladies dancing and the hole in the wall. Oops.

Happy Friday.

Sturgeon stein, frankenfish

2009-03-05T10:38:00.005-06:00

I can't believe I almost missed writing about sturgeon season. It has been a source of endless fascination for me since we moved here. The arcane rules, the family tradition, the regionality--it hooks me right in (HA).

This year I hadn't had anything new to say. Plus I was so disappointed: Our next-door neighbor speared a 68-pound fish this season, and he even came over to see if we were home so he could show it to the kids (he didn't know I would have been so much more into it than them). Alas, we weren't around and by the time we found out about his big catch, the beast was already filleted and filling up the freezer.

As a consolation prize, Jeff got me this beer glass. Now is that true love or what?

*

Over at The Full Mommy today, I have a Parent Bloggers Network review of the most adorable (unlike sturgeon--they will win no marine beauty contests) Sylvania PalPODzzz rocket-ship nightlight/flashlight. A flashlight equipped with LED bulbs and NO batteries? Very space-age.

My jet set friend

2009-03-03T07:26:00.001-06:00

Recently one of my oldest friends came to town on a cheering-up mission (oldest as in, I'm not going to do the math because the answer will scare me). It was a perfect girls' weekend--dinner out, a night at a hotel, a yoga class, a little window-shopping, a theater outing. She happened to be here the night of the Oscar broadcast so we watched that together.

Oh, and we got pampered at a spa too, thanks to a Christmas gift from my husband that proved far more valuable than he ever imagined it would. I wrote about the spa in a guest post at my friend Anne's blog, The Jet Set Girls--where you can get all kinds of insider beauty and travel tips.

R. and I live almost exactly 1,000 miles apart, but we make it work. We don't talk every day anymore like we did in high school (you know, debriefing the day that we spent almost entirely in each other's company) or email many times a week like we did before kids (she has three and the hottest topic of our nonstop chatter was whether either of us is brave enough to go for one more). But she came to visit me here in Mayberry when Opie was only a few months old. My kids and I went to see her when she was juggling a brand-new baby and two older boys by herself thanks to a horribly ill-timed National Guard deployment for her husband. We've managed to meet up on business trips to New York (mine) and Chicago (her husband's).

Jobs, houses, and hometowns may come and go, but your best girlfriends? You can always count on.

Cheddar shredder

2009-03-02T14:00:00.001-06:00

In the interest of research into the latest fitness trends, and also in the interest of losing this post-pregnancy gut, I am trying the 30-day Shred.

I'm not brave enough to post "before" pictures of myself (also, I stink at taking pictures into a mirror anyway) like Kristen, but here are my start-up stats:

Code Name: Flabbyberry

Tag Line: Wholesome is as wholesome shreds.

Current weight: 135 (so says Wii Fit).

Goal: Wear pants, buttoned, without unsightly muffin-top or angry red welts (seriously. ouch).

Diet Plan: Nothing in particular--just be sensible. Be cognizant of portion sizes and sugar intake (my particular Achilles heels).

Rules: No eating after 8 p.m. Only one latte/week (I can't stand the sugar-free kind).

Shred Plan: Starting with Level One daily, 3-lb. hand weights. Plus: power vinyasa yoga, 75 minutes, twice a week.

Off to do my first workout!

... pant ... pant ... gasp ... jiggle ...

OK, I'm back (wasn't that SO EASY!). Actually, it was very hard, but I got through it, more or less. It's short. Even though each individual segment feels crazy long (case in point: push-ups) you really don't do anything for more than a minute or two. (But you know those two minutes are tough when hitting the floor for crunches feels like a nice break.)

Comfortably zipped non-mom jeans: HERE I COME.

Time for an ideas meeting

2009-03-01T22:05:00.004-06:00

As an editor, I had to attend my share of stultifying meetings. Anything with the word "analysis" or "budget" or "strategic" in the title would usually fall into that category. But we had fun meetings too. The whole editorial staff would gather, ostensibly to generate ideas for articles and columns for the magazine/website. Really, we would spend a couple of hours complaining about our kids/husbands/friends/hair/thighs. The ideas were simply a byproduct of the bitch session.

Wouldn't it be great if we could all get together and have a blog ideas meeting? At my fitness site, I have a list of ideas a mile long, because I have a particular topic to target. Here, the wide-open space overwhelms me.

Back when I had to come up with a batch of ideas to present at a meeting, I'd start by thinking I had nothing. But then I'd force myself to sit down and brainstorm and sooner or later I'd have something written down, enough to get me in the door of the meeting.

I don't like to think of this blog as a job. It's not (and in fact I am so tired of reading about marketing yourself, the business of blogging, blahdeblahblah--even though I know that I really need to do all that on my fitness site if I am ever to earn a living wage from it). But I still think I might have to summon myself to an offsite ideas meeting to liven up this place a bit. I might even treat myself to doughnuts to make sure I arrive on time.

P.S. The other good meetings were coverline meetings. You know, where we came up with new, creative ways to promise to solve problems with 5 steps or 11 tips or 49 steals and deals. Numbers sell, baby!

P.P.S. Most of the blog-as-brand posts have been very good. They just always give me a case of the (self-imposed) "shoulds."

This week in grief

2009-02-26T12:11:00.003-06:00

It's been almost six weeks now and most of the time I am holding up fine. I think about my son all the time, but it's an undercurrent as I go about my day. I no longer can quite keep track of how many weeks pregnant I would be. But there are always moments, things I see or hear or read that tip me unexpectedly into a puddle of sorrow and regret.

Most recently it was the song "For Good" from Wicked. Looking at the lyrics now, they strike me as trite, but they hit a nerve nonetheless. Because I do wonder, often, what Lesson I am supposed to have learned from this experience. Is it presumptuous, or just premature, to think that I should take something away, that I deserve to get something out of it? That I ought to be wise enough to figure out what that something is? Is that too much pressure for my baby's tiny shoulders, or my own?

I've heard it said
That people come into our lives for a reason
Bringing something we must learn
And we are led
To those who help us most to grow
If we let them
And we help them in return

Well, I don't know if I believe that's true
But I know I'm who I am today
Because I knew you

Like a comet pulled from orbit
As it passes a sun

Like a stream that meets a boulder
Halfway through the wood

Who can say if I've been changed for the better?
But because I knew you
I have been changed for good

It well may be
That we will never meet again
In this lifetime
So let me say before we part
So much of me
Is made of what I learned from you

You'll be with me
Like a handprint on my heart
And now whatever way our stories end
I know you have re-written mine
By being my friend

I may not know exactly how far along I should be now, but I do picture, often, what would be happening now if our boy had lived, what I'd be doing and feeling. I expect I always will. I see three paths, three versions of my life--the one where I have a healthy, typical pregnancy and baby; the one where I have a child with disabilities, and am suddenly thrust into a new world of medical and educational and emotional challenges; and the one where I am missing a child. It's all very Sliding Doors.

Like a ship blown from its mooring
By a wind off the sea
Like a seed dropped by a skybird
In a distant wood

Who can say if I've been changed for the better?
But because I knew you
I have been changed for good
--lyrics by Stephen Schwartz

Changed for good? That much is clear, even if not much else is.

Locker room rules for young ladies

2009-02-24T11:57:00.003-06:00

1. Step directly from street shoes/socks into flip-flops.

2. Ohmygod please wear the flip-flops.

3. Remember? About the flip-flops? Okay.

4. Rinse off under the shower before you get into the pool. For this to be effective water droplets need to actually touch your body.

5. Rinse off again after you exit the pool. Wash your hair with shampoo if you don't want it to turn green.

6. Even if you want it to turn green, I don't. So shampoo.

7. Keep towel from dragging in the puddles on the floor.

8. Eew eew eew eew please keep the towel off the floor!

It's time for another session of swimming lessons! Yay.

