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.

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.

My kind of spring cleaning

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shamrock shred*

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

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

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

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

How I met your father

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

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

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

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

From long-ago songs and someday goals

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

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

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

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

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

From long-ago songs and someday goals.

I am from Sunday Mass with doughnuts after.

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

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

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

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

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

What would you name yourself?

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

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

You see why Lisa would be so much easier.

'Cause I'm free! ... freelancing

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

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

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

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

Name that character

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

1. ROCK STAR NAME: Miss November Volvo

2. GANGSTA NAME: Chocolate Boot

3. NATIVE AMERICAN NAME: Blue Dog

4. SUPERHERO NAME: Green Tea

5. NASCAR NAME: Carl George

6. STRIPPER NAME: Lavender Kit Kat

7. TV WEATHER ANCHOR NAME: Philips Phoenix

8. SPY NAME: Summer Lilac

9. CARTOON NAME: Apple Cardigan

10. HIPPIE NAME: Granola Cherry

If you want to play, here's how:

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

Sharing the news

On my way to and from Jo's school I pass the hospital where Opie was born. A few days ago a fluorescent pink sign appeared in one of the windows, facing the street: IT'S A GIRL! It made me smile each time I passed.

When Jo was born, I had a c-section after many hours of labor. By the time my OB ordered the section, I had no problem giving up on the idea of vaginal birth. (I believe my exact words were "I don't care how you do it. Just get it out so I can have a drink of water!") After Jo was delivered, I was a basket case, given that I'd been in labor for nearly two full days without eating or sleeping. I was in no shape to call anyone to deliver the biggest news I'd ever be able to share. (AND they still wouldn't give me any water. Boy was I mad.)

I realized later that that was one of the things that made me the saddest about the c-section. I hadn't realized how badly I wanted that big Announcement Moment, where I got to tell family and friends about our baby girl. Instead, Jeff had to leave the room to go make the calls--since we'd told everyone hours and hours before that the birth was imminent, and our mothers were starting to completely lose their minds.

When Opie was born, I again had a c-section preceded by labor, just not quite so much of it. I recovered from the surgery more quickly and was able to make a few phone calls. No giant posters or candy cigars or clever websites--just a few spoken words, but it felt amazing.

Did you do anything special to announce your children's births?

Opinionated

I really like Obama. Here's the thing: I want a president who is intelligent and thoughtful. To me that is far more important than what kind of experience he has or doesn't have or even what his specific plans and ideas are. I want to be confident in him as a person, to trust that he will seek out the information and advice he needs, weigh it carefully, and make smart decisions. I believe Obama will do that.

I'm impressed that McCain chose Sarah Palin as his running mate, even if is all calculated to win him votes (and I don't disagree that the Democrats did the same). I wonder if he'll win over some undecided women or former Hillary supporters by doing so. But he might also lose some hard-core Republicans.

And also, for the record, I am really over Jennifer Lopez spouting off about training for a triathlon "because she wants her babies to be proud of her." AS IF.

Agree/disagree/opine on your own in the comments ...

ETA Sunday 8/31: The more I think/read about Sarah Palin, the more I feel like Tree does.

Dating myself for your benefit

And when I say dating myself: I mean in the "omg how old am I" sense, not the "dinner and a movie" sense.

Moving on. Waaaaay back in the day, when I still used floppy disks and a cassette-tape answering machine, I used to go to Kate Spade sample sales. This must have been in about 1993 or 1994, because the Kate Spade brand was just taking off. It was only bags, not all this other stuff they sell now. (And with each successive sale I went to over the course of a couple of years, the crowds got crazier and the prices got higher.)

Anyway, that first sale was the best one ever. I walked out with 7 or 8 bags (some for me, some bought on behalf of friends, some for gifts) and I don't think I even spent $100. I got at least three of the classic, short-handled, rectangular purses--a black nylon, a brown suede, and a cotton plaid. I got a small, drawstring evening bag. I got a larger black bag with longer handles. I could have died happy that night.

These days, I am a lousy bargain shopper. I am all about convenience and I am usually happy to pay for it. I wish I could be a good thrifter like these amazing women. Instead, I keep my old, out-of-style Kate Spades in my closet, remembering the thrill of that first sample sale and waiting for those boxy shapes to come back into fashion.

Thanks, PBN, for inspring me to take this little walk down memory lane!

Asking for trouble

It became painfully clear during recent events that my husband and I don't work very well together in a crisis. Instead of giving each other the extra love and support we both deserve, we tend to argue and snap at each other. Teamwork is not our strong suit, at least in times of stress.

I know this is normal and it's actually, to some degree, a reflection of the strength of our relationship (we lash out at the safest person, the one we run the least risk of permanently losing). Things blow over and we get along again.

But this experience did leave me less sure about my expressed wish for a third child. In the worst moments of Jo's convalescence I thought, I cannot do this ever again. How could I want another child, when it would open me up to that much more possibility of fear and hurt and worry? When the frustrations mounted and turned everyday communication into bitter bickering, I thought again: This proves it. Another child could split us up. I can't be responsible for wanting that.

And then, a week passes, and the memories start to mutate and muffle and pretty soon I'm back to: Well, that sucked. That sucked a lot, but it's over now and we got through it and we're fine. Good, even.

