Let's just take five

I am totally burnt from last week. I thought it was cute that my kids have back-to-back birthdays. Except when it was actually that week and I had to spend every night, post-bedtime, hiding, seeking, wrapping, baking shopping, etc.

So today, as I convalesce, here's a little meme from Kimberly over at Gav Menagerie (who by the way has two of the cutest girls in the blogosphere. Join me to sigh at the adorableness). I'll merge this with the "ask me questions" fad that's sweeping the interwebs too: If any of these responses pique your curiosity, say the word and I will proffer up more fascinating detail. Or make up some entirely unrelated question. I'm easy.

Five things I was doing 10 years ago:
1. Dating Jeff and riding the Sphinx bus a lot
2. Working in New York City (just like Kimberly)
3. Spending half the summer house- and dog-sitting in the New Jersey 'burbs
4. Ghost-writing a book
5. I can't remember anything else. I didn't have a blog then!

Five things on my to-do list today:
1. Fold an enormous mountain of laundry (just like Kimberly)
2. Select and buy the kindergarten snack for tomorrow
3. Cajole kids to write/scribble on thank-you notes for birthday gifts
4. Pick up tax returns
5. Upload birthday pics for nagging grandparents

Five snacks I enjoy:
1. Flat Earth Baked Veggie Crisps/Tomato Ranch
2. Apples
3. Cereal
4. String cheese (just like Kimberly), or better yet, Babybels
5. Anything furtively filched from the many stashes of candy/sweets in this house: Easter baskets, party favors, birthday leftovers ...

Five things I would do if I were a billionaire:
1. Enjoy the fact that my husband took his job and shoved it, so can't whine about it anymore
2. Open a Bikram yoga studio in my town so I could go there whenever I wanted
3. Quit my job so I could go there whenever I wanted
4. Travel (non-commercial air only of course; just like Kimberly)
5. Throw lots of money at big problems like poverty and climate change

Five of my bad habits:
1. I blog instead of working (as we speak!)
2. I hold grudges
3. I get snappish when I haven't had a good night's sleep (just like Kimberly)
4. I don't make time for exercise
5. I am a clutterer. It's mostly all stuffed in closets but it's there. Oh boy, it's there.

Five places I have lived:
1. Crafthole, Cornwall
2. Philadelphia, PA
3. Grenoble, France
4. Davis, CA
5. Weehawken, NJ (just like Kimberly). OK, not exactly. It was the town right next door. But I spent a lot of nights in Weehawken before that (see #1 in the "10 years ago" list).

Five jobs I've had:
1. Babysitter
2. Office flunky
3. Newspaper reporter (just like Kimberly)
4. Newspaper deliverer
5. Magazine editor

Five bloggers I tag to go next:
You, or you, or maybe you? Bonus points if you can repeat any of my answers, like me and my twin Kimberly.

Deja vu all over again

Didn't I just write a birthday post? Poor little guy is always trailing on his sister's heels. He was so disappointed yesterday when Jo got to bring her birthday treats to school and he didn't. But now, Opie, this is it! Congratulations. Today is your day.

My sweet boy,
It should be noted that I am writing this post later than I had intended. That's because you were such a PITA at bedtime last night that I fell asleep before you did. I finally woke up two hours later, wedged awkwardly in the armchair (just like every night of the first year of your life, come to think of it). By that time there was nothing for it but to go to bed myself.

You redeemed yourself, as always, waking up sunshiney and smiling and so pleased to be reminded that today is your birthday. And despite your two-ness and now your three-ness (oh, the three-ness. I hate three), you are still that darling child who will chirp, unprompted, "Thank you for the dinner Mommy! It's vewwy dewwicious"; or who will tell me my hair looks pretty or who will remind me that we pet our dog "vewwy gent-a-ly."

Just like your sister, you have changed so much this year. I still find it hard to think of you as a preschooler. No more baby (except, uh, for those Nuks and diapers). You talk--and talk and talk--and sing and dance and run and swim. You love to cook and play your collection of musical instruments. (About that drum set you wanted for your birthday ... not happening. Sorry.) You love airplanes and have been my stalwart companion on so many trips.

I am still so thankful for you and always will be. Happy birthday, Opie. You're off to great places.

Now we are six

To my favorite girl,

Two nights ago I told you, "Tomorrow is your very last day in your whole life to be five years old!" A smile slid across your face at the thought. I know it's because you were thinking of your birthday, and all the accompanying treats and presents and attention. But I like to think you realized too what's so special about this time, this moment of passing from one year to the next.

I'm so proud of how much you've grown and learned this year. You can ride a bike and cross the monkey bars and swing a hula hoop. You can read and write and add and subtract. You love science and nature. You can even pull a tractor and direct movies!

I'm proud of the subtler things too. Just the other day when a boy I know you think is a little weird said "hello" to you on the playground, you responded politely and with a smile. You share your toys and books with your brother without complaint. You've suddenly grown aware of, and fond of, our dog (even though you're already making plans for the next pet we'll get "when she dies"--a bunny or a bichon frise).

It would take another year to sum up all the wonderful things about you and by then there will be so many more.

Happy birthday, clever girl.

The End (from the collection Now We Are Six) by A.A. Milne

When I was One,
I had just begun.
When I was Two,
I was nearly new.
When I was Three
I was hardly me.
When I was Four,
I was not much more.
When I was Five,
I was just alive.
But now I am Six,
I'm as clever as clever,
So I think I'll be six now for ever and ever.

To infinity...

At the Milwaukee Art Museum. For Wordless Wednesday.

Happy birthday to my dog

I am a total goody-two-shoes. I am a rule-follower and a risk-avoider and always have been. Very boring and sensible.

But I did once hitchhike 200 miles through the south of France, along the Route Napoleon. I was studying in Grenoble and three friends and I decided to go to Nice. We split up into boy-girl pairs and set off on a chilly day in February with a couple of backpacks and a cardboard sign. It took us a full day to reach Nice, but we got there, in the company of several nice ordinary people and a few harmless wackos. Plus a priest, who picked us up about 50 miles from Nice and took us to a nice convent he knew about, near Grasse. He (and the nuns) insisted that we have dinner there and then they put us on a bus for the very last leg of our journey.

Somewhere, I still have that cardboard sign reading "Destination Nice s'il vous plait."

*

And while we're taking this walk down memory lane: The story of how we got our dog, eight years ago today. Jeff and I were living together and engaged but not yet married. He had wanted a dog for a long time. I hadn't grown up with any pets but being all starry-eyed and goo-goo over my man, I started getting starry-eyed and goo-goo over all the cute doggies on Petfinder too.

One day we found an adorable little terrier there. We contacted the foster caregiver and scheduled an appointment to drive out to the boonies and meet this dog. The caregiver assured us that he was extremely sweet and gentle and would make a delightful pet. She encouraged us to take him out for a get-acquainted walk. We did and about 200 yards from this woman's house, stopped to play a bit with the dog--at which point he decided to sink his teeth into Jeff's arm. Not just a little puppy nip but a full-on chomp. We ran back to the house with blood gushing all over, handed off the terror terrier, and headed straight for the nearest ER. Jeff needed 6 stitches but did manage to avoid a series of rabies shots.