Chair by the window, please

2009-02-20T12:47:00.001-06:00

Isn't that the sweetest face you've ever seen! That's my girl. Ninety-five percent of the time, she is a lovely member of the family. She doesn't shed much (just twice a year, and then it's rather exciting to take her outside and brush her and be astonished at all of the fluff we send into the breeze, you're welcome little birds for the ultrasoft nests). She tolerates kid antics, or walks away from them without a grudge. She makes me feel safe when I am home alone at night and keeps me company when I am home alone during the day.

Yes, she does steal food from the children, but she also cleans up all crumbs and spills for me, so it's kind of a wash. I am still working on forgiving her for one particular incident, though. Our first Christmas in Mayberry, we decided to have a party for our new friends and neighbors. I was 6 months pregnant with Opie at the time. My husband (aka the hermit) had no interest in helping host this shindig so I had most of the food catered. But the one thing I made myself was a freaking TON of cookies. Now, not only am I not a very good cook, I am s-l-o-w. It takes me forever to do the simplest thing. I spent an entire week of post-bedtime evenings baking. Did I mention I was 6 months pregnant at the time? By the end of the week I could barely stand.

The day of the party, I put all of my precious cookies on serving trays. To keep them cool and out of reach of toddlers, I stashed them on our screened porch, which was closed up for the winter. Just before the party began we started bringing the trays into the dining room.

And then someone left the door to the porch open. Allowing canine access. Said canine polished off an entire tray of my baked goods. You can imagine my hormonally enhanced reaction.

Oh, you better believe I served all the other trays, even though there was no guarantee they hadn't been contaminated with doggie spit.

Tell your own messy, naughty pet story--it's a Parent Bloggers Network blog blast. I don't think you're going to beat the Great Baby Oil Caper, though.

P.S. You know that chair in the picture is covered by a sheet, right? That's not really what my living room chair looks like? OK, just so we are clear.

The potty problem

2009-02-19T09:36:00.001-06:00

For the record, the following do not motivate my son to use the toilet:

Effusive praise
Moderate praise
Barely perceptible praise
Threats of violence (no, of course not)
Candy
Stickers
Toys
Money
A kid-sized potty
A kid-sized potty seat insert
Just a regular potty like we all use
Choosing and buying his own underwear
Being allowed to wear underwear
Not being allowed to wear underwear
Wearing soaking wet underwear
Being one of the only kids in his class not in underwear

I started off very laidback. But the kid is going to be FOUR in six weeks. What the hell?

Double wordless score

2009-02-18T11:43:00.003-06:00

Does it count as wordless if you post a picture that contains words? Well, who cares. This is a list of what the children plan to do this weekend. #3: "Punching Dad on the but[t]."

I'm wordless over here too.

I'm like a stereotypical sitcom husband

2009-02-17T09:18:00.002-06:00

I missed my anniversary again. My blog-iversary, that is. Actually, I checked my archives and it appears that I've never acknowledged it, so maybe we have an agreement, my blog and I, that we consider anniversaries a Hallmark holiday, and we don't celebrate them, at least in public.

So, never mind? Well, I'll just whisper in your ear that it's been (a little more than) three years since Mayberry Mom first arrived on the blogging scene. Together we've traveled to BlogHer, documented far more cute kid stories than a scrapbook ever could, succumbed to the lure of Twitter, quit a job, launched a freelance career (not to mention a second blog), and most importantly, collected a truly beautiful group of friends. Thank you for reading.

The no-school, no child care haiku

2009-02-16T08:12:00.003-06:00

Flog me with a wet
muffler: I want some new snow
to cover the dirt.

Happy Presidents' Day!

Fine. Well, sort of. You know.

2009-02-13T11:55:00.003-06:00

People want to know how I am. How I really am. I appreciate the thought and I wish I could answer them.

I am happy not to be spending every waking moment with a painful, hormone-induced headache.

I am sad when I see my son's face and wonder what his brother would have looked like.

I am relieved that the terribly stressful period when we didn't know if our baby would live or die is over.

I am wondering how I will ever get through the month of June.

I am deeply touched by the supportive comments, emails, cards, flowers, plants, gifts, and food we've received.

I am thankful that I no longer have vicious nausea and heartburn 24/7.

I am discouraged that my body is flabby and lumpy with nothing to show for it.

Mostly, I just feel weird. I've never done this before and I don't know how to do it. For three years I had resigned myself to the fact that I wouldn't be having any more babies. I got pretty good at living that way.

Then I was pregnant, and that felt like an altered state, an alternative reality. So not being pregnant feels like a return to normalcy. But denying my son's short life is most certainly not normal.

You see the dilemma.

I'll ~~steal~~ borrow from Casey and tell you that you don't have to tell me you are sorry. She said you could tell her about your favorite sandwich instead. If you want to tell me something, what's your favorite flavor of ice cream? I was sorely tempted by a tub of Americone Dream the other day.

How I met your father

2009-02-11T10:03:00.000-06:00

Once upon a time (I'm going to tell you a story, or maybe an LSAT practice question) I dated a guy named Glenn. Glenn worked with a woman named Lori. Lori lived with a man named Bob. Bob had some grade-school friends named Mark and Dave. Mark had a college friend named Jeff. Jeff had a business associate named Ron.

Are you following? Sometime after Glenn flew the coop, I went to a party at Bob and Lori's. There I met Mark and Dave. Mark asked for my number. We went out on a date. It was at a comedy club which was apparently having a bl-w j-b theme night. Every single comedian decided to discuss that particular topic. Hi. First date over here. Awkward.

Still, there was at least one other date that I recall before things petered out (pun not really intended), as things do. But occasionally I would see Mark at Bob and Lori's. A few months later, Bob called to say that Ron had given Jeff tickets to a football game, but Jeff couldn't use them; did I want them? I couldn't go to the game but Bob seemed insistent. So I found someone else who could use the tickets. Then I had to meet Jeff at his office building, conveniently located next to mine, to pick up the tickets.

The rest is history. And this past weekend, we (Jeff, Bob, me, and a few others) finally watched Mark get married too. It was definitely the best Jewish-Nicaraguan wedding I've ever attended. Mazel tov!

Hmm. Maybe I jumped too soon.

2009-02-10T09:41:00.003-06:00

As of yesterday, all of the people that I couldn't stand working with at my old job have been laid off. So here I am eking out a freelance career, constantly wondering if I'll find enough work, tallying up the dumb ways we waste money, thinking about how I should be promoting myself/networking better but am not ... and now I can add "endlessly debating whether I should have just stuck it out at the old job." Of course, a ton of people got laid off there yesterday and it's quite possible that I would have been one of them had I stayed.

To top it off, my lovely boss from that job was laid off from her subsequent job. If I may restate the totally obvious, this economy can #suckit.

Sibling shuttle diplomacy

2009-02-07T08:50:00.000-06:00

Of the many things that surprise and please me about my children, their relationship with each other tops the list. They truly enjoy each other's company, play together nicely, show mutual affection, and have each other's backs.

Sure, they squabble, but Jo is remarkably patient with Opie's 3-ish-ness, and Opie happily allows himself to be bossed around by his big sister most of the time. If he's having a tantrum, she creeps up next to him and tries to calm him down. Then she runs back and forth between him and the adult on duty, negotiating a truce. Several nights a week, they sleep side by side in the two trundle beds in Opie's room.

Jo recently brought home a worksheet from school called "My Special Feelings." It's a series of sentences that she had to complete: "I am happy when," "I am good at,"I am afraid of." My favorite: "I feel safe when ... my brother hugs me."

See, now this is why I wanted (still want? not sure yet) another one.

Extremely adorable photo filched from my brother and sister-in-law. Topic inspired by this week's Parent Bloggers Network blog blast for the Life and Health Insurance Foundation for Education.

