Land of Bean

What I'm Reading 2012

2012-01-09T22:39:00.011-05:00

Here we are with a new year and an ocean of books on my to read list. My reading dropped off a little in 2011, I somehow only made it through 24 books, but I'm back in the saddle and ready to delve into some literature in 2012! As in the past, please feel to leave comments on books you read, opinions on my "reviews" or suggestions.

The Year in Books 2011
The Year in Books 2010
The Year in Books 2009

Currently Reading
The Fault in our Stars - John Green

January
Fuzzy Nation - John Scalzi (genre: Science Fiction) My first foray into the world of audio books. I was a sceptic, but I was intrigued by the story premise and I had a few hours to kill. The story begins with Jack Halloway finding a huge deposit of precious jewels on a distant planet, but then he comes into contact with an animal that might be sentient and things get very complicated. Quick, fun read. Grade: A-

Ready Player One - Ernest Cline (genre: Science Fiction) Set in a not too distant future where the planet's fossil fuels have been depleted and people literally live inside a virtual world, OASIS, kids go to school there, people work there, fall in love there. When the creator of OASIS dies, himself a product the 1980s, he leaves his entire wealth to whomever can solve a game he created within the virtual reality. A race ensues. Loved this book! Grade: A

Graffiti Moon - Cath Crowley (genre: Young Adult) Remember when one night could mean everything? When you could chase your dreams, and find them, in the space between sunset and sunrise? In Graffiti Moon, we relive one of those nights.

Graffiti Moon is narrated by three characters: Lucy, Ed and Leo. Lucy, who's greatest desire is to meet Shadow, a graffiti artist with such talent and depth, she has fallen in love with him through his art. Ed, who is, of course, secretly Shadow, but because of a disastrous first, and only, date with Lucy, he keeps that from her. And Leo, the other half of Shadow's graffiti team, the Poet. While the boys kill time leading up to planned late night shenanigans, they help Lucy and her friends in an attempt to track down Shadow that leads them all over Melbourne, Australia.

Beyond the principals, this book was full of real, multi-dimensional characters. Lucy's parents were quirky and unpredictable, Ed's late boss was wise and funny; supporting characters Jazz, Leo, Daisy and Dylan were flawed and believable. In fact, everyone in the book, with the exception of the psycopathic villain, were absolutely relatable.

I loved the he said/she said writing style. Being inside the principal characters' heads allows readers to see both sides of the situation. I felt their longing and their anguish. A beautifully written story. Officially my first book of the year and we're off to a banging start. Grade: A+

On Deck:
Maine - J. Courtney Sullivan
Unbroken - Laura Hillenbrand
A Little Wanting Song - Cath Crowley
A Visit From The Goon Squad - Jennifer Egan
Here Lies Bridget by Paige Harbison:
The Opposite of Me - Sarah Pekkanen
Disquiet - Julia Leigh
Truth - Robin Wasserman
Wake - Lisa McCann
Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Blue Bloods - Melissa De La Cruz
Uglies - Scott Westerfeld
Still Alice - Lisa Genova
Outlander - Diana Gabaldon
The Road - Cormac McCarthy
The Happiness Project - Gretchen Rubin
Willow - Julia Hoban
Private Life - Jane Smiley
The Domino Men - Jonathan Barnes
Eat Pray Love - Elizabeth Gilbert

Going forward this post will be updated after I read each book and can be reached by clicking the "What's On The Bookshelf" link at the top right of the page. I pick almost all of my books based on suggestions from friends, so please feel free to leave a comment with a recommendation at any time during the year!

Ho ho ho!

2011-12-24T08:43:00.001-05:00

Here's hoping your Santas are even half as cute as ours!

Merry Christmas!

Real Women Of Pinterest: Card Holders and Peanut Butter Cup Brownies

2011-12-16T09:49:00.006-05:00

As some of you know, there is a special place in my heart for Pinterest. I luff it. I can distract myself endlessly on there. Contained within its bits and bytes are a million and one ideas for projects and decorations and clothes and things that I would like to do. However, after several months of "pinning", I have actually done exactly zero of the projects I have found on there. Pinterest FAIL. I have followed my dear friends mep and E... as they tackle projects as part of their Real Women of Pinterest challenge and every week I am inspired but the busyness of everyday life gets in the way and somehow another week passes without me doing anything.

But that changed this week!

I present my first project:The Card Holder

Majestic, isn't it? I know, I know. You all want one. Every year we get holiday cards from all of our nearest and dearest and they wind up cluttered on every available flat surface: dining table, mantle, bulletin board, refrigerator. I needed some way to display them but I hadn't really settled on anything. My first thought was a french memo board. I've made a few and I quite like them. But I didn't want it to be a permanent installation and we are not exactly overburdened with storage here, so I was reluctant to create something that would take up valuable space the other 11 months of the year. When I saw this idea on Pinterest, I was smitten. The original was hung on a hook over a door, but we don't have a door that would be good for that, they are all either out of the way or see too much use, so I hung it on a nail in the dining room. There are a few things I would change but I'm mostly happy with it, especially considering it was almost entirely constructed of things I had on hand. I would like to point out the level of attention to detail I committed to this: I dyed the clothespins to match the color scheme. Bow to my craftiness, minions.

My next project was a recipe for a cookie exchange: Peanut Butter Cup Brownies

I'll grant you, this recipe isn't exactly rocket surgery. Basically, it's a brownie mix with peanut butter poured on top, but it's peanut butter and chocolate, HELLO two great tastes that taste great together, and they looked cute. I keep trying overly complicated recipes and completely screwing them up, so I wanted something foolproof. Well, as with EVERYTHING in my world, nothing is foolproof, and I'm not overjoyed with how mine turned out. I'm going to blame my oven. (It certainly can't be MY fault. Pfft.) I couldn't seem to get the brownies to the exact right doneness wherein the center collapses and the peanut butter goes in perfectly. But reports were that they tasted good. I doubt I will make them again, but it was a fun experiement.

So that's it for this week! If you aren't already, get thee to Pinterest! If you want to see what I'm pinning, I'm Carabee74. And to see what some other Real Women of Pinterest are creating, check out Not to Brag.

ICE!

2011-12-08T07:48:00.003-05:00

I love Christmastime. It is undeniably my favorite holiday. I love the tree and decorations and carols and the convivial spirit that everyone has. There is so much to enjoy. There are all of the little moments that will embody the season for Sophie as she grows older and my hope is that each year we can bring a little extra magic to the holiday for her. That extra this year came in a "cool" package.

The beautiful ladies of Momzshare organized a special event just for local bloggers. We were given the opportunity to visit the Gaylord National Hotel on the National Harbor in Washington DC to view their ICE! attraction. ICE! features ice carvings of all of the characters from Merry Madagascar, the upcoming holiday sequel to the beloved Madagascar films. In addition, within the Gaylord National atrium, a special Christmas village was set up with characters from many of the Dreamworks movies including Shrek, Kung Fu Panda and Puss in Boots. Hanging over the village was a 60 foot Christmas tree which, even before it was lit, was dramatic and beautiful.

The view overlooking the Christmas village. He's tough to see, but that's Shrek just underneath the tree.

Our first stop was a milk and cookies reception in the atrium where I sampled the white chocolate and cranberry rice crispy treats (note to self: figure out how to replicate these, STAT) and Sophie sipped on Ogre Milk (presumably not the milk of ogres, but it was green) and nibbled on sugar cookies in between jumping up and down while she waved furiously at Shrek below.

Cutest ogre EVER.

Scheduled for a 3:30 tour of ICE, we took our time strolling around National Harbor before heading over to the enormous white tents that house the famous ice sculptures. Living where we do, National Harbor is a special visit for us and while I visited once a couple years ago, I haven't been back since. It is a wonderful area, many great restaurants, galleries and shops, plus a spectacular view of the Potomac. I would love to get back down there for an afternoon or evening out.

During the opening film, they told us the tent holding the ice would be cold and I believed them, but I didn't REALLY believe them. As you enter, they give you long, heavy parkas to wear over your own coats. Flattering? Not really. But once you step inside you begin to understand why, because, brother, is it cold in there. So cold that I quickly abandoned taking pictures or attempting to tweet on my iPhone because it was simply too cold to go without gloves for more than a few seconds. But bundled in my extra layers, cap and gloves securely in place, I was cozy enough to take in the amazing ice sculptures. According to the film, more than 2 million pounds of ice were whittled down by 40 international artists to create the wonders we were viewing.

Each room left us more amazed than the next. Giant ice versions of our favorite Madagascar characters greeted us at every turn. Alex the lion, Marty the zebra, Melman the giraffe, Gloria the hippo, the penguins and, of course, Santa were all there. But it was when we got to the ice slides that Sophie really went crazy. Here is where we were glad to have the extra long coats to cover our behinds when we slid down the ice chutes. Sophie went down by herself and was back in line to go again so fast it made my head spin.

We finished up the ice pavilion and headed back over to the hotel for some dinner at the hotel's sports bar and grill where Neil caught a bit of the Ravens game before a visit with Shrek and the gang. Unfortunately, when it came to actually talking to Shrek, Sophie unexpectedly turned shy. But from a safe perch in mommy or daddy's arms, she met all of her favorites.

We had hoped to stay for the grand lighting of the hanging tree, which includes a light show, singing, dancing fountains and an indoor snow fall, but unfortunately our little bean was just too pooped, so we had to depart. But we left already making plans to come back again to see the lighting on another visit and see all of the wonders again.

Disclosure: We were given tickets to ICE and the other holiday attractions at the Gaylord National in exchange for a post. We paid for our own dinner. All opinions are my own.

What's in a name?

2011-11-23T07:47:00.045-05:00

As the parent programmer for Sophie's pre-school co-op, I help out with planning and prep for all holiday parties. When the selection of our ideal class jobs was made, this was top of my list and I was over the moon when I got it. With my background in the service industry, I know a thing or two about putting on a party. For the most part, it's pretty light stuff: a few decorations and favors as well as the snacks that will be served.

Today was her class Thanksgiving celebration, so I was there to help out. All of the parents were asked to bring in an element of the Thanksgiving "dinner" that we would be prepared and served by our little ones. The parents then returned a half hour earlier than usual so the kids could sing songs and we could eat our feast together. As part of the festivities, the kids wore crafts they had made. Among these were a paper headdress and necklace, both of which were Native American inspired. When the teacher welcomed the parents to our party, she introduced her tribe of little "Indians."

When I grew up, the term Indian was in common use to refer to Native Americans. We played cowboys and Indians, we sat Indian-style and, prominently, Thanksgiving was about the pilgrims and the Indians. It hails back to Columbus' expedition more than 500 years ago in search of a westbound route to India and while its fallacy was quickly established, the name stuck.

At some time in the last 25-30 years, there has been a shift towards the politically correct, and more accurate, "Native American." And while I don't consider Indian to be derogatory, its use has certainly fallen out of favor, particularly in schools. Which is why I was a tad surprised when the teacher used that term. This is a non-public school, so we aren't bound by the same rules and practices as our public counterparts, but there is still an expectation that certain conventions will be followed.

Personally, I am not offended by the term Indian. In fact, there are many situations where it feels down right weird to use the PC version. Cowboys and Native Americans? Just doesn't have the same ring for me. I also know that many Native Americans continue to call themselves Indians.

But today I got to thinking. Because there is a little girl in Sophie's class who is actually Indian, as in, born in India, bona-fide Indian, Indian. And I wondered what she thought of the use of the term Indian to refer to Native Americans. Because even at three going on four, she must understand the difference. Does it confuse her?

What do you think? Are we over-sensitive to these things? Not sensitive enough?

Boo

2011-10-31T07:57:00.011-04:00

When I was young, we lived in a big old house. Built in the late 1800s, it had history. There were rumors of the families that had lived there. Of tragedy and mystery. But we didn't know anything for sure and at that age, I didn't really think about those sorts of things.

My first floor bedroom was across from the door to the unfinished basement. More of a cellar, really, it had a dirt floor and crumbly brick walls. We almost never went down there. Only in tornadoes. And in Kansas, that was more often than I care to say. Even then, we were none too excited to open that door and descend those steps. None of us had ever had a bad experience down there, it was just a general unpleasant sense that everyone that went down there felt.

The first time something unusual happened to me, I was 8. I lay in my bed. The light in the bathroom across the hall was on and both my door and the bathroom door were open. I don't know what I was thinking, not sure how deep my thoughts were at that age, but I am certain that I was very awake. Quite suddenly, the blankets on my bed were roughly pulled off and under my bed. With the fearlessness of a child certain there are no monsters, I leaned over the edge. My head nearly touching the floor, I looked under my bed, fully expecting to see my sister playing a trick on me. But there was no one there.

After that, I would lay in bed at night staring at the partially cracked door to the basement. A door that wouldn't close all the way, no matter how hard you pushed on it. I stared and I waited. There were no repeats of the sheet snatching but few were the nights that didn't involve troubled dreams and I never truly felt comfortable in that house again. Mercifully, we moved a few years later.

Over the years, a number of other unexplained things have happened to and around me. Shifting shadows, noises, doors opening and closing, objects moving, voices. Some houses have a stronger presence than others. One apartment in a fairly new building I lived in when I first moved to Maryland was particularly active, while some older places have been entirely quiet.

The rational side of me says there are no ghosts, that bumps in the night are no more than settling or wind or little living creatures working their way through walls and floors or perhaps even an over active imagination. But the emotional side. The side that remembers my name clearly whispered into my ear when I sat alone on the sofa watching television. That side says there ARE things we can't explain. And that side will insist on a nightlight this all hallows eve.

As it does every night.

Happy Halloween!

The Little Ballerina

2011-10-07T07:41:00.000-04:00

A few years ago, my sister came across this book in the storage room at my parent's house. I have the very fondest of memories of reading it when I was young and I know my sister did too. With the hope that she would enjoy it as much as we did, she set it out for Sophie. I've had it since then, but only recently introduced it into the reading rotation because I was worried that it would be too long or detailed for her. When I finally did bring it out, she absolutely fell in love with it. She asks me to read it every day before bedtime and naptime. She prances around the house doing the ballet moves described in the book.

Unfortunately, the book is more than 30 years old and has been much loved. The pages have fallen out and it is only my careful handling that keeps it together. I can't leave it in her room anymore because she doesn't have the most gentle hands and on more than one occasion I have come in to find its delicate pages strewn about her room.

So I got on Amazon to see if I could find a new one. I'm not sure if I expected it to still be in print, but the answer is that it is not. Which isn't surprising, it is a VERY dated book, a la Fun with Dick and Jane. Amazon does have some copies for sale, but they are in the same age range, or older, as my copy and are now considered historic pieces* and are quite expensive.

When I did a search for the book, I found another book of the same name by a different author. Based on the description, it looks to be similar to my book although not quite the same, but I thought "hey, maybe this one will do." So I scanned down to the reviews. The top review was from a woman who says that what she loves about this book is that the titular ballerina doesn't get the lead and dance in toe shoes, that books with that sort of stuff give kids unrealistic expectations.

The more I think about it, the more that bothers me, because I feel like that sort of attitude is an epidemic these days. Why is telling stories about children who do wonderful things setting them up with unrealistic expectations? True, not every child will be the lead in the recital, but does that mean it's wrong to teach them to dream for that? I just don't understand this attitude. Maybe it's Ayn Rand-y of me to say, but why is teaching excellence bad?

So while I can't quite talk myself into spending $50 for an authentic replacement of my book, I simply can not buy this book that tells my daughter that all she should hope for is mediocrity. Maybe that's good enough for some kids, but not mine. Nobody ever achieved big things by dreaming small. Whether she actually achieves them or not isn't really the issue for me. I just want my daughter to try.

* I also recently saw a toy that I LOVED as a kid in a museum. True story. My age is showing.

My Daughter, The Pre-Schooler

2011-09-16T16:56:00.002-04:00

It's official. Her first day was last Friday. She goes Tuesdays and Fridays, 9am-11:30am. The first two sessions all of the parents accompanied their new little students for the entirety of the class, but today, yea, this very day, I dropped her off and went on my merry way.

During the first session, I was a little nervous. Although she spends a considerable amount of time among other kids in the gym's childcare and she had VBS last month, she has never been in a situation that required much in the way of structured group activities. And certainly very few situations where she had to follow directions other than those barked out (or screamed) by her mother.

True to her rebellious form, she was not among the kids who quickly lined up when asked, or that stayed lined up for more than 10 seconds once there. She participated in activities as it suited her whim. And she felt very strongly that SHE should be the line leader. Let there be no confusion, she's an alpha, that girl of mine. Someday, when her high school principal calls because she's been caught doing something bad, I will be fairly certain that it was she who led the expedition.

However, it would not be fair to not point out that she boldly did all of the activities asked of her while many other children stood back timidly. She may have lost interest and moved on before some of those kids even had a chance to step up to the table, but there was no fear. Also, she was unfailingly friendly, the quintessential social butterfly.

At the second session on Tuesday, she was more willing to follow the direction of the teacher and while she still has a long way to go, I was proud at how quickly she had picked up the routine of the day and the cues that indicated the beginning of a new activity. When I went to pick her up today, her first solo outing, she was happily chatting with one of the other kids, a little girl she named Purple Dress. For obvious reasons. Reports from the teacher were positive. And she is excited to go back next week.

Myself? I spent the time running errands. It wasn't exactly pampered "me" time but tasks that normally take half a day, I accomplished in less than 2 hours. And for a busy mom, that is luxury enough.

Hooray for pre-school!


The obligatory first day of school picture.

Yet Another Reason I'm Going To Hell

2011-09-06T07:51:00.019-04:00

We here in the land of Bean are not religious folk. In fact, saying we are not religious is overstating the issue. On any given day our opinions on the topic range from apathy to confusion and occasionally anger. I was not raised in a religious home. I was not baptized and I can count the number of times I have attended church for anything other than a wedding or funeral on one hand. And most of those were during my exploratory youth. Some kids tried drugs, I tried religion. It didn't stick.

Which is why it surprised me that I even considered the idea when Katie suggested sending Sophie to the same Vacation Bible School that Christopher was set to attend. My first reaction, not surprisingly, was a very unladylike snort. I never went to VBS as a kid and if I'd ever been asked, I would have said I had ZERO plans to send my child to it, either. But when she said that it ran from Monday to Friday, 9-12am, and cost a mere $25, suddenly it didn't seem so outrageous. In fact, I'm fairly certain my eyes glazed over as I considered all of the things I could do in those hours.

So with more than a few rationalizations, I got on the website and signed her up.

When the first day rolled around, I nervously walked in to the church. Fears of lightening striking, or at the very least, some hard stares from all of the godly church folk when they noticed a heathen in their midst. But to my surprise, they were welcoming and kind, and I quickly found myself chatting with other moms during dropoff and enjoying the special VBS music that blasted over the church's kickin' sound system. By the end of the week, Sophie and I were belting out to Jesus with the best of them. I'm not gonna lie, we've even listened to the VBS CD on a few* occasions since.

And those hours to myself. Sweet, delicious, precious time. The first day, I came home and just sat on the sofa for an hour before I did anything. Just sat there. Not reading. Not on the phone. Not playing on my phone. The second and third days, I came home and took a nap. On the fourth day, I went shopping. On the fifth day, I was lounging around at about 10:30 when it hit me how completely I had wasted a precious opportunity to really indulge myself. Why hadn't I gone for a pedicure, or to get my eyebrows done, or for a much needed massage? The answer is that I honestly didn't think of it. The glut of ME time overwhelmed my brain's processing functions. If only I'd had a few more days...

It was then that I began evolving a plan for next summer. Every church in the area has a VBS, if the signs that line the streets in front are any indication. And since there doesn't seem to be any requirement to be a member of the church, would it be so bad if we just went from church to church attending vacation bible school after vacation bible school ALL SUMMER LONG? I know. It's ingenious.

I am a terrible, terrible person.

*MANY. Those songs are just so catchy!

Lest even one person think I am serious. I AM NOT. I have no plans to send my daughter to every VBS in the area, tempting though the idea is. However, now that we've got our foot in the door at this one, you better believe we'll be going back next summer. VBS! VBS! VBS!