The next day we went to an animal shelter near our apartment. There must have been 50 dogs there, all barking like crazy trying to get our attention. The one who didn't bark, but just shyly gazed at us from behind the wire fencing, was the one we took home.

*

You know what today is, right? So which one of these is a true story?

For more fact vs. fiction:
My Life As It Is
The Mummy Chronicles
The Hip Mom's Guide

Updated Wednesday April 2: The dog story is about 60% true. It all happened except for the bad bite. The France story is 100% true. And here's a bonus story about my travel companion that day. A couple months ago I Googled him, since I am nothing if not nosy, and found that he is a spokesperson for the U.S. State department. Because his statements were similar to those of his colleagues with different names, some bloggers accused them all of not actually existing--just being sock puppets for the department. Surreal, since I can assure these bloggers that I spent several months seeing and talking to this person every day.

In like a lion, out like a junkyard dog

This is what March 1 looked like. Picturesque, but damn annoying.

Today is uglier. We have the piles of really old, really dirty snow. We have the garbage emerging from underneath said snow. We have mud and thunderstorms. We have brown, crushed, nasty-looking grass and plants.

But this afternoon, Jo saw a rose clinging to one of the bushes that line our front walk. She was thrilled. "Look! A rose is blooming already!" I hated to break it to her: That was an old, dried flower from last summer. Still, she saw the bright side. "It survived!"

I guess we all did.

Princess much?

Yesterday evening, Opie had a high fever and so was unusually content to lounge on the couch watching Noggin. (He's fine now.) Jo, disdaining the "baby shows," decamped to the backup TV in the basement. She proceeded to holler up the steps every few minutes with some desperate need or another. Finally, Jeff taught her how to use the intercom feature on the telephone so she could call him if she needed something.

Naturally, five minutes later she did. I heard his end (snicker) of the conversation: "You called me on the phone because you need me to wipe your butt?"

True story. And that is something nobody told us before we had kids.

Recorded for posterity

Okay, lest you get the wrong idea that I am particularly holy or brave, I will mention that on Easter Sunday, I spent an unseemly amount of time snickering when Jo, while attempting to read a menu, innocently asked what a "happy hour" was. Only she said "happy whore."

This reading and writing thing is delighting me daily. It has taken forever to get to this point. I was not previously aware that reading is a milestone akin to potty training, or sleeping through the night. It takes way longer than you think it will, progress comes in the tiniest of increments (and waxes and wanes daily), various experts are always ready with a quick-fix solution whether or not you need it, and you might feel compelled to exaggerate your child's progress.

Yesterday Jo was busily writing one of her random letters to no one. I reminded her that we promised to send Tacy a postcard. Without missing a beat she took another piece of paper, neatly wrote NOT NOW, and continued with what she was doing.

The postcard was worth the wait, though. She composed it tonight.

Dere Tasee
We liket your latdr we are sating a noow latdr becos you ask for
a now won
Love Jo
form Wiskosisn

Togetherness Tour '08

So, the trip. It turns out that a full week of 24/7 kid care was a leeeetle bit hard for me. I am ashamed to admit that. But by the end of those 7 days I wasn't really the nicest mom in the world. It took a lot of effort to hold myself together. Part of the problem was that I overlapped our trip (me + kids) with my husband's business trip, so that when we arrived home there were no reinforcements waiting. Thank god the kids were exhausted enough to sleep very late that first morning at home.

We went to Washington, D.C., because it is halfway between the cities where my brother and his wife live and my sister lives. Coincidentally, one of my closest friends happened to be traveling there that same week. (I'm sorry I didn't have the strength--or child care--to coordinate any bloggy get-togethers.) And I thought -- D.C.! Tons to do! Public transportation!

Yes, true; tons to do. If your kids are into museums. By day 3 mine most certainly were not. And yes, public transportation. A half-mile from the hotel, so that before you are 20 minutes into your day out both kids are whining because whichever one's not in the stroller insists that he/she neeeeeeds to be in the stroller and by the way don't you have any snacks? (I always did, because that is my A#1 tip for traveling with children. Just keep feeding them.)

Since a certain someone has a history of vanishing from my grasp I brought a leash. Oh yes. My husband was horrified but I pointed out that he would be much more horrified if I came home with one less child than I started out with. It was a critical piece of equipment and I'm so glad I had it. Of course, Jo wanted to be the one to hold the handle which pretty well defeated the purpose, but we soldiered on.

Highlight: Left with two kids. Came home with same two!
Lowlight: Jo asking me "Why are you sad and mad?" (see camera, below).

Highlight: Letting the kids take a long, loud, messy, splashy bath in the hotel bathroom.
Lowlight: Going into a "family" bathroom at an airport, discovering it had been most recently used as a smokers' lounge.

Highlight: Jo wanted to take pictures of fossils and skeletons to show Daddy.
Lowlight: Lens now jammed on brand-new camera (she dropped it). Hence no photos accompanying this post.

Highlight: Snuggling in a king-sized bed with the kids.
Lowlight: Sharing a mattress with The Windmill and The Slurper--the noise of the thumb-sucking would absolutely wake the dead.

Highlight: Homewood Suites, you rock. Spacious, nicely furnished, complimentary huge breakfast and dinner, friendly staff ... who looked the other way when I had three extra people sleeping my room (sister, brother, sister-in-law).
Lowlight: Caving in and allowing the kids to have root beer with dinner one night. One, having downed about 8 ounces in 6 minutes, turned instantly manic, bouncing in the booth, darting over to the window, and crawling under the table. The other one turned insomniac and couldn't fall asleep until 10:30 p.m. (there went my sanity-saving "alone time" for that night).

Highlight: No work, cooking, cleaning, or other household responsibilities.
Lowlight: Every single poopy diaper was my job.

Sightseeing highlight (kids): A panda scratching its butt; the "pee cup" in the Skylab Orbital Workshop; poisonous frogs.

Sightseeing highlight (mom): A mini college reunion with 5 close friends (including the ex), one spouse (his), and 6 little kids, who, with an assist from the TV, entertained themselves well enough that the adults actually had time to talk and catch up.

Overall? Not sure I'd do that again. But getting to see family and old friends meant a lot, and even the concentrated kid time was almost always fun. I kind of like those two kids. I'm glad I brought both of them back with me after all.

Almost April? No way.

I cannot believe that it is March 25 already. I feel like I have missed the entire month and do you know why? Because it is still winter. Equinox, schmequinox--we still have icy patches on our driveway, hulking piles of old snow littering our yard, and fresh flakes falling daily.

If only the Zula Patrol could whoosh in and save us. In one of four episodes we recently reviewed, one of the Patrollers uses a Weather-Matic machine to change the weather at the twist of a dial. Sigh... a girl can dream.

And a girl can learn a lot about weather, actually, from this collection of episodes of the PBS kids' science show. Get the full review at The Full Mommy.

The first day of the week

Last night was my friend's baptism and confirmation. I really don't think I have ever been prouder of someone who isn't a member of my immediate family. Her bravery and faith were breathtaking. She never wants to be the center of attention, but elected to do a full immersion baptism (betcha didn't know we Catholics even did that... I didn't!). It's unusual enough that when Father invited her, me, her family and friends to proceed to the baptismal font, he also invited the entire congregation to gather around as well. (Then he joked that he'd try not to fall in with her.)