From long-ago songs and someday goals

2009-02-05T10:38:00.004-06:00

I am from hardwood floors, from Meyer's Dairy milk in glass bottles, served in wine glasses on special occasions.

I am from glass shelves lined with houseplants watered every Saturday.

I am from black walnut, honeysuckle, lilacs, and grass on a hill.

I am from makers of music, milkers of cows, riders of rails, Beckers and Stephenses, fair skins and blue eyes.

I am from the stubborn and the silent, the peacemaking and the retelling.

From long-ago songs and someday goals.

I am from Sunday Mass with doughnuts after.

I am from the centre, from this side of the Mississippi and that, from braunschweiger and fried mush.

From the prize-winning irises and the fourth commandment, the stroller rolling down Tracy Hill and the dog named Susie.

I am from quilts on my walls, rings on my finger, names handed down from generation to generation. I am a daughter, a sister, a mother before I am anything else.

Thanks to Kate for tagging me with this particularly creative meme, which was a nice challenge for me at a time when the blogging well is a little dry. I do love writing about old family stories.

Thanks also to Magpie for the Tickled Pink award! I think you're the bees' knees, Magpie.

Steelers fanboy

2009-02-02T11:13:00.004-06:00

Despite the rough start*, we did have a nice weekend, filled with the usual stuff (birthday party, Sunday school, ice-skating lessons) and capped off by just-the-four-of-us Superbowl party. Given that my parents met and married in Pittsburgh, I rooted for the Steelers and was thus richly rewarded. At one point Opie decided to go shirtless, which (of course, right?) prompted his father to paint his torso with a giant letter S (vaguely visible in the video).

*Thank you for understanding my need to post somber haiku. As Amy so rightly pointed out, this stuff has to come out in bits and pieces and that's what blogs are for.

If you ever tire of it and want the more cheerful version of me, you can always read my Family Fitness blog. Just so's you know.

Haiku Friday: Low

2009-01-30T21:18:00.004-06:00

I never got to
hold him, smell him, even see
him; still I miss him.

Feeling melancholy over here tonight folks. Not much to post because everything is too ajumble in my mind (therefore I can make up words like "ajumble"). It would probably help to write it down, but my browser keeps opening to Chicktionary instead of Blogger. Funny, that.

Eternal sunshine of the optimistic mind

2009-01-28T07:00:00.001-06:00

Someday, this child will wear underwear. I'm trying the Law of Attraction because I am out of other options.

For Wordless Wednesday.

Incoming: Valentine's Day!

2009-01-26T12:56:00.004-06:00

Valentine's Day always catches me off-guard. I always feel I deserve a longer break after all the giftiness in December. Then along comes February 14 and suddenly I need dozens of teeny tiny cards for the kids' classmates and oh yeah, maybe I should get cards for the kids from me too, and I guess one for my husband while I'm at it. I was shocked the first time my kids got not just those cards with the see-through envelopes, but little bags of candy and other goodies. I missed the memo on that one (and I still resist).

So. If you want to be more prepared than I usually am, please to visit The Full Mommy's Valentine Gift Guide. It features goodies galore for kids, spouses, and even a little something for your favorite dog. Thank you to Leighann and Amy for tons of great reviews.

Out of the blue

2009-01-23T12:57:00.005-06:00

My son will be four in a few months and everytime he picks up a crayon, he produces nothing but scribbles. I know you're not supposed to compare kids, blah blah blah, but Jo could scratch out the letters of her name and approximate a snowman portrait well before she turned three. So I started to wonder.

Then yesterday, Opie produced these guys:

And him:

Hello??? Where did this come from? They have feet! They have ears! They have ... cheekbones?!

Approaching one week later, I have my good moments and my bad ones. I indulged in some retail therapy. I tried to catch up on work. I even laughed with my kids. I also sat bolt upright in bed last night and bawled because I was suddenly seized with worry: My baby is so small, and what if no one is taking care of him? Irrational, I know, but I'm guessing I get a pass on being reasonable. At least for now.

Untelling, undoing

2009-01-21T07:08:00.001-06:00

It would be a lot easier if everyone read my blog. I've given our news to as many friends as possible via email, and my mother and Jeff's have mostly told family members for us. That still leaves neighbors, teachers and parents at the kids' schools, even my dental hygienist. I dread each and every conversation. They don't know what to say to me and I don't know what to say to them.

More than that, having to say it means having to believe it, just a little more, each time.

I'm thankful we don't have a nursery to empty. Eventually I'll have to decide whether to give away the baby clothes and gear I've saved, but for now all that can stay safely tucked away. The last thing I want to do right now is wear maternity clothes, but neither do I want to pack them up, spending another hour or two confronting the fact that I don't need them.

Thank you all for your supportive comments and e-mails. We are getting along as best we can. The small-townness of Mayberry helps; word gets around and soon our refrigerator and freezer are overflowing. They don't bring our baby back, but these loving, caring gestures help us eat and sleep and breathe and sometimes even smile.

Sing thee to thy rest

2009-01-18T20:44:00.005-06:00

We lost our baby, our little boy.

We'd known there could be--would be--was something wrong for a few weeks (which is why I haven't been posting or commenting). The end finally came just yesterday.

The end, and the beginning of us missing him and wondering what if and if only.

Every day of these awful weeks, I took my prenatal vitamin, I avoided alcohol, I double-steeped my tea to lower its caffeine content. Just as I've been doing since the first days of my pregnancy. I wasn't hoping for a miracle. I guess I just wanted to prove (to whom, I don't know) that I did every last little thing that I could to protect him.

It wasn't enough. And I do know that it wasn't my fault.

But I hope my little boy knows how much he is loved. And that my heart is as broken as his little body is.

Have a happy, shiny new year

2009-01-01T09:58:00.001-06:00

From all of us in Mayberry.

Wait a minute, Christmas is over?

2008-12-27T21:56:00.005-06:00

Writing wrap-up posts gives me hives, so I'll just say the following about the past week. These are the moments that I wish I could capture in a snow globe and revisit in the coming months and years:

Christmas Eve, Jo had to be dragged to church kicking and screaming (almost literally). She spent the first half of the service on my lap or huddled on the floor with the hood of her jacket up. Then, suddenly, she was captivated by "Angels We Have Heard on High." She wanted to sing along and asked me to help her follow along in the hymnal. This continued for the remainder of the hour.
Christmas morning, the kids sleep later than they have in weeks. When Opie finally gets up, we go into Jo's room to wake her up. Her first words are "You could have let me sleep a little longer, Opie!"
My dad didn't pack his Christmas pants. My siblings and I scolded him soundly, then turned on our mother for allowing such an oversight. We suggested he turn around and drive nine hours back home to get them. He said "No." Can you believe it?
He did, however, bring and wear his 7 jeans. Which looked great on him. Here is how it went down (let me note for the record that my dad is 71 and I haven't seen him wear jeans in years, but he does work out like two hours a day). He came into the kitchen wearing these stylish, dark, skinnyish jeans. Me: "Wow, nice jeans!" Dad: "Pretty nice huh?" Mom: "They're '7 for all' ... nations, or countries or something." Me: "7 For All Mankind??!?" Dad (shows off label): "Yeah, 7 For All Mankind. I got them at the Saks outlet."
My mom could not get enough Wii bowling. She was constantly begging someone to play against her.
After everyone left, Jeff noted that Opie's behavior had been very good, except for a few subpar moments, including that last morning. His response: "I was a little naughty because I didn't want everyone to leave." Little scam artist!
The family construction project (Playmobil airline terminal, with approx 1 beeellion pieces):

I played Santa today

2008-12-23T11:56:00.004-06:00

I felt very Santa-ish this morning as I lugged two bags and a box through the snow to help make a child's Christmas special (never mind the fact that yes, my belly shakes like a bowl full of jelly with every step I take).