Almost There

2011-08-23T22:42:00.001-04:00

Leading up to my decision to start Weight Watchers, I wasn't exactly a fan of the program. I viewed it as I did pretty much all diets, it was for people who were too weak to exercise and control their calorie consumption. Not ME. I was accidentally overweight. MY weight was due to a difficult pregnancy. And it was just a matter of time before it fell off of me. Fell off, people. But three and a half years and it wasn't falling off. I was working out like crazy and feeling like I was eating sensibly, but I wasn't losing weight. Clearly, I was one of those people who couldn't control my calorie consumption.

So one day while sucking down a milkshake at Chick Fil A, (And I wondered why I couldn't lose weight. REALLY?) Katie suggested we do Weight Watchers together. I should note here that Katie is a very dear friend for doing this with me because she didn't really need to lose weight but she knew, cause she's intuitive like that, that I needed a nudge, and maybe that nudge was someone to go to meetings or weigh-ins with me. So that very night we went to the neighborhood Weight Watchers and signed up.

Since then I have been to exactly two meetings. But I go for my weigh-ins every week and I follow the points system religiously. And people it is WORKING. I've lost 30 pounds! I'm down two sizes and, most surprisingly, a half a shoe size. I'm running more and faster and easier. My heel spurs are gone. I didn't realize how much weight I was carrying in my face. I swear I've lost a pound of nose alone. I'm smaller than I've been in eight years. I look like me again.

I'm not to my goal yet. And frankly, I was hesitant to write a "look at the fabulous job I'm doing" post yet because I really want a big before and after reveal when I hit my 40 pound goal. But its been a long road and I felt like talking about it a little. So there you go. Status updated.

Itsy Bitsy

2011-08-11T21:48:00.000-04:00

I went to the gym this morning, as I do most days, all part of the continued effort to recover my 25 year old derriere. After depositing Sophie at child care, I headed for the locker room. I dropped my bag off in one of the lockers and walked toward the long mirror that runs along the wall across from them.

As I approached the mirror, I adjusted my iPhone armband and reached up to tighten my ponytail. Now just a few feet from the mirror, I noticed a small black spot on my neck. Peering closer, I noticed that the spot was MOVING. I reached up and brushed the spot, looking at my hand as I did. Which was when I realized that the spot was actually a tiny spider and quickasaflash I whipped my hand out with a scream, flinging that spider off into locker room oblivion.

With the threat now gone, I chuckled at my reaction and gave thanks that I was alone in the room. I'm not especially freaked out by spiders. In fact, I generally like that they eat all of the other little creepy crawlies that I really don't like. I am not a fan of having them ON MY BODY, but barring that, I'm a pacifist. Live and let live, I say.

But then the itching began.

A spot on my arm. Another on my leg. On my head. My chest. My skin was crawling like a meth addict coming off the crank.

Now, I couldn't actually see any other spiders, but I am fairly certain that hundreds of the little bastards were working their way up my body. My best guess is that they were hatched from an egg sac in my belly button and they were on a mission towards my brain where they planned to burrow in and take over my body. I was ground zero for a massive spider conspiracy to take over the world.

Damn my innie genes. If only I had an outie, the rise of our arachnid overlords could have been averted.

War and Pees

2011-06-21T06:41:00.014-04:00

Three weeks ago, the prospect of my daughter using the toilet was still just the stuff of fantasy. Her reactions when faced with that option were violently negative. So I went out and bought another giant box of diapers and resigned myself to more more more diaper changing.

But we hadn't given up. We regularly talked to her about how big girls go on the toilet and that she HAD to be potty trained to start pre-school this fall. Truthfully, I didn't really think it was sinking in because her typical response to the big girl argument was that she didn't need to because she was a "wittle girl."

But then last Saturday we decided to give it a go. Institute our own version of potty training boot camp. I wasn't optimistic, but she's well behind most of the kids we know her age in this department and we felt maybe it was time to make a hard effort. So as of that morning we said no more diapers. During waking hours anyway, we're not insane.

At first, we took her to the toilet every 15-20 minutes, but we very quickly found that she only actually used the toilet when she instigated the trip. So we stopped setting our timers and let her lead the pace. And just like that, the switch was flipped. Since last Saturday, eight days now, she's had maybe a half dozen accidents and the bulk of those were in the first couple of days. On the third day, I took her to the gym with me, nervous to leave her completely to her own devices, but when I picked her up, the report was that she had gone three times, all on her own.

We're only eight days in, so the final tally is hardly set, but thus far I am completely blown away by how well she is doing. I had prepared myself for more accidents or to struggle with going #2, but she has been a rock star in both. I would like to pat myself on the back for my fine parenting but it's all her. The only thing I did right was exercise a little patience and wait for her to be ready before pushing her towards it.

So now the big question is, would it be a bad example if I used some of those leftover diapers myself? I haven't made it through the night without a bathroom visit since she was born and I could really use the sleep.

All I've Got Is A Photograph

2011-06-07T06:20:00.012-04:00

Sorry for the long absences, friends and fellow denizens of the internet. Turns out kids take up a lot of time. Who knew? Sure as hell not me. If you'd asked me before Sophie, and I'm basing this on the behavior of the soap opera watching baby sitters of my early youth, taking care of kids was a piece of cake. The reality is, this stuff is work. A lot of it may be fun work, but make no mistake, it puts a real damper on a person's laying around, bonbon eating time. So fun stuff, like writing blog posts, talking on the phone (I used to talk on the phone?), and most other forms of normal human interaction have been abandoned.

I have a metric ton of stories of the goings on around here lately. Visits to the nature center. Camping on the surface of the sun, also known as Virginia in May. Touring amazing natural wonders. We've spent a little time in the Emergency Room. Not to worry, we're all fine. At some point, I will post about that. There's blood and drama, the very hallmarks of a fine blog post, if I do say so myself. My weight loss journey continues, successfully, but I won't really talk much about that now because, SNORE, aren't you all tired of hearing me go on about it? I'm tired of talking about it and I love talking about me. Obviously.

So anyhoo, this was just a quick HI! to let you know that we're all still alive. And that hopefully I can get my diminishing posterior in gear at some point and write some posts, because I miss this. And all of you.

*In case some of you were fooled by my masterful Photoshop skills, that is not an *official* Def Leppard Size 3T concert tank top. I KNOW. It's uncanny. I am an artiste.

Last Dance

2011-05-27T06:45:00.003-04:00

The good news is that we spent three hours yesterday out of diapers and there were no accidents. The bad news is that at the end of those three hours, she was crying and pleading and screaming for me to put a diaper on her. She even got one out and sat down on it for me to do up the tapes.

I think I've been pretty cool on the subject of potty training. All of the parents that I have talked to, particularly those that have 3, 4, 5 kids, have said that it happens when the kid is ready. It's like AA, they're never gonna give up the diaper until they're good and ready to quit. Some kids that's 18 months. Some, like mine, that's 42 months. SIGH.

I remember when she was much, MUCH, younger and she showed interest and I was so excited that she would be an early adopter. Alas, that was not to be the case. Despite constant encouragement and more than a little cajoling mixed in with a healthy dose of peer pressure from all, and I do mean ALL, of her potty-using friends, that interest dried up faster than you can say "tinkerbell underwear." Except when stalling bedtime. Then, why she's all about the potty. Even cries in mock distress that the "poopie is coming!" Which, of course, it never is.

When she's sitting on the toilet, and we do a fair amount of that, I'll run the faucet and make the appropriate facial expressions associated with the activity, maybe even throwing in a grunt for good measure. But still nothing. We sit there, read a few books, maybe do a puzzle as it teeters on her little knees, and then she declares herself done and we go about our day.

I've been patient, but I am so done with changing diapers. More importantly, I am sick to death with BUYING them. Mama needs a new pair of espadrilles and they cost about the same as a box of diapers. I want to do a three day commando bonanza where diapers aren't even an option, but I feel like if she's screaming and crying for a diaper that she's not really ready. I was never good at "cry it out," in sleeping or anything and it goes against my nature to do it now, but am I doing her a disservice?

So I put it to you, friends and denizens of the interwebs, do I force it on her? Or do I wait just a skosh longer and see if the lightbulb goes off? But the bigger question is should I go ahead and buy those espadrilles? They're really cute. Parenting is hard.

Smiles

2011-05-18T06:44:00.001-04:00

There's a lady at my gym. She's 85 if she's a day, her back is hunched, there's more hobble than walk in her gait, and I have never seen her without a smile. I've spoken with her briefly on a few occasions as we came or went in the locker room. She's quick to laugh and easy with a story in her thickly German-accented speech.

She makes me smile. Even when we don't talk. Just the sight of her working her way across the main gym floor makes me happy. I've always been intrigued by older people. I love their feathery skin and crinkly eyes. The personality in their hands. There are those that will bend your ear as long as you'll allow to detail their many ailments and there are those that will regale you with tales of tragedies or victories of days long gone.

I see this lady, with her smile, and I wonder about her. Is it a magic of biology that she survived the sorrows that any lifetime will dish out and still finds so much joy in every moment? Is it sheer force of will? Are there tears hidden away when others aren't looking? I see so much unhappiness. For every person like my smiley gym lady, I see a dozen sour folks. Faces pinched. A lifetime of sucking on life's lemons.

I lie in bed at night, the day's events running through my head and I find myself too often having to relax my tightly pursed mouth into a more natural pose. They say kids laugh a hundred times a day but as we grow up that diminishes until we're lucky if we get even a couple belly laughs out of every day. Do I laugh enough? Do I spend too much time frowning, yelling, scowling? I don't want to be one of those pinched face old ladies and I'm afraid that's the path I'm headed down.

So I'm making a choice to be happy, to smile as much as I can. Life is just too short, no matter how long you live, to be miserable. And you know what? Laugh lines? Are gorgeous.

Watching

2011-05-10T13:20:00.003-04:00

If you are watching your weight now, you will be watching it for the rest of your life.

The leader of one of the first Weight Watcher's meetings I went to said this. Maybe all WW group leaders say this at some point, I don't know. At the time, I heard it, but I was too busy taking in my surroundings for it to really register. In the weeks since then, it has marinated in my brain. I have said the words out loud to myself on a number of occasions driving in my car or looking in the full length mirror in our bedroom. I have rolled them over in my head a hundred times. Dissecting each word.

When it finally sank in, its simple profundity took my breath away. The fact is that without voicing it or ever really even thinking about it, I had fully expected that once I lost the weight, I could go back to my carefree life. I could eat whole pizzas and super size Big Mac meals. Drink Dr Pepper by the gallon. And when I realized that this really did have to be a lifestyle change, that I could NEVER do that again, that is, if I wanted to not weigh 200 pounds, it was the quintessential come to Jesus moment.

But for this instant gratification junkie, the real surprise is that the last eight weeks haven't actually been that hard. In fact, easier than I ever expected. I think the divorce from McDonalds has been harder on my child than me. We drive by almost every day. She will look upon those golden arches longingly and say "freeeench fries." At first it was with expectant suggestion and then enthusiastic hope and now it is mostly in sad remembrance, tasting the salty words in lieu of the actual thing.

But that meeting leader's words were rolling around again in my head tonight as I tried on pair after pair of pre-baby pants and they were fitting. Not just fitting, as in I could get them on but I would never leave the house in them because they were really too tight, but FITTING, like my regular pants are just too big now and these smaller ones are the ones I should be wearing. Anyone who has ever struggled with their weight, and how many of us haven't at one point or another, can appreciate the jubilation of fitting into the next size down.

I am the lightest I have been since before Sophie. I am looking in the mirror and not cringing. In fact, some days, I actually even think I look good. I'm a long way from skinny. In fact, I was this size when a former friend told me REPEATEDLY that I was a BIG girl. So I'm not letting this go too much to my head, but I am trying to revel in my success just enough to keep me motivated to push on further.

My goals when I began this journey were modest. But now I'm starting to think bigger. Or smaller, as the case may be. And I will meet them.

Recital

2011-04-08T07:25:00.000-04:00

This past weekend, I visited my cousin in Rochester, New York. She is graduating from the Eastman School of Music and it was the occasion of her senior recital. She is an extremely talented violinist and my heart was swelling with pride when I saw her perform. Of course I've seen her play at family functions since she was old enough to hold a bow, but seeing her up on that stage in an unbelievably beautiful performance hall very nearly brought me to tears.

After her performance, we went to a friend of my cousin's for an after-party. At my aunt's request, my cousin and one of her friend's sang a few songs. These "kids" are just full to bursting with talent. My uncle, himself an extremely gifted musician, took up the guitar after and played while the whole room sang, myself included, although quietly so as not to embarrass myself too badly. We sang and laughed until nearly 1am, when the old fogies, my aunts and uncles and myself, had to abandon the younger crew to their fun.

My own college experience was not the most traditional. I started out at one school but after a year I left to "find myself." When I returned at a different school a few years later, I was past the magic of the experience. At that point, I was just ready to do what I needed to do and be done with it. So I didn't form the kind of deep relationships that I saw so clearly between my cousin and her friends. Most of the time, I don't really think about this. It is not the sort of thing that haunts me. I have enough real regrets that I won't waste time on stuff like this. But on the occasion when it is placed in front of me, I can't help but be nostalgic for something that never was.

It was a long drive for what amounted to less than a 24 hour visit, but to get to spend time with some of my favorite people and to share space with that kind of energy, every mile of the journey was worth it.

Weighty Matters

2011-03-21T11:52:00.002-04:00

So I know I've talked about weight loss a lot on here. And for a long time. A depressingly long time. Actually, I would have been writing about it since I was 25 if I'd had a blog back then. Ironically, the weight I was then is my target weight now. But that's a whole different body image kettle of fish.

Anyhoo, since I had Sophie, I have really struggled to lose weight. I gained 45 pounds when I was pregnant with her and too many of those pounds stuck around. Not to mention that I needed to lose more than a couple (dozen) when I got pregnant with her. I began working out more than TWO YEARS ago, with the expectation that by hopping on the treadmill or elliptical five times a week, the weight would just drip off and I would be a svelte goddess in no time.

This did not happen.

I may be in better shape than I was two years ago. I can run a 5K without dying. But I'm only one size smaller. At this rate, it will take me ten years to get to my target size and that just isn't going to cut it. Last year I started counting calories and had some success. But I plateaued and lost my momentum. Slowly over the last year, I have gained much of that back and that is not acceptable to me. So last week I finally admitted that I can't do this on my own and joined Weight Watchers.

I went to my first meeting on Tuesday. I got weighed in. Ouch. And got all of the materials. I sat in the back of the room and took it all in. Listened to people talk about how they combated cravings or substituting healthier options for the bad stuff. I giggled a couple times as I spotted the "women of Weight Watchers." But overall, I'm glad I went to the meeting because I think it was the introduction I needed.

I went home with my booklets in hand, downloaded the app for my phone and fantasized about all the weight I was going to lose.

Six hours later, I started puking. I went on to spend the rest of the week mostly in the bathroom. In four days, I didn't meet my daily points total for one day. And I'm pretty sure any points I did consume went right down the toilet. I'm mostly better now, but my appetite hasn't returned and I suspect that when I go in for my weigh in tonight, I will have hit my initial 5% weight loss goal.

I wouldn't recommend it, but as far as jump starting your diet, you just can't beat a good stomach virus.

Flying Bean

2011-03-07T05:44:00.003-05:00

For the seven of you that don't follow me on Twitter (and why aren't you?) or a Facebook friend, here's the result of a rainy afternoon, a new flash and a queen sized bed in the Land of Bean.

The Things We Do

2011-02-28T09:10:00.002-05:00

I got my first introduction to the seedy underworld of pre-school registration recently. I had no idea this was such a cut-throat endeavor. I'd heard tales, of course. Seen bits in movies. But I honestly just thought they were urban legends. People don't really clamor for spots, do they?

They do.

When I went to the open house for my chosen pre-school, I was delighted and nervous when I saw just how many other prospective attendees were there. But when talk turned to the process for actual registration my nervousness turned to shock.

Registration was to take place at 6:30pm the following Friday. Parents would be given numbers as they arrived and that is the order they would be registered in. And what time did they think we should come? Well, last year parents began showing up around 10. That's TEN Ay Em. EIGHT AND A HALF HOURS BEFORE REGISTRATION.

When they said that, I snorted and turned to walk out. I wasn't going to waste any more of my time on this BS. But halfway to the door I started thinking. First, this is a great pre-school. I have several friends whose children have gone here and raved about it. Second, it is significantly less expensive than the others I was looking at. Sophie's experience is the most important factor but all other things being equal, if we can save a thousand dollars, I'm not going to turn that down. So I halted my stomping out in protest and decided to listen to the rest of what they had to say.

It turned out to be an enjoyable morning as Sophie took part in typical activities with her future classmates. The teachers were really nice and I believed it a good fit for my daughter.

But there was that registration looming over me.

Over the week and a half leading up to the registration day, I changed my mind a hundred times. Going. Not going. Going. Not going. The idea of lining up and sitting there ALL DAY to sign my daughter up for pre-school was not an appealing one. But in the end, I decided to make the sacrifice. Because I'm officially the best mom ever. Or the craziest. So I asked Neil's parents to watch Sophie for the day and I resigned myself to the insanity.

On the appointed day, I dropped off Sophie and headed to the school. I arrived about 10:30 and I was certain that I would be one of the first people there. Wrong. I was 11th. The first arrived at 6:30. Thaaaat's right. 6:30 am. For pre-school registration.

Fortunately, neither the school nor the other parents were super strict about how we spent our time waiting and while some chose to sit in chairs lined up at the door, I opted to sit within the comfort of my car reading The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo on my Ipad, with the occasional phone call or game of Angry Birds thrown in to break it up. Around 2, the kindly Katie took pity on me and showed up with a cookies and creme milkshake from Chick Fil A. Otherwise it was a quiet and uneventful day.

At about 6:15, we all lined up at the door of the school and prepared for the magic moment. We filed in and waited for our numbers to be called. With just 14 spots in the morning class I wanted and an unknown number already taken by children whose brothers or sisters had already come through the program, I was not optimistic that Sophie would get in. Sadly, my fears were justified, but there was a spot in the afternoon class. So, despite my concerns about this interfering with her naps, I signed her up. I don't mind telling you, I'm pretty excited for September. Sophie is going to love it there.

I know it's crazy, but those hours seem like a good investment on my daughter's future. Sure, it's just pre-school, but these are formative years, right? I guess I'll just have to chalk this up as yet another on the long and ever-growing list of things I never thought I would do as a parent.

Stream of Consciousness Sunday: Taste Memories

2011-02-20T21:18:00.003-05:00

Another attempt at a Stream of Consciousness post. Here's what's jumbling around in my head at the moment. As always, the rules according to Fadra are thus: set the timer for 5 minutes, write, write, write and when the timer stops, that's it. No editing.

I was making macaroni and cheese for Sophie today. Not the homemade kind, the kind that comes in a blue box. I'm domestic but not THAT domestic. As I was finishing up, I remembered from my childhood how my mother would make us the same macaroni and cheese and she would cut up real cheddar cheese and mix it in. Cheddar cheese being what it is, it didn't melt in very well and there were always chunks of cheese in with the macaroni. I loved scooping up a forkful and finding one of the pieces of extra cheese. Its one of those funny childhood memories that litter my brain.

So as I was preparing her not exactly healthy blue box variety, I decided to mix in some cheese. Give it that little touch of motherly love. Knowing she would love it as much as I had and a new memory would be created for this next generation, carrying on the tradition. So I got out the brick, just as my mother did, I sliced off a hunk and methodically cut it into small pieces. Not so small they couldn't be seen or tasted, but small enough to mix in a bit. I threw it in with the butter and milk and stirred and stirred until the powdery stuff was creamy and the perfect texture achieved.

I scooped a small amount of this now precious dish into the cute little Winnie the Pooh bowl and stuck one of her plastic Ikea spoons into the mix. I called her to the table and with my own dish in hand, sat hers down in front of her with a smile and a twinkle in my eye.

She twirled the fork, watching the stringy strands of cheese stretch from fork to bowl. My own mouth watered in anticipation as she eyed up this delicacy. Then, just as she seemed to be about to take a bite, she pushed the plate away and said, with great finality: NO. And just like that, my dreams for this heirloom treat were shattered.

So I pulled her bowl over to my placemat and ate all of that tasty mac and cheese myself. That picky little thing might not like it, but I'm not letting it go to waste.