She wore a bathing suit covered by a short robe, which she kept on as she knelt in the font. Her family was there, including her two little boys, her in-laws, and her sister; as her sponsor, I stood by her side. The rest of the RCIA candidates and catechists watched, along with a few hundred other parishioners, a deacon, several altar servers. Can you imagine the strength it took, to decide to do this, to want to do this? It was a privilege to observe it, and even more so to have my own small role to play in it.

After it was over she beamed with the joy of it, and the relief; her four-year-old piped, "Mommy, I am so proud of you!" and we all smiled because we were too. The rest of the Mass passed by in a rush and afterward, it seemed that everyone who'd been in the pews stopped to congratulate her and to welcome her. It's an Easter I won't easily forget.

A total tease

I'm back home.
Alive.
Barely.

Much more to say but for now, I point you to my latest Full Mommy review--of the DVD that did, in fact, get me through some of the hairier moments of this trip. I mean, produce a brand-new Bob the Builder DVD and you are bound to buy yourself a little bit of time and maybe even a few words of thanks to boot.

(It didn't, however, earn me the title "Best Mom Ever." That I got when I offered up ice cream for dinner in the Detroit airport. Bribery will get you everywhere.)

Haiku Friday: Hiatus edition

The vectors of germ
and I are hitting the skies
tomorrow -- look out

Yes, it was daunting yesterday when 50% of the household was puking, the dog had a seizure, and I started feeling that telltale dry throat that always portends a vicious cold.

But the tickets are purchased, the hotel is booked, the aunts and uncles and friends (even an ex-boyfriend!) are waiting, so we are off tomorrow.

I'll be gone until next week but I am leaving you with three movies still to be identified (now with hints--get on that!). And over at the Full Mommy, you can read another travel story: My review of a brand-new water resort.

And please I beg you
Don't post too much while I'm gone
Spring break for us all!

This meme brought to you by Pre-Vacation Panic Week

**Updated below with hints

I am going out of town next week with the small ones (and no husband, lord give me strength). Therefore this week, am racing around like a hamster who just drank a couple of Red Bulls. Yay vacation, but the week before and the week after suck.

So this meme I saw at Lara's is just what I need tonight. Escapist, easy, requires audience participation.

1. Pick 15 of your favorite movies (this shall not be regarded as the definitive list of my favorite movies -- but I do love them all).
2. Go to IMDb and find a quote from each movie.
3. Post them here for everyone to guess.
4. Strike out each quote when someone guesses correctly in the comments, and note who correctly identified the film.
5. NO Googling or using IMDb search functions (you're on the honor system here).

Here goes. I'll start you off with an easy one.

HINTS: Of the remaining films, one is a documentary, one is British, and one features a soundtrack that I've mentioned previously here on ye olde blog. Go to it!

1. You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means. Lady M, surely a Princess Bride in her day, gets this one.

2. I'll be typing for England!

3. Also, you'll find a pair of safety glasses and some earplugs under your seats. Please feel free to use them.

4. I don't want to play the gender card right now. You want to play a card, let's play the "let's not die" card. mothergoosemouse had no trouble Finding Nemo.

5. Well, I would say that I'm just drifting. Here in the pool. Magpie's been musing since long before she was a Graduate.

6. Then after about 15 minutes, you're spit out into a ditch on the side of the New Jersey Turnpike! Jennifer tells us that living under the ponderosas is nothing like Being John Malkovich.

7. A pot. A pot belly. Pot bellies are sexy. Everything I know about Teresa is pure Pulp Fiction.

8. Ladies and gentlemen, when you look at this gorgeous couple, it's no wonder they're a household name all over the world like... bacon and eggs. Dancer Lara gets this one--I'm sure she's done her share of Singin' in the Rain.

9. Nobody said it. This time it's all me. Life isn't like in the movies. Life... is much harder. Call 911! A child is born at the Cinema Paradiso!

10. I'm not sure I agree with you a hundred percent on your police work, there, Lou. Heather knows that the zebras in Fargo are probably cool.

11. I really love Rudy. He is totally enamored of me. I mean, I've had other men love me before, but not for six months in a row. Even for young Lara, Sixteen Candles are no longer enough.

12. No! I'm madly in love with you and it's not because of your brains or your personality. Maggie is the Little Miss Sunshine in Cat's so-called life.

13. We are so lucky. We are so lucky to have been raised amongst catalogs. There's no doubt that mothergoosemouse is one of the Best in Show.

14. Harry, there's enough C-4 on this thing to put a hole in the world! Once again, Lara is the Speed-iest one to get the answer.

15. I don't think it really helped me, in my love live; my nascent love life. I think that having won something like that could be regarded as being a significant liability.

Look out! Bad skeletons!

Potential nightmares my children described this evening:

• Eyes poked by lions
• Bad skeletons
• A fun pony ride taking a turn for the worse when the pony goes to a "bad store"

And then they fell asleep. Still both in the same room, every night. It is absolutely one of the most adorable moments of parenthood I've experienced thus far.

Night night!

Happy birthday Barbie

In honor of Barbie's birthday today, I am reposting my favorite Barbie picture ever and relinking the story that goes with it. Cheers!

Blast me back to the pioneer days

Recently my mom mentioned that she still has my boxed set of Little House on the Prairie books, and noted that soon I'd be able to begin reading them to Jo.

I can't wait! When I was 8 or 9 (and probably 10 or 12 too) I'd start with Little House in the Big Woods and continue right through to The First Four Years without stopping. Then I'd go back to the Big Woods and start all over again. My set came in a yellow cardboard box and all the spines of the books were yellow too, with cover art and interior illustrations by Garth Williams. The set looked so impressive there on my bookshelf.

I remember watching the TV show, too, but it was the books that really enthralled me. I even got to visit the Laura Ingalls Wilder Historic Home & Museum. I still remember I had a souvenir mug that I took to school for show and tell. I wrapped it carefully in a dishtowel for the walk, but I still dropped and broke it--a terrible loss.

There are legitimate concerns about the depictions of Native Americans in the books. I hope that I can use them to start discussions about racism and the way people feel about those who are different. I still believe that the books are an incredible window into American history. And they are a pleasure to read, which is more than I can say for many of the other books I slog through for the sake of my kids (Magic Tree House, anyone? For the love of god, Mary Pope Osborne ... you are writing for beginning readers. Why must you litter the page with sentence fragments?). I know I'll smile when I see that big yellow box on my daughter's bookshelf.

Inspired by today's blog blast on behalf of Highlights High Five (which I reviewed yesterday). Write your own post by midnight PST--that still gives you four hours!--for a chance to win a subscription to the magazine.

One two three four ... High Five!

OK, I know I'm mixing my children's media here, but that song is an earworm if I ever heard one.

What I'm really talking about over at The Full Mommy today is the new, younger-kid edition of Highlights magazine, called Highlights High Five. It may not have any dopey morality tales (and who knows--today's Goofus & Gallant are probably more subtle than they were a generation ago), but it does have a ton of fun features for kids ages 2-6.