A few months ago, the folks from Learning Curve gave me a Caring Corners dollhouse to review, with a special condition: I'd get one dollhouse for my kids and I to try out and keep, but I'd also get a second one to give away to a needy child or charity. Part of the toy's charm is its effort to teach kids about sharing, caring, and good deeds, hence the charitable twist on a product review.

I started corresponding with the house manager of a shelter for abused women in a town near Mayberry. It's part of a nonprofit group that manages an array of domestic abuse programs benefiting women and children. The shelter has 44 beds (not counting cribs), and right now every one is full; a mother and child are sleeping in the shelter's library this week because it's the safest place for them to be.

Unfortunately, because it took a while to coordinate the drop-off (note to self: When someone is clearly a bad emailer, pick up the phone), I couldn't bring the kids with me. Still, just having the extra dollhouse in our house for all this time gave us plenty of opportunity to talk about why we had it and what we'd be doing with it.

The coordinator who received the dollhouse was just thrilled, and noted that a dollhouse is an especially useful and therapeutic toy for a child who's experienced abuse. It breaks my heart clean in two to think of a child spending Christmas in a shelter, but I hope this dollhouse helps one little girl dream of the safe, welcoming home she'll live in one day.

*

I also donated a few other reviewed products: the Positive Spin holiday books, and an I Can Do That! game (since that company had also offered two toys, one to review and one to donate). Thank you, Whitney, for coordinating these efforts. It's been a pleasure to participate.

*

Also at the Full Mommy, I 've reviewed theater productions that may be coming to your area soon. Check them out: Magic Tree House, the musical and Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.

*

And have a very merry Christmas, if you're celebrating. Our guests arrive today, so I'll be busy chopping vegetables and serving salads for the next few days. See you next week!

These kids are smokin'

2008-12-21T16:58:00.007-06:00

Jeff's mom sent us a box of Omaha steaks for Christmas, which was very generous but also unintentionally funny, because let's review the guest list* for our holiday festivities:

2 vegans
2 low-fat/low-carb dieters
2 small children
1 vegetarian
1 diabetic
1 pregnant woman whose stomach has a mind of its own (not a rational mind either)

But just like the box can often be the best part of a gift, the OS packaging brought a half an hour of pure glee:

*P.S. My husband (the special-occasion chef in the MM household) has a whole spreadsheet of the meals he is preparing for this crew. If you have need of any festive vegan recipe suggestions, we stand ready to assist.

P.P.S. Re my last post, it looks like I probably overreacted to the NT measurement I (thought I) saw. The result was normal (although at the upper edge of the accepted range). I feel much better now. And pledge not to abuse Google any further.

Too much snow, too much information

2008-12-19T09:16:00.004-06:00

Over the ground lies a mantle of white...

You're not kidding. In addition to the foot of snow we got 10 days ago (which mostly didn't melt), we're now in the midst of a fluffy downpour of flakes today, with more predicted for Sunday/Monday. White Christmas: check.

It's not, however, a snow day. Still had to take Jo to school this morning. She gave it her best shot by putting an ice cube in the toilet and sleeping with a spoon under her pillow, but no luck. I have never heard of those two superstitions--is it a Midwest thing? We never did it growing up in Pennsylvania.

I have to brave the highways later on for an OB appointment. My practice now has a new procedure for urine tests: BYOU. They give you a little cup at your appointment and tell you to bring it back at the next one--full. Isn't that delightful?

I had an sonogram yesterday, the nuchal translucency screening. Baby spent the whole time sucking his/her thumb and trying to shove away the ultrasound wand pressing down on its turf. Not to sound like a pro-life activist but it really is amazing to see that at 13 weeks gestation. When I got home, like an idiot I googled what a normal NT measurement is. It's almost 4 times less than the number I thought I saw on the screen. Thanks a lot, Dr. Google.

Muchas gracias, you Hip Mom, you

2008-12-18T13:51:00.002-06:00

Far too long ago, the lovely Kirsetin gave me a bloggy award, in Spanish no less. I'm going to go ahead and take her word for it when she says that recipients "are exceedingly charming. These kind bloggers aim to find and be friends. They are not interested in prizes or self-aggrandizement. Our hope is that when the ribbons of these prizes are cut, even more friendships are propagated. Please give more attention to these writers!" (I mean, wouldn't you take her word for it, if her word was "charming"?)

(I do like prizes though. I bought a bundle of Christmas presents and several months of upcoming book club books with recent PBN winnings.)

So hmmm ... writers that need more attention.

Kate from Eucalyptus Pillow recently started a couple of new blogs and a business so I guess she's attention-seeking. Right, Kate?
Tammie from Soul Gardening needs us to read so she'll keep posting, because I miss her when she doesn't.
That goes for you too, Nancy. (Uh. No pressure, though, gals.)

If there's anyone you'd like to pass this award on to, go forth with my blessing. As if you needed it.

Christmas in Mayberry

2008-12-16T13:17:00.006-06:00

So the Santa Float came by a couple of days ago. It's a fire truck fully decked out in Christmas lights and it ferries SANTA! around our whole town, street by street, over the course of a week until he passes every single house. Here's us watching with our neighbors (at the end you can see my husband is holding the neighbor kid, who ran out of his house so fast he forgot to put on shoes).

Good night, sleep tight

2008-12-15T12:47:00.004-06:00

Someone will probably want to revoke my Mom License for this, but I never used to check on my kids at night before I went to bed. Just getting them to sleep in the first place was far too time-consuming. I dared not risk it by tiptoeing anywhere near. The only time I chanced it was if I suspected they might not, in fact, be in their beds--hence the time I found Opie sound asleep on the floor of his room, completely bare of pajamas or even a diaper.

Lately, though, I can't resist sneaking a peek. I must have established the habit when Jo was sick this summer. Now I crack open each door just an inch or two, to see those little sleepyheads. I'd never realized Jo talks in her sleep. But nearly every night, she mumbles a little something. The sound of the doorknob turning is just loud enough to rouse her ever so slightly, but she rolls over and is dreaming again before I can even close the door. Opie, inevitably, hasn't moved an inch since I left him a few hours before, snoring slightly, with the stuffed animal du jour tucked in nearby.

Turning away from his door, I look across the hall at the room that's now (theoretically) a home office, and will one day be the new baby's room. Can it really be that one day another child will sleep right there behind that door? I'm still amazed.

Random 'n' ranty

2008-12-11T20:59:00.002-06:00

Item 1. Not so much a rant, really, as another "What's the deal with..." question. Why do kids love getting their faces painted? It takes for-fricking-ever, we always have to wait in a huge line (because every other kid at the event wants her face painted too), it smears within 10 minutes, and the kid can't even see it. Why, I ask you. Why?

Item 2, in case you missed this on Twitter. It is too important for you to miss: The best search string ever. Someone arrived here at Mayberry Mom by googling "are you down with opie pee." Yeah, you know me! My friend, I hate to break it to you, but this here is a mommyblog. If you're looking for OPP, try here. Or possibly here.

Item 3. I had the most stay-at-home-momish kind of day I've ever had. School drop-off, yoga, home briefly, school volunteer thing, church thing (me and 40 old ladies in the church basement, for real), home again to clean up hideous dog accident in basement, school pick-up, back home for small window in which I accomplished one tiny work task (only because kids were watching TV and husband came home from work early), swimming lessons, home to wolf down dinner, PTA meeting. And tomorrow? Is a half-day of school. TGIF.

