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

As mushy as a cocoa-soaked marshmallow

I am all warm and Christmassy. The tree is up, most of the presents are bought, and we're all looking forward to the arrival of Grandma, Grandpa, and the aunts and uncle this week. And I have so many reasons to feel merry and bright. A tiny sampling:

• One of my blogging friends, whom I met for the first time at BlogHer this summer, sent me a holiday card--a real one in the mail. It really surprised and touched me. I will return the favor when my cards arrive in "3 to 10 business days."
  
  
• The way Opie has started saying "Oh, man!" with perfect inflection and for entirely appropriate reasons. And the fact that he recently spent one entire nap clutching a large plastic spatula.
  
  
• The way Jo says "lemontine" for clementine. And the picture she drew yesterday, described thusly: "This is the ocean, and here is the boat. This is the flag. I mean the sail. It's a dentist boat because this [pointing to the image on the sail] is a tooth."
  
  
• Mamatulip's hilarious hematoma (not Christmassy. Just funny).
  
  
• Mayberry moment #4: The Santa float (above). The fire department decks out a truck, then spends a week of evenings driving on every single inch of road in town playing carols and wishing everyone a merry Christmas. You can't really see him (sorry for the lousy picture--he took the corner by our house pretty fast), but Santa's on board too, waving at all the kids.

I told you this place was wholesome

Mayberry moment #3: At the post office, four sheets of white office paper are taped on the wall above the P.O. boxes, along with a few ribbons and bows. The message reads "Happy 105th Birthday Harvey!"

Then, when I stop at the counter stocked with forms and supplies, I find two large pieces of posterboard reading "Get Well Soon Tom!" Each is covered with personal inscriptions from postal patrons. Tom is one of the guys who works at the counter.

You can't make this stuff up.

What part of "free" don't you understand?

Forgive me for being too lazy to go find the posts/comments and link to them, but since BlogHer there have been some rumblings of discontent over the giveaways we attendees received. These included a bib (from Minti) and a magnetic, dry-erase calendar festooned with cartoon characters (from PBS Parents). To those who were annoyed by these mommyblogger centric items, I have to say: Why on earth do you care? It's a freebie. If you don't like it, throw it away, give it to a friend, or donate it to a thrift shop or homeless shelter. Or I'll trade you the bib for the 30 packs of sugar substitute, since I don't drink coffee, or the condoms, since I don't...need those.

If it weren't for these sponsors, the conference would have been prohibitively expensive. I think$300 is a bargain for a 2-day event including several meals--fine, so the "meals" were crappy, but they provided a way to soak up some of the alcohol. Which, thanks to the winery sponsor, was also mostly free.

Maybe I'm having trouble with this because I've been in a goodie-laden bubble for too long. When I worked as a magazine editor, I lived amid a smorgasbord of swag. If I needed shampoo, nail polish, or eye cream, I could just wander over to the beauty editor and ask her what she had lying around (what didn't she have would have been a better question). I gave one of my best friends a kick-ass baby shower gift--a cool diaper bag stuffed to the gills with books, toys, and other goodies--made up completely of free stuff from around the office. Once I went on a trip to Alaska to test-drive a car and came home with a parka and a fishing rod (but alas, no car).

Even after I left that business (not without shedding a few tears), I didn't leave the freebies entirely behind. Now they come courtesy of my husband, who works in advertising. As a media planner, he's forever being wooed by magazines, websites and TV networks who want him to advertise with them. So every pen, pencil, beach towel, tote bag, mouse pad, and baseball cap in this house bears the name of some media outlet. That means the last time my dad came to visit, he ended up using a bath towel embroidered "Mirabella" (a defunct women's fashion magazine). A couple of years ago, we hauled two duffel bags' worth of stuff to my parents' house for Thanksgiving and held a Yankee swap with it. Everyone walked off happy. The only challenge now comes when I socialize with Jeff's co-workers. We run the risk of showing up with the same cute bag or picnic dishes, recently received from the Oh! Network or Reader's Digest.

But beggars can't be choosers, right?

*

Mayberry moment #2: I went to city hall today to sign Jo up for a dance class through the parks and rec department. The street outside is one of the few that has parking meters. I plucked a quarter out of the change cup in the car... only to discover that the meter didn't even take quarters. The cost for 30 minutes of parking was five cents.

