Moving on up

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.

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

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

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.

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

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?

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

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.

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

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

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

Thank you, Heather!

The eyes have it

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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