Donors Choose (to continue making me weep)

2008-12-10T05:00:00.000-06:00

Remember when I donated to Donors Choose? Yesterday I got a packet of thank-you notes from the kids who received the scissors and tape. Some excerpts:

"So, thank you again for the scissors and tape just remember it helped a lot. Sincerely, Mike"

"You know what, I was the one who came up with the name 'cut into education' that was cool wasn't it. Thanks again. Sincerely, Kenny"

"We really appreciate the scissors that you sent. Before, when we were doing a project last year in seventh grade, we had the worst scissors. (I mean that in a bad way) They coudn't cut for anything and they always got caught in the paper. This letter is to tell you thank you for the scissors and tape. Sincerely, Khalil"

"The scissors helped a lot because we had these crappy ones and they didn't even cut. And the tape, we didn't even have any, but you gave us some and now we use it for a lot of stuff. Every time I see them I think of you and I say thanks in my head. Sincerely, Sean"

Thank YOU for reading because every page view helped fund that project.

And if you are still feeling charitable: My sister is running a marathon through Team in Training. She only needs $850 more to reach her goal of $3800. If the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society is a group you'd like to support, consider throwing a few bucks my sister's way. She would appreciate it!

Books with a positive spin

2008-12-09T06:00:00.001-06:00

Ever wonder how the tradition of trick-or-treating got started? Author/illustrator team Lisa and Tucker Johnson have a sweet suggestion. In their book All Hallows Eve: The Story of the Halloween Fairy, they imagine a cute little fairy named Eve who loves candy, but can't seem to produce any for herself with her magic wand.

I reviewed this book, plus two follow-ups covering the winter holidays (Christmas Eve: The Joy of Giving and Winter's Eve: Love and Lights), thanks to the Parent Bloggers Network. Head on over to The Full Mommy for the full review.

Scrabble-icious

2008-12-07T21:53:00.005-06:00

Hands down, the game my family ~~is most obsessed with~~ plays most often is Scrabble. I'm not even sure when this habit got started, but anytime my brother, sister, and I are together it is ALL ABOUT the Scrab. Being the Word Girl in the family, I assumed I would have a natural advantage, but that is not the case. My brother, the visual artist (and in recent years, his wife--another artist) is the undisputed champ. I talked him up so much that two years ago, one of our neighbors came over on Christmas Eve for a game just to see Steve in action (and got his butt kicked for his trouble).

Steve and his wife:

have memorized all the 2-letter words legal in Scrabble
brought a travel Scrabble set on their month-long camping honeymoon and played nightly
keep track of all the games they play on a spreadsheet. Data gathered includes total points scored, who played the Q and Z, any bingos, and probably more obscure information too.

I still play against them. But I go into it knowing that if I come within 50 points of their scores, I've done really well.

We also do have an alternate game in case we are all tired of getting clobbered. Syzygy is a fast-paced, board-free version of Scrabble. Each player creates her own grid of interlocking words using letter tiles. You start with 9 tiles, and when you've used them all you call "Draw!" and all players must grab another. You then continue to incorporate these new letters into your crossword; you are free to change anything you've already put down. The game is over when all the tiles are gone and one player has a complete crossword with no leftover tiles. (And then, half the fun is checking everyone's work and arguing about the liberties they've taken with the English language.)

(Gift tip: If you're shopping for someone Scrabble-obsessed, they must read Word Freak by Stefan Fatsis. Both a fascinating character study and a how-to manual for Scrabble nerds.)

If you smelled blog blast on this one, bingo! (50 points to you.) Post yours by midnight tonight and you could win a fat pile of fun video games from EA.

What would you name yourself?

2008-12-05T11:36:00.003-06:00

I've been having an email conversation with two friends about what names we would have chosen for ourselves (as children) if we'd had the option. Two out of three of us wanted to be "Lisa." So now we're curious. What name would you have given yourself at 5 years old? Or 10?

And did you ever try to change your name or nickname? In 6th grade, I decided my name was boring and I henceforth wanted to spell it with an "ie" at the end instead of a "y." Much grief ensued in the form of kids calling me "Cath-WHY." Eventually, I did get it to stick and kept that spelling through high school and college, at which point I finally gave it up as dumb. And that's why friends and family now spell my name three different ways.

You see why Lisa would be so much easier.

6 things Opie plans to teach his baby brother

2008-12-04T09:54:00.002-06:00

1. How to dance

2. How to sing

3. How to quit ("You know. Like leave his job.")

4. How to DON'T play with matches

5. About stop lights, go lights, and slow down lights

6. How to play the guitar

By the way, Jo and Opie are certain their new sib is a boy. Because they have consulted the Magic 8-Ball, and not only did it say that yes, it's a boy, it also said that it's not a girl. So, totally definitive.

The story so far

2008-12-03T06:29:00.000-06:00

Week 4: This isn't so bad.

In Denver, Julie is either psychic or takes note of my greenish tint and the fact that I don't drink any Skinny Dip. She sends me home with a huge wardrobe of maternity clothes (mine, hers, and even some of Liz's) "just in case."

Week 5: This is ... getting more bad.

Week 6: Feel like death warmed over.

Stop buttoning my pants. Unapologetically eat deli meat AND brie.

Week 7: Heartburn and morning sickness. Cruel and unusual.

Also cruel: "morning" sickness and potty-training, night-waking preschooler and vomiting dog.
[Pause to acknowledge The Boring. Aren't you glad you didn't have to read all of this in real time?]

Week 8: Way too fat and sick for just one baby.

Have totally convinced myself there must be two in there. Panicking about need for new car, crib, double stroller, and "how will I even get from the garage to the house with TWO BABIES?"

Week 9: Ultrasound! Just one (of course).

We tell the kids. They tell everyone they see including the teenage kid working at the playroom at the Y.

Week 10: Giving thanks for my whole family, even (okay, especially) the one that's currently acting like a tapeworm.

Christmas in June

2008-12-01T05:31:00.001-06:00

Last Christmas Eve my husband and I had one of the most profound conversations of our then decade-long relationship. Conducted entirely in whispers (we were staying at his mother's and Opie was sleeping just inches away in a travel crib), our talk touched on the experiences we valued from our childhoods, what we wanted for our own kids, and so much more. At one point, Jeff said he was sad that Jo and Opie are not growing up with lots of cousins around. They only have a few, and see them only once or twice a year.

Without even thinking about it--certainly without thinking he would ever take me seriously--I said, "We could have another baby."

I was astonished when he said, "Yes, we could." And for the first time ever, he really meant it.

And that's how it came to be that the best present of Christmas 2007 will, if all goes well, be delivered sometime in June, 2009.

The Quotable Thanksgiving, starring Opie and Nonnie

2008-11-30T12:42:00.002-06:00

Dramatis personae:

OPIE, a loquacious 3-year-old
NONNIE, his great-grandmother
GRAMMY, his grandmother
PAUL, Grammy's gentleman friend

I. Wednesday afternoon. GRAMMY has taken OPIE to visit her workplace and is introducing him to her co-workers.

GRAMMY: This is Paul. He always helps me put your car seat in my car.
OPIE (suspiciously): That's not the Paul that belongs to you.

II. Thursday morning, NONNIE's living room.

NONNIE: Opie, come here and give me a kiss.
OPIE: I can't. I haven't shaved yet.

III. Friday morning, NONNIE's kitchen. She opens the newspaper to the obituary pages.

NONNIE: Anyone dead from around here?
PAUL (not missing a beat): Not from [this town]. I already checked.

Fin.

The busiest travel day of the year

2008-11-26T05:17:00.000-06:00

And I am always one of the ones traveling, every year of the *ahem*twenty*ahem* since I graduated from high school. As a kid, I spent every single holiday at home, not just in my hometown but in our house. My mother was the designated hostess for every Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, birthday, Mother's Day, Father's Day, Fourth of July and regular old Sunday meal, and the guests were always my grandmother (who lived a few blocks away) and my aunt, uncle, and cousin (who lived around the corner). In the usual kid grass-is-always-greener way, I envied my friends who got to go somewhere and do something for holidays instead of staying home which is so boring.