Get the full scoop over at the The Full Mommy -- including details on the craft that kept my kids busy for more than an hour. If you want in on that action, Parent Bloggers Network is holding a blog blast tomorrow, and they're giving away 5 subscriptions.

Almost crossed another item off the Mommy Checklist

When I arrived at child care yesterday to pick up the kids everyone was in a tizzy. I had been out getting my thrice-yearly haircut/highlights and the batteries on my cell phone were dead--where is that charger anyway?--so when the director tried to call me, she couldn't reach me.

So the first words I heard were "there was an accident but he's okay." We went to Opie's classroom and he was his usual smiley, chirpy self. He immediately noticed my haircut. "You got a haircut Mommy! Looks pwetty!" Why yes son, and no more grays! You would never have known there'd been an incident except for the fact that a patch of his own hair, plus the back of one of his ears, was all bloody.

Just a half-hour before, a toy had fallen off a low shelf and gashed open my boy's scalp. It looked nasty but I could see that he was recovering fine. No concussion, no lingering pain, and he was both brilliant and sensitive enough to compliment my hair! Most grown, uninjured men can't manage that.

Among the daycare team recommendations for follow-up were divided. Two votes for "take him for stitches" and two for "he'll be fine." We had to hustle out the door for Jo's gymnastics class; it was her final one for the session otherwise I might've skipped it. There I consulted two more moms, friends whose kids are also in the class. Another split decision.

With the score tied 3-3, I called the after-hours nurse when we got home. Guess what she said? "It's up to you whether you want to take him in." Thanks so much. Finally she offered to page the doctor.

At last, a definitive answer! No office visit, no stitches, not even a bandage. This morning he has a cruddy-looking scab but it's entirely hidden under his hair.

Minor crisis, averted.

Booooop ... crash ... bang

The only thing more annoying than watching someone else play a video game is being forced to listen to someone else play a video game.

That is all.

How not to spend a Saturday morning

I recently took Jo on a little overnight trip (more on this to come soon at The Full Mommy). At one of the shops we visited, I let her pick out a toy for Opie and one for herself. She chose a make-your-own-mermaid craft kit (she loves craft kits--another thing we totally do not have in common).

So from the moment she woke up Saturday she begged to do this thing. Finally we reached a point where Daddy was snowblowing (again), Opie was busy watching "the frog show," and we could concentrate on the sirena.

On the outside of the box: Photos showing a 4-step process, and an age recommendation of 4 years and up.

On the inside of the box: Directions listing FIFTY-TWO steps from start to finish. FIFTY! TWO! About three of which could be performed by my 5-year-old. Basically she watched me gluing itty bitty sequins to my fingers the mermaid's hair, threading atom-sized beads onto invisible fishing wire, and trying not to curse.

Also, do you think she has cast even the most cursory glance at the doll now that is completely besequinned, betailed and bejeweled? I think not.

****

I just finished watching "Ace of Cakes." Ever seen it? Ever wonder why they deliver the cakes by tossing them in the back of a van with no protective wrapping whatsoever? This drives me insane.

As luck would have it

Sometimes people confuse true luck with winning things. While I don’t deny that it’s good fortune to win a lot of contests, prizes or money, I don’t consider this the really GOOD luck.

The really good luck is something that I possess. I don’t often win contests (although I do occasionally). It isn’t often that I get something for nothing. But I’m rich anyway.

Here’s why I’m lucky:

I never had to really study much in school. I could often get an “A” in a class without much effort.

I took risks with my safety in college and lived to tell the tale.

Just when I was about to resign myself to never finding someone to spend my life with, I was asked to be a bridesmaid in a friend’s wedding and met my husband.

Even though I had several risk factors for infertility I was able to get pregnant and have children.

My children have been born healthy and continue to be healthy for the most part.

I have a nice home and many of the things that I want . . . and all of the things that I NEED.

My family supports me in whatever I try to do.

Things just seem to work out for me. Much as I worry about things, everything generally turns out fine.

It may be great to win a lot of money and prizes, (and I certainly wouldn’t turn any of it down!) but if I had to choose one, I’ll choose my type of luck every time.

Heather is mom to 2 young children and is currently baking baby #3. When she’s not counting her blessings she’s writing about life’s minor irritations at her blog Cool Zebras, where you can find the wonderful Mayberry today. To read how lucky the rest of the blog exchange participants are, please click here.

She actually WANTS to do math?

Even before they’re born we try to find similarities between ourselves and our children. He’s a night owl, like his daddy. She never stops kicking; she’s going to be athletic just like me. We peer at their scrunchy newborn faces and look for family resemblances in noses, chins, eyes.

And then—lookalikes or not—they go ahead and prove how different they are every day. Still I’m amazed when my children display talents I never had. Where I was a skinny, weak klutz, my daughter is strong and athletic. My academic strengths were in reading, writing, foreign language; she finds Spanish class “boring.” She can read, but she prefers not to (although, thank goodness, she still likes to listen to read-aloud books).

But give her a page of math problems or tell her to count to 100 and she’s off to the races. Where did this child come from? I don’t know, but I’m pretty excited to find out where she’s going.

(Want to brag about your child? Blog blast today … or just tell me in the comments, because I am almost as proud of your little monkeys as I am of my own.)

A case of flagrant wallpaper abuse

Many years ago my parents lived briefly in a house that contained three of the most hideous rooms I've seen before or since. In a remarkable sin of omission no one took any photos of these rooms before the family fled. So, a propos of absolutely nothing today (perhaps this is my effort to reclaim Wednesday for words), I present three reasons why wallpaper should be a controlled substance:

1. Ahoy, me hearties! This room predated today's pirate craze by at least 20 years. It was a large room of indefinite purpose -- on the same level with the garage and the powder room (coming up next) and nothing else. Family room? Office? Spare bedroom? It was a mystery. Also mysterious was the wallpaper, a blue-and-white pattern of foot-long clipper ships sailing the open seas. The vessels covered every inch of wall and carried right on over onto the matching curtains too. And on the floor, a nice blue shag carpet, of course.

2. Pledge your allegiance. Despite its small size, this half-bath again featured wallpaper with a ridiculously oversize pattern--one that celebrated the greatest hits of American patriotic music by reproducing its most garish sheet music covers, accented with brass trumpets and stern-looking eagles. The fixtures were a brilliant shade of royal blue. (Have you ever seen a royal-blue toilet? I hadn't.)

3. The woodland baby bathroom suite. In the basement, adjacent to an honest-to-god knotty pine-walled rec room with burnt orange shag carpet (and to think, that one didn't even make this top 3 ugly rooms list), was the WBBS. The nearest bedroom was two flights of stairs away from this large, nonsensical bathroom. It had dark wood trim throughout, a sauna, a huge vanity with double sinks and an imposing wooden chair, a big whirlpool tub set two steps up from the floor, and separate shower stall. Oh, and beige carpeting (squick) throughout, including on the steps surrounding the tub. Tying all this together, and inspiring the name, was the wallpaper. It featured nearly life-size, realistically rendered illustrations of baby woodland animals--rabbits, squirrels, and other Bambi contemporaries. Very much like these wallies, but monochromatic. So if, say, you decided to take a soak in the tub, you might be eyeball-to-eyeball with a chipmunk or a raccoon. Relaxing, no?