THE Best Valentimes Card

2011-02-16T22:05:00.001-05:00

There are some moments that you later realize were pivotal to how you experience life moving forward. Of course you have your most obvious moments: marriages, births, promotions, but there are also moments that shape your world in smaller ways. For me, one of those days was in June of 2008 when a run of the mill weekly trip to the grocery store turned into a conversation in the check out line with another new mother who was there with her son. He was just a few months younger than Sophie and we bonded over the finer points (and failures from a mother's perspective) of grocery cart design. We exchanged numbers and email addresses. I don't think either of us could have guessed how significant that meeting would be.

Two and a half years later and that chance encounter has turned into one of the best friends I have. Katie has become a confidante, co-conspirator, companion, commiserater and emergency babysitter. We have our weekly trips to Chick Fil A, filling our tanks (and saddlebags, in my case) on milkshakes while the kids run like hooligans in the play area. We've spent countless hours at the library and the park and each others' houses. She's the kind of friend that I'm not embarrassed to have come over when my house is a mess and my daughter is wearing a swimsuit in the middle of winter.

Our children have grown up as close as two non-siblings can. They fight, of course, but they can also be so very cute, like when they spontaneously curl up on the sofa together for a little Diego. I don't think I'm the only one that not-so-secretly hopes they someday get married.

Because it is a requirement* in my friends, she is also super funny and terribly creative. So no surprise that she "helped" her son make the cutest Valentines card for Sophie. Christopher presented Sophie with her card when they stopped over after our return from a long ski weekend. (For those of you unfamiliar with Sophie's signature phase, check out this post.)

I think I'll probably frame it.

Thanks for everything, Katie, you're the best!

*More of a guideline than a strict rule, really.

Stream of Consciousness Sunday: Moments

2011-02-06T23:34:00.001-05:00

My second go at a Stream of Consciousness post. This time I actually thought out what I was going to write before, which seems a little like a cheat, but I felt so ill-prepared last week. Anyhoo, here's what's jumbling around in my head at the moment. As always, the rules according to Fadra are thus: set the timer for 5 minutes, write, write, write and when the timer stops, that's it. No editing.

Most of my memories from my childhood are not full fledged memories as I know them as an adult. They are not full recollections of activities but more snapshots. Moments in time captured. We got a fair amount of snow last week. We live across from the fields of an elementary school and part of those fields are the sledding hills for the area. Whenever there is enough accumulation to make it possible, the kids come out in droves, lining up along the ridge and tearing down the short run before picking themselves up and racing back up to the top for another go.

I am certain that there were numerous sledding adventures in my childhood. Probably at least once every year, my sister and I hit the snow covered hills in our area. But there is one such outing that stands out. It happened when we lived in Heidelberg, Germany. And strangely it isn't really the sledding that I remember, although there are flashes of that. Tearing down the hill on the old-style curved toboggan or one of the metal and wood runner sleds. What I remember is afterward, when red-faced and wild-haired, we all trooped to the nearest fast food restaurant and sat down for french fries and hot cocoa. An unlikely combination but at 10 years old, after a cold afternoon spent sledding, they were divine. I remember all of us sitting around, my parents, my sister, and some family friends and their kids who were our age. In the snapshot in my mind, everyone is laughing as we cup the cocoa in cold hands.

I think about that image and how happy I was that day and I wonder what snapshots my daughter will take with her of her childhood. What unlikely event will be the amalgam for a group of happy memories? I know I can't possibly pick and choose which it will be, but it certainly makes me aware of each moment that I share with my daughter. And in that awareness, attempt to make every experience matter. Its easy to make the big moments spectacular, the magic is in making the little ones even more so.

Stream of Consciousness Sunday: Nature Happens

2011-01-30T22:01:00.001-05:00

I've been reading the beautiful and talented Fadra's Stream of Consciousness Sunday posts for a while and often thought it would be fun to do but never seemed to get around to it. So today, as I sit here waiting for my cookies to bake, and I had my little netbook handy, I thought the time was ripe. So here goes. The rules are simple: set a timer for 5 minutes and just brain dump. After that, there is no editing or proofreading. Which for this OCD editor is HARD, but I'm going to do it. Here goes:

So let's see, what's been going on. I've started taking Sophie to a Nature Center every Monday to take part in pre-school nature hour. Each week they have a different theme which is presented by one of a couple different guides or rangers or whatever they are. So far my favorite, because I'm juvenile was the one on SCAT. Aka poo. As always, we walked in a couple minutes late, so at first I wasn't aware what the topic was. There was a movie presentation going on and they kept showing cartoon drawings of animals pooping on the head of this little animal, I think it was a mouse or some other small woodland creature. I was only half paying attention because I was trying to corral Sophie onto the blanket at the front with the other kids, but as this poor mouse kept being pooped on, I figured it out. Now, I'm not sure what the message there was supposed to be. I think it was helping kids identify the different kinds of skat. But the message was clear to me: unless you want to get shit on your head, don't stand under the business end of a bigger animal.

Say What?

2011-01-24T09:06:00.000-05:00

We've struggled with Sophie's speech for a long time. In fact, when she was about 18 months we took her to an audiologist because she was saying so few words. There might also have been the fact that she absolutely did not listen to me and I would much rather think it's because she has hearing issues than that my parenting was lacking. Well, thanks to the fine specialists at Seans Bobkins, we found that there was absolutely nothing wrong with her ears. (read: it was, in fact, bad parenting)

So we've spent the last year and a half struggling. She with her attempts to communicate to us and us with our attempts to understand exactly what she was saying. While we watched the vocabulary of all of the kids around us grow and grow. While younger children spoke more clearly, communicating in phrases and sentences, Sophie continued to be nearly incomprehensible.

One of the cute but frustrating elements of her speech was something that sounded much like gidda-gidda-gidda. Said rapid fire, it was my theory that because she didn't know the words, she used that as a placeholder. As time wore on, I wondered if it was some sort of speech impediment, perhaps the beginning of a stutter. But as she slowly, ever so slowly, began to say more words and phrases, it became clear that it was not taking the place of words but was more of a transition sound between words she did know.

I'll be honest, I was beginning to get a little worried. She turned three in October and she was still so hard to understand. I talk to people all the time who say their kid barely said a word until they were 3 or 4 but that doesn't make the anxiety any less. But then, just in the last month, she has had a vocabulary explosion. All of a sudden, she is communicating relatively clearly in phrases and sentences. There are still words that I have absolutely no clue what she is talking about, but they are far outweighed now by those I do. So my frustration level, at least in this ONE area, has gone done significantly.

Now, if I can just get her potty trained. SIGH.

No Food Issues Here

2011-01-13T21:33:00.000-05:00

Is that a quesadilla in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?

The Year of the Procrastinator

2011-01-02T22:26:00.002-05:00

Here we are nearly 48 hours into 2011 and I still can't figure out what year it is. On no less than a half dozen occasions, including one unintentionally hilarious tweet, I have fast forwarded to 2012. I'm not sure why I can't seem to get it through my head that it's 2011, but for some reason I am stuck on 2012.

While I have this same trouble nearly every year, this is the first time I have gone forward rather than backward. Maybe I'm excited for what the next years will bring. Maybe time is just zipping by so quickly for me these days that I don't even know what year it is anymore. It is certain that my grasp on time has gotten worse and worse. Not having a set work schedule doesn't help this.

I'm always late, to one degree or another. My best friend tells me it's because I do unnecessary things as I'm leaving. I say that if I don't sort the magazines before I leave for that lunch date, then I'll forget and it won't get done. I always feel guilty about my tardiness. Not guilty enough to be on time, but guilty nonetheless.

Because of this, I've decided that 2011 is going to be dedicated to the cause of promoting anti-anti-procrastination. In fact, I'm encouraging everyone to embrace their inner procrastinator. I'm not making any grand resolutions, because who ever follows through on them anyway, but in a much more dramatic fashion, I have decided this is going to be MY year. And I'll still probably always be late.

So welcome to 2011, y'all, the Year of the Procrastinator. It took me two days, but I'm finally here with everyone else.

What Am I Reading 2011

2011-01-01T23:19:00.061-05:00

I'm a reader. Always have been. There is little I love more than escaping into a good book. And it has been fun keeping track of what I've read the last two years. So into 2011 I go, a universe of literature at my fingertips. As in the past, please feel to leave comments on books you read, opinions on my "reviews" or suggestions.

The Year in Books 2010
The Year in Books 2009

December
The Scorch Trials - James Dashner (Genre: Young Adult) The second book in the Maze Runner trilogy, Thomas and his group of maze survivors are now out in the outside world facing a whole new series of trials. I wanted to like this book, I'd heard good things, but it felt like a lot of running around and getting nowhere. I guess I won't be able to say until I've read the third and final book, but I honestly didn't feel this book advanced the story other than to throw the boys (and girls) through more hellish torment for reasons unknown. Grade: B-

Probability of Miracles - Wendy Wunder (Genre: Young Adult) When I received this book, my first thought was "a book by Wendy WUNDER called Probability of MIRACLES. Pfft. Can we try a little harder folks?" It is a very good thing that I didn't judge this book by the cover (or the name, in this case), because it is one of the best books I read this year.

It is the story of Cam, a 16 year old girl with terminal cancer. She's been through every treatment and experimental therapy available and while she doesn't believe in miracles, her mother and 11 year old sister do, and they think they'll find them in the aptly named town of Promise, Maine.

As she pursues her "flamingo list", Cam begins to truly enjoy life. She finds herself, almost unwittingly, a part of a group of friends and involved with a boy who believes in the magic of Promise more than anyone. So despite her grim outlook and determination to stay that way, she unexpectedly finds hope.

My criticism of our last book of the month was that, while good, the dialogue and behavior didn't feel true to teenagers. This book does. The characters were real witty. Their interactions were believable. I loved Cam and her unique family. Everyone should have a nana who has to make herself angry at them so she can let them leave without breaking down.

I sobbed as I finished this book in the locker room at my gym. I just couldn't put it down to wait to finish it at home. It is the first book that has truly captured me in a while. I will definitely be keeping an eye out for Wendy Wunder's next book. Grade: A

Sapphique - Catherine Fisher (Genre: Young Adult/Science Fiction/Fantasy) The sequel to Incarceron, we follow Finn and Claudia on the outside as they struggle to prove Finn as the rightful prince, and on the inside, Attia and Keiro, who, with the glove of Sapphique, are searching for a way out of Incarceron. This book left me wanting more, in a good way. Grade: B+

November
Finding Somewhere - Joseph Monninger (Genre: Young Adult)
Most girls go through a horse phase, but Hattie and Delores take theirs to a whole new level. Speed is Hattie's "one" horse. Beloved, he is the one that will be all horses to her ever after. When his owners decide that his time has come, these two unlikely friends make a cross-country trip in search of somewhere to give the dying horse a last taste of freedom.

This book was written from 16 year old Hattie's point of view, and while the descriptors used were beautiful and evocative ("when the moon is full and woodsmoke lips out of the chimneys"), they just didn't ring true to the way a girl her age would think. Going along with that, these two girls were unnaturally self-aware for 16 and 18. Dolores apparently suffers from Bipolar Disorder and both she and Hattie are very attuned to her fluctuating moods, so much so that they would work to head off her depressive phases. As a 37 year old woman with familial and personal histories with this disease myself, I can only say that even now it's really darn hard to see the shifts as their happening and almost impossible, barring medication, to do anything about them. I struggle to believe that a 16 year old would be this perceptive.

Finally, I was frustrated with character development, specifically, Hattie's backstory. Why did she drop out of school and get her GED? Her father is clearly not in the picture, but there is very little in the way of explanation there. The girls had planned a cross-country trip before Speed, so while the horse was the specific impetus for their journey, the idea had already been set in motion before they realized his situation. I don't need comprehensive exposition, but I would have understood her need to make this trip a lot better if I had some of these details.

As a woman who loved horses as a young girl myself, I liked this book, I empathized with Hattie and Delores and I wanted Speed to have his day in the sun as much as they did, but... I needed a little more. Grade: B

The Power of Six - Pitticus Lore (Genre: Young Adult) The second in the Lorien Legacies, we continue where we left off with John Smith, aka Number Four, as he runs from the the Mogadoriens. He has been joined by Number Six as they search for the remaining five Lorien children. Good action, interrupted by some not at all surprising plot twists. My beef with this book, as with so many lately, is that it does not stand alone. It begins in the middle and ends in the middle. Authors don't waste the energy to make each novel satisfying on their own because it is all about the series. Since this book is written expressly for monetary gain, it shouldn't surprise me, but I'm disappointed nonetheless. Grade: B-

October
Consider Phlebas - Iain M. Banks (Genre: Science Fiction) A promising opening with an intriguing central character drifts off into a collection of disjointed experiences that left me not really caring about anyone in the book. There was some good action and a well developed universe but it wasn't enough to make this book truly likable. Grade: B-

Blood Wounds - Susan Beth Pfeffer (Genre: Young Adult) Part of what seems to be a happily blended family, Willa's life is thrown in to upheaval when the biological father she doesn't remember suddenly becomes a very scary part of her life. I loved Pfeffer's Last Survivor series so I went into this book with quite high expectations and while I had no trouble zipping through it, I never really identified with any of the characters as I did so strongly with the characters in her other books. The characters in this book all felt very stereotypical and two-dimensional: the doting mother with her hidden small town past; the too-perfect stepfather with the evil ex-wife; the stepsisters who get everything while Willa lives on hand-me-downs. Additionally, there were significant areas of the story that didn't ring true for me. I simply can not believe that any mother, let alone Willa's overprotective one, would allow her child to travel on her own following such an unbelievably traumatic event. Moreover, the personal issue that Willa struggles with felt like a forced connection to her father, one that was too quickly and easily resolved in the end. Pfeffer can certainly string words together, but this book fell flat for me. Grade: C+

Little Bee - Chris Cleave (Genre: Fiction) This is one of those books that I really want to say I love, but I just don't. The writing was well done, the story interesting and yet. It just didn't capture me. This novel tracks a young Nigerian woman and a thirty-something British couple, and the catastrophic intersection of their lives. Grade: B

Under the Mesquite - Guadalupe Garcia McCall (Genre: Young Adult) Lupita is the oldest of eight brothers and sisters in her close-knit Mexican-American family. She dreams of pursuing a career in acting but her world is torn apart when her mother is diagnosed with cancer. As her mother undergoes treatment, Lupita struggles to hold her family together while simultaneously traversing the pitfalls of adolescence. Through tragedy, she discovers hope and promise. When I first realized this book was written in free verse, I worried that the form would make the story of difficult to follow. I am very happy to say my fears were unfounded. Moreover, this captivating book evoked a range of emotions astonishingly complex for such a quick read. McCall's words brought me back to my own difficult teenage years and the complicated relationship between my mother and I. A beautiful but sometimes painful read. I can't say enough good things about this book. Grade: A+

September
Divergent - Veronica Roth (Genre: Young Adult) In a future distopian society located amid the ruins of Chicago, five distinct factions have emerged. Each embodying a necessary element of society, children are required to select their faction at the age of 16. Despite being raised among the peace-loving Amity, Beatrice chooses the Dauntless faction, who are the protectors of their society. As she struggles to complete the initiation, she discovers a plot that will change her world forever. Fast-paced, well written novel. Grade: A

Domestic Affairs - Eileen Goudge (Genre: Fiction) Just another bland novel without much in the way of originality or creativity. The characters were flat and there wasn't a single twist that I didn't see coming from the very beginning. Even the writing was lackluster. The fact it has 4 stars on Amazon completely baffles me. All I can think is that the people rating this book on there must be comparing it to the Twilight novels or your run of the mill Danielle Steele. Grade: D

August
Judas Unchained - Peter Hamilton (Genre: Science Fiction) I am hesitant to talk about the story because it will give too much away for any who might not have read Pandora's Star. I'll just say that it was a reasonably satisfying conclusion to this epic story. It was a long, long road but I'm happy to have made the trip. Grade: B+

July
Pandora's Star - Peter Hamilton (Genre: Science Fiction) In the future, travel by wormhole and rejuvenations that essentially make humans immortal are accepted parts of life. When an entire galaxy is found enclosed within an impenetrable opaque barrier, no one is prepared for what they find within or the implications it will have for the human race. Grade: B+

Room - Emma Donaghue (Genre: Fiction) Told from the viewpoint of a 5 year old boy, Room is the heartbreaking story of a woman and her son and the world they create within four walls. At times painful for me to read, as a mother, it was deeply engrossing. Grade: A

June
Jellicoe Road - Melina Marchetta (Genre: Young Adult) The story follows the stories of two groups of teenagers, one in the past and one in the present, who are inextricably linked to their predecessors. Grade: B+

May
The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake - Aimee Bender (Genre: Young Adult/Supernatural) Ten year old Rose discovers that she has a very unusual skill: she can taste the emotions of the preparer in the foods she eats. The complexities this creates in her relationships with her mother and those around her reveal more than just the usual struggles. I loved this book. Grade: A

Bossypants - Tina Fey (Genre: Memoire) Perhaps I've overdosed on memoires in recent years, but I just didn't love this book like I expected to. I love Tina Fey. It certainly made me laugh. But. There was a cohesiveness that was missing. I don't expect the structure of a novel in these sorts of essay books, but I do expect a broader theme. And I just didn't feel it was there. Having said that, it was definitely an entertaining read and I recommend it for the laughs. Grade: B

The Paris Wife - Paula McClain (Genre: Fiction) The story of Ernest Hemingway's marriage to Hadley, told from her viewpoint. In the end, I enjoyed this book, and it was undeniably beautifully written, but it dragged. I struggled through the middle hundred pages but the end was satisfying. Grade: B

April
The Girl Who Kicked The Hornet's Nest - Stiegg Larsson (Genre: Fiction) The third, and erstwhile, final book in the The Girl Who... series. A worthy finish to these interesting books. My only complaint was that there were some storylines that were not wrapped up. I won't say which to avoid spoilers but it left me wanting. I hope the rumored fourth book is eventually published and that it addresses these storylines. Grade: B+

The Girl Who Played With Fire - Stiegg Larsson (Genre: Fiction) Following the same characters as the Dragon Tattoo, we get into the search for a mysterious character in the sex trade world that winds up being very key to our heroine. Grade: A-

The Postmistress - Sarah Blake (Genre: Historical Fiction) Set during World War II, this book follows three women and their experiences in Europe and America as they dealt with the changes the war brought. Well written, but unexpectedly unsatisfying. Grade: B

March
Goblin Quest - Jim C. Hines (Genre: Fantasy) Runty goblin Jig winds up a captive/guide for a group of adventurers, among them a dwarf, fairy and two humans, in search of a treasure at the heart of the mountain that Jig calls home. Their adventure takes twists and turns as they battle the magic of a the dangerous wizard Necromancer. Grade: B

February
The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo - Stieg Larsson (Genre: Fiction) After a humiliating public conviction for libel, a financial journalist is hired by an elderly industrialist with a complex family history and a missing person mystery that needs solving. Well paced, interesting read with some great twists and facinating characters. I look forward to the next book. Grade: A-

January
A Reliable Wife - Robert Goolrick (Genre: Historical Fiction) Set in early 1900's Wisconsin, this is the story of an aging businessman and the wife he met through an advertisement. There are a couple of twists but I wasn't terribly surprised by any of them. A well-written book, and the story was solid but I wasn't really taken in. Grade: B

On Deck:

Unbroken - Laura Hillenbrand
A Visit From The Goon Squad - Jennifer Egan
Here Lies Bridget by Paige Harbison:
The Opposite of Me - Sarah Pekkanen
Disquiet - Julia Leigh
Truth - Robin Wasserman
Wake - Lisa McCann
Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Blue Bloods - Melissa De La Cruz
Uglies - Scott Westerfeld
Still Alice - Lisa Genova
Outlander - Diana Gabaldon
The Road - Cormac McCarthy
The Happiness Project - Gretchen Rubin
Willow - Julia Hoban
Private Life - Jane Smiley
The Domino Men - Jonathan Barnes
Eat Pray Love - Elizabeth Gilbert

Going forward this post will be updated after I read each book and can be reached by clicking the "What's On The Bookshelf" link at the top right of the page. I pick almost all of my books based on suggestions from friends, so please feel free to leave a comment with a recommendation at any time during the year!