Be careful what you wish for, as they say. Since I turned 18, I've never been in my own home for Thanksgiving. Not that I ever wanted to cook a turkey in my dorm room or my Manhattan studio apartment, but you see what I mean. It feels a bit Peter Pan-ish to always be the guest and never the host. Like I'm not a Real Mom (hi, Motrin!) until I've stuffed the turkey and mashed the potatoes my own self.

(The reality is that my husband cooks the turkeys around here anyway.)

Truthfully, I can deal with Thanksgiving travel, even when it's on a crazy day like today and even with two travel companions under 7 years old. They may be young, but they are experienced. Thanksgiving doesn't have quite the baggage Christmas does (in the form of gifts, for one, and more firmly entrenched traditions, for two) and I'm above all thankful that we have families who love us and with whom we will enjoy sharing a meal.

I'm thankful for all of you, too, and hope you have a wonderful day and weekend, wherever you spend it and whatever you eat.

Perfect gift for Grandpa

2008-11-24T12:57:00.003-06:00

Remember I said I was going to get my dad seamless socks this year? I changed my mind when I saw this:

Haiku by Jo

2008-11-21T11:53:00.000-06:00

I've tweeted a few times how much I love finding my daughter's random writing samples around the house: a list of supplies needed for building a fort ("chars, blakits, tap, bulos, sremrs"*), a copy of a thank-you note composed at school ("Thank you for lating us pic appls. An prs the appls afdr we pict the appls. the sidr was yommye!"). After years of asking us to spell out words for her letter by letter, she is finally comfortable and confident enough to invent her own spelling. I will miss this when she outgrows it (or learns to use spell check).

The other day she composed a mini-story and I just realized it is actually a haiku! A scatological one, naturally:

The monster pewpt and
fel down. That pewp totaly
mest op his plan. Ya!

And here is a picture from one of her storybooks, a retelling of the Ugly Duckling fairy tale:

Happy Haiku Friday, and happy weekend.

*chairs, blankets, tape, pillows, streamers

'Cause I'm free! ... freelancing

2008-11-20T21:57:00.004-06:00

I've been doing the freelance thing for just about two months now and because some people have asked, here's how it's going: Pretty well. Thanks mostly to two big assignments, I'll be able to replace all of the income I would have earned at my job in the last quarter of the year.

When I had my job, I worked at home, but during scheduled hours. My boss was wonderfully flexible, but I still felt guilty if I ran to the grocery store after dropping off the kids and got home late, or spent too much time cycling laundry during the work day. Now I can do that without flinching, plus take a yoga class in the mornings, do my 15-minute school volunteer job twice a week instead of once, and so on.

Still, I am ever conscious of the not-working time. Turns out that in order to be a successful freelancer, you better be really self-motivated. (Imagine that!) I always thought I was--I was never the kid who pulled all-nighters or did her homework on the bus--but man, pushing myself to put in the time can be hard. Especially when one of my jobs has no deadlines or specific assignments. I also stink at self-marketing (hi, I own myname.com and do you think there is anything there? no) and strategic planning. I have no idea where I'm going with this or how or when.

Jo has recently come to appreciate at least some aspects of my work, however. "So people send you stuff. And you write about it. That's a good job." It is. Not as excellent as jellybean caretaker, but it pays the bills.

Will you still need me, will you still feed me?

2008-11-17T15:57:00.003-06:00

Last night I made my son two reckless promises: That he would not die until he is a hundred years old, and that when he did, I'd still be with him.

We were listening to a Classical Kids CD called Mr. Bach Comes to Call, in which the ghost of Johann S. appears to a little girl who is begrudgingly practicing the piano. She is soon won over by the jolly old man and his tales of a busy, happy, music-filled life. At the end of the disc Bach mentions a composition that he was unable to finish, because "everyone has to die sometime."

We've played this CD probably a hundred times, but last night Opie stopped to think about that line. His face grew fearful. His voice quivered as he asked if that meant he would die. "Yes," I told him, but not for a very very very long time, when he was a very very very old man. "How old?" he pressed, and that's when I told him a hundred years (the biggest number I thought he could grasp--as it turns out, he didn't, and I had to count almost all the way from 3 to 100 to show just how far that was).

Still he wasn't satisfied, and his voice continued to teeter on the brink of tears. "But when I die, you won't be there."

"I will," I said, tears sliding down my own cheeks. "I will always be with you." Because I will, I thought. In Heaven, in memory, in some little sliver of DNA, one way or another. Unwilling and unable to explain all that, I defaulted to the simple lie. And then I perpetuated it by promising that Daddy would be there too, and Jo, and even our dog.

I know I'll break a lot of the promises I make my children, intentionally and not. I just wasn't quite prepared to discuss one of the universe's greatest unknowns right there in the dark, at 9 p.m. after a full day of solo parenting. (And you better believe I was the one who stayed awake staring at the ceiling when it was my turn to go to bed.)

Good enough for Grandma and Grandpa

2008-11-14T10:27:00.003-06:00

Except for my mom, the rest of the grandparents (my dad, mother-in-law, grandmother-in-law, and oh god, mother-in-law's gentleman friend) are very very very hard to shop for. I mean, I adore Great-Grandma Nonnie but she just turned 90 and pretty much never leaves the house. The same house she's lived in for about 65 years.

Of course, we turn to the kid-crafted gift whenever we possibly can. Framed photos, paint-your-own-pottery--the classics. A couple of years ago my dad wanted a bathrobe. (Another staple on his wish list is always "seamless socks." Thrilling!) I found one that met his specifications (he had several) but it was still such a boring present. So I thought the kids could doctor it up with little handprints on the pockets. Can you picture it, like I did, kind of subtle and oh-so-cute? Right! And can you also imagine how ugly the finished product was? So ugly I pitched it into the dress-up bin and started over with a brand-new robe.

It was such an obvious demonstration of how Not Crafty I am. The paint I bought was wrong, or my technique sucked, or something; anyway instead of cute kiddie handprints, we just had big blobs of paint. It looked like a dropcloth instead of a bathrobe. Fail! This is also what happens every time I try to follow a recipe for something that is supposed to be attractive-looking. The end result never looks like what it does in the instructions. NEV-ER.

Bathrobe 2.0 was slightly more successful. I traced the kids' hands onto felt, cut them out and glued them on to the pockets of the new robe. They probably fell off the first time it went into the laundry but my dad has graciously refrained from telling me that.

This year, he's getting plain seamless socks.

This crafty confession brought to you by Parent Bloggers Network and Klutz, publishers of very fun craft books and kits for kids. Fun because kids can play with them all by themselves. Seriously, I love them and not just because I used to work for Klutz's parent company or because they are sponsoring a blog blast with darn good prizes. See for yourself.

Name that character

2008-11-12T21:42:00.000-06:00

I've seen this a couple of places and couldn't help starting to mentally fill it in. So here it is. Probably a lot more fun for me than it is for you. Uh, sorry!

1. ROCK STAR NAME: Miss November Volvo

2. GANGSTA NAME: Chocolate Boot

3. NATIVE AMERICAN NAME: Blue Dog

4. SUPERHERO NAME: Green Tea

5. NASCAR NAME: Carl George

6. STRIPPER NAME: Lavender Kit Kat

7. TV WEATHER ANCHOR NAME: Philips Phoenix

8. SPY NAME: Summer Lilac

9. CARTOON NAME: Apple Cardigan

10. HIPPIE NAME: Granola Cherry

If you want to play, here's how:

1. first pet, current car
2. fave ice cream flavor, favorite type of shoe
3. favorite color, favorite animal
4. 2nd favorite color, favorite drink
5. the first names of your grandfathers
6. the name of your favorite perfume/cologne/scent, favorite candy
7. 5th grade teacher's last name, name of city that starts with the same letter
8. your favorite season/holiday, flower
9. favorite fruit, article of clothing you’re wearing right now
10. what you ate for breakfast, your favorite tree

Actual transcript of message left on my cell phone

2008-11-10T11:29:00.003-06:00

(by my children at 7:30 p.m. while I was out and they were at home, ostensibly getting ready for bed)

Jo (aka Bossypants): Okay, now you can talk.