And you? Wallpaper horror stories? Let's hear them.

Calling all you foodie types

I am looking for good food/mom blogs. Not so much for myself, but for a work project. Can you recommend any that you love -- not too gourmet; more about everyday cooking with/for kids who may or may not only eat their pasta without sauce, their apples peeled, their yogurt character-ized, and their pizza only is "someone else bakes it."

Merci bien.

Oh, and any grandmothers and mothers of middle schoolers would be magnifique as well.

Homecoming haiku

Four nights away from
home, husband, kids. Each day seems
longer than the last

In the airport on the way home I walked into the ladies' room behind a little girl and her mom singing the Hannah Montana theme song. Then the girl asked her mom to come in the stall and help her wipe.

Ah yes. I'm almost home.

(Composed on Friday for Haiku Friday but didn't make it to the big screen until today.)

Snowman lineup

(Hers, his, hers)

Life imitates art. Or maybe it's the other way around.

For Wordless Wednesday.

A Ferb-ily family tradition

I'm not sure how this started but we seem to have created a new evening ritual. Every night after the kids are fed, (occasionally) bathed, and PJ'd, we all snuggle in together to watch "Phineas and Ferb." It's on at 7 in our time zone and is less than 15 minutes long so it's the perfect last little thing to do before bed. The kids think it is a big treat to have the TV on after dinner and all four of us find the show hilarious. It's a testament to how a bit of structure encourages creativity, too; there are recurring themes, plot points, and even dialogue in every episode, yet each one is clever and funny.



All day long now we sing this song and imitate the villian, Doofenschmirtz, saying "Ah... Perry the Platypus!" Both kids can do a dead-on impression.

So that makes me smile. And so does Magpie, who gave me a You Make Me Smile award. Awww! Thanks M. I could pass this along to dozens of you, but I single out Lady M for her astonishing ability to post cheerfully every single day; and Christina and Jennifer for Haiku Friday. I love playing along--and reading--as often as I can.

Did we like it?

Like many other little boys (and girls) out there, my son is a fan of the round-headed, overall-clad, fix-it Brit. So we said "yes we can" to an offer from Parent Bloggers Network to check out Bob the Builder's latest DVD release, Bob the Builder On Site: Roads and Bridges. This one-hour show is a complete how-they-do-it explanation, in preschooler-friendly terms, of road- and bridge-building. As Bob spells it all out for his pal Roley and a collection of rabbits and squirrels (yeah, I didn't really get that, either), a combination of animated and live-action videos illustrate the steps.

Get the full review (with bonus Opie photo) at The Full Mommy. And if you like freebies--add the site to your reader! Contributor Leighann has tracked down all kinds of sweet goodies to share. The current giveaway ends today, but more are coming.

In front of God and everyone

I don't normally post about religion, because holy lightning rod; and also, my feelings are nothing if not conflicted. I enjoy the ritual of it all and have found comfort there in times of grief. But if I am honest with myself, I haven't nearly the faith to swallow everything I should to be a true believer. And as a leftie, feminist type, I have Issues with a capital I about many teachings and dictates of the Roman Catholic church.

And yet, you'll find me at Mass nearly every Sunday, goosebumping up when the priest presents a newly baptized baby to the applauding congregation, beaming as if he bore that child himself. You'll notice tears leaking from the corner of my eyes during a soaring hymn. You'll see me volunteering to send valentines to homebound parishioners and organize the Sunday morning nursery co-op. You'll realize I'm sitting alongside almost all of my close friends in this community, the ones who'll watch one child while I chase the other or save a seat for us during coffee hour. On warm-weather days, the kids and I may be at church for two hours or more, including Mass, coffee talk, and a visit to the school's playground.

This year I am sponsoring a good friend as she goes through the RCIA process. I was honored to be asked, but hesitant. Was it really right for me to hold myself up as an example for her? In the end I decided that all I could do was tell her the truth. That I have questions, questions that will probably never be answered; but if she wanted to, we could seek together. And so we have. This Easter she will be baptized and I know I'll be proud to have been a part of this process with her.

I'm still out there wondering, but I know I have company. And that means a lot.

I can has valentinez?

Hope you all had a happy heart day.

xox

Jo, Opie, and the dog

Grand-mommybloggin'

Some of you know that I have another blog on the site I work on. I don't link it here because, you know, I feel that I am the second coming of Dooce. My mother is the most faithful reader of that blog (probably the only reader. Even I am usually bored with it, and it's all about my kids). She checks compulsively for updates, never fails to mention what she's read, and even suggests topics.

So today, when I felt a bit of bloggers' block, I emailed my #1 fan. I usually can't keep track of where she is because she travels all the time, but she does check her Crackberry constantly. Sure enough, she called me from her cell phone within a half hour and reeled off four ideas.

Write about everything you have to prepare before you go out of town.
Too stressful. NEXT!

Write about how you embrace the winter season with the kids.
Ha. Ha ha ha ha. I only embrace the sturgeon-spearing. Pucker up, dino-fish. NEXT!

Write about Valentine's Day and all the learning opportunities that go with it [a lifetime ago Mom was a first-grade teacher].
Reasonable possibility. After Jo rejected my idea for homemade valentines (red construction paper hearts with cut-out pictures from other cards glued on top, and the text "You're cut out to be my valentine"), we bought a couple of packages of licensed-character goodness. She sat right down and addressed and signed them all in one fell swoop. No nagging, bribing, or even coaching. I was very proud. But: If I do this, I'll save it until after the school party, in case that yields any good stories. NEXT!

Write about how you cook with the kids, what they like about it, what they are learning from it.
Ding! I think we have a winner. Yes, I may be a kitchen lame-o but I am raising a boy who has an entire wardrobe of aprons and his very own whisk. Tonight: "Now you can help me mix up this stuff and make meatballs." "I can use my whisk?"

Next time, though, I may just hire Grandma as a ghost-blogger. I can pay her a percentage of my lucrative salary of $0.

Wanderlust-ful

New mama Julie (not to be confused with Other New Mama Julie, or Word-Using Mama Julie, or do I have any other bloggy friends named Julie?) tagged me for a Top-5 meme. I am to tell you 5 things about myself, and then list 5 places in the world I'd like to see (or see again).

I've already revealed many miscellaneous things about myself so I'll just make up my own rules. Here are 5 random things I have been wondering lately:

1. How I manage to entirely fill the dining room table with crap every day between the hours of 8 a.m. and 2 p.m., only to have to clear it off completely by 2:45. Right now: 4 piles of work papers; 1 cloth napkin; 1 binder clip; dirty lunch dishes; a bottle of tea; the phone; a ruler I found on the floor; a photo that fell off the refrigerator; two invitations to events I don't intend to attend; the recipes from last night's soup swap; my planner book. And the laptop.

2. If there are any "virtue" names for boys. I encountered a family recently with children named Hope, Grace, and Christian; the mother mentioned that the last one would've been Faith if he'd been a girl. Ever since I have been racking my brain trying to come up with alternative boy names. This is neither an attempt to name a child I'm not having nor a need to make some kind of point about the virtuousness of girls vs. boys. I'm just cat-killin' curious.