Merry Christmas!

2010-12-25T21:49:00.000-05:00

May the wonders of the season be yours!

*I know you've all been on the edge of your seat wondering what picture did make the cut for the holiday card. This is it! Isn't my kid just the cutest thing!

Cookie Crazy

2010-12-22T02:06:00.003-05:00

There is really only one tradition in my family when it comes to Christmastime. And that is my beloved Peanut Butter Balls. They are a sweet reminder of many, many happy Christmases past. I make them at least once each holiday season, and in fact just took them to a party last week. But when Mep of Not to Brag asked me and two of our other beautiful friends, Heather and E..., to be a part of a virtual cookie party, I thought it might be time to try something new.

As my now no doubt nervous in-laws are aware, I have a penchant for trying new dessert recipes. Unfortunately, my ability to create these masterpieces is severely outmatched by my desire to pick the most complicated and obscure recipes available. The year of the pumpkin flan comes to mind. It is to their credit that at each holiday event of the past 7 years, they have gamely nibbled on my creations. And not once have they made gagging noises or spit anything out, even though I am quite certain that they have all wanted to on at least one occasion. Even my husband, who is a human garbage disposal of food has on occasion been less than complimentary of my efforts. Which means it was BAD. So for this challenge I was really determined to make something that was not especially complicated and more importantly, tasty.

I looked over my cupboard and with a distinct aversion to the idea of a trip to the grocery store on this cold evening, I found a recipe that made use of the materials I had on hand. Which as it turns out, weren't so meager as I had feared. I was able to produce two ingredients that are favorites of mine, and most amazingly, in a quantity adequate for my needs. Specifically: white chocolate chips and cranberries. And with the discovery of some quick oats on the top shelf, I knew I was on my way.

White Chocolate Chip Cranberry Oatmeal Cookies

- 3/4 cup sugar
- 1/4 cup packed brown sugar
- 1/2 cup butter
- 1 egg
- 1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
- 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
- 1/2 teaspoon baking soda
- 1/4 teaspoon salt
- 1 cup flour
- 1 1/2 cups quick-cooking oats (not instant
- 3/4 cup dried cranberries
- 6 ounces white chocolate chips

1. Preheat oven to 375°F.
2. In a large bowl using an electric mixer combine the sugar, brown sugar and butter; mix well to cream together. (I used my Kitchen-aid stand mixer for the whole process. I don't know how I lived without it.)
3. Add in egg and vanilla extract and mix until combined.
4. Add the cinnamon, baking soda, salt and flour and mix well.
5. Fold in the oatmeal, dried cranberries and white chocolate chips - making sure that all ingredients are uniformly distributed.
6. Drop teaspoonfuls (or roll into balls, but that is quite messy and doesn't make a discernible difference) about 3 inches apart onto a greased cookie sheet and bake at 375° for 10-12 minutes, just until the edges are lightly golden.
7. Remove from oven and let cool for 2-3 minutes on the cookie sheet, then transfer cookies to cooling rack.

I wish you could see the nice little red cranberries that accent this cookie, but that color just doesn't show up well.

They came out a little crispier than I was expecting. That might be due to the pan I used. It might be due to overcooking. It might be that I used light butter. Really, none of that matters because these cookies are HEAVENLY. They are exactly the right mix of crispy and chewy. When I set the plate down in front of Neil, he said "looks good" in a non-committal way. I can't blame him. But after one bite, he was making yummy noises and proclaimed them "damn good!" Which is a far cry from the usual "fine" that passes for high praise in this house.

I definitely recommend giving them a try, I just know these little beauties will be crowd pleasers! Enjoy!

And be sure to visit Mep, E... and Heather to see what yummy confections they made!

Holiday Card Reject

2010-12-15T14:03:00.008-05:00

Neil told me this was too esoteric (I'm editorializing here, his exact comment was something along the lines of "why's it out of focus?") so it has been abandoned for a less artsy image. I love the new one, but I love this one too and I just couldn't let it languish in my discard pile without sharing it.

Jingle Bells

2010-12-09T06:34:00.000-05:00

Last year, I was pretty much on the ball with our holiday cards. They weren't mailed yet, but they were at least in the late design stages. However. I couldn't get my stuff together when it came to decorating. I just couldn't find the spirit to bedeck our halls. So our tree didn't go up until the week before Christmas.

This year, I couldn't wait to get our tree set up. Starting around Thanksgiving, I badgered Neil to climb up in the top of the garage and get it down so I could set it up and decorate. I won't lie and tell you that it's construction was without it's speedbumps. Every year, I pull out all of the parts and kick myself for not having a better system to remember which pieces go where.* And there was some crankiness while I scratched my hands up as I placed, re-placed and then fluffed the branches. And neither the cats nor the kid were especially cooperative when it came to ornament placement. But I had lovely carols playing on the stereo and a pepperminty candle burning on the mantle.

And when I plugged in the lights. Ahhh. It. Was. Breathtaking. Sophie, standing a half dozen feet from it, spread her arms and WOWed. That moment was enough to make any pain and suffering worth it. A thousand times over. So our tree went up the first week of December and now we'll have nearly a month to enjoy it's twinkling beauty. God, I love Christmastime.

Now, I just need to figure out what the hell I'm going to do about our cards.

*THIS year, I'm instituting a color-coding system. Remind me round about December 26th, will ya?

Kids at the Movies

2010-11-30T05:08:00.004-05:00

Neil and I went to the movies this past Saturday night. I'm not sure what we were thinking going to a movie on a Saturday. And Thanksgiving weekend, no less. Needless to say, the place was jam packed. Luckily, Harry Potter 7 was not sold out and after purchasing our tickets, we made our way into the theater. Because we had arrived without a lot of extra time, the theater was mostly full when we walked in. There were a few pairs of seats in the middle but our reluctance to climb over other patrons led us to take seats in the floor area closer to the screen. If we knew then what we know now, we would have braved the stadium seating area.

Within minutes of sitting down, we noticed a family enter the theater and approach the row behind us. At first, I didn't notice the composition of the family because I was taken by the fact that one of the members was an infant in a bucket car seat. Probably 6 months old, the baby was wide awake and cooing. I watched as they situated the baby next to the father. It was then that I noticed the other kids as they took their seats directly behind me. Three of them. All under five. The youngest was about 3.

At first, they were quiet and I thought, well maybe these kids could handle a 2.5 hour long non-kids movie. But within 20 minutes, the infant began fussing. And that was the noise that broke the seal for the other kids. Mom and dad took turns with the infant in the hall, but that left only one parent to monitor the other three pre-school age children, who, no surprise here, were extremely fidgety. There was mock whispering, bouncing, running back and forth in the row and OF COURSE, chair kicking. MY CHAIR.

I know about wanting to get out and see a movie with your spouse. I know that for many people finding someone to watch their kids while they do so is complicated and pricey. However. This movie was clearly not appropriate for young children. It's rated PG-13, meaning children under 13 are probably not a good fit. There were definitely some VERY scary scenes. I can't imagine how those scenes would affect a small child. Beyond that, it's a 2.5 hour movie. NO kid that age can sit still for 2.5 hours. There's a reason Disney movies are all 90 minutes long. Finally, this was a 6:40 movie. My 3 year old goes to bed at 8. Adding in the expected twenty minutes of previews, that means the movie isn't getting out until 9:30. Now I can't speak for all kids, but mine does not improve when kept up after her bedtime. In fact, saying she goes into cranky, manic kid mode would be most accurate.

I'm just stunned that these people thought it was appropriate to bring their kids to this movie. Beyond that it showed ridiculously bad parenting, it was inconsiderate. They did a humdinger on our movie-going experience. We were distracted and irritated throughout the movie. And I'm sure we weren't the only ones. We have only taken Sophie to one movie, Toy Story 3, and we went to an early afternoon showing. Fortunately for us, our experience was good, but had she acted up, I would have left with her in a heartbeat. Had this been a matinee, I would likely be more forgiving. My expectations are different at day movies. But it wasn't. It was a full price evening movie, and that ain't cheap these days.

I feel like I can't be surprised anymore by how thoughtless people can be, and then I am. It makes me sad.

Music is gonna get ya

2010-11-19T06:17:00.000-05:00

I love music. I love the way it makes me feel. It inspires emotion. Raises me up or brings me down. At home, I almost always have music on. I dance. I sing.

Of course, I don't just listen at home. I have Lucille loaded with music. I take her with me everywhere so I can get my fix any time, any place. She is ALWAYS with me at the gym. When I get going on the treadmill, the music becomes a part of me. I can feel the beat moving through my body and I find myself stepping to the rhythm.

It makes me wish I could sing at the gym. Top of my lungs, fist pumping singing. I want to shout out my exuberance. Throw my arms into the air like Rocky at the top of the stairs.

Maybe my gym should have soundproof rooms.

I think I'm going to put that in the suggestion box.

Would You Look At THAT

2010-11-17T21:32:00.002-05:00

A great big thank you to all of my wonderful friends and family who voted for me in the Baltimore Sun Mobbies! Thanks to your perseverance day after day with a real pain in the patootie site, I eked out the win in the Family Category. AND! I came in 9th in Best Overall. Considering there were several hundred blogs nominated, I'm pleased as punch with a top 10 showing.

I attended the awards party last night with my dear friend Katie, where I accepted the handsome 8.5x11 commemorative sheet of paper announcing my win. I'll frame it and hang it on the wall next to last year's. The party was meh. Too loud. Too crowded. Food was gone by the time we got there. And we couldn't bribe our way into a drink. But I loved spending some rare non-kid time with Katie; talking sex, laundry and everything in between. And we shared a few laughs with fellow award-winning blogger Elizabeth of Strawberries in Paris who I met earlier this year at the LoveFeast Table BlogLove event. Despite a parking ticket (stupid head in only parking), it was good times. My heartfelt thanks again to all who voted!

I colored my hair a couple of weeks ago. It's about five shades darker than my hair naturally and much darker than the last color. Exactly TWO people have noticed. TWO. Change FAIL.

They Don't Call It Practice For Nothing

2010-11-15T06:40:00.033-05:00

We have taken Sophie to the same pediatrician since she was born. Her doctor was affiliated with a very large, very well respected local medical entity (hint: it rhymes with Sean's Bobbkins) and at first that was very appealing to us. We liked the security of having a doctor attached to an organization with a century long reputation for medical excellence, not to mention the world of specialists at our fingertips.

But I would be lying if I said that I was delighted with our experiences, really from the very beginning. There was the time they sent us to the emergency room, where we sat for four hours with a mildly sick two month old only to be told we were overreacting to a normal condition. There were the layers we had to go through to actually speak to a medical professional on the phone. There was the complete lack of personal engagement. We were a number. Sophie's doctor never remembered her from one visit to the next. Ultimately, I just never felt a chemistry with her. We tried other doctors in the practice but didn't feel any better about them.

Meanwhile, Neil and I have been going to a family practice for a couple of years now and we have loved our experiences there. It was our plan to take Sophie there as soon as she completed the two year study that she was a part of through her old doctor. I had scheduled a well child check up, but unfortunately illness struck first. So her first visit was a couple of weeks ago when we had a chicken pox scare. It turns out it was some other chicken pox-y rash that had us on lockdown for a week, and it completely sucked, but it gave us an intro to the pediatric side of our now truly family practice. I was overwhelmed by what a positive experience it was.

The doctor was engaging and friendly. He sat and talked with us. More importantly, he listened. We had a real conversation. I didn't feel as though he was just playing the role of concerned doctor like I typically did with the last one. It was so refreshing. So when we brought her back in for a follow-up/well child, I was nervous that we would be seeing one of the other doctors in the practice. But if it is possible, I love her even more. I felt a real connection from the minute she walked in to the exam room. She's not much older than me, and unlike our last pediatrician, she has her own children. It even turns out that we had similar pregnancies and deliveries. When I expressed my concerns about the flu vaccine, she was very understanding. Our last pediatrician practically accused me of child abuse for not wanting to vaccinate my daughter. And not once did she refer to the growth chart! Sweet baby cheese, was that a breath of fresh air on a hot day.

I knew that I didn't like Sophie's old doctor, but I didn't realize how bad it was until I saw how good it could be. I think we forget sometimes that there is more to medicine than fancy diplomas and big names on the door. I'll take the small practice where the nurses play with my daughter and give her a lollipop any day of the week.

Last Day

2010-11-12T13:46:00.000-05:00

For my poor Facebook and twitter friends, I apologize for the daily requests for your vote in the Baltimore Sun Mobbies. But I have good news! Today is the last day and the very last time (this year) that I will hound you for your vote. Voting ends at 5pm Baltimore time, so there are just a few short hours to help me retain the spot as Best Family blog and maybe inch my way up on the Best Overall list. I really, really, really appreciate your votes!

Across the miles...

2010-11-08T06:31:00.023-05:00

I'm just going to come right out and say that while I put on a good front, I'm actually a bit of a chicken. This won't come as any surprise to the folks that know me really well, ie anyone who has ever slept in the same room as me (hello nightlight!). Despite this, I have a penchant for scary movies. Not often and not of the torture horror variety, but occasionally one will come along that grabs my fancy. The Blair Witch Project was one of these. Most recently, it was Paranormal Activity. A low budget, independent film that concentrated on psychological suspense rather than blood and gore, I saw it last year during a girls' weekend in Tennessee and it absolutely scared the cuss out of me. A year later and I still have night terrors about it.

When they announced they were making another one, I was not initially enthused. Rarely, in fact almost never, do sequels of these kinds of movies turn out to be any good. But reports came in that the filmmakers were doing everything they could to avoid the pitfalls that have plagued so many other doomed sequels. And then early reviews were positive and it looked like there was cause for optimism.

A couple of months ago, Lula, Brandy and I half joked about getting together to see Paranormal Activity 2. It was the three of us (in addition to our friend Heather) that saw the first Paranormal Activity last year and it seemed natural that we would come together again for the second one. Distance and responsibilities being what they are, though, it seemed about as likely to happen as Lindsay Lohan successfully completing rehab.

But then a couple of weeks ago, we took a serious look at our calendars and decided that we were going to make it work. We landed on a date and began plotting. It took a little coordination on our parts, both Lula and I had to arrange child care so we could leave early enough from our respective homes to make it to Brandy's house (4.5 hour drive for me, 3 for Lula) in time for dinner and the movie, but we made it work.

Finally, the day arrived and I hit the open road. It was a long drive, but my excitement (and a trough of Dr. Pepper) made the time pass quickly. The laughs didn't stop from the moment I arrived until I left the next afternoon. There were times I was laughing so hard, I could barely breath. We had a fabulously fattening dinner where we introduced Brandy to red wine, unsuccessfully; we saw the movie, which wasn't quite as good as the first but definitely had some chills; we stayed up until all hours talking; and after sleeping in, we hit Cracker Barrel for a breakfast lunch.

A couple days before I left, Neil commented to me that it was an awfully long way to go for a movie. And he's not wrong. But the truth is that while I did want to see the movie, I didn't really drive all that way just for that. I drove 280 miles to see friends that I haven't seen in person in a year. To sit across from them. To give them great big hugs because I miss their faces. The internet is an amazing thing. If it weren't for this ability to connect over the miles, I never would have met these great ladies, and it is a wonderful tool for maintaining these relationships. But it is no substitute for sitting down at the kitchen table with a great glass of wine (or four) and making lewd drawings at 3am with friends.

Miss you girls. Can't wait for Paranormal Activity 3.

By the way, have you voted for me today in the Baltimore Sun Mobbies? I'm nominated under the Family category and don't forget to select Land of Bean for Best Overall! You can vote once a day until November 12. Thank you!!

Civic Duty

2010-11-02T08:00:00.012-04:00

It's a big day. It's our time to make our voices heard. I'm an ardent believer in our obligation to do our civic duty. Despite a sick kid, I plan to do mine. And of course, I ask that you do yours as well. Today we exercise our right to vote.

Of course, I'm talking about the annual Baltimore Sun Maryland Outstanding Blogs Awards (MOBBIES)! The Land of Bean has been nominated in the Family category. My fellow nominees are an amazing group of bloggers, many of whom I feel privileged to consider friends. So it pains me to say that I want to kick their asses, but I do, I really do. It is an honor to be nominated but it's freaking awesome to win. So I kindly request that you take just a couple of minutes and pop on over to the Baltimore Sun website to vote. You will have to register but it's little more than your email and a password.

Voting will take place between now and November 12 at 5pm. You can vote once in every 24 hour period, so please vote as often as you can! Don't forget to also click Land of Bean for Best Overall Blog! Note: You do not have to reside in Maryland to vote. (Mom, I'm talking to you.) Sadly, I do think you have to be in the United States, so my international friends can not take part.

From the bottom of my heart, thank you, thank you, thank you!

Oh yeah, and for all of my American readers, don't forget to vote in our mid-term elections today! It's kinda important.

Souper Easy Recipe: French Onion

2010-11-01T06:01:00.009-04:00

It is that time of year again. Soup season! There is just nothing like a steaming bowl on a chilly fall day. It warms you from the inside out. One of my forever favorites is French Onion. Ironically, I actually don't care much for onions, but something about this soup just works for me. For years and years, if I were enjoying a bowl at home, I bought a can of Campbell's and threw it in the microwave. But once I tried making this for myself and saw how easy it is, and how fantastic it tastes, I don't think it's possible to go back to my old college-y ways.

Ingredients:
4 - Tablespoons Butter (I suppose you could use margarine but I don't recommend it. Ever.)
2 - Onions (I use one red and one white but you can use whatever combination strikes your fancy.)
1 - Tablespoon Worcestershire Sauce
1/2 - Teaspoon Sugar
1 - Tablespoon Flour
4 - Cans (10.5 oz) Beef Broth
1/2 - Cup Red Wine (Use good stuff. Never cook with something you wouldn't drink.)
1/2 - Teaspoon Garlic Salt (or to taste)
1/2 - Teaspoon Salt (or to taste)
1/2 - Teaspoon Black Pepper (or to taste)
Sliced Provolone or Swiss Cheese
French Bread

1. Melt the butter in a medium soup pan. Thinly slice the onions and saute in the butter at medium heat until soft. Add the Worcestershire sauce and sugar. Stir well and cook for 2 minutes.

2. Stir in the flour and mix well with onions and pan sauce. Add broth, wine, garlic salt, salt and pepper. Bring to boil. Reduce heat and simmer for 10 minutes.

3. Slice 3/4 inch pieces of French Bread. I toast mine in our toaster oven, but you can also cook in the oven at 325 degrees for about 10 minutes.

4. Fill oven-safe bowls 3/4 full with soup. Add the toasted bread and a slice of provolone or swiss cheese. Return to toaster oven or oven, 425 degrees, for about 10 minutes until cheese is melted. (You can also hollow out bread bowls. And that is a VERY tasty way to go, but the extra 400 calories kill me.)

Enjoy!

Now

2010-10-27T14:31:00.003-04:00

I have found that, like so many things, my interest in blogging waxes and wanes. In nearly three years I have published more than 500 posts. Every time I approached one of the century marks, I have thought I should make a fuss about it, but each time I forget until it's too late. I look and realize that I'm at 407. And really, who cares how many posts I've put up. Does it make me a more accomplished writer or blogger for the number of times I have managed to hit the publish button? Do the 100 or so people who visit here each day, most of whom are likely family, even care? Having said that, my relative absence from blogging lately has left me feeling stranded. Missing out on my friends lives and missing out on writing, something I truly enjoy doing. I want, no I need, to get back in to it.

____________

I am restarting Operation Smaller Ass. I lost 20 pounds earlier this year and then proceeded to gain most of it back over the following 8 months and that's total bullshit. I work out like a fiend, I NEED something to show for it. I've considered all of the easy routes: pills, hypnotism, chaining the fridge; and have decided to just get back with counting calories. I had success with it before, and early results are good. Five pounds in the last week. How many times do I say "this time I'm serious" before I really do GET SERIOUS?

____________

I'm considering doing NaNoWriMo. I have a story. And a pretty good one, if I do say so myself. I've been fleshing it out in my head for a while now, so it's just a matter of buckling down and bringing it to life. Will having a month deadline make it happen? I don't know, but it can't hurt trying. Neil's always asking me when I'm going to write my novel. Maybe now is the time.