Mayberry moment

Tonight after dinner Jo and I went out to play. We heard music coming from the park across the street, so we wandered over. Turns out it was the weekly community band concert, complete with show tunes, a Norwegian march, and the state university fight song (Go Badgers!). Is that classic or what? We watched and listened until bedtime.

We’re so lucky to have this park right outside our front door, and another one, complete with man-made sledding hill, just two blocks from our back door. Lately I’ve been worrying about parks and other communal spaces. Drive by any upscale subdivision and you’ll see that every yard has its own swingset. (And here I have to disclose that after two years of persuasion, I finally gave in to my husband’s wish to buy one for our yard too; so everything that follows is frankly hypocritical.) If every family has its own swingset, what’s the point of the neighborhood playground? Will anyone go there anymore? And if no one does, how will kids meet other kids, and moms meet other moms?

I realize I sound like a crotchety old man talking about how “in my day, we didn’t have ‘playdates,’ we just went outside and played!” But it’s true, isn’t it? I think it’s sad that our homes and yards and cars keep getting bigger and bigger, while our public spaces lose value (or move into the computer, but that’s a whole ‘nother post). I hope I can help my kids see that libraries and city pools and farmer’s markets and playgrounds are part of what makes a place liveable, a community that means something and gives something to every resident.

Maybe I should start a commune, what with the waxing rhapsodic about togetherness. Who’s with me?

The Boy on the Carousel

I fell in love with my husband because I knew he would be good father. We were not even dating at the time. In fact, I was dating his roommate.

Yes, that's right, I dated my husband's roommate. And it was a terrible relationship that should never have lasted the year and half that it did. But it brought me to Doug, and that was worth it.

I fell in love with Doug on a carousel. A big group of friends went to the local amusement park. We went on the carousel, and there was a small boy sitting on a horse that was next to Doug's. I have no idea where this child's parent was, but he ended up talking to Doug. The boy was having a hard time because the carousel wasn't starting, and Doug entertained him by showing him how to say "giddy up horsy" and hit the horse with the reins. And Doug did that until the carousel started and throughout the ride.

I fell in love with Doug in that moment. We had become very good friends while I was dating his roommate, and somehow ended up near each other on the carousel. And I knew that he would be an amazing Dad, and I wanted him to be the father of my children. But, because I'm an idiot, even after this, I kept dating the roommate, which was ridiculous.

But, 10 years later, he is the amazing father that I imagined on that long ago carousel ride. Very involved, and so in love with his little boy that he writes open letters to him. He leaves work every day at 5:00 pm just to spend an hour with Michael before he goes to bed. And sometimes then works late into the night to make up for that, but he refuses to not see his son before bedtime every night. When Michael was first born, Doug took two weeks off of work, and helped me with night feedings, and literally has been involved with Michael's care from day one. He celebrates every one of Michael's successes, big and small, and cries when he is hurt, sick, or sad.

I'd like to go back and find that little boy on the carousel and thank him. Because if it wasn't for him, I never would have noticed the amazing father that Doug would become.

This post is part of The Blog Exchange. Jodi is mom to a 2 year old, a part-time lawyer, and wife. She blogs at Jodifur about all these things and many more. Please visit her site, and you will see Mayberry's post. And thanks to Mayberry for being such a great hostess!

Will you ever forgive me, poor dented station wagon?

An open letter to my car, and a fervent effort to turn a moment of stupidity into a cool prize from CarBlabber via today's Blog Blast.

I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry. Please don't hold a grudge. I need you to take me and the kids to day care, play dates, the flippin' orthodontist, and the grocery store. I know you don't want to go back there, and I wish we didn't have to, but it is inevitable. The bike trailer can only hold so much.

I promise I won't be as dumb as I was that day. It's just that the cart was sitting up on the sidewalk by the store when I pulled up. I took it inside and filled it with liquid crack Honest Tea, diapers, and a few other essentials. It was only natural that when I finished my shopping, I put the cart back where I'd found it. I mean I knew it wasn't properly corraled in one of those iron chutes. I hate it when people leave carts randomly strewn in the parking lot. But I thought I was safe. I thought you were safe.

I promise you I cringed when, just as we were backing out, I saw that cart roll ever-so-slowly, but unavoidably, unstoppably, across the sidewalk and off the curb, slamming right into your rear passenger door. I never meant to hurt you. You were the car we bought because we had a baby. You've served us well for over five years and 70,000 miles. I'm just sorry that karma bit you on the ass side instead of me.

How can I make it up to you?