O: No, who was THAT talking?

Jo: That's just a girl. Now talk.

O: Hi. Hi Mommy.

Jo: Okay she's not going to be on there. You're leaving a message right now.

O: But I'm trying to tell you something. Why isn't she talking?

Jo: Excuse me for a minute. One second. [To O: She can't right now. She's busy with someone. You're leaving a message.]

O: I'm just leaving a message. Ummmm...

Jo: Put the phone to your mouth so she can hear you. Otherwise the only thing she's going to hear is [...]

O: I'm just leaving a message because I'm leaving a message and I don't want Daddy to be by me.

Jo: Ask her if she can come home and do something with you.

O: I'm just leaving a message. And now there's a message.

Jo: He just wanted to ask you if you can come home and do something with him. When you get home please wake him up and do something with him. Bye-bye!

One sucker down, one to go

2008-11-08T20:31:00.002-06:00

What with all the appendecto-mania this summer I never recorded another big milestone: We are now a Nuk-free household. After all my hand-wringing, all it took was accidentally (we really didn't do it on purpose, except maybe in the Freudian sense) leaving the Nuks behind on our Fourth of July weekend trip to Grammy's house. That was four nights of "we left the Nuk in our car at the airport, remember?" and somehow Opie fell asleep each night without it. I don't even remember it being that difficult.

When we came home, we stashed the car Nuk before it could be seen and never brought it out again. Done and done. Color me shocked, especially since we couldn't have picked a worse time to break that habit--almost as soon as we returned from that particular trip, I left for a business trip on my own and then right after that we went to San Francisco, kicking off three weeks of hospitalization, disruption, and aggravation. And he was seriously fine the whole time. Once in a great while he'll say "I miss my Nukkies" and we'll agree and reminisce about the good times we all had. And then move on.

Now, the thumb is another story, especially now that Jo has lost her two top front teeth. Anticipating yet another stern lecture from the dentist, we ordered these thumb guards, which we've been using for about a week now with a fair amount of success (by which I mean she is able to fall asleep with them on; but the minute she wakes up she extricates herself and we find her on the couch slurping away).

So Monday we go to the dentist (aside: genius over here scheduled her kids' dentists appointments for three days after Halloween) and I am already on the defensive. Instead, we get the best hygienist ever. She told me that yes, Jo has a cross-bite, but it's not necessarily related to her thumb habit. And she said that she should go to the orthodontist after all 8 of her front teeth (4 top, 4 bottom) fall out and grow back in, which "may not be until she's past 8 years old." I wanted to kiss her on the spot for buying us two more years!

How to be a boss employees actually like

2008-11-06T07:00:00.001-06:00

Recently I was talking to someone who works in HR about how I recently left my job to go freelance. By way of explanation I said "Well, my boss left, and after that ... you know." (Eloquent!) Of course, she did know; she says she hears this all the time in her work. It got me thinking about why it was that I loved S. so much. (We're still in touch, as she is now my editor's boss over at my About site, but we don't talk every day anymore.)

First, she was a great communicator. Clear, constructive, funny, friendly, open. Another editor I once worked for would return copy with the words "pls fix" scrawled at random in the margin (fix what?!). Not S.; she could tell you just what you needed to do, in a way that made you feel quite capable of doing it. She would also share everything she could with us about what was going on elsewhere in the company. While she was discreet when she needed to be, she didn't see any value in withholding information just to bolster her authority.

She was also a great protector. She shielded her staff from pointless bureaucracy, ugly people, useless meetings, and waste-of-time tasks. When she left ... oy. Then we really knew just how much she'd done for us.

Not surprisingly, S. was motivating. Because it was so clear she cared about us (see items 1 and 2 above), we naturally wanted to please her. She made it easy by offering plenty of support and trust--like embracing my idea to telecommute from 1000 miles away. She knew how to praise our successes and gently help us fix our mistakes.

Lastly, she could drink me under the table any day of the week. I miss that lady.

Opie sez: Obama winned!

2008-11-05T09:25:00.004-06:00

That's what he announced to his preschool class as soon as he walked in this morning, and his teachers responded with great enthusiasm.

I wanted to wake the kids last night so they could watch Obama's speech, but I know better than to mess with a sleeping child. We can watch the speech together today, online, and marvel at it all. At 3 and 6 years old, Opie and Jo are old enough to know that Mommy and Daddy were "cheering for" Obama, but not old enough to really grasp why.

They are also not old enough to understand why this is such a historic moment, and I don't know if I can or will explain it. Should I describe racism to children who haven't been spoiled by it? Who have friends of all colors and creeds and think nothing of it? By not confronting the issue, do we defuse its power, or feed it?

Images from Newseum.org, where--if you are very very very patient--you can see front pages from newspapers all around the world.

Opie sez: GO VOTE!

2008-11-04T06:00:00.004-06:00

Don't let this little boy down. Get out and vote! If you want an endorsement, I have one in my sidebar. But even if you're supporting That Other One, vote! (Find your polling place.)

C'mon. Who doesn't love Monday mornings?

2008-11-03T08:51:00.004-06:00

Forget Fridays--I love Mondays. Weekends are fun, they're busy, they're sometimes even productive, but they are in no way relaxing. This Saturday and Sunday I cooked, cleaned, laundered, and folded. I played Legos and assisted with a first-grade scrapbooking effort. I went to the ice rink (twice), church/Sunday school, the grocery store, and our local, poor man's Target, all with at least one child in tow. (This is what's exhausting about more than one kid, when they outgrow strollers: The shepherding. I say "Stay by me" until I am blue in the face, and yet one is always mysteriously missing.)

But Monday! Ahhh, Monday. On Monday morning everyone leaves. I finally get a little peace and quiet. Of course I have the laundry to finish and dishes to wash and work to do, lots and lots of it; but I can do it without being interrupted hundreds of times in a row. That right there is a luxury, one for which I am grateful every single week.

Edited to add: I am amused to note that Julie from a little pregnant posted similarly (although much more funnily) today.

Halloweeners

2008-10-31T21:10:00.003-06:00

That is what my husband calls the characters I would call "trick-or-treaters." And a few stopped by our house tonight. We gave away about 10 bags' worth of candy and were down to our last three tiny boxes of Dots (I didn't buy those!) when time was up. Our favorite Halloweener was dressed as a "killer banana." He wore a banana suit with a bloody hockey mask and carried a big scary knife. One of our friends' kids came by dressed as a ninja. My husband disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a slice of sweet potato carved into a throwing star. He so crafty!

Look out! Killer bananas!

Boo haiku

2008-10-31T09:57:00.005-06:00

Four hundred ninety-
ninth post. How scary is that?
Happy Halloween!

Costume pictures to follow later, but here's 2007 and 2002 through 2006. I'm coming to terms with the fact that this year's storebought race car driver costume doesn't hold a candle to last year's "stick guy." He could have gone as the naked chef, I guess.

Here's a Blair-Witch style video of the outdoor decorations I tweeted about. (None of the stills came out.) At about 30 secs you can see the whole thing and then turn it off.

Happy Halloween. May your pillowcases be full!