So does that prove that we can triumph over challenges? Or that I'm good at rationalization?

I wonder.

Multiplication and division

It's now been two full weeks since that offending little piece of tissue was removed and my little girl is still in the hospital. She had to have another surgical procedure on Friday, round two of ridding her body of the infectious gunk that is so firmly lodged in her gut. So far, she seems to be responding well, and we'll know more tomorrow. Who knows? Maybe she'll even get to come home.

When we got home from San Francisco last Sunday night, I stayed up until 2 a.m. completing a freelance job that had to be in by 8:30 that Monday morning. After I mailed it off, I stared at my bedroom ceiling for another hour fretting about everything on my long to-do list, from unpacking to catching up on work to Full Mommy reviews to weeding my overgrown flower beds.

Needless to say, another week has evaporated and I've done almost none of those things that were so important they kept me up that night. In the hospital, I have wireless but I don't have any ability to concentrate. If it isn't the worry (are 5 CT scans too many for a 40-pound, 6-year-old child? How much longer can this possibly go on?), it's the endless Disney Channel loop, or the nurse coming in or out, or the entreaties to take just one more sip of Gatorade.

These days, more than ever, I feel like every minute spent doing one critical task is a minute stolen from some other equally critical task. Time playing with Opie (an absolute trouper during this whole ordeal, I must note) is time away from Jo's bedside. Fifteen minutes answering work e-mail is 15 minutes not finding something nutritious for us all to eat. A half-hour sleeping is a half-hour not blogging (aka taking time for myself).

This has been the longest and shortest month of my life. Wake me when it's over.

Like fine wine and fine art

I am getting better with age.

Right?

My presents, speaking of art:

Lousy photo, but you get the drift. If you don't, here is a close-up of the "schuhe":


My husband commissioned it from my sister-in-law. The vase brings our collection of Arts & Crafts ceramics to three oddball vessels:

Individually, they're kind of nutty, but as a group, they work. Aw, just like the blogosphere!

It's just a jump to the left

And then a step to the right. I'm back from Flashback Weekend and my head is still spinning. Besides the fact that visiting my in-laws is already a step into an alternate, back-in-time universe, I also went to my 20th high school reunion. I. know.

In the car on the way there, I stumbled onto every Greatest Hits of the 80s station there was. Scan ... "California Girls" (David Lee Roth version) .... scan ... "Manic Monday" ... scan ... "And We Danced" (Hooters, baby).

I ate one meal that consisted entirely of frozen yogurt (just like my entire 8th grade year) and another one made up of Pop Tarts (just like ... never, my mom refused to buy those).

I stayed in a king jacuzzi "suite" in a roadside motel. Skee-zay. The jacuzzi was in the corner of the (one) room, two feet from the bed.

Mostly I just tried to wrap my mind around the way things change. The way that huge subdivisions sprout up in my once-tiny hometown, seemingly overnight. The way that our old Roy's is now a souvenir shop. The way that the convenience store I once rode my bike to looks so seedy I'd never let my kids in.

And yet all the people are exactly the same. They look the same, sound the same, hang out with the same clique they did 20 years ago. One woman I swear I never spoke to in four years of school gave me a big hug, called me by name, said how happy she was to see me. What is that about?

You're spaced out on sensation, like you're under sedation
Let's do the Time Warp again!

The t-shirt that changed my life

Well, not really. But when I was maybe 8 years old I had this white tank top with a row of buttons down one side, in ROY G. BIV order. Next to each button was its color's name in English, French, and Spanish.

Oh, how I loved it! Reading the words, trying to say them aloud, running my fingers down the row of buttons so they made a little clicking sound. I'm sure it's no coincidence that I ended up learning both French and Spanish later in life.

Your sartorial madeleine?

Photo: Paperfairys

Pretty pictures (and they're not even of my kids)

I've seen this a few places, most recently at Magpie's, and loved the results.

To make your own, answer these questions:

1. What is your first name?
2. What is your favorite food?
3. What high school did you go to?
4. What is your favorite color?
5. Who is your celebrity crush?
6. What is your favorite drink?
7. What is your dream vacation?
8. What is your favorite dessert?
9. What do you want to be when you grow up?
10. What do you love most in life?
11. What is one word that describes you?
12. What is your Flickr name?

Type your answer to each of the questions into Flickr search.

Using only the first page of results, pick one image.

Copy and paste URLs for the images into Big Huge Lab's Mosaic Maker to create a mosaic of the picture answers.

Details & credits on mine:
1. St Catherine's - Abbotsbury, Dorset, 2. extra cheesy salami and mushroom pizza:), 3. Little Artist, 4. llibreria - bookstore - Amsterdam, 5. Paul Rudd - Bowery Ballroom, NYC - February 4th, 2008 - Pic 3, 6. 1/3 parts Pimm's cup + 2/3 parts bokeh =, 7. Balcony with a view at Tsagaralono (3 km from Fidakia, Evritania, Central Greece), 8. My Personal "Russian" Doll (Matrioshka), 9. Patterns..., 10. Cup o' kids, 11. i can taste summer! a.k.a. childhood summer! a.k.a. childhood reminiscence! a.k.a. those were the good times!, 12. Where have you gone Joe DiMaggio?