Grovelingly yours,

Mayberry Mom

Iceberg summer

And no I'm not referring to these upper midwestern climes we now enjoy. Actually, summers here are beautiful, with sunshine and temperatures in the 80s for much of July and August. After winters that go on, and on, and on and on, we enjoy and appreciate our summers and spend as much time outside as we can. Mayberry has a totally kid-pleasing community pool, with a huge shallow end, two water slides, a sandbox, a lawn, and the all-important concession stand. We're also not above ruining our new grass with a blow-up kiddie pool of our own and even one of these monstrosities (purchased on end-of-season clearance thx). Yep -- we are big consumers of the Little Swimmers 'round these parts.

We have fun. But it's nothing compared to the adventures my husband had when he was a kid. His aunt and uncle had a lake house (a 20-minute drive from their ... non-lake house) and he and his brother and cousins would spend every day of every summer there, just generally goofing off and having a good time.

My favorite lake story is this, and it's totally of the moment because we are currently obsessed with all things Star Wars in this house. (Tip, BTW: Pool noodles make excellent, cheap light sabers.)

Anyway (get to the point young Jedi) one day Jeff and his brother and his brother's friend Marc found this big piece of styrofoam. They immediately decided that it would make an excellent iceberg and it should go on the lake. The next time they came to the lake they brought every single Star Wars figure they owned -- i.e., hundreds -- plus a bunch of spacecraft and airplanes. Then they spent an hour painstakingly setting up a huge battle scene on the styrofoam iceberg.

Their masterpiece complete, they floated it onto the water.

You know what happens next, right?

It floated too far out, and Jeff's mom wouldn't let them go after it. They threw rocks at it, trying to shift the current to send it back toward their dock. Instead, they ended up breaking it and sending all their guys to an even swifter watery death. Some clung to the edge for awhile, but with no rescue crew in sight eventually they succumbed to the inevitable drowning.

For the rest of that summer and all the next, Jeff and Mike and Marc hoped against hope that Luke or Han or Lando would wash up on shore and be returned to them. It never happened, but the story lives on.

Tell your summer story for this weekend's blog blast. May the Force be with you.

Spreading the love and the free shampoo

When I was an editorial assistant at a big women's magazine (my first job out of college), I had to survive in New York City's insane housing market on a salary that would barely have kept me afloat here in Mayberry. I was the only one in our class of 7 or 8 assistants who actually paid rent--all of my fellow assistants lived with parents or other family members, if that gives you an idea.

I learned to eat cheap, my parents were generous, and the perks of the job helped a lot. Every day, messengers delivered shopping bags filled with beauty products, accessories, food--once even a goldfish in a bowl--to our offices, sent by PR agencies angling for placement of their products in the pages of our magazine. (You did see The Devil Wears Prada, right?) The beauty editors skimmed off the best stuff, of course, but even they couldn't come close to using it all. Once I made friends with the right people, I could shop the beauty closet anytime I needed shampoo, moisturizer, make-up, or even a birthday gift for a friend (shhh).

When I switched from the magazine world to the Web, the perks became a lot less perky (I pretty much missed that whole dot-com boom, foosball and free pizza in the office moment), and of course dried up entirely once I moved out here. (Except for the random stuff my husband brings home.)

So how thrilled was I to be invited to join The Parent Bloggers Network? This new venture (only Kristen would start a new business days before giving birth) connects bloggers with businesses that want feedback from parents on their products, in the form of online reviews. Free samples for bloggers, good publicity for the companies, useful info for readers. Win, win, win--I'm in. (I'm also honored to be today's featured blogger.) I doubt any Prada shoes will be coming our way, but who knows? Maybe Stride Rite will tap the network. And those suckers ain't cheap either.

Updated to mention ... that I just added a slew of new writers to my blogroll--everyone on the PBN. I look forward to getting to know you all.

Bon voyage

My brand-new laptop took a nose dive off the tray table during a turbulent moment.

The airline lost one of my bags--the one containing the booster seat I purchased especially for the trip.

I managed to reserve a rental car from the one company that didn't actually have a counter at the airport. We had to be ferried to a "convenient location" "nearby" to get our car.

I forgot all the cute jewelry I wanted to wear (which I rarely take out in Mayberry, because what's the point?).

Women all over SoHo are wearing leggings and skinny jeans.

... But I'm in the city that never sleeps, and I left the boy who never sleeps at home with his daddy. So it's all good.

(I do miss the little punkin. But his sister is a much more relaxing travel companion.)