3. Why, if you invite me (see #1) to a fundraiser to be held at your home, you don't offer some kind of hint as to who on earth you are and how you know me or got my name.

4. Whether it's far too late to get a babysitter for this weekend, or to get my roots done before my next trip to New York.

5. If winter will ever. Ever, ever. Ever, ever end. (Forecasted for Mayberry for the next 5 days: Snow, clouds, snow, snow, clouds.)

Now, for part two! Oh, the places I'd go. Here are my top picks from the list we compiled last fall (fairly high on the conventional/cheese factor, but too bad; and I also cheated and added some that weren't on the list).

• Hawaii
• Spain
• Turkey
• Iceland
• Patagonia

Oh, and here's another list of 5: The soups I now have chillin' in my freezer. How's that for meme miscellany?

• Vegetable with meatballs
• Chicken chili
• Curried butternut squash
• Wild rice
• Potato-leek

Care to play? Join me in the comments or on your own blog.

Super-easy soup

Since I went ahead and confessed that I am a lousy cook, I thought now would be a good time to post a recipe. Right?

I am going to a Soup Swap on Monday. It's like a cookie exchange, but for soup. Here's what I'm going to bring (there is a contest for best soup name ... if you can think of a better one, I am all ears). I'm making 40 cups of it tonight (8 cups x 5 recipient swappers).

I Think I Can-nellini Bean Soup
Makes: A lot. At least 8 servings depending on who's eating. Probably about 35 servings if you are serving it to a small child.

3 cloves garlic, minced
1 Tbsp olive oil
2 16-oz cans cannellini (white) beans
1 28-oz can diced tomatoes
1 head escarole (or kale I think would also work), chopped
4-5 cups chicken broth (sub veggie broth to make this vegan)
S&P
Shaved parmesan cheese for garnish

1. Heat the olive oil in a big soup pot or dutch oven. Throw in the garlic and saute for a couple of minutes.

2. Dump in everything else.

3. Bring to a boil.

4. Simmer for 20-25 minutes (or whatever. Until you are ready to eat it).

5. Top with shaved parmesan and serve.

See? If you can open a can and boil water you can make this.

My only problem is that my husband doesn't really like soup (weirdo). So I am going to have 40 cups of incoming soup to eat all by myself. Guess what I'll be eating for lunch for the next 40 days!

(When I was a poor editorial assistant, I always brown-bagged except on Fridays. Then I'd treat myself to lunch out. If I was feeling really flush I'd go to the Soup Nazi. I think it cost about $7 a serving [this was way back before the Seinfeld show even aired] but it came with bread, fruit, and a piece of chocolate and damn, this soup was so. good. It was entirely worth the anxiety and abuse and the very very long line.)

Did I mention he loves show tunes?

The Circle of Life

by Opie

For Wordless Wednesday

No longer cheering

My boss just called to tell me she resigned.

My reaction is unprintable here (because I checked off "no profanity" for my BlogHer ads).

Picture a long string of expletives and you will get the idea. I love my boss. I have been reporting to her since I came back from my maternity leave after Jo was born. (I probably wouldn't have even come back if I still had to report to my previous boss, a single man and pompous ass.) A working mom of three herself, she has been my champion while I transitioned back to work, got the hang of pumping, asked to work at home two days a week, moved away, had another baby.

She embraced my proposal to continue to work for her as a telecommuter after we moved to Mayberry, an arrangement we've had now for almost four years. Personally and professionally, she is extremely supportive and protective of her staff. Hands down, she is the best boss I've ever had. She's also a lot of fun--literally someone you'd want to sit down and have a beer with, which I've done often. She's a straight-talking Italian from Jersey and I will miss her very much.

For the foreseeable future I'll be reporting to her boss. She told him to keep me and let me continue what I've been doing, but who knows if he will (or if I'll be able to deal with him). I knew this wouldn't last forever but it still sucks to see it come to an end.

Gooooooo sturgeon!

Ahhh ... it's ice-fishing time again! I saw my first shanty today.

Currently cheering:

• The New York Giants. Of course.
  


• Barack Obama. Of course.
  


• yogabeans!
  


• Mayberry Moment #5: Me to stranger in supermarket parking lot: "Are you Jennifer's husband, by any chance?" After he said yes, I explained that I had gone skiiing with his wife the week before and had ridden in the very car he was driving, in which I had left my sunglasses. Why yes, there they were!
  


• My husband's heroic snow-clearing efforts
  


• My heroic cooking efforts

About which: I roasted my first chicken today. I know that's one of the easiest recipes ever but it was my first time and I am rather proud. Because although I can get by, I am really a pretty lousy cook.

Exhibit A: A few weeks ago I tried to make a steak rub from the Tea Diet* book. As I pawed through the cabinet looking for chili powder, I found some chipotle chili powder. "Must be about the same," methought. Yeah. The same hacking, coughing, sinus-clearing, tongue-numbing kind of thing. Amusingly, my husband rescued the beef by dousing it in ... tea (brewed; he had no idea there were crushed tea leaves in the rub). And a whole whole lot of butter.

The New York Times Sunday magazine yesterday contained an interview with poet laureate Charles Simic. Asked for advice for people looking to be happy, he replied "For starters, learn how to cook." Sigh. It really would be nice to enjoy a task you have to perform day in and day out for your entire life until you become superrich and can hire a cook to be at your beck and call.

(It's a good thing it's no longer NoMeatPoWeek, what with all the mentions of carnivorousness. Really, we only eat meat a few times a week at the most. The kids love tofu, eggs, and cheese and all of those I can make without poisoning anyone. Homemade pizza and Thai Kitchen stir fries are weekly staples, along with veggie pasta and grilled salmon.)

*I forgot to mention here that I am giving away a copy--a nice hardcover copy, not the bound galley I'm keeping for myself!--of the book over at The Full Mommy. Just post a comment by midnight Thursday to enter.

Art by Jann Haworth

Haiku Friday: Ode to the Big Boy Bed

You needed a bed
No one told me that it would
dwarf you like an oak

Seriously, this thing is huge. But the small boy loves it. He helped build it ...

and then dismantle the crib without a second look (saying goodbye to the nuks? not so much).

Big sister is also a big fan. She's been sleeping in that trundle every single night.

Now, for a nice book ...

And then snuggle under the quilt. My mother-in-law had these in her attic for the past 30 years--can you believe it? One of Jeff's aunts made them for him and his brother, but they were rarely used. Having a packrat in the family = priceless!

Yes, we are going to repaint, by the way. I'm thinking a warmish khaki but that was before I got the quilts. Suggestions welcome (I'd also love to do something fun with that dormer/slope thingie--what's that called? There's one on the opposite side of the room too).

It's a gosling! A pinkie?

A boy!

Anyway, the babygoosemouse is here!

Congratulations and lots of love to the whole family.

I may be a freak, but I'm a skinnier freak

Call me a freak, but I do not like coffee. Never have and at this point, don't think I ever will. And for the longest time, I had no interest in tea either. This was very disturbing to most people I encountered in my college and post-college days.

THEM: "What do you mean you don't drink coffee? Or tea?"
ME: "Well. I don't drink coffee ... or tea."

This was difficult for them to grasp. Occasionally I would say that I drank hot cocoa just to get them off my back.