____________

Maybe now is the time for a lot of things.

Birthday Wishes

2010-10-18T22:01:00.000-04:00

I'm not sure what she wished for, but she got three cupcakes out of the deal.

Three!!

2010-10-14T09:03:00.001-04:00

My darling girl is three years old today. I know that every single parent says it at every single birthday, but how did that happen? How have three years passed since she came into our world? She was just my tiny little bean and now she is a KID. She walks, she talks, she opines, LOUDLY. We have our highs and lows but every day with her is an adventure.

And now after more than one thousand glorious days of on the job training, I think it is safe to claim to be an expert on child-rearing.

Just a few of my pearls of wisdom:

1. Potty training is more art than science.

2. I don't care how many experts say that you can get your kid to eat anything. Accept that you will never understand your child's culinary choices.

3. Sleeping in? Fuhgeddaboudit.

4. Clothes will be changed a minimum of five times a day.

5. Related to #4: seasons, weather and temperature have no bearing on clothing selections.

6. Tantrums happen only at the very worst times. Like in the middle of the painfully quiet craft store.

7. Your child will do things for other people they will never do for you. Like eat. Or sit still.

8. Forget about making phone calls during their waking hours.

9. You don't know stubborn until you've tried to keep a 3 year old away from a cupcake.

10. What worked yesterday will absolutely not work tomorrow. No matter how ingenious.

Happy birthday to my beautiful girl! Every day you make me so proud.

It's Tuesday. And That Means Absolutely Nothing

2010-10-12T10:29:00.000-04:00

- Sophie's 3rd birthday is just two days away. Can't even process that I have a THREE YEAR OLD. And NO, we're not having another kid.

- I ran another 5K a couple of weeks ago and now I have the bug. I want to do another. And another. Who is this person that has taken over my body and what has she done with the real Cara?

- We broke down and hired a biweekly cleaning service. All is right in the world again. There is really nothing better than coming home to a yummy clean house. Of course, the clean only lasts for 42 seconds, but those are 42 heavenly seconds.

- We got rid of the last of our tube TVs a couple of weeks ago. We tried to donate it to the local Goodwill but they wouldn't take it. A perfectly good 32 inch TV. We wound up taking it to the dump. I can't get over that.

- I have enough red clothes to do an entire load of them when I do laundry. I really need to diversify my wardrobe. I don't want to be known as the "lady in red", although I would love to have a song like that written about me. Sigh.

- I got hit on by a 90 year old white bearded fellow in the waiting room of my dermatologist yesterday. It was funny and flattering and creepy all at the same time. I think his 70 year old daughter, who was pushing his wheelchair, was embarrassed.

My Social Network

2010-10-06T22:14:00.001-04:00

I went to see The Social Network yesterday. For those of you living under a rock, this is the movie about the creation of Facebook. It was good. Damn good. The writing was whip smart and the acting was unbelievable. The fact that it is based on a true story is a very compelling element. Of course, from what I understand large swathes were taken not from actual accounts but from writers interpretations of what likely occurred at known events, but that is to be expected.

After the movie, Jill and I sat at a deli enjoying fantastic pastrami sandwiches and cream soda while we dissected the movie. One thing we kept coming back to was just how significantly Facebook has changed the way we interact.

I was a late comer to Facebook. I joined about two years ago. I had heard of it before, but I resisted. At the time, I had been blogging for about 8 months and felt that was all the online interaction I needed. But my 16th* high school reunion was coming up and it was the easiest way to connect with former classmates leading up to our get together.

At first it was people I was current with and those high school classmates I was trying to get in touch with for the reunion. But it pretty quickly evolved into a self-indulgent trip down memory lane. I looked up people I haven't seen since grade school. I'll confess there are a couple of ex-boyfriends in there. But only the friendly ones.

Sometimes I think that we're supposed to lose touch with people. That maybe there is a reason you don't talk anymore to that girl you ran around with for a couple of months when you were 20. And that snarking at photos of your ex-boyfriend's ugly wife is mean and unnecessary.

But for the most part, I love Facebook. I can't imagine life without it. I love that it allows me to passively follow a large number of friends on an everyday basis. I love that I can interact or not, at my discretion, and no one will criticize me either way. I love that I can disseminate information about myself and my family so easily.

There is little doubt that it has changed things. Like all of the greats, it was an invention I didn't even realize I needed until it was so entrenched in my life that I couldn't imagine operating without it. But that brings up the inevitable question: What is the next step? What will be the next Facebook?

I wish I could invent it.

Have you seen the movie? What did you think? Are you on Facebook? Love it? Hate it?

*We also had an 11th reunion. Not sure what, if any, plans there are for future reunions but I have full confidence they will NOT fall on the usual years.

Aaaand Scene!

2010-09-28T21:32:00.001-04:00

Sophie: I'm hungry.

Me: Do you want a string cheese?

S: YEAH!!

Me: (grabbing one out of the fridge) Are you sure you want a string cheese?

S: YEAAAHHH!!!

Me: (as I begin to unwrap it) You definitely want a string cheese?

S: Yes, yes, yes! (arms outstretched, jumping up and down)

Me: (holding out string cheese to her, big enticing smile on my face) Here you go, baby.

S: (turning away) Ummm, no.

Replay this scene about 114 times a day and you begin to understand why my kid is so skinny and my ass is still the size of Texas as I eat the stupid string cheese/apple/peppers/crackers/toast/bagel/egg sandwich because I'm tired of throwing food out.

Generations

2010-09-19T22:36:00.005-04:00

I was going through the photos I took when I was in Kansas. Finally. And I came across a couple that my sister took of me, Sophie and my granddaddy. It's a tad out of focus because it was my little point and shoot and somebody (me) let somebody (Sophie) take some self-portraits (cute!) and she somehow changed it to the macro setting. Which means that anything more than 12 inches away and bigger than a ladybug has an aura. Of course, I didn't realize this until it was way too late to retake, but if I spend long enough tinkering around in Photoshop, I think I can make it presentable. And I plan to, because I want to send a copy to my beloved granddaddy. But for now, I just wanted to get something up on my blog that puts a smile on my face. Because my last post? Does not. It was one of those posts that was terribly cathartic to write but painful to publish and think about other people reading.

This picture makes me happy. It reminds me of a hundred Christmases spent in that very room, a fire blazing while I lay stretched out on the carpet under the coffee table. It reminds me of those weeks we spent there during the summer, just my sister and I and our grandparents. Sunday nights spent eating apples, cheese and popcorn while we watched 60 minutes. So many wonderful memories. I love that I was able to bring my daughter to spend some time with her great-granddaddy, because he is such an amazing man. I love that my grandmother is still with us, even if only in our memories and a photograph that is never far from my granddaddy's side.

Mostly though, I'm just really happy that given both of our positions, you can see neither mine nor my daughter's underwear.

Mean Girls

2010-09-15T00:09:00.009-04:00

Last night I asked Neil what he thought my greatest weakness was. While he stalled in his answer, all of the things he might say swirled around in my head. I understand his reticence to answer me, being honestly critical of another person is difficult. And when that person is your wife, it's damn near impossible. So when he finally answered, I wasn't sure what to expect. Would he take the easy road and tell me my greatest weakness was being such a darn good cook? Or would he be truly honest and tell me that I'm a terrible housekeeper or that I don't have enough patience with Sophie. He went the honest route.

His answer: that I don't have enough confidence in myself.

I sputtered and said "I don't have enough confidence? I don't have enough confidence? Meeee?" I wasn't angry, I was surprised. Not because I honestly think I'm brimming over with confidence, but because I generally think I do a fair job of hiding the fact that I'm not.

But then I chewed on what he had said for a moment. While I was waiting for his answer, I had come up with literally dozens of possibilities for what his response would be. The list of things I saw wrong in myself was long and varied. That just doesn't seem like the sign of someone who has a great deal of confidence in themself or their abilities.

Truth is, self-esteem has always been an issue for me. Growing up, we moved a lot. I was always the new kid, forced to make new friends at every stop. Sometimes it was easy, sometimes not. In some places, the kids were so entrenched in their relationships that there simply wasn't room for the new girl and I floundered.

When I hit middle school, the very worst years for all but the most lucky of pre-teens, I struggled extraordinarily. Grotesquely skinny, acne and a nose that had outgrown my face, combined with the hormonal peaks and valleys of puberty to make me a pretty unhappy kid. And while I've grown into my nose, the acne is under control and I've definitely got the curves (and then some, SIGH) I longed for in 7th grade, I honestly don't think I've ever recovered from those years. From starting my first day in a new school and having the kids taunt me with "big nose" and "ugly." From one of my first real boyfriends breaking up with me because his friends told him I wasn't good enough for him. From no dates for dances.

This afternoon, I took Sophie to the park. When we arrived there were three little girls playing on the jungle gym. A year or two older than her, they were involved in a detailed role playing game. From the moment she ran up to them, they were exclusionary and rude. When Sophie attempted to join in their play, they squealed and ran away. When Sophie would follow them, they would say "SHE'S BACK! RUUUUNNN!" and run away. Despite my attempts to direct her towards other kids or playground equipment, she was not to be deterred and continued to follow the girls around. I looked to the girls' mothers, who stood not far from me engrossed in their own conversation, hoping they would tell them to be nice, but they never did.

As I watched this play out, I almost started crying, because suddenly I didn't see her, I saw myself. I saw me timidly approaching kids and being rebuffed or ignored. Right now, my daughter is brimming with confidence. She experiences not a moment's hesitation when approaching someone new. The vast majority of the response to her is great positivity. She is the friendliest, most enthusiastic kid around. She oozes sunshine. But how much will it take to beat that out of her? How many mean little girls will it take to break her confidence? At what point did mine go? How do I ensure that in 5 years, 10 years, 25 years, my daughter will have the confidence to approach any person or goal and know that she is worthy?

I wish I could go back and kick those little girls' asses. But I can't. All I can do is love on my daughter, tell her a hundred times a day how beautiful and wonderful she is, and pray that is enough.

Side Effects

2010-09-13T00:22:00.004-04:00

Our cat Potter has given us more than her fair share of scares. On multiple occasions we have carted her off, clawing and howling, to the vet or the Pet ER when things looked dire. I've never tallied up exactly how much we have spent on her medical care, mostly because it would depress me too much. Don't get me wrong, I love my kitty and would go the extra mile to make sure she is okay, but on every single occasion the results have been inconclusive, and basically, she just got better on her own. Thousands and thousands of dollars have been spent on what time alone fixed.

She's always been a puker. At least once a week, sometimes more often, sometimes less, she would revisit upon us her lunch. But lately things have been bad. Because of her history, we were hesitant to rush her to the vet, spend a ton of money and get no answers. However, after weeks and weeks of her throwing up A LOT, as in multiple times a day and on our bed on more than one occasion, we finally decided to take her in.

OF COURSE, the vet couldn't find anything wrong with her. All bloodwork came back fine. The diagnosis, such as it was, was that hair must be accumulating in her digestive tract and causing a backup. So the vet prescribed her Catlax, a molasses-like substance that serves in much the same way as Exlax does on humans. Which is to say, it greases the chute.

You might think this would cause a disturbing litter box situation, but in fact had almost no effect on that end. And at first, the vomiting slowed down and we thought "HALLELUJAH! We're on the right track."

But then we woke up Friday morning.

It was a morning like any other. Sophie woke us up at ohgod o'clock. We went through the upstairs part of our morning: pottying, face washing, changing diaper, putting on warmer clothes; before we headed for the stairs. And that was when I saw it.

It was everywhere.

It was on every step from the top to the bottom. That's thirteen steps. It was on the wall from the top nearly to the bottom. And there was clearly a spray pattern. It was like something had stood at the top of the stairs and a fire hose of vomit shot out of it. I didn't need Dexter or a team of CSIs to figure out what had happened.

I called out to Neil. When he met me at the top of the stairs, his mouth fell open and he said, only half kidding, "Do you think she's alive?" I'd had the same thought myself. It was an explosion. I have never seen an animal produce that kind of mess. HazMat teams usually deal with this sort of thing.

I went downstairs to track down Potter to confirm that she was, in fact, still among the land of the living. I found her in the kitchen circling her food dish waiting for some breaky as if nothing had happened. After refilling her bowl, I headed back upstairs to clean that ungodly mess up. It took a half a bottle of 409 and an entire roll of paper towels, but our stairs are back to their pre-disaster state.

We called the vet's office as soon as they opened and it was decided that we take a break from the Catlax and proceed to the next level of treatment: prednisone. So now our 7 lb cat is on steroids.

The good news is that the puking has slowed down to once a day for the last three days and we're optimistic that things are on the up and up. The bad news is that she's got acne and her meow is three octaves lower.

Whatever. As long as I never have to clean a mess like that again.

Where's Mary Poppins When You Need Her?

2010-09-09T00:24:00.003-04:00

I know that all children are different. They have different interests and skills. Different temperaments. And that's cool. What kind of world would it be where all kids were the same? Most days I love that I have the energetic, frenetic kid. Believe me when I say that there are NO dull moments with her around.

But some days, I wouldn't mind having a kid who sat and colored for, oh say, 10 minutes. Or who could focus on any of the umpteen million crafty projects I have put together for her for more than 42 seconds. I spent $40 and a half an hour setting up a craft project for her today that I was POSITIVE would net me at least a few minutes of quiet. Nope.

Pretty much the only way I can get some time to myself is if I turn on the tv. And I really don't like doing that too much. Don't get me wrong, we're not anti-tv around here, I just don't want to spend too much time with it on. Even that isn't much of a fix. At best it gets me a few minutes and then she is climbing all over me again.

I just don't know what to do. How to encourage her to self-entertain better so that I don't have to spend every minute of my day playing with her. My house is a disaster and I'm getting burnt out.

My husband chides me when I call taking care of our daughter work, but the fact is, it IS work. And frankly, it's hard work. But it makes me wonder, are my expectations too high for a nearly three year old or am I just lazy?

Table Topic Tuesdays: Eye Candy

2010-09-07T00:41:00.004-04:00

I love my husband. Like, he is the apple of my eye, lights my fire, pushes my buttons...oh wait. Anyhoo, he is my dream guy. Having said that, I'm not dead. I have eyes and don't mind when they fall on attractive bits of manflesh.

So when Shannon posted the topic for this week's Table Topic Tuesday, I felt it my DUTY to list my top producers of testosterone. Not for me, mind you, but for you. Because I'm a giver. Enjoy.

Alexander Skarsgaard (aka Eric Northman on True Blood): Sure the character plays into this a little, he's a sexy, badass vampire, but he's also one fine looking man.

Clive Owen: He has the gruff Englishman thing going on that is darn near irresistible. And look at those blue eyes! Swoon.

Dwayne Johnson (aka The Rock): Seriously? Seriously. Behold:

Chris Evans: Hi Chris! (she titters behind a coy smile)

Tom Hardy: Tom is a recent add to my hunk stable. Have you seen Inception yet? See it, if for nothing else than to see this man. That face belongs atop a statue to a Greek god.

So who's your top five bits of eye candy?

Edges

2010-09-04T20:58:00.071-04:00

(Please don't read this one, Mom)
I'm a frayed edge. It's been one of those days, those weeks; too little sleep, too much yelling. Every outing a trial. Nights too short. Days too long. And the weight of everything that has ever gone wrong drags at my feet, pulling me under. The pressure, man, the pressure, and I kick and flail trying to get back up to sweet, clear air.

How many people had perfect childhoods? Where mom and dad stayed together, and you lived in the same house forever, and there were no health issues, and there were no divisions in the family beyond a black sheep uncle that drank too much at Christmas and pissed in the potted palm. What percentage of people do you suppose fall into that category? 25%? 10%? 2%?

I feel like I'm yelling so much these days. That my daughter is constantly tugging at me. Both literally and figuratively as she presses each one of my buttons for maximum effect. Three is turning out to be really, really hard. We're only a month in and my nerves are stretched so thin. I yell at Sophie, I snip at Neil. I don't call my friends because my mind is so full of being a mommy that I can't seem to pull more scintillating things out even when I'm not complaining. I used to be interesting, if I do say so myself. Some even thought me downright funny.

Tell me it gets easier. Tell me there is a day coming when I don't feel like I belong under psychiatric care. Tell me that occasionally regretting being a stay at home mom is normal. That I'm not the only one feeling so completely and wholly incompetent at the task. Tell me I'll fit into those jeans again.

I want my kid to be in that 2%. But right now? I feel like I'm setting her up for a lifetime of therapy.

Field Trip Friday

2010-09-03T08:59:00.000-04:00

Have you all stopped in over at BlogTrotting lately? We've been visiting some amazing places and we're talking about our favorite vacation photos today. Now scoot on over there!

All Aboard!

2010-08-30T22:13:00.010-04:00

The engineer showing Sophie how to toot the horn.

On our next to last day in Kansas, we took a ride on the little train that runs at the park next to the zoo. It only runs about 8 hours a week and is operated by retired trainmen. Men who know a thing or two about trains, whose lives were spent on the full size versions of this delightful ride.

The train was a major part of life in my hometown. At one time, the railroad employed a good number of people there, but times have changed, so much is automated these days, and most operations have moved to Kansas City and other larger cities. But there are still the tracks that run through the middle of my small town. Every day, just as has been happening for over a hundred years, trains rumble through on their way to far off destinations. At each crossing they blow their horn, and at night, when everyone is quiet, you can hear the trains from just about any house in town.

The trains don't stop for passengers in my town anymore, but that charming little train at the zoo gives our children a chance to taste a little bit of that nostalgia. Tickets cost 50 cents for a couple trips around the winding tree-covered quarter mile track. Does anything cost 50 cents anymore? I would pay a hundred times that and still call it a bargain.

Still Going

2010-08-25T11:51:00.008-04:00

This picture has nothing to do with anything other than that she is so frakking cute with her pigtails.

We survived the flight, but only just. Sophie was most certainly NOT on her best behavior. There was chair kicking. There was screaming. There was the poopie diaper that required a change in the impossibly tight airplane bathroom.* There was food/toy/drink/iPhone throwing. There was NO sleeping. Basically, by the time we landed, I was done. D-U-N.

But arrive we did. We spent the first leg of our tour in Kansas City. It was there that the real reason for our trip resided. The passing of a beloved family member. I'm not really going to go into that much. It was my grandma. She was loved and will be most deeply missed.

Sadness.

But there have been some really lovely times with family mixed in here. I got to spend more time with my sister, Jonna, than I have in years and years. Our kids played together for hours. I simply couldn't stop smiling while I watched them. They do my heart good.

Of course, there has been some drama. Has there ever been a large family gathering, and in particular a funeral, where there wasn't a least a little? We all deal with our grief in different ways. Sometimes anger is the only emotion people feel comfortable expressing. But I was not the cause or the focus, for a change, so I came out unscathed.

Most amazingly, I have so far survived sleeping with my daughter every night. I thought I would hate it, but I'm surprised to admit that I'm actually kind of loving it. She is all over the place, but its so sweet to wake up to her arm or leg draped over me and to feel her sweet little warm body pressed up against me. This isn't something I want to do at home regularly, but it sure is nice for now.

We still have a couple of days and many miles before we will be home, but I have the very best of company and the weather is supposed to be good ...and you can't ask for much more than that.

*Seriously, Boeing, what the shit do I have to do to get a changing table in an airplane lav?

Leaving On A Jet Plane

2010-08-17T21:35:00.002-04:00

We're leaving tomorrow for a long visit home to Kansas. It is an unexpected trip. And while the reason is not a happy one, I am looking forward to seeing all of my family, most of whom I haven't seen in a year or more. I can't wait for Sophie to spend time with her grandparents and cousins.

What I am not looking forward to is flying with Sophie alone.

A-L-O-N-E.

Because of the short notice and because Neil just started a new job, he isn't able to come with us. So that means I'll be on my own.

Nobody to take care of the carseat and the luggage.

Nobody to watch her so I can go to the bathroom. (Praying my constitution doesn't require an, ahem, extended visit.)

Nobody to help distract her so she doesn't spend two hours kicking the seat in front of her.

I traveled with her alone once before, but she wasn't even walking yet. So while it wasn't easy, at least I didn't have to worry about her running off. But this is a whole other ball game.