The story of a small Singer sewing machine

2008-10-30T09:27:00.002-06:00

As I have mentioned, Jo is a bit of a dilettante. Like most kids, she's a sucker for anything new. Last Christmas, she got a finger loom which she loooooovvved for about two weeks (and even that was a very long run) and has since almost completely ignored. She'll beg for a toy or a game or a book with the tenacity of an e-mail spam overlord and then blow it off almost as quickly as she receives it. She's taken a incredible range of extracurricular classes, from music to art to tumbling to (most recently) ice skating, but the only one she's stuck with consistently is swimming.

Her most recent prized possession was a toy sewing machine we picked up at TJ Maxx for $12. It's pink and plastic but it really works. So for a few days Jo was a busy busy seamstress (mostly just making seams with no practical purpose). And after that, of course, the little machine sat and gathered dust.

What I wonder is how much of this is my own doing. See, the sewing machine--like many other hobbies she might try/stick with--requires intervention from me: helping her thread the needle, find fabrics to work with, follow instructions, etc. And you know, there is a reason why I don't own a sewing machine myself. I am just not interested! So if Jo asks me to help her, I will; but I'm not going to go out of my way and say "Psst! Hey kid! Wanna sew?"

So I don't think I am actually suppressing my child's interests. The question is whether I am doing enough to encourage them. I like to think I am allowing her passions to shine through (she is only six, after all!). But as we've established, I'm pretty good at rationalizing.

8 is not enough

2008-10-28T19:32:00.004-06:00

It hasn't been all sweetness and (crazy overexposed) light. But it's been pretty sweet.

Happy 8th anniversary!

Front, back, micro, macro

2008-10-27T09:22:00.004-06:00

Even though I have a perfectly good, dedicated home office space, every day I work at my dining room table. I sit in the seat that allows me to look through the living room and out the front windows, to the yard and to the park across the street. Just outside the window is a plant called a Tree of Heaven, which my sister the horticulturist informs me is called "Tree of Hell" by those in the trade--because it can be invasive and is nearly impossible to remove or kill.

It's pretty, though, isn't it?

Our back yard is dominated by two towering trees--a shagbark hickory (on the right below) and an oak (at the bottom of the frame is our garage). These are two of the many reasons I wouldn't trade living in an old house.

Yes, that's a lot of leaves. But here's what we learned from our neighbor: Just crunch 'em up with a lawnmower and leave them. Forget raking!

Thanks to Jenny from Nyack Backyard for inspiring this post! It's a front door/back door meme started by dlyn. If you want to join in, just step our your front door and snap a photo, then do the same in the back. Leave your link at dlyn's.

Shopping list: 1 bichon frise, 1 kitten, 1 rabbit ...

2008-10-24T06:45:00.000-06:00

At some point in kindergarten, every time Jo went to the school library she would only check out ~~totally boring~~ nonfiction books with some variation on the title Caring for Your Pet ____ or All About [Dog/Cat Breed X]. These were ~~dry as dirt~~ earnest, detailed manuals published by the likes of the ASPCA and the American Kennel Club. Not exactly my idea of soothing bedtime reading, but who was I to interfere with my child's interest in books/science/companion animals?

In the months since we have come to discover that the kid had an ulterior motive. She filed away all the details and used them to craft her master plan. And now, once a week or so we hear "When Folly dies can we get a bichon frisé? And then, you know bichon frisés get along with cats so we can get a cat? Or a rabbit, and also a guinea pig."

After she tried this a few times and I responded with horror at her blasé attitude toward the death of our beloved pet, she amended her request thusly:

"When Folly dies, it'sgoingtobereallysad, and then can we get a bichon frisé?"

We've had this dog since before the kids were born and they really do have a sibling relationship. By which I mean a love/hate kind of a thing. She tries to steal their food and they freak out. Then they feed her their leftovers right off their plates. She grabs their toys, they grab hers. They play together intensely for awhile and then ignore each other intensely for awhile.

She's over 10 years old and she has a heart murmur. She sheds, she barks viciously at the vacuum cleaner, she sometimes refuses to go outside and then has accidents in the basement. And when she's gone, it'sgoingtobereallysad.

(Photo is from 2002 and is one of my all-time favorites.)

This post was written for Parent Bloggers Network as part of a sweepstakes sponsored by Burger King Corp.

Further adventures in firefighting

2008-10-23T12:09:00.002-06:00

The best part is she didn't even tell us she did this. We only found out from the pictures. Even then she just acted like it was no big thang.

And I have to say, for a photo taken on a disposable camera by an 8-year-old, I rather like it.

Jo = Teh Awesome

2008-10-22T12:21:00.004-06:00

I am grooving on this little girl this week. To wit:

1. Last night she voluntarily, cheerfully, and capably washed a huge sink full of dishes. I may still have to remind her regularly to take her plate to the sink and put her pajamas in the drawer, but did I enjoy having post-dinner clean-up cut in half, at least just that once? I did.

2. For the past few days she has been giving Opie "homework assignments" after school. She dot-to-dots letters and numbers for him to trace and then gives him a letter grade for each page (ranging from A+ to Z-). He loves it.

3. She was one of two kids from her school chosen at random to spend the morning at our local fire station. She was so excited you would have thought she'd won the lottery. She got to slide down the pole, have lunch from McDonald's (no firehouse chili?!), and be driven back to school in an honest-to-god fire engine. She tried on the gear and reported that the helmet was so heavy she couldn't walk in it. And one of the firefighters nicknamed her "Crumb" because she was the smallest kid there.

(crummy souvenir photo)

A mile-high high

2008-10-20T11:53:00.004-06:00

If you've been to Julie's, you know we've been to Julie's this past weekend. There was much eating (thank you Kyle!), musical beds, walks around the neighborhood, cooing at the baby (OMG the baby. He is edibly cute), an intense game of Taboo in which Nancy's name was invoked (how else could I explain "hat trick" without saying the word "hockey"?), and not nearly enough picture-taking--partly because I left my camera at my brother's overnight. (Ask Julie about how he returned it on his motorcyle, fully decked out in leather and chains.)

Once again, Jo and Tacy picked up without a moment's hesitation and didn't leave each other's sides, awake or asleep, for the entire length of the visit. Neither did Jo wear any of the clothes we brought for her, preferring instead to raid Tacy's closet. I don't know if it's the fact that they spent so much time together as infants (nearly every day from three months to two years) or the fact that we parents do our best to encourage their continuing relationship, but these girls have a strong bond that's now weathered four years apart. I hope it never breaks.

Goodbye Denver--we'll be back as soon as we can.

Blog Action Day: Poverty

2008-10-15T09:54:00.005-06:00

I haven't been through my reader yet today (*twitch*) but I know from Twitter that many of my favorite bloggers are participating in Blog Action Day today. Magpie, PunditMom, and Ilina are making donations based on the number of comments they receive today, so go forth and comment, please! (If you're doing this too, let me know and I'll link you up.)

Last year I donated my BlogHer Ads earnings to Donors Choose. Any suggestions for a recipient for this year? I just read about Jewish World Watch's Solar Cooker Project in Darfur. A $30 donation provides a refugee family with solar cookers and training to use them. This helps curb deforestation and also saves women and girls from making dangerous trips to gather firewood (they risk getting raped every time they venture out). Thirty bucks!

I also want to help at home. My grocery store collects donations for our local food banks right at the checkout (the store prefills bags of supplies, I pay for it, then it goes straight the food bank). With food prices skyrocketing and everyone feeling squeezed, I remember how very lucky we are and I buy one of these bags each time I'm at the market.

The problems are so huge and diverse and intractable (how do we fix Darfur / Iraq / Afghanistan / Haiti? how do we fix health care? how do we fix crummy schools and evaporating jobs and foreclosed homes?). What I don't want to do is let this overwhelm me into inaction. One local project and one international one? That's doable. And every little bit helps.

What are you doing?

PS Don't forget FreeRice. I just donated 1000 grains and learned two new words ("vaticinate" means "prophesy" and "raddled" means "worn out").