Eventually I did start drinking tea. It was either the trip to Ireland or the first Starbucks chai latte that did it, or possibly a really sore throat. I've since moved beyond the milk and sugar, and can and do drink tea straight up.

In fact, I usually drink 4 to 6 cups a day. So a book called The Ultimate Tea Diet? Was right up my alley, even though I am not dieting, have never dieted, and generally do not believe in diets.

Get the full review at The Full Mommy!

Evidence that I am descended from hillbillies

Since Aimee posted her goofy musical picture, I am going to post mine. In one of those blogospheric coincidences, I just received it the other day.

That's my grandfather on jug, my uncle Steve on washboard, my dad (and his mustache) on banjo, and some other dude on bass.

Anyone else have a musical skeleton in the closet/family tree? Bring it!

Thank goodness for Sheila

I'm still cold but I spent the better part of the weekend embracing the weather instead of fighting it. We took the kids sledding on Sunday. My friend Sheila is a class-A rounder-upper and event planner and she put together a cross-country ski outing on Saturday. I hauled out the skis that I haven't used since my childfree days (they still fit! yeehaw) and we spent the afternoon gliding through a nature preserve. As we were setting out on the trail a fresh-mouthed 8-year-old asked me if I had ever been on skis before. I refrained from answering "Yeah, before you were born, ya little twerp" or from otherwise letting her comment crush my groove.

My best/worst ski outing (I'm still talking about cross-country here -- all of my downhill outings have been "worst." I am not cut out for that), mentioned briefly here, was in Moosehead Lake, Maine. The lodge we stayed at had yurt-to-yurt trails so the idea was, you ski around all day and then sleep in a yurt at night (your belongings having been magically transported there by snowmobile, about which more later). I soon learned that a canvas tent, even one equipped with a wood-burning stove, was not really ideal for a February night in Maine.

The trails, however, were amazing and so was the people-watching in the lodge. Snowy trails attract two diametrically opposed groups: the cross-country skiers and the snowmobilers. The skiers wear natural fibers (corduroy knickers and knee-high wool socks: hot!), eat granola, and probably listen to NPR. The snowmobilers wear space-age synthetics in space-age colors and I'm guessing they like the country music. Seeing these two groups mix (or at least occupy the same room) is a fascinating character study.

*

Segue on the word "character": my lovely cousin's mother-in-law just died. Doesn't she sound like a remarkable person? I'd never met her, and really hadn't known much about her (Ozarkian jigs! Fishing! B29 bombers!). I'm sorry I'll never get the chance now.

Photo from the Utah Ski Archives via fasterskier.com

Can't ... post ... brain ... frozen

This post from last year pretty well sums it up (I see I reached the breaking point a few weeks later in '07 than I have in '08).

I knew what I was getting into when we moved here. When Jeff was considering taking the job that brought us to Mayberry, his company flew us here for a recruiting visit. In January. The temperature never rose above 5 degrees F the whole time we were here and I think there was about a foot of snow on the ground.

It was also the first weekend away, alone, we'd had since we became parents nearly two years before. We ate nice meals, we shopped leisurely, we drove around and looked at houses 3 times the size of our apartment that we could actually afford to buy. We went to a chamber music concert. We stayed in a really nice hotel. Need I say more?

Those wily recruiters. Look where it got me.

Late to the party because of the party

What with all the hoo-ha over the teeny weeny peenies, I missed observing a couple of other important events in the blogosphere and the world. Luckily, I can count on all of the rest of you to pick up the slack:

Jessica and Julie P. wrote movingly about Martin Luther King, Jr.

Alex wrote about Blogging for Choice Day.

Dozens of you wrote to support WhyMommy on her big day, and she came through with flying colors.

And that is worth celebrating -- yesterday, today, and tomorrow.

Aww! His first pee fountain!

In honor of the impending arrival of mothergoosemouse's little boy blue: A story.

The minute you give birth to an infant of the male persuasion you learn (and you are informed about three dozen times a day, anyway) that their boy parts are to be covered at all times. Something about exposure to the open air makes their little firehoses want to perform.

During one of Opie's very first diaper changes on his very first day home from the hospital, my mother was doing the honors while Jo and I looked on adoringly. Because, you know, it takes two adults and a preschooler to change one teeny weenie newborn. Of course, since it had been over 30 years since Grandma had unwrapped a boy diaper, she forgot the Take Cover rule. Opie sensed an opportunity and let fly with a targeted stream. He managed to hit:

• the pack-n-play
• the living room wall
• the living room floor
• and his sister's face
• (her hair too)

So Julie, be sure to stock up on the cloth diapers and use them to cover the danger zone any time the little guy is mid-change. Tacy and CJ, I advise you to keep your distance.

xoxoxoxo from Jo, Opie, Jeff and me!

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It's a baby shower and you are invited! Grab a button and post anytime today in honor of one of the blogosphere's favorite writers ... and the biggest surprise of her life.

(And there are prizes involved, to boot.)

You-gotta-be-kidding below zero

Jeff goes to the big game

The ticket was free, but he easily spent its face value on cold-weather gear. Let's hope he makes it back with all his fingers and toes.

Haiku Friday: Little pitchers

Just thought you should know
I know something you think I
don't. Kids have big mouths

*

Twice in the past few days, while I haunted the coatroom, kindergartners have blurted out info that I'm guessing their parents would rather not have bruited about. One was a child who said that her mom might be sending her to parochial school soon. The other was a boy who told me that his parents were considering a move ... not such a big deal except that his mother is a teacher at the school, possibly even Jo's teacher next year. (Him: "They're thinking of moving to the place with the first Montessori school." Me: " ... Italy?" Him: [vzzzzhhh sound of words flying over his head].)

Word to the wise: Don't say anything about anything in front of your kid.

*

All from yesterday:

Opie, to day care director: I'm going to see Dr. B___. He takes care of my whole body!
Opie, to doctor: I am getting a big boy bed. I am not going to get out!
Opie, to neighbor: My big boy bed is upstairs. It is a tiger cage!
Opie, to teacher: When you come to my house to a football game party you will need a ticket. [Note: There is no such party]

Dollhouse attacker returns

JO'S ROOM (AP) -- Several members of the Doll family were found clinging to their second-story windows this weekend, after an apparent repeat attack by the giant baby that has previously wreaked havoc on their home.

"He's even bigger now, but I know it was the same baby," said Mrs. Doll, who was unhurt in the incident but remains traumatized by the sight of her two youngest children teetering halfway out of the master bedroom window. "I could just tell by the steely glint in his eye, and the pudgy fingers that so cruelly grabbed my children and husband and stuck them in all the window frames."

Firefighters rescued the Doll family and doctors say they will suffer no long-term effects. The family vows to remain in the home, despite the threat of yet another giant baby attack. "If we leave, it's like the baby wins," said Mr. Doll.

"At least this time he left our pets alone."

Buck you, Gym

We made a pilgrimage to the mall yesterday to exchange all our ill-fitting/disdained ("I don't like turtlenecks, Mommy. I will never wear those ever") stuff. We came out pretty much even at Macy's but somehow at Gymboree I exchanged three old items for four new items and ending up spending $50! (Time for another WTF haiku.)

