Bloggy schadenfreude

Confession time: Are there blogs that you read purely for impure reasons? Not impure as in all about the bangability, but as in you read them to make yourself feel superior? Or because you are spying checking up on on an old colleague or ex?

Blogging can open minds, but it can close them too. There are a few in my reader that are there because they get a rise out of me. (None of you, trust me--no one that's ever commented here, and I'm certain they're not reading either.) No matter what these people say, I'm going to disagree and think they are foolish. Reading them is nothing but a boost to my own ego.

On other blogs, I'm strictly a voyeur. Of course all blog-reading is in some way voyeuristic, and if these people are putting it out there, they've agreed that it's mine for the viewing. But if I read your site regularly and I comment, if you know I'm there, I'm now at least friendly, if not a plain ol' friend. If I read my nutty former co-worker's husband's blog to find out what she's doing, because I just think she's weird, then that's ... embarrassing. Same goes for a another ex-colleague who has a lame blog of her own, slapped up to promote a book; I only read it to mock it.

I try to cut myself off, on the grounds that this kind of entertainment really isn't worth any of my limited time or brain cells. That only works some of the time. It's no worse than reality TV, right? At least bloggers aren't subject to the whims of editors and producers who have only a commercial interest in their life stories. (Well, unless they're on the Today show.)

How to write a confusing review

Over at The Full Mommy today I'm reviewing Were You Raised by Wolves? by Christie Mellor, author of The Three-Martini Playdate. I had trouble deciding whether it should be shelved under "humor" or "how-to" but really, it shouldn't matter (unless you're actually running a book store or library). It's a funny, witty book that also gives step-by-step instructions for making a bed, washing dishes, and boiling an egg.

Go, see what I mean. Thanks to Parent Bloggers Network.

Speaking of good deeds not going unpunished

"Speaking of" is Jo's new catchphrase. Typical usage: "Speaking of poop, I really have to go potty right now." Even then, I still find it funny.

Yesterday I took the bike and trailer to do the afternoon pick-up. It's one of the leading strategies in my struggle against carbon emissions, high gas prices, and my own muffin top. Win-win! So I have Jo in the trailer and am carefully walking the bike around the roundabout by her school. Somehow--I couldn't begin to reconstruct how this actually happened--I tore two huge gashes in the back of my right ankle with the gear of my bike. Recall that I wasn't even riding the bike at the time, but walking it. For safety's sake.

I'll spare you a photo but it looks like a panther took a swipe at my Achilles tendon. The best part was I then had no choice but to get on the bike, pedal it over a bridge and continue on to pick up Opie. From her vantage point in the trailer, Jo provided helpful commentary such as "Mommy, that is really gross" and "Now the blood is dripping into your shoe."

This afternoon, no bike. My excuse is that Opie desperately needs a haircut. He's starting to look like the world's shortest Beatle.

Second-born, but never second-best

The second one is different and exactly the same.

The second one is harder and easier.

The second one is predictable and surprising.

The second one is more work and less work.

The second one is a thorn in the side of the first one, and a partner in crime.

The second one strains your family and strengthens it.

The second one is worth it, Mrs. Chicky, HBM, and Mrs. Chicken. I promise it is.

Haiku Friday: They probably wore Birks

Liberally stickered
Prius parked at NPR
event. Ahh, my tribe!

Jeff and I went to the This American Life live event last night and saw the aforementioned vehicle in the parking lot, right next to another car that bore a bumper sticker reading "Somewhere in Texas, a village has lost its idiot." Here in Mayberry (and in the neighboring, larger town where we were) we are much more likely to see huge "W'04" decals. We had to laugh at the cliché of it all.

The show itself was charming, containing clips, outtakes, and previews from the TAL television show, as well as discussions with host Ira Glass and the show's producer. It did strike me as I watched how much listening to or watching that show can be like reading a really excellent blog. You get a peek into someone else's life, usually with a host (the reporter/producer for the story) that is articulate and wise and expert at drawing out the essential quirks and nuances of that person's world.

You can listen to free podcasts of the radio show or pay $2 each to download past editions of the TV show.



