They Do It Different in Maine

On Sunday night, my family ordered takeout from the new Italian joint a few miles from my folks’ house. My parents aren’t vegetarians like us, but my mother doesn’t eat any red meat and my father only eats it occasionally since it doesn’t make any sense for him to cook two separate meals. So when my brother-in-law comes to town, my father has a carnivorous cohort and they typically find some meat products to eat together. It’s a good bonding experience I would imagine.

The order from the takeout place was fairly ordinary- cheese pizza, French fries, salads, pasta and then, something new; a cheeseburger pizza for the meat-eating men.

Now, there are all sorts of things one might imagine on a cheeseburger pizza I suppose, but the conscientious around here was that a cheeseburger pizza would be hamburger and extra cheese.

Here's is the actual list of ingredients:
Hamburger
Onions (a dreaded substance to my sister’s husband)
Pickles
American Cheese food- none of that fancy mozzarella here

And the crowning glory – no pizza sauce, simply ketchup baked onto the crust.

Um...

Does this seem weird to anyone else? Maybe it's just me, but I think if you were going to create such an unusual pizza, with such, ah, creative, ingredients, don't you think that it would merit a line of explanation on the menu?

My brother-in-law likes a lot of food, but he has drawn the line at a cheeseburger pizza.

If, however, this sounds appetizing to you, let me know and I’ll give you their phone number. I’m sure they’d deliver.

The Reset Button

There's been a lot of sickness as of late around our house. I've had an ear