And there's supposed to be bad storms tomorrow night. Like flash flood, crazy rain kind of bad storm. So of course I've got visions of the Twilight Zone monster on the wing. Not to mention nausea inducing turbulence. That will probably send us hurtling to the earth in a thousand ton tin can. Clearly I'm thinking of only the best possible outcomes.

So around about 5:55pm tomorrow, can you all think buoyant thoughts? And sleeping toddler thoughts? I'll need all the positive energy flowing my way I can get.

Canopy

2010-08-12T23:24:00.004-04:00

We took a field trip to Ikea today. We live about 5 minutes from one, and since its pretty much the funnest store in the world to run through at top speed, its awfully appropriate for using up some toddler energy on a rainy day. Plus they have a great kids section with lots of toys.

The real reason for our visit was in search of a couple of oversized pillows for Sophie to lounge/jump around on and a new rubber no-slip bath mat. But after approximately an hour in there, we walked out with neither. Not for lack of looking on my part. But never let it be said I squandered an opportunity to spend money.

I have always, since I was a young girl, dreamed of having netting or bedcurtains (think Victorian era) around my bed. But poor, deprived child* that I was, I never got them. And now, as all good mothers do, I am living vicariously through my daughter. (Lucky for her I never dreamed of being a beauty queen. Although she's much cuter than I ever dreamed of being, so her chances would probably be a lot better than mine might have been.)

Because of this, I have been eying the canopies at Ikea for a while now. But I held off because we have a camera monitor on the wall looking down into her bed. It's been there since she was born and has enabled us to see if she was awake or asleep and more recently, if she was still in bed. Neil and I have absolutely delighted in watching her sleep on it. So much so that I have been loathe to move or get rid of it.

So when I couldn't find those things I was ostensibly there for, I wandered into the children's furniture section and looked once again longingly at the canopies. But today, something clicked in me and I decided it was time. I grabbed the one that clashed the least with the colors of her room and headed for the exit.

When we got home, I set her to playing with her new Ikea train set and I went about hanging the new canopy over her bed. First I had to take down the camera. Until the moment I actually unplugged it, I didn't realize how much it would affect me. But affect me it did.

I am big on being aware when the last time something happens is. I guess I want to know so I can savor that last experience to its fullest. It chaffs me when a last time happened and I didn't realize it, as it did today. But once I brought the canopy home, I simply couldn't not put it up. I'm far too programmed for immediate gratification to have waited another day just to see her sleeping on the monitor one more time.

I couldn't get rid of it completely, though. I moved the camera across the room where I have a more overall view of her room (roughly where the shot below was taken). I figure I'll get rid of it altogether soon, but this is the transition location. I can still see that she is in bed, but I can't actually see her sleeping. I'm going to miss that more than I can say.

I'll get used to this. Just one more in the long line of changes as my little girl grows up.

Sweet dreams, my love.

Please disregard the ghettoness of the way the canopy is hanging in this shot, I haven't figured out exactly how to drape it yet. And also ignore the state of her room. This IS a 2 1/2 year old's room, tidy is an infrequent visitor here. But HEY lookit the wood floors! Love them.

* I was NOT poor or deprived.

Blogher Returns

2010-08-09T22:18:00.015-04:00

I'm back from my long weekend in New York City for Blogher '10.

I'm still coming down from the high of spending time with some of my favorite people, ladies who the other 362 days of the year I only see on this little screen. For my part, there was no drama. No awkward interactions, no skirmishes, no embarrassing flubs. I didn't go overboard with the swag, nor did I hear of there being any swag hag issues. There were tons of private parties, and I went to a few, including a lovely luncheon in a chi-chi restaurant where I dropped a cheese biscuit down my shirt and my girls from LoveFeast Table pretended not to notice.

But it was the non-conference related moments that stand out: laying in bed talking with my blog wife Nap Warden. Dancing with my roomies: Elena and Shannon. Sucking down $5 happy hour martinis with the other three members of the Fourfecta: Nap Warden, Angry Julie and Scary Mommy. Walking through Central Park with Burghbaby and Nap Warden. Dragging Babe in Babeland to an out of the way bar to see an old friend WAY past our bedtime.

It was not the sessions, of which I attended ONE, or the huge organized parties, that were so loud and crowded it was impossible to hear someone standing even three feet away, that made Blogher '10 a success for me.

It was this and this and this:

(Abbey Road shot bottom left courtesy of the fabulous Burghbaby. That's me in the middle and Nap Warden behind me, pretending she doesn't know me.)

Blogging for me is only partly about writing. The biggest part is the connections. And bringing those connections off of the screen and into the "real" world is what makes it all worthwhile. It is this that brings us all to Blogher and it is this that keeps us coming back.

Doubts

2010-08-05T07:13:00.000-04:00

Toddlerhood is frustrating. Not that that's a news flash or anything, but some days it just hits me over the head. She is opinionated and stubborn and almost completely incapable of clearly communicating what she wants. There are phrases and words that I understand, but for the most part, it's like she's speaking Russian. Maybe I should take her to a medium and make sure we're not harboring the reincarnation of Catherine the Great. I know everyone is always famous or royal, but as imperious as this kid is, she must have been someone who was not used to hearing no.

When she speaks, and it is often and loudly, it is with such conviction and passion. She waves her hands around as she talks. But it's mostly gibberish. I try so hard to understand. I look around, try to find whatever it is. Sometimes if I can figure out the right context, I can decipher a word or two. And when I do, it's pretty much the most amazing thing ever. Because this little person that I am raising, the one that seems to be little more than a semi-tamed animal most of the time, is becoming a person. A talking, thinking, (somewhat) rational being.

In my current occupation, I don't get raises or bonuses or promotions. The only outward evidence of my success is the health and happiness of my child. There are days where I worry that I'm doing it all wrong. When I yell too much or we watch too much TV or don't even look at a vegetable, and I feel the weight of this task. I worry that I don't spend enough time reading to her, that her lack of speech is due to my failure to provide her the right educational activities. I feel overwhelmed and unprepared and unqualified.

But then she looks up at me, an enormous smile on her face, and says "tank yoo, mahnee" and I realize that we're alright.

Monday Cuteness

2010-08-02T00:15:00.004-04:00

Pay no attention to the pile of laundry as tall as a toddler. I do that on purpose so I can sort our clothes into blacks, whites, blues and reds. See. It's not about being lazy, it's about being meticulous about color separation.

Because My Brain Just Can't Come Up With More

2010-07-26T22:00:00.001-04:00

- I haven't talked about it, but I am going to Blogher '10 in New York City next week. I was excited, and then I was kind of blah, and now I'm excited again. And starting to stress out about the usual girl things: what to wear, how many pairs of shoes will fit in my suitcase, can I lose 20 pounds in the next 9 days. I have my roommates lined up at the Hilton and I am ready to get my groove on. If you're going, let me know, let's exchange numbers and promise to meet up.

- We pulled up the carpet from the second floor. I had pulled up some corners and I was optimistic that the hard wood floors underneath would be in decent shape. I am happy to report that they are gorgeous! There are a couple of spots but nothing that gives me any anxiety. Yay for quality craftsmanship in older houses!

- Hallelujah for the premium channel TV shows coming back to kill the summer TV drought. Closer, Mad Men, Being Human, My Boys: you're saving me from eating my foot out of boredom.

- And speaking of feet. I went to the doctor and they did some x-rays. It's a heel spur. Yay. It's painful and has pretty much put a stop to my running career. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm actually disappointed. I didn't like running, but it has a meditative quality that I enjoyed. I'm still working out, but no running.

- Our house has three temperature zones: arctic, temperate and tropical. In our bedrooms on the second floor, we're stripped down to skivvies, laying under the ceiling fan arguing about which direction its supposed to turn. In the basement TV/family room, we're bundled up in fluffy socks underneath my leopard print Snuggie. We've had the repair men out to make sure our AC works right. It does. And we've tried every combination of closed/open vents. Always the same result. It's maddening.

- Did I mention I'm going to Blogher? Yeah. Three days. No cooking. No housework. No "mommy, mommy, mooommmmeeeee!" Ahhh.

Life's a Beach and Then You Go Home

2010-07-19T09:52:00.006-04:00

When I was a girl, I dreamed of summers spent at the beach. Crashing waves, salty air, tan skin. I am a Pisces, the fish. I don't know if I subscribe to astrology, but in this area it is spot on. I do love the water. Alas, growing up in landlocked Kansas, dreams of the ocean are all I had. And while we spent many, many summer days and nights on the lake waterskiing and swimming, always there was that call to the ocean.

It is many, many years later and now I live on the water. Or darn close anyway. You can't see it from my house, but you can be there within 15 or 20 minutes. Despite this, I have taken miserly few beach vacations. So many of my trips have involved visiting family in other parts of the country that I have neglected this desire.

But a few weeks ago, after months of anticipation and planning, I found my way to the ocean again. Myrtle Beach, South Carolina.

We drove through the night, a mostly sleeping toddler in the back seat while I fought hallucinations to get there alive. It seems I'm not so good at staying up 24 hours as I used to be. Also, two glasses of wine and I am DONE. But that is another story.

We arrived to find our hotel and, thanks to all that is good and holy, they let us check in hours ahead of normal time. Despite our dismay at not getting the room we reserved (Again, months and months ago. Wyndam, you let us down. Big time.), we were delighted with the view and location. We made do, because what kind of practical midwesterner would I be if I couldn't overcome a teensy bit of adversity like that?

Our first night was the Fourth of July and I would be remiss if I didn't say that if you've never seen fireworks from a 15th story balcony in North Myrtle Beach, well, you just haven't lived. First off, evidently the folks in South Carolina aren't as concerned about people blowing off fingers and catching houses on fire as we are here in Maryland, the land of "we don't trust you with more than a sparkler." Seriously, they should put that on the license plate. No my friends, in South Carolina, any Tom, Dick and Jim Bob can shoot off any kind of firework they want. Anywhere. And they did. All up and down the beach, for miles and miles. Dangerous though it might have been, it was spectacular. Watching my daughter ooh and aah, her eyes wide, made the long drive and sleepless night completely worth it.

The rest of the week went by in a lazy progression of food, pool, food, nap, beach, food, sleep. Repeat. The days ran in to one another. I ate my weight in crab legs and fried corn on the cob. I felt not sleep deprived for the first time in nearly three years. My beloved husband, without discussion, took the lion's share of Sophie watching, so I could enjoy myself. And most importantly, I rolled around in the Atlantic waves.

Our last day, we watched a lightening storm come in off of the water. It was a fitting end to a week of perfect weather. We sat on the balcony, watching the current travel between cloud and water, listening to the thunder and wishing we could stay just a little bit longer.

I know we will look back on the photos for years to come and laugh at the memory of the little girls (and their daddies) digging their way to china in the sand, the look on Sophie's face when we jumped into a wave as it crested, the homey little diner where we ate breakfast and the waitresses played peekaboo with Sophie, floating around the lazy river pool, us on the big tubes and Sophie on her little donkey floaty.

You understand how people can chuck it all and run away to live a carefree beach lifestyle. Pull a Gauguin*. Those few days spent with friends, each other and the ocean, were idyllic. It would be heaven to live like that always. But it is often rarity that bestows upon a thing its preciousness. Could we appreciate the beauty and simple pleasures if we had them everyday?

I can tell you this much, I wouldn't mind trying.

*Although not the abandoning family part.

Lost and Found

2010-07-13T22:43:00.003-04:00

I wrote a lovely long post describing our trip to Myrtle Beach last week. As I was going back through editing it, Blogger ate it. ATE. IT. Hundreds of perfectly ordered words. Gone. I clicked Control "Z", I clicked on the back button, I tried everything I could think of to recover it. To no avail. Gone, gone, gone. There were words used. Words that rhyme with duck and fit. Not that they did a lick of good, but they made me feel better.

I'll get back to it. When I'm not so angry at Blogger.

I still feel out of the loop. Still recovering from our vacation. It's funny how a few hundred miles can change so much. Having Neil there all the time was more than nice, not just for the help with Sophie, but to spend so much time with the man I married. Time away from our usual obligations.

We had wi-fi, in fact we both brought our laptops, and we had our iPhones, but we disconnected for the most part. We watched almost no tv and we spent the evenings just chilling out together; reading, talking. It wasn't exactly a second honeymoon, because there was, after all, a toddler along for the ride. A toddler who thought that 5:30am was when the day began. But we spent quality time together, cliched though that sounds. And I truly do think we rediscovered each other a little.

I don't want to let that go. How do you hold on to the vacation intimacy in the face of dirty floors and yards that need mowing and bills that need paying and meal planning and sleep deprivation? I wish I could compress that feeling into a pill and whenever we're feeling cross with each other or frustrated with Sophie, we could take the pill and find our way back to that place.

So I'll get back to my vacation recap, if for no other reason than to relive it. Soon.

Summertime

2010-07-11T22:18:00.000-04:00

Is there anything more symbolic? Spitting out seeds, juice dripping down your chin and arms, that deliciously sweet taste. Watermelon IS summer.

Just Beachy

2010-07-07T22:31:00.000-04:00

Still away, unplugged.
So many stories to tell.
They will have to wait.

16,404

2010-06-29T22:31:00.004-04:00

I took part in the Baltimore Women's Classic 5K. I have been training for months, building up from walking, to some running and mostly walking, to mostly running and some walking, to all running. It's all in preparation for the half-marathon I'm planning to run in October. The race took place at 8am in the morning and much like the days leading up to it, it was hot and muggy. Despite this, I felt confident.

There was one thing that made me nervous. Over the past month or so, I have noticed an increasing ache in my left ankle. I thought it was either a normal pain associated with beginning runners or that my precariously tiny ankles weren't up to the force of the impact. Either way, I felt that soldiering through was the way to go and I kept going at a harder and harder pace. I didn't worry that I couldn't finish the race, but I did worry that my ankle might not so I decided to take it a little easy last week, trying to give my ankle some time to recover and become strong again.

When the race day dawned, I was feeling rested and my ankle was in as good of shape as it has been in a while.

For the first mile, I felt pretty good.

It was somewhere around the halfway point that it started to ache. And then hurt. And then it was lightening bolts of pain. So I slowed to a walk, not that I was breaking any speed records anyway, and hobbled along.

But I hadn't sweated and suffered and pushed myself for the last three months to walk across the finish line, so after a half mile, I picked up the pace and I ran the last mile and change. I was huffing and puffing and my ankle was killing me, but I finished it. And I finished it running.

I finally broke down and went to the doctor today and he thinks it might be a stress fracture. That'll teach me.

BlogLove

2010-06-27T21:57:00.004-04:00

This past Thursday, I attended a fete hosted by my good bloggy friends, Kristin and Chris Ann of LoveFeast Table. They called it BlogLove and an education in coffee by the good folks at Zeke's Coffee was on the agenda and tasty treats like homemade biscotti and crepes made by Sweet Mary were on the menu.

We were given the opportunity to taste our way through a variety of espressos, assessing the unique flavors of each. While I confess I am not much of a coffee person, it was definitely interesting to learn about the different varieties.

And even more interesting was our introduction to Kopi Luwak coffee. While we were not given a sample (it sells for upwards of $100 a cup!), we were told the unusual tale of this coffee. It begins like most coffee beans, but when the coffee berries ripen, they are eaten by Civets, a catlike mammal in Asia. The berries pass through the digestive system of the civet and after a day or so are pooped out. The coffee beans, which are basically the pits of the berry and so are not broken down by the digestive enzymes, are gathered, cleaned, dried and then roasted. Sometimes called Cat Scat Coffee, it is arguably the most expensive coffee in the world. Supposedly, because of its unusual path from bush to cup, it has a very mild flavor. They are currently featuring Kopi Luwak at Zeke's, so we were able to see and smell the beans. I can verify that it does not in fact smell like poo, but you'll have to visit Zeke's to taste it for yourself.

All in all, it was a really cool evening. I loved chatting with the other ladies in attendance: Jennifer of Hip As I Wanna Be, Mary of Sweet Mary, Dara of Dining Dish and the Baltimore Dining Examiner, Beth of 990 Square, and Liz of Strawberries in Paris. And major bonus, we walked out with a fun little swag bag that included a beauty of a necklace from The Vintage Pearl. Great big thanks to Kristin and Chris Ann for putting the evening together!

*Clearly I've been doing some playing with Photoshop and my new Hipstamatic app on Lucille. Love me through it.

**Top two photos courtesy of Jennifer of Hip As I Wanna B.

A Common Plight?

2010-06-21T20:48:00.000-04:00

It seems to be a common condition. Particularly for stay at home moms. We have dedicated our lives to our children. Which isn't to say that we don't have outside interests, but they almost all take a distant second to our children.

Guilt.

Moms feel guilty when they do anything that takes them away from the job of raising their children.

But not me. I don't feel guilty when I leave my daughter. Not for a couple of hours with her father or a trusted family member. And not for a long weekend away.

My time away from my daughter is regenerative for me. I NEED those hours and sometimes days to rediscover my love for being a stay at home mom. Do I miss her? Absolutely. But guilt? No way.

There is no other profession that doesn't allow for vacation days*. And I see myself as a professional mommy. I don't just want that time for myself, I DESERVE it. There is no expectation of a full three week vacation each year. I'm not even expecting a whole week, but I do expect some time for myself.

With Blogher '10 rapidly approaching, I'm preparing to spend a long weekend in New York City. Time with friends and fellow bloggers. Time when I can focus pretty much exclusively on MY wants. I can't tell you how excited I am for those days on my own. It doesn't mean I don't love my life and my family. It doesn't mean I'm a bad mom. It means that I love ME too.

What about you? Do you feel guilty leaving your child(ren)?

*Yes, I know there are plenty of jobs that don't offer paid vacation, but they at least allow for unpaid time off.

Innocence

2010-06-16T00:32:00.015-04:00

Sophie has been sick the last few days. While I hate to see her so miserable, I have taken no small amount of joy from all of the extra hugs and cuddles. Having my baby fall asleep in my arms, on my chest, is a familiar and missed sensation.

She hasn't eaten much since she's been sick, and that worries me more than I want to talk about. We've never had any serious illnesses here. We've been very lucky. Of course, there have been colds and ear infections, but if I'm being honest, even the worst of those wasn't all that bad. I have a healthy child. I mostly attribute her strong immune system to the large quantity of unidentified foodlike items she eats off of the ground.

At the dinner table, after little more than a few nibbles, she laid her head down on her arms and closed her eyes. Alarm bells go off. While she could hardly be called a good eater, she generally at least eats some of whats on her plate. It is a rare day that she sits still for more than a few minutes and rarer still are the days when she is falling asleep before her head hits the pillow. Just one more reminder that not all is right here.

We carry her, half asleep, up to her room, and after a halfhearted attempt at brushing her teeth and a quick change into her new Dora sleepers, we put her to bed. With a kiss on her forehead, we leave her curled up in her bed asleep.

Twenty minutes later, Neil and I are down in the basement TV room when we hear a thumping noise. We look at each other but dismiss it as one of the cats or a noise from outside. After a few minutes, we hear the noise again. This time, it is definitely from inside and both of the cats are with us. My mind immediately goes to intruders, but Neil, the more rational of us, says that Sophie must be on a walkabout. A peek at the video monitor reveals an empty bed.

I lose at rock/paper/scissors and I set out for upstairs. As I hit the first floor, I call out to Sophie and I hear rapid footsteps on the second floor, a door closing and a couple more footsteps before it goes quiet. I look up the stairs and see her door is closed. When I open it, I find her curled up as though asleep. I say, chuckling, "you little faker." And she raises her head with a smile.

On the surface, this is a nothing experience. Except that it isn't. This is the first time she has shown a capacity for deception. Everything has changed.

A slice of innocence gone. My baby is growing up.

Welcome to Bawlmer, Hon!

2010-06-14T00:20:00.009-04:00

In Baltimore, a Hon is not just a charming endearment but a way of life. Anyone who's seen a John Waters movie (Hairspray 1988 is the best) has some idea of what a Hon is about. They're hard working, high living, Natty Boh drinking, animal print wearing, big hair having, loud laughing, bright makeup kind of women. They're no nonsense and down to earth. Don't think you can get anything by one of these gals, but once you've found a place in their heart, you're there forever.