Now here's the thing -- because all the gift receipts went missing in the Christmas frenzy, my mother-in-law just gave me all the regular Gymboree receipts. I have three of them and each one is about a foot and a half long, because she was buying for three kids on behalf of four different adults.

It's also GymBucks time. I have an insane number of GymBucks now: 250. That means I could buy $500 worth of overpriced clothes for the low price of $250.

My kids don't need $250 worth of clothes. They don't need 25 cents worth of clothes. I am no good at shopping ahead for upcoming seasons either (I rarely buy them clothes, period--their grandmas are so very generous). I know the sane thing would be to just throw the coupons out but it feels too much like throwing away actual money. I also know this is quite possibly the most bourgeois problem I could describe. But, what should I do ... can I sell these things on eBay? Donate them somewhere? Would it be worth buying a bunch of stuff then reselling it online or at a consignment store? Do you want them? Halp.

My position may be softening ... slightly

I posted whinily about extracurricular activities a few months ago, but I confess that the last two days have me considering a change of heart.

Yesterday, Opie started swimming. It's been months since I've enrolled him in a class because he was very iffy about participating before (unlike big sister, who's always been a happy little goldfish/kipper/shrimp). This time, he loved it. I felt a little weird with this nearly 3-year-old in a pool full of infants, but he had a blast. He sang, he blew bubbles, he kicked, he scooped his little hands, he counted "one ... two ... FREE!" and jumped in fearlessly. Sometimes he even counted "onetwofreefourfivesissebbenainineten" and then jumped. The first thing he said to his teacher this morning, just before regaling her with the Motorboat song, was "I went swimming!"

It's allllmost worth having to shower him in the squicky locker room afterward.

Then today, Jo had a 90-minute art class and I spent the whole time reading magazines and drinking tea (Opie was still at school). Tomorrow's her turn for swimming, and since I don't have to go in the pool with her, I'm counting on more tea and more magazines. Now that's what I had in mind when I shelled out for these activities.

Of course, after I got home today (with both kids in tow and hours of child-juggling and dinner-preparing ahead of me) I realized I had intended to devote the afternoon to some research for a freelance job. Oops. Monday it is, then.

(Mostly unrelated photo: from the Georgia Aquarium last spring.)

Reporting for duty

Have you ever served on a jury? I think everyone should. When you live in Manhattan, you get a summons every two years on the dot. Luckily, mine was for a criminal case (civil case = snore) and I didn't yet have any kids or big job responsibilities. This was back in the days when jury duty meant a lot more "sitting around in the courthouse reading magazines waiting for your name to be called" and a lot less "call this automated voice to see if we need you."

So I got put onto a case. The perp was an alleged drug dealer. A bike cop--why that detail sticks with me, I don't know--watched him holding fort inside a pizza place (or a pizzeria, as true New Yorkers always call them) over the course of several hours. The cop described customers entering, money changing hands, and each customer being apprehended, a few blocks away, with drugs in hand. The bike cop summoned a squad car and the dealer was arrested, given a quick pat-down, handcuffed, and put into the car for a ride to the station.

Once at the station, the car was thoroughly searched and a bag of drugs was found under the seat in the back. The question was, could we the jury be certain enough that the dealer had ditched his goods there to convict him? Or was it, as his lawyer argued, possible that they belonged to some other person who'd ridden in that car that day?

What struck me most, then and now, was how seriously we all took our job. We were a real cross-section of New Yorkers (well, we lacked some corporate titans and skinny socialites but we were at least of all ages, races, and education levels). It was a really straightforward case but we took our time discussing its merits and debating the guilt of the accused. The best part was when we considered whether the man could have sneaked his stash under the seat of the squad car while handcuffed. A tiny old lady volunteered that she had tested this out at home by putting on her own handcuffs and stuffing something under the cushion of her couch!

We voted to convict and I still remember how my heart pounded as I affirmed my vote aloud in the courtroom. I knew it was the right decision (the judge, in thanking us for our service, agreed as much) but it still felt scary to be in a position to send someone to jail. It took me a week to breathe normally again.

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I posted at The Full Mommy about our holiday hits and misses -- click over to find out what we liked and didn't.

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What are you reading tomorrow? I have too much to choose from: Sunday's New York Times, a pile of magazines, this month's book club assignment (Jane Austen's Persuasion), or my next PBN review title. It might depend on the weather. If it snows, as is predicted, I think Persuasion is the way to go. And if I read it with a cup of tea, I'm killing two birds with one stone.

Haiku Friday: WTF edition

tiny angry zit
embedded in an eyebrow
how can I zap you?

crib escape artist
why do you choose the highest
end to crawl over?

daughter has cough drops
in pocket? fill out this form
in quadruplicate

feeds kids organic
diet, but leaves vacant car
running for an hour

need server for work
first email says it's down, next
one says it's stolen

Creative number-crunching

My brother is an artist who makes works out of data. He has been recording his latitude and longitude every hour on the hour for the past decade and has created several artworks based on this information. He's also plotted the approximate location of every member of our immediately family, plus his wife, my husband, and now our children, for the past 10 years as well, and created works from them too (one is pictured).

So every January he asks me where we've been the previous year. I just tallied it all up for him.

I took 13 overnight trips this year:
6 with the whole family
3 with one child
3 with friends
1 with my husband
1 alone

That's 45 nights away and 34 airplane flight segments, but only 4 hotel stays. Five were business trips, but all of those also included good friends and good food so I feel guilty even calling them business trips (not guilty enough not to submit a T&E, though. Somebody had to pay for the Internet access at the W).

I went to New York four times, Chicago three times, and my husband's hometown three times. I went to two places I'd never been before (Atlanta and Minneapolis). I went to two places I've lived before (New York and my parents' town).

And I also learned there's a whole world out there left to see. Miles to go in '08 (or at least San Francisco). See you there ... or somewhere.

What do gay cars, crazy architectural renderings, and I have in common?

So the Blog Exchange assignment is "Best of 2007." I think my partner is on the road so I'm going to put up my post right here, but you can click the BE link to find several more good reads on the topic.

Now. What exactly was the Best of 2007? I can't talk about the best movies because I think I saw two new releases this year (both of them on pay-per-view on my couch). TV shows? You've probably already heard of "Project Runway." Music? You did see my music meme post, right? Books ... did I mention I read The Count of Monte Cristo this year? I did? Also it wasn't published in 2007. Never mind.

In fact, I think every "best of 2007" list in the world has already been done. Top PR blunders, best gay cars, top new organisms, sexiest athlete wives, most interesting webcams, craziest architectural renderings, and 15 different accountings of top buzzwords.

What could I add to this genre?

• Best ways to entertain a little boy in an airport? (#1: dry, crumbly muffin.)


• Best family history find? (#1: The annotated Barbie clothes dresser).


• Blurriest ice shanty pictures? (#1: Mayberry's shantytown).


• Best unintended innuendo at the doctor's office? (#1: Your T&A Journey.)


• Top toilet interviews? (#1: Jo's video, of course.)

Best ways to end 2007? A party with 12 adults, 9 kids, 2 babies, and a platter of blueberry martini jello shots. Happy New Year to all my friends and family, online and off. Here's to 2008!

Photo: Quentin Jones, theage.com.au.