BTW, speaking of peeking into someone else's life, I finally saw Johnny Depp the other day. In a framed photograph on the counter at my dry cleaner's, next to a newspaper article about how the cleaners laundered the costumes from the movie while it filmed nearby. So that's like, one degree of separation, right?

Not without precedent

Rearing children: It's like living with tiny Supreme Court justices.

"But yesterday you said ... "
"But Daddy let me ... "
"But my sister/brother/cousin/friend got to ... "
"But another day we didn't have to ... "

My god. If it's not enough that you have to anticipate every possible consequence of every single action, you must also be aware that if you allow it once, you are doomed to have to agree to it over and over again for as long as you live.

Consistency: It's the hobgoblin of little minds. And parents.

*

This here is my 400th post, says Blogger. How on earth did that happen? Thanks for reading and commenting and just generally being fabulous in so many ways.

*

I didn't eat any bugs (on purpose, but thanks to all of you for the lovely images you suggested, Heather). I tried the dryer sheet thing. No effect whatsoever.

Mythbusting

1. Any bug with 6 legs or less (i.e., any true insect) is edible.
Source: Fetch! with Ruff Ruffman

2. To calm a dog who is disturbed by a thunderstorm, rub her with a dryer sheet.
Source: Random mother on school playground

Guess which one I tested?

It didn't work.

Crackberry portrait of a mother

Now that my mother is retired, she and my dad are traveling like crazy. A great deal of it is business (for her; she still does consulting and sits on corporate and nonprofit boards) and gigs (for him). My dad is 71 and incredibly fit and healthy but he seems to be very conscious of his advancing age. He is driven to travel a lot now because he is afraid that soon he will be unable to do so. Being recently diagnosed with prostate cancer didn't help, even though it is in a very early stage and is slow-growing.

So right now they are on a nearly two-week cruise around the Canary Islands, Gibraltar, southern Spain, and Portugal. Because of the cancer thing, and because my brother was in the process of making a big career decision (Mr. Vegan is moving to the land of chicken & cheese!), and just because she's an addict like the rest of us, Mom ponied up for some kind of international plan for her BlackBerry so she could stay in touch while she's gone.

This morning I got this (I added the link):

I'm occupying my mind by doing this message because if I look out the window of the bus, I experience sheer terror. We are coming down a significant mountain on a tiny road full of scary switchbacks--what is a big tour bus doing on a road like this?! Madeira is gorgeous.

I really think Mom needs a blog. Or maybe she should skip right to Twitter.

For serious, though (and I've said this before), I feel blessed to have a mom with a Life. Selfishly, I'd love it if she lived close by and could babysit at the drop of a hat because she never had any other plans. But she's given me (and my sister and my daughter) the gift of knowing that there are a lot of ways to be there for your children. Including ones that come with a keyboard the size of a credit card.

Thanks, Portraits of Mom photo contest and Parent Bloggers Network, for the opportunity to brag on my mom today! It's a Blog Blast, so you can post your own for the chance to win a gift certificate to a local photography studio.

Also, free stuff alert: FOUR Earth Day giveaways at the Full Mommy!

Empathy is us

This is going to make me sound like a dopey job interviewee who answers "I work too hard" to the question "what is your biggest flaw?" but sometimes I think I am too empathetic for my own good. I am so readily able to see the other side of an argument that I can't bring myself to take a strong position of my own. As soon as I begin to form an opinion I am already thinking of all the ways it could be rebutted and countered. I am thinking of a person I know or a blog I read and how "so-and-so would say ... "

Kristen asked the other day about blogs that help us see the silver lining. Understanding more about the challenges that other families face every day--illness, infertility, infidelity, poverty, injustice--has been one of the most moving, amazing, unexpected benefits to me of spending time in Blogsylvania (thanks Jenny for that term). The flip side is that I'm sensitive, to a wishy-washy, mushy-middle fault, to the way others experience tough issues.

I sometimes wish my blog could be more opinionated and argumentative. I'm sure it would be more fun to read that way. But I'd be worried about hurting people's feelings, and--truth be told--about upsetting people I care about. It just wouldn't be me. So I'm trying to be okay with that.

Wow. O-Grandma.

Jeff's grandmother -- white, Catholic, first-generation American, high-school graduate, born and raised and has lived all her 89 years in a small, blue-collar coal town -- voted for Barack Obama today. His mom did too.

That blows me away, frankly. These are a couple of ladies who have been around the block a few million times. They have lived long lives and worked very, very hard. They raised Jeff and his brother alone, when the boys' father and grandfather died within months of each other more than 30 years ago. You want to see salt of the earth? They are it. And they want to see Obama lead the country. Not just because they are opposed to McCain and Clinton, either. They both said they were inspired by Obama's message and his ideas.

Food for thought on a Tuesday night.

Sunday song*: Freshman flashback

After my mini-college reunion last month, our host gave all of us a CD which is a recreation of a mix tape he had made way back when. I've been listening to it all week and here's one of my favorite songs from it.



*because it was so very popular last week

Going stag (beetle)

For better or worse (usually worse), my sister-in-law is a very ... direct person. You might even say "blunt" or "tactless."

She is, however, a very good gift-giver, especially for the kids. She consistently picks spot-on presents, toys they enjoy right away and continue to play with often. Even this year, when she flat-out told us that she'd forgotten their birthdays up until three days before (see line 2 above). The gifts were obviously the product of a sweep through the Chinese discount store--random, inexpensive, and labeled entirely in Mandarin--and still the kids loved them. Fake bronze, fire truck-shaped pencil sharpener? Opie thinks it is awesome. Glue-backed, 99-cent Hello Kitty wall hooks? Jo oohed and aahed.

Oh, and that's also how I came to live with 20 totally realistic looking plastic stag beetles (link NSF the weak-stomached).

And even though it is hard to top those creepy crawlers, they are not the best gift the SIL has ever given. Nope, that was when she went ahead and pointed out (I told you, she will say anything) that it was dumb for us to give gifts to each other, when we were pretty much just swapping one gift card for another. She gave me the gift of cutting her off my gift list and that, my friends, is a pretty present indeed.

I am quite sure I don't want to get in my SIL's head, but the idea of a site to help men give good gifts to the women in their lives is a cause I can certainly support. Thanks to Parent Bloggers Network for this week's Blog Blast.

Haiku Friday: Meddling kids edition

Wake early, sneak down
Kids' spidey senses trigger
Crush my workout groove

Seriously, I cannot catch a break from these two. Every other school day I drag them from their beds with barely enough time to dress and wolf down some breakfast. Turns out the secret to getting them up is for me to wake up early and try to squeeze in some exercise. Then they're all over me like white on rice critiquing my posture (Jo, and I quote: "Mommy, you need to make your legs straight like his. ... Mommy, that's not how you do a warrior pose.") and begging for a channel change.

Maybe I'd have better luck over at Johnny's.

April showers bring cute boots

You have to agree that there is almost nothing cuter than a kid in a pair of spunky rainboots. There's something about encasing those sweet little feet in some brightly colored rubber that just makes grown-ups swoon. Maybe it's the cheeriness they bring to an otherwise crummy day, or the fact that to kids, rainy days mean puddles! and how fun is that?

All this to say that when I had the opportunity, via Parent Bloggers Network, to try out some Vincent Shoes for my kids, I went for the boots. Check out the full review (plus a discount code!) at The Full Mommy.

Lessons in laissez-faire

If you have been reading this blog for awhile you may have gathered that I am a pretty relaxed parent, or at least I try to be. I don't think there is any use getting worked up over whether kids can recite the alphabet at 18 months old or kick ass at soccer before kindergarten or start a successful dot-com while they're still in high school. Or, for that matter, whether anyone runs in the house or jumps on the furniture or eats crumbs off the floor or lets the dog lick their fingers. Yes, we have rules and we do enforce them but I try to maintain a "don't sweat the small stuff" attitude.

But. All of a sudden Opie is 3 and I feel like I'm being followed by some kind of huge, menacing, loudly ticking clock. He is neither potty-trained nor at all interested in giving up his pacifier. While he was 2 I just thought to myself "Well, he's only 2." Now that he's been 3 for all of 11 days I am totally doubting myself and my "he'll do it when he's ready" attitude.

He started in a new room at his child care center this week and between that and the birthday hangover, he has not taken a nap since a week ago Sunday. Reason to cut him some slack, or total rationalization?

The rule is that Nuks are for sleepy time only but he begs for it the minute we walk in the door in the afternoon. He'll even say "I just want it for one minute" or "I am going to take a little rest so I neeeeeeeed my Nuk." (Hah! There is no way I am falling for that, dude.) I am starting to think that a few days of cold-turkey misery might be better than spending hours every day trying to distract him via snacks, water, play time, walks, etc.

Similarly, the potty ... he kind of, sort of knows what to do and when to do it but not with any consistency at all, and he does not want to wear the cool Thomas the Tank Engine underwear his Grammy got him or even the Lightning McQueen Pull-Ups we stock by the dozens. He is not really motivated by rewards (like Jo is) so I am a little stumped. The last thing I want is a potty power struggle, but again ... am I being a gentle, attentive parent or a lazy loser?

So help me, the other day I started to wonder whether I could tackle one or both of these issues (and/or Jo's thumbsucking) if I promised them a kitten. Somebody stop me!

21 Squeeee Street

Which famously seafarin' star, who's shooting a movie in a nearby town, is said to be whistlin' pretty in a rented home right down the street from your faithful correspondent?

Seriously ... le tout Mayberry is abuzz with rumors. Exact quote from my neighbor (Joe is her live-in boyfriend): "One of Joe's former employees girlfriends works at Jimmy John's [sub shop] and she said they delivered food to the house." OMG it's like complete confirmation.

I've heard other tidbits from various sources in the 'hood. One of my friends has ordered me to spend my workday facing the window so I can keep track of any relevant goings-on.

Tonight I stalked walked my dog past the house to check things out for myself. From the front: Everything quiet and dark. But! From the back/side, lots of lights on and several parked vehicles, including a large dark SUV with a trailer attached.

Stay tuned, me hearties!

Hey, Sunday song

For no reason at all except that I looooove this...

My kids' art: Let me show you it

Love your mother
Originally uploaded by mayberrymom

I love kids' art -- I've found ways to post several pieces here already. But it's not just my own children's stuff I love. Lo these many years ago when Jeff and I first started dating, we went to a bar in the West Village one Halloween. They were having an auction of kids' paintings to benefit some cause. We were crushed when the bidding got too rich and we had to leave some our favorite pictures behind.

Now the tables have turned and I'm offering some of my children's prizewinning works for a good cause: the Kid Art Auction for Earth Day 2008.

Clickety the button to find out how it works.

Dropping like mother-effing flies

As of two months ago at work, I was part of a small group that also included an editor-in-chief, a managing editor, a web producer, and a production assistant (a full-time, long-term temp).

Mid-February: My boss resigns.
Monday: The managing editor has surgery, goes out on medical leave for 3-5 weeks.
Today: I learn that the producer has resigned.

My team is now me and a temp.

This can NOT be good.

Turnover bites. And what also bites is that everyone knows how to prevent it, but isn't willing to follow through. Another producer in the department, the mother of a one-year-old, quit recently after trying for months to negotiate some kind of flexible work arrangement. Come on, managers. Give people a little freedom and a little credit, and 98% of the time you'll be richly rewarded.

Take two baby aspirin and call me in the morning

(You are sick to death of hearing about my kids' birthdays by now, I know. If you need a break I recommend a visit to my friend GHD.)

Last week's birthday festivities were kicking my ass. Then came this week: The Birthday Hangover. My god, these children are beastly. They are defiant, rude, and aggressive. Sent-to-the-principal (her), screamed-through-three-naptimes-in-a-row (him), hitting, throwing, tantrumming naughty.

Please tell me this is just a reaction to the excesses of last week. Please tell me my sweet children will be coming back, after a firm application of regular routines and discipline. I am hoping desperately.

The situation brings out an argument discussion I've been having with Jeff lately, which is that too much--too many treats, too many presents, too many desserts, whatever--is just as bad as none at all. If you get candy every day (or every hour, it feels like), then what's special about candy? If you get gifts once a week, how long before you expect them once a day?

He thinks I am totally overreacting, but I worry. I really do. I realize all this is a problem of privilege, but I want my children to appreciate all they've been blessed with. I want them to know that the reason they receive so many gifts is that there are so many people who love them. Even when they are being total stinkers.

P.S. She does look cute in her TwirlyGirl dress, though.

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.