Each year the Hampden neighborhood of Baltimore hosts an event to honor these ladies called Hon Fest. Among the many treats that await visitors to the festival are the Hon Beauty Contest (the bigger the hair, the better), the Little Miss Hon contest, great music, progressive art (lots of flamingos and velvet Elvises...Elvii?) and lots of food.

Don't worry if you didn't get your Hon on before you got to the festival, there's a special salon right in the middle of all the action where you can get out of the heat and find your inner Hon.

Come prepared to laugh. A lot. It's campy and crazy and tons of fun.

Between the people watching, the dynamite food, and the fresh squeezed lemonade, it is impossible not to have a good time!

For more, and far better pictures, check out my good friend John Waire's website. He was the official photographer of the Honfest and he did a fantastic job capturing the essence of this unusual festival.

Field Trip Fridays: Travel Peeves

2010-06-11T13:22:00.001-04:00

Never let it be said I wasted an opportunity to complain. Traveling brings out the worst in some, and sometimes me. A few things that especially peeve me:

1. Family Pre-boarding. Before I had a kid, I used to watch the families with their strollers and wee ones smugly boarding the plane ahead of all of us no-young'uns types. Now, I didn't have children with the express desire to get preferred seating, but I did look forward to the day when I could look out at an empty plane and take whatever seat I wanted. Wouldn't you know that when I finally did have a kid, my favorite airline changed their policy and now families "pre"-board at the beginning of group B. That's 30-60 people before us. Great. Hey, thanks for the special consideration. Not.

2. Packing. I always pack twice as much as I need and yet it seems like no matter what I pack, it isn't right. What seemed totally appropriate at home somehow is totally wrong when we get there. I suspect there are luggage gremlins that secretly switch out my clothes and accessories while it is stowed away in the belly of the plane. They probably look like that thing from the Twilight Zone movie.

3.Never having pictures of the whole family. We have THOUSANDS of picture of our daughter and approaching that many of my husband. But precious few of all three of us. We need to bring along a designated photographer. Too much?

4. Extra charges. From airlines to rental cars to special excursions to hotels, you sign up for the GREAT rate and then you get the bill and there are extra fees and taxes that sometimes double the original amount. I understand why they do it, of course, but it still bugs the hell out of me.

5. Slow people in the fast lane. It's called THE FAST LANE for a reason. If you are going five miles under the speed limit, you are not fast. Get your slow moving vehicle back over into the right lane. And use a dagblasted turn signal when you do it. Harrumph.

What are your biggest travel pet peeves?

This post is part of Field Trip Fridays over at BlogTrotting!

Ladders

2010-06-09T22:36:00.004-04:00

My daughter is not burdened with one single ounce of doubt. She sees a ladder and doesn't think "I wonder if I can climb that?" She thinks "I can't wait to get to the top!" Similarly, there are no strangers in her world, only friends whose names she doesn't know yet. She is bold and fearless.

I would give anything to be like her. To jump into any situation with absolute confidence. As much as her stunts sometimes scare me, and ohmygod do they, I pray this is something she doesn't outgrow.

Keep climbing, my sweet.

The Best Cure For Insomnia Is A Monday Morning

2010-06-07T08:12:00.004-04:00

Waking up after a second night of taking Melatonin.

Backing up just a couple of steps. I've been having trouble sleeping. Which isn't exactly true, I sleep just fine. I can sleep for hours and hours. No, I've been having trouble falling asleep. I will read a book or play on my iPhone for awhile, but I generally turn out my light at a not ridiculous hour. And then I lay there. Sometimes for hours.

I've worked the lifestyle angle. I avoid caffeine in the evening. I work out. No good. I've tried taking the over the counter stuff, Tylenol PM, Simply Sleep, etc, and it helps, but it leaves me so groggy in the morning. I have to be there for my daughter in the morning. And there means that I can't be only barely functional.

I've thought about going to my doctor and asking for a prescription, but I am reluctant to admit defeat. I can conquer this. Somehow I feel like admitting I am having trouble with something like this means there is something bigger wrong with me and I definitely don't want to admit that.* So no doctor.

So I turned to my favorite source for alternative medicine: Twitter. And Twitter's advice? Melatonin.

This morning I awoke from my second night of melatonin aided sleep. And I feel good. I feel rested. I feel awake. I'm not saying its for everyone, and it has only been two nights, so hardly definitive proof, but so far it seems to be working for me.

Gosh, now what will I write about?

*Of course, here I am admitting it to you and everyone. Irony, I know.

Thumbs Up!

2010-06-05T07:55:00.002-04:00

Have a great weekend!

More Complaining. Just Stop Reading Now If You're Looking For Upbeat, Funny Stories.

2010-06-03T09:56:00.002-04:00

This was going to be the triumphant "Yay, I didn't yell at my daughter all day yesterday!" post. And that is totally true. But.There's always a but, isn't there?

First the success. Yesterday. Yesterday, Neil went in to work late and he let me sleep in. That's the first and probably most important thing. I got an extra hour of sleep. Which still only brought me up to about 6 hours for the night, but that's better than 5, right? So my outlook on the day was a lot better than most other days. Sophie was mostly agreeable all day. We had one or two minor squabbles, but generally good times. I made a conscious effort to be in the moment, aware of my actions and in control. And it worked. I didn't yell at her once. Okay, once I barked out NO when she wouldn't stop digging in the freshly potted baby basil plant after repeated instructions and attempts at engaging her in other activities, but other than that teensy transgression, we did great. And I'll tell you what, I felt pretty good about it all. So good that when Neil had to work until 8, I wasn't even really phased by it.

But then there is today.

Awakened at 5:45am, which is WAY earlier than I can stand, after another shit night of sleep, punctured by a strange nightmare where I was on board a haunted Titanic while ghosts hurled flatware at me. That sounds funny now but it had me awake and shaking at 4am. But I still wasn't going to let it ruin a good thing. Sophie gave me some fight changing her diaper, but I took Lou's advice and made her laugh with some thigh gooses and belly raspberries and that helped.

We came downstairs and had breakfast, which was not without its challenges, but I kept my cool. Afterward, we went down to the tv/play room, got our play on for a bit, then I turned on the idiot box with the hopes that I could catch a couple of zzz's while Sophie enjoyed a viewing of Cars. This lasted just long enough for me to doze off in the recliner. Then she climbed up on me and kicked me in the face. That's right. She kicked me. IN THE FACE. And the screaming commenced. So much for calm, cool and collected.

Maybe I should take up yoga.

Mom Deaf

2010-06-02T14:17:00.001-04:00

We had one of those days yesterday. Actually we've been having them a lot, but yesterday was particularly bad. Bad enough that when Neil came into the kitchen on his way out the door in the morning, I was already so frustrated that I hurled a whole stack of defenseless Gladware at the wall when it had the nerve to topple out of my overcrowded cabinet.*

Sophie and I butted heads all day. I yelled at her several times before we even finished breakfast. And I can't count the number of times I yelled at her before the morning was out. And not just yelling, but YELLING. The kind that drowns out all other sound and leaves a metallic taste in my mouth. The kind that has me full of remorse before the sound has even exhausted.

I don't like yelling at my child. Not that anyone does. But I feel like such a failure when I yell. I'm the adult. I'm the one that is supposed to keep my cool when my daughter can't. She's only two and a half, for crying out loud. Yet, I do it more often than I care to say. Its like her ears can only hear me at certain decibels. And my voice can only reach those decibels when I hit the screeching stage of yelling.

I am capable of restraining myself from screaming like this at her in public, so why can't I hold back within the confines of our home?

This stage is tough. In some ways, she is so much fun and has made strides in minding me. I feel like some of the measures I am using have finally made an impact. We can now go to the grocery store again without me feeling like I want to hit the liquor store on the way home. But there are some days where she simply will not do a thing I ask without a fight. And the fighting erodes me. Especially when I haven't had enough sleep, which is the norm these days.

I just don't know what else to do. I don't know how not to yell at my kid.

*No Gladware were harmed.

Field Trip Friday: Who Knew!

2010-05-28T21:41:00.003-04:00

I have often said that it is the accidental that always turns into the best. Of so many things. It is the unplanned night out, where you land in a group and stumble your way onto one of the best nights of your life. It is the unexpected detour on a long roadtrip where you find the most unbelievable roadside store. And of course, it is the box that attracts the kid rather than the expensive toy.

This past December, I went to New York City with three of my friends for a day trip. Our primary purpose was to see the Radio City Music Spectacular. And spectacular it was. But the show only lasted a couple of hours and we were there for the whole day. Because it's New York City, we hadn't made any other plans. We figured, it isn't possible NOT to find entertainment in that city.

In our vision, it was a gorgeous December day. Crisp air, sunshiney blue skies. In our reality, it was a cold, sleety, rainy, ugly, northeast winter day. What that means is that all of our plans for casually strolling the streets of New York were shot. We racked our brains trying to think of places we could go to get out of the rain that wouldn't require too much time in the rain to get there. We raced the streets, visiting Rockefeller Center to see the big Christmas tree, the MOMA gift shop (because a Tim Burton exhibit had the museum sold out and the shop was as close as we could get), St. Patrick's Cathedral and Macy's, to view their spectacular holiday window dressings.

After Macy's, we decided that we would get some dinner and then head home. None of us had any idea about the area. We'd gotten restaurant recommendations from friends but none of them were anywhere close to where we were and we didn't feel like trekking all over town in search of a bite to eat. So we started down a quiet street, with no real destination in mind. Halfway down the block, we came upon the unassuming entry of a restaurant. We looked at the menu posted outside and decided we'd give it a look-see.

What we found inside was a gorgeous restaurant with a spectacular and a surprisingly affordable menu that was miraculously half empty on a Saturday night. We walked right in and got a table. From there we went on to have one really amazing meal.

I'm embarrassed to say that I don't recall the name of that restaurant. In days gone by, I would have snagged a match book. Remember matchbooks? Me too, I kinda miss them. But with no smoking, there are no matchbooks. In the hustle and bustle to get out the door, I didn't pay attention.

Part of me thinks that if I were to attempt to find it again, I would find only a mystery. I might find my way to the right block, but if I asked around, people would tell me there used to be a restaurant in that building but it closed decades ago. It was a popular speakeasy during prohibition but closed in the 40s, and for one reason or another, nothing had ever replaced it. But sometimes. Sometimes around the holidays, you could hear the sounds of laughter and music coming from the empty building.

You never know.

This post was written as a part of Field Trip Fridays at BlogTrotting.

Sometimes A Little is Enough

2010-05-26T22:29:00.009-04:00

When it came down to it, I couldn't make the big jump. The appeal of the ponytail and my husband's happiness won out and I went with a more modest trim.

BUT.

I got bangs. I have a love/hate relationship with bangs. I have a tall forehead. Really, it's a five- or six-head. So bangs go a long way towards minimizing that wall of skin. However I have a rather pronounced cowlick and the straightest hair you can possibly imagine, so my bangs stubbornly go in the direction they want to go, which is most generally NOT the direction I want them to. Only a major smackdown gets them in line. So we'll see how long this lasts. And how often I clip them to the side.

But for now, I'm pretty happy with it.

This is the only shot that even comes close to showing the gradations of color of the highlights and of course I am making a doofy face and Sophie is out of focus. She is a perpetual motion machine, that kid. The few shots we do catch of her perfectly in focus are rare and precious. Eh, this will have to do.

Changes

2010-05-25T21:42:00.006-04:00

I am at the precipice. I find myself once again unsure of which direction to go. It seems I feel this way several times a year. I don't know if it has to do with the changing of the seasons or if its just the passage of time. But here I am again.

It's my hair.

I have struggled for years, hell, my whole life, with finding a style that I like, one that is relatively easy to style and maintain and that works with my hair. Everywhere I look people have fantastic hairdos that perfectly accent their faces. Why do I struggle so much with this?

So I made an appointment to get my hair highlighted, something I haven't done in a decade, thinking this would be a fun kind of change. I had (mostly) decided to grow my hair out, so I was only planning on getting a trim. But then I saw a photograph of myself at the MomzShare event (which was an amazing night out, by the way, and one that deserves its own post) this past Saturday and I did not love the way it looked. So now I'm rethinking the just a trim part.

Tomorrow afternoon I will either bite the bullet and do something new and different or I will come home with just a trim, regretting not doing something new and different. If I leave it longer, Neil will be happy, as he's a long hair guy, AND I will be able to pull it back as we go into the hotter months. Which will be nice when I run my first 5K next month. But if I cut it short, I'll get that something different I so crave.

The decision seems easy. So why is it so hard?

Am I alone? Does anyone else struggle with this? Do you get haircut remorse?

Just Beachy

2010-05-21T07:43:00.000-04:00

(cross-posted over at BlogTrotting as part of our BlogTrotting Together linky fun.)

Last week I talked about my dream vacation, today I'm going to talk about the favorite vacation that I've taken. So far.

Where to begin? I have climbed the Eiffel Tower, twice. I have looked out from the stands of the Coliseum and pondered the gladiators in days of yore. I have searched the waves of Loch Ness looking for a prehistoric monster. I have attempted to stare down the stoic guards at Buckingham Palace. I have swum with dolphins in crystal clear Bahamian waters. I have stood in a jail cell in Alcatraz and cracked wise about a guard named Vicky. I have seen a bull fight in Barcelona. I have trekked through a Costa Rican rain forest. I have looked into the enigmatic gaze of the Mona Lisa. I have enjoyed Octoberfest in a beerhaus in Munich. I have skied the Rockies AND the Alps. I have spent New Year's Eve in Times Square. I have wandered among Mayan ruins. I have slogged the six mile (no lie) tour through the Vatican. I have caught beads thrown by Harry Connick Jr in the streets of New Orleans during Mardi Gras. I have looked out at the majestic wonder of the Grand Canyon. I have won and lost a small fortune in Las Vegas.

There's more, but you get the point. My list of trips reads like a bucket list. I am so grateful for the amazing adventures I've been on. And as unforgettable as all of those were, my favorite trip was the one where I did the least sightseeing: my wedding/honeymoon in Cabo San Lucas, Mexico.

It's not just that it was the most luxurious trip I've ever been on, or that it was the longest vacation I've ever taken, or that it was the occasion of my nuptials and that my nearest and dearest were there. (For part of it. I'm not crazy, we had a week just us newlyweds.) It was all of those, and so much more.

(The lobby of our hotel.)

It was the mojitos from the little cantina right outside our casita, we had so many I'm pretty sure I sweat lime juice. It was the massages, manicures and pedicures that left me soft, polished and relaxed. It was the rose petals housecleaning sprinkled around our suite every evening and cleaned up every morning. It was the 10 million threadcount sheets on the California king bed. It was the acres of marble tile in our suite. It was spotting whales in the ocean from our patio. It was laying in bed looking into the eyes of my new husband. It was spending entire days doing NOTHING.

(My beloved and I taking a stroll on the beach. Totally casual. Not staged or planned at all. Not. But still. A special moment.)

We ate, drank, slept, lounged, swam, ate, drank, slept, ate, drank. In a nutshell: the perfect vacation.

What was your favorite vacation? Link up over at BlogTrotting!

Table Topics Tuesday: Bitter Pill

2010-05-17T22:15:00.009-04:00

Is it harder to be honest or kind?

I am an innately bad liar. Always have been. As a child, my mom could always tell. It might have been the way I stumbled over the words. Or how I giggled. Or it might have been the fact that I flushed from chest to cheeks. Whatever the case, I am terrible at it. Age and time have not improved this skill. To this day, I can not lie to bosses, husband, friends, parents, ANYONE. Even over the phone. It is my Achilles Heel.

But what that means is that I am not good at false praise. If someone asks me how something looks and I honestly don't think it looks good, I am powerless to resist telling them the truth. I try to be as kind as I possibly can. It is not my intention to be hurtful, although unfortunately, I imagine sometimes that is the result. I always make the effort to say the nice thing. I will skirt the issue rather than be mean. But I can't/won't lie.

Yeah, I'm popular.

But I am a glass half full kind of gal. I'd like to think there is an upside. And that is that when I say something, people believe it.

Or they hate me and stomp off calling me a heartless bitch. But that's the half empty side, and we're not thinking like that today. So let's go with they appreciate my candor. Yep, that's the thing.

Now go visit Shannon to see what everyone is talking about!

All Thumbs Thursday - Spring

2010-05-13T08:34:00.004-04:00

A nod to my friend Mep, who created All Thumbs Thursday but who hasn't been doing much blogging lately, other than our BlogTrotting* fun, due to the recent birth of her little girl!

What has my Thumbs Up/Thumbs Down on this yucky Thursday morning?

The beguiling aroma of freshly mowed grass. / The itchy, watery eyes and runny nose associated with pollen and grass allergies. Zyrtec, take me away!

Waking up to yellow rays of sunshine. / Confused that it's still daylight when we put her to bed, Sophie fights sleep until the sun goes down. AT 9. Conversely, she's up at 5:30. Ugh. Double Ugh.

Breaking out the flip-flops and fun summer clothes. / Packing all of my winter clothes away only to have the temperature drop 30 degrees and having to dig it all back out.

Pedicures! / Having to shave my legs so I don't confuse the lady at the nail salon about my gender.

*Are you signed up to host a tour for BlogTrotting yet? Get to it!

Table Topics Tuesday: Dream Vacation

2010-05-11T08:01:00.006-04:00

It's been a long time since I've been on a real vacation. Which isn't to say that I haven't traveled, but a real vacation for me is one that involves a passport. My last real vacation was in fall of 2006 when I went to Playa del Carmen with my best friend and one of my oldest and dearest friends. We had a great time, despite the fact that I got sunburned so badly on the first day that I was unable to expose my skin to the sun for the rest of the trip. This meant snorkeling in full clothing. Hiding under umbrellas with SPF 3000. And lets just say that mixing one measly beer and sun poisoning gets you some quality time with el dios porcelano. Whatev. Despite this, it was an amazing trip and I would do it again in a heartbeat.

But that's not my dream vacation right now.

Right now, my dream vacation is Ireland. I have been to pretty much every other western European country. And who could possibly resist the accent? It's so dreamy.

I want to sleep in a castle.

Enjoy a pint in a pub.

Kiss the Blarney Stone.

Stare down the Cliffs of Insanity.

That's really not so much to ask for, is it? *cough* Fifth anniversary. *cough*

Visit Shannon to see what everyone else is chatting about!

A Mother Is...

2010-05-07T00:40:00.021-04:00

...a booboo kisser.

...a hand to hold.

...arms to hug.

...a first class cuddler.

...a landing pad at the bottom of the slide.

...a chicken nugget maker.

...a swing pusher.

...a picture taker.

...a poopie diaper changer.

...a puke catcher.

...a booger picker.

...a face wiper.

...the loudest and most enthusiastic cheerleader.

...unquestioning, undeniable, unending love.

To all of you out there, and to my own, with gratitude and love, a very Happy Mother's Day!

To see all of the other "A Mother Is..." posts, visit Loulou's Views.

Sunshine

2010-05-01T21:05:00.004-04:00

My sweet darling girl. I could bask in your smile, all day every day, and never get enough of it.

Fears

2010-04-28T00:32:00.014-04:00

This is a long one, friends. It's been stewing for a few days now and while I thought of breaking it down into multiple posts, I am a big advocate of shorter posts, it didn't feel right and I opted to post it in full today. Indulge me this lengthy introspection.

We're packing up our cars after a day at the zoo. We're there with my friend Katie and her son and infant daughter. The sun is shining down on us through the trees and there is a cool breeze. Katie and I laugh and talk as we load up our cars. I lay out the changing pad in the back under the gate of my SUV so I can change Sophie's diaper. I'm about halfway through changing her when Katie finishes up and with a wave and a goodbye drives off.

As she's pulling away, I notice a man walking toward us. He's still a fair distance away, but I get an unpleasant frisson as I realize that we are in a somewhat secluded spot. The crowd of cars in the parking lot this morning has now thinned out and I become aware of how isolated we are. The man is alone and dressed in a manner that is incongruous with someone out for a walk. The memories, never far from the surface, erupt, and I go cold.

*****

We're walking back from dinner at my favorite Tex-Mex restaurant. I am with one of my closest friends, someone I don't see nearly as often now that I have started at a new job. It is a short walk on this warm summer evening from the restaurant in the waterfront Canton area of Baltimore. As we get close to her house, we decide to stop in at the restaurant across the street to see her boyfriend who bartends there.

I look around and see a man come around the corner behind us. He is wearing a dark sweatshirt with the hood up. Its a strange thing for such a warm night and the hairs stand up on the back of my neck, but I look around and am comforted by the bright streetlights and the sight of other people walking on the street. Just as we step off the curb to cross the street, the man runs up along side my friend and grabs her purse. She instinctively pulls it in to herself and he whips around so that he is facing us as we stop short. His left hand is still on her purse as his right comes up revealing a handgun.

The gun is big and black and I have never known fear like I do in that moment as a man points it at my chest from less than four feet away. My friend releases her purse and he yanks it to himself, demanding my bag as he does so. As I hand it over, I tap into some hidden well of courage, or stupidity, and ask if I can just get my keys out of it first.

He looks at me for a long dark moment, gun pointed squarely at my heart, and says with soft, deliberate slowness: "You think I'm fucking kidding? RUN." And I do.

I run like my life depends on it. Because it just might. I don't look to see where my friend is, too lost in my own self-preservative flight. I run to the restaurant across the street and throw open the door. Breathless, I all but shout "I just got mugged!" My friend appears next to me and people crowd around us, asking if we're okay.

We are.

But...

*****

The man is getting closer. Close enough now that I can make out his features. I grow more panicky with each of his steps. My heart races. I calculate his distance and what it will take to get Sophie and myself safely into the car before he reaches us. I'm nearly panting. There just isn't time to get her dressed, so I scoop her up in only her top and a diaper, slamming the gate closed and racing around the car. I get her buckled up and see the man through the windows. He is no more than 25 feet away now. He is on the drivers side. Can I make it in time? I don't wast time to think, I just rush around and leap into the car, locking the doors the moment I have mine closed.

I am shaking so hard I can barely hold on to the keys as I shove them in the ignition. I twist my head side to side, frantically looking around for him. I can't see him, but surely he has reached us by now. Sophie is howling in the back seat. Where is he?! I still can't find him. Has he snuck up alongside the car? My heart is pounding in my ears like a jackhammer. Is he going to pop up at my window, a gun or knife in hand, and demand my purse or my car? Or worse?

But then I spot him. He is now past us by a few dozen yards. His gait hasn't changed and he doesn't look back. I slump down, hands at 10 and 2 on the steering wheel, and close my eyes as I rest my head on the knuckles of my left hand. The entire event took place over the course of maybe 3 minutes. 180 seconds. An eternity.

I watch him walk further away and decide we are safe enough that I can get Sophie back out and put the rest of her clothes on. But I am vigilant. I watch and listen for him or any other would-be assailant. I am still so geared up that each rustle of the leaves is a monster waiting to pounce. I get Sophie dressed and buckled back in as calmly as I can and we are on our way.

Its been a busy day and we are out well into Sophie's nap time, so it is not surprising that she falls asleep within minutes. I have the radio on, but I'm not really listening to it. I look back at my sleeping daughter and replay what just happened and I reflect on that night eight years ago.

*****

We were lucky. Muggings turn ugly every day. I personally knew a young man who was fatally stabbed just a year before my own unfortunate experience when he tried to stop a man who was mugging an elderly woman.

But although we were both physically unharmed, we are not undamaged. A sense of security is a translucently thin china teacup. So fragile and so easily broken. The putting back together is a long, delicate process and while it can be done, it will never be the same. There will always be weak spots that are susceptible when pressure is applied.

Sometimes weeks will go by that I don't think about that night. I don't think about the barrel of that gun and how close it was to my chest. I don't think about his cold voice. Or that in my fear and cowardice I ran off, leaving my friend. That she was fine is all that saves me from horrific guilt. But the memory of that entire experience is burned into me. Those fears found a home and I am a hair trigger away from total recall.

I hate that I am so paranoid. That I really don't feel safe anywhere. But if there is a silver lining, it is that I listen to my gut now. If my hair stands up, I act. I don't wait for the situation to become dire and I don't worry about offending anyone. There is every likelihood that the man we encountered at the zoo was just a fellow out for an afternoon walk, but what if? What if he wasn't? What if he had awful, horrible plans for me or my child? We'll never know.

And I'm okay with that.

Table Topics Tuesday: Inked

2010-04-27T05:36:00.005-04:00

When I was in college I contemplated getting a tattoo. I wanted three dolphins, circling tail to nose, on my lower back. I honestly can't say now exactly what it was that stopped me. I had many friends who had or were getting tattoos and I have no religious bans, so it certainly wasn't because of a perceived stigma. Maybe it was the cost, I was a poor college student, after all. Whatever the reason, I didn't do it.

Realizing now what a cliche that was, and inappropriate for me now, I'm really glad I didn't get it done. Some part of me must have realized that dolphins, while a beautiful and majestic animal, would not be a lifelong passion and I would not be happy having them on my body forever.

After that rebellious phase, I abandoned the idea of a tattoo. There was not a single image or text that I could imagine imprinting on my body that I was reasonably confident I would still like in 10, 20 or 30 years. Never during that time did I feel that tattoos were a bad thing, they just weren't for me.

But in the last few years I have begun to get that urge again. I don't necessarily have an image in mind. If anything, it would likely be an abstract form. A collection of shapes.

Unfortunately, Neil is very much against this idea. He has no tattoos, no plans to get one, and is not at all enthused about his wife having one. Since this is not something I feel strongly about, I don't plan to fight him on it. But if I had led a different life, if I had walked a different path, I might have done something like this:

or maybe this:

If you were to get a tattoo right now, what would it be?

Visit Shannon to see what everyone else is chatting about!

Does Anyone Know Where To Find Magic Swimsuits?

2010-04-22T07:59:00.006-04:00

I am a procrastinator. I procrastinate. Why do today what can be put off until tomorrow? So when we decided to take our first ever family vacation with some friends and their kids to Myrtle Beach this summer, naturally I waited to make the reservation. In my defense, the trip is is still months away and the last time I checked, there were rooms aplenty. But when I finally went to make a reservation a few days ago, Mr. Online Reservation told me they were booked. Not to be deterred, I called the hotel. Who told me the same thing, only with a slightly condescending tone of voice.

Needless to say, Neil was PISSED and I felt like asshole of the year. The couple we're going with already made their reservation, at least someone has their caca together, and because they got a crazy good non-refundable deal, switching to another hotel wasn't an option for them. So we were faced with the prospect of staying at a different hotel from our friends, which would completely change the tenor of the trip.

But fate smiled on us. Last night, just as we were about to book at another hotel, Neil decided to check one last time at our hotel of choice, and would you believe they had rooms available? They did. And not just rooms, but the particular type of room we wanted, too. I don't know what happened. Maybe there was a block of cancellations, or maybe there was a computer glitch before. I'm going with my fairy godmother looking out for me again. Whatever the case, I'm pretty stoked.

Now, I just need to lose 20 30 40 pounds, and failing that, find a swimming suit that makes me look like I lost 20 30 40 pounds.

Bubbles

2010-04-21T08:10:00.000-04:00

Table Topics Tuesday: SHOPPING!

2010-04-20T06:07:00.002-04:00

If you could win unlimited shopping from one store, which one would it be?

This is a tough one for me, because there isn't really a store that I normally visit that sells everything I would want for a truly uninhibited shopping spree.

However, there is one that sells everything I could possibly dream of, and then some, that I have never actually bought anything from: Neiman Marcus. When I was a kid, we got the Neiman Marcus catalog every year. I don't know why, we didn't order anything. We were more of a Spiegel family than Neiman Marcus, but somehow we were on the list. We would pore through the pages, dreaming about the wonderful things that we would order, if money were no object.

They have clothes and dresses. The most gorgeous dresses. They have shoes. The most fantastic high heel, flat, espadrille, wedge, strappy shoes. They have fab handbags. They have the most wonderful housewares and furniture. 80 bojillion threadcount sheets. And if I had thousands of dollars at my disposal, I would be shopping there in an instant. I would buy an entirely new wardrobe and totally refurnish the house.

And hey, they have free shipping!

Head on over to Shannon's to see what everyone else is talking about.

Cheese With That Whine?

2010-04-19T00:04:00.003-04:00

My daughter is the light of my life. She brings me immeasurable joy. Her smile gives me a warm fuzzy bigger than I ever imagined possible. When she hugs me and tells me she loves me, when she puckers up to give me a kiss, I am one million thousand percent in love with her. My heart full to bursting.

Having said all of that, oh my god can she push my buttons:

- Kicking, wailing, screaming, when we brush her teeth. Every. Single. Time. I try to make it fun. I sing silly teethbrushing songs. I clap. I smile. And yet somehow it is still the ultimate torture. The only thing worse is washing her hair. Why is personal hygiene such a hardship?

- Vegetables? Hahahahahahahahaha. (deep breath) Hahahahahahahahaha. No.

- We live in an old house. Old houses have teensy weensy closets. As such, I have two racks full of shoes that sit outside the closet in our bedroom. Sophie goes to those racks and clears them, tossing shoe after shoe over her shoulder. I follow behind her and rerack them all (Some days/weeks, I just leave them, what's the point?). This happens almost every day. I can't count the number of times she has visited time out for this, and yet, she keeps doing it. With a gleam in her eye. Sadist?

- Laundry seems to be an irresistible commodity to her. Clean, dirty, folded - no matter. It all gets tossed out of the basket. This is most frustrating when it's a basket of freshly laundered clothes that I made the mistake of leaving her alone with.

- 7am. Can we just sleep until there's a 7 on the clock? I am a night owl. Always have been, always will be. No amount of sleep deprivation can consistently get me to sleep before midnight. This getting up at 6/6:30 stuff is for the birds. Why did I have to spawn a morning person?

- Dragging me outside, the horror, and then not sticking with any activity I try to engage her in for more than 23 seconds. I don't expect her to spend two hours sidewalk chalking, but come on, kid.

We attack each of these, and many more, every day. Much time is spent in Time Out. I know most are just symptoms of toddlerhood, but the knowing doesn't make them any less frustrating.

Ultimately I complain, because it's what I do, but the truth is that despite all this, that kid of mine is an awful lot of fun.

Friday Fluff

2010-04-16T04:25:00.040-04:00

I don't know how all of you parents do it. I honestly expected that as Sophie got older, she would be more self-sufficient and I would be able to do more of my stuff during the day. Not that I expected to just throw her out in the back yard or wherever and be able to watch my stories while I nibbled on bonbons all day. But I did think it would get easier. Once again, I was monumentally wrong. I should stop making assumptions about how I think things are going to be, because so far I'm batting ZERO. They really should have been more clear in the manual.

The reason for that little diatribe is to explain why I can't even seem to produce a whole post lately or get around for much blog visiting. Ironically, there's plenty to talk about (vacation planning, tumbling, sleep problems, my sore neck, pedicures, house projects, etc), just not much time to do it. And what little interweb time I do have, I manage to fill up with other stuff. Like putting the tabs at the top of my header. Which has taken me an insanely long time to do (I can't seem to get the lines to touch the header image, argh) and really doesn't accomplish much, but it does get me one step closer to having that crucial "About" page that everyone raves about. Of course, that would mean I would have to write an About page. Details, details.

So bear with me while we work our way through this stage. Me and my html OCD and Sophie in her "I need every single last scrap of mommy's attention". We'll get through this. I'm predicting that Sophie will be a calm, cool, self-entertaining kid in no time flat.

Table Topics Tuesday

2010-04-13T04:25:00.008-04:00

I'm one of those people that doesn't eat leftovers. Even if I LOVED the meal, I just can't bring myself to eat the same stuff two days in a row. So the idea of eating only one meal for the rest of my life is a pretty bleak one. I thrive on variety.

But if I had to. If there were no other options. I think it would be the Mediterranean Salad like the one they serve at Noodles and Company. It's lettuce, tomatoes, olives, cucumbers, feta, cavatappi noodles and shrimp, all tossed in a greek-style spicy yogurt dressing with lemon and garlic.

Yum, right? I love salad. I love pasta. This dish mixes the two. It's got a little tangy and a little salty. There's cheese. There are olives. What's not to love?

If you had to eat one meal for the rest of your life, what would it be?

This post is in no way sponsored or paid for by Noodles and Company. However, if they would like to thank me for it with a Mediterranean Salad, or, you know, a Blogher 2010 sponsorship, I wouldn't turn it down. :)

Take Two

2010-04-08T13:52:00.006-04:00

I know you've all been on the edge of your seat waiting to hear how this week's tumbling class went. I am ever so happy to report that things went much, much better. Before class, I spoke to the instructor about what to do when my little tumblebean declined to participate in the group activities and how to encourage her to join the fold. She gave me some excellent tips and reassured me that her behavior was not unusual.

As much as I would like to say that it was my fine parenting that led to today's improved performance, I'm pretty sure it had more to do with her being more comfortable in the environment and activities and therefore less distracted.

Whatever the case, she participated in the circle time, listened better when I told her to wait her turn and only ran off from me a handful of times. I don't want to get ahead of myself, but I do believe I might have given birth to the next Mary Lou Retton.

I apologize for the graininess of these photos. I took them with Lucille, my fabulous iPhone, and while she actually takes some pretty amazing pictures, she's not so good with the action shots. And with my daughter, that's pretty much all there is.

Chance

2010-04-05T21:17:00.007-04:00

After a shopping excursion to the mall the other day, we decided to stop at the grocery store on the way home to pick up some stuff to make dinner. Because it was unexpected, I didn't have the list from the pad on the refrigerator where I write things down as we run out of them. I knew there were only four things on there, though, so I felt reasonably confident that I would remember them all. I recited the list to myself as I ran in alone, leaving Neil and Sophie in the car.

I wandered through the store, picking up the ingredients I needed to make dinner, grabbing those things from the list as I went. As I picked up the last thing I needed for dinner, I realized that I had only found three of the four things from my list. Try as I might, though, I couldn't remember what that last item was. I walked slowly down one of the aisles, waiting for my memory to return. Approaching the registers, I resigned myself to not getting the last mystery item.

But then, on the middle shelf, in front of the ziploc bags, sat a lone bottle of olive oil. Out of place, on an aisle I had wandered down completely by chance, sat the last thing I needed.

Was it luck? A simple twist of fate. Am I reading too much into it? I'm not a religious person, so I balk at ascribing supernatural symbolism, but this is just one in a long line of these sorts of occurrences for me. I can't help but think they're not ALL just crazy coincidences.

Maybe I have a fairy godmother.

If she's listening, I wouldn't mind being directed to a winning lottery ticket, thankyouverymuch!

**We have a great giveaway going on over at BlogTrotting! Have you entered to win yet?**

Tumblebeans

2010-04-01T22:16:00.007-04:00

We had our first tumbling class today. I don't know if I've mentioned it before (sarcasm) that my daughter is a tad (more sarcasm) energetic. I figured that nothing could be more appropriate for her than a tumbling class. I had some trepidation, though, because my girl is VERY easily distracted (shocker) and I wasn't sure how well she would do in a "class" setting.

I worry about her sometimes. I hate putting that out there. It makes me feel squidgy to say that I am afraid there might be something not normal about her. I feel like all of the kids we spend time with are so much calmer and more responsive. Getting her to do something she doesn't want to do is tantamount to asking water to go UP Niagara Falls. Stubborn, thy name is Sophie.

But I hoped that this tumbling class would provide enough freedom that we wouldn't have trouble. At first things went well, she was fearless, going on every piece of equipment, even allowing the instructor to help her do some real tumbling. But when it came time to sit in a circle and do group activities, things went way downhill. She wouldn't sit, her preferred spot was standing/dancing/hopping in the middle of the circle. Or racing off to jump on one of the thick bouncy mats. Or the trampoline. Or climbing on the flying trapeze and diving into the foam pit. In most cases, taking the route that I couldn't follow her because she is small and I am not. Which meant that I was then scrambling to get around whatever was in between us and catch up to her. This included at least one header for mommy when I wasn't watching where I was going closely enough.

By the end of the class, I was sweaty and frustrated and incapable of not speaking through clenched teeth. So much for my dreams of her happily going along with all of the activities. I spent the entire time apologizing for my daughter climbing in front of their kids while I pulled her back and told her to wait her turn. I had "that" kid. Let's just say I didn't make any mommy friends.

Neil asked me if I was excited for the rest of the 11 week session. Ask me after next week.

**We have a great giveaway going on over at BlogTrotting! Have you stopped in yet?**

Table Topics Tuesday: Table For Four

2010-03-30T10:05:00.009-04:00

Since I was about 18, I have been working on a list of people I would invite to a fantastic backyard barbecue that I would host at my fantastic mansion with its Olympic-sized pool and Versailles-worthy gardens. Of course it would be catered. Sha. The list has grown and shrunk over the years. People work their way into my affections and just as easily out of it. They are celebrities after all.

There are a few that seem so interesting, though, and have stayed on the list for so long, that I would rather have a more intimate experience with them. Get your mind out of the gutter, not that kind of intimate. A quiet dinner, just my three besties and me.

Mae West. Yes, she's dead, but this is a fantasy, so the normal laws of nature don't apply. (I'm also a size 4 in this dinner fantasy.) She just seems like such a saucy, feisty broad. And she is so totally a BROAD. I can only imagine that things would not get boring with her around.

Cary Grant. Also dead. I seem to have a fascination with the classics. He was such a handsome, funny, charming, man's man. I have watched and rewatched his movies. They just don't make 'em like that anymore.

The last would have to be a man, to round out the table. I've often thought I would like to meet Cher, but I just don't think she and Mae would get along, plus, you know, she's a woman, so we'll have to save her for another dinner. So my pick would be:

Will Smith. He's alive! And therefore the only one that maybe could actually happen. I love his rags to riches story. And despite his fame and wealth he seems to be a "regular" guy. Sure he hangs out with Tom Cruise and David Beckham, but whatever, he's cool. Plus, his love affair with Jada is so beautiful.

What three famous people would you invite to dinner?

This has been a part of the always fabulous Shannon's:

Buddy, Your Days Are Numbered

2010-03-26T08:49:00.005-04:00

Buddy went for a swim in the cats' water bowl yesterday. I had hopes that the aquatic escapades might have silenced Buddy. It didn't. If Sophie didn't love it (him? her?) SO much, Buddy would be going to the stuffed robot dog pound.

That other sound you hear is the grinding of my teeth as I lose the last shreds of my sanity.

Before and After

2010-03-23T00:59:00.001-04:00

Because you all asked. And because I am a glutton for punishment. I used the lip plumper again and this time I took photos. I just want to warn you, these photos are graphic in nature and should not be viewed by the squeamish or in the company of small children.

Before:

During:

After:

I don't really notice a difference, but maybe you guys will.

Pucker Up

2010-03-22T00:51:00.010-04:00

I have big lips.

I always have. Obviously. I've come to terms with the size of the appendages around the eating hole on my face. This wasn't always the way. There were many years where my dissatisfaction with my lips was only exceeded by my hate for my nose. My little sister teased me for years about them. Lest ye feel badly for me about this, you should know that I was merciless in my torture of her in return. There were no innocent victims.

As an adult, I've come to see that my lips are not the detriment I once thought they were. And big lip advocates like Angelina Jolie have gone a long way towards increasing acceptance.

But because of my lips, I have never once entertained the notion of using a lip enhancer. The last thing I need is MORE lip. Last week I was the lucky recipient of $100 of ELF cosmetics at the MomzShare party I attended. If you know ELF, you know that $100 goes a long, long way with them. As I was going through all of the goodies, creating two piles: one to keep and one to give away because it was the wrong color or something I couldn't/wouldn't use, I noticed there was a lip "plumper" included. Naturally, I put it in the give away pile. But my curiosity got the better of me and I found myself reading the box and opening it up.

Before I knew it, I had smeared the stuff all over my lips. And because I can't do anything halfway, I put it on nice and thick. Didn't want to miss a spot.

I'm not sure if that stuff is pepper or cinnamon or what, but good lord it burns like an egg on a sidewalk in late July. Turns out that is how it works, by agitating the sensitive skin. They should put a warning on the side of the box: THIS SHIT BURNS!

I suffer for fashion and vanity: hours and hours at the gym, high heel shoes, panty hose, spanx. I thank my lucky stars that this is one area where I can be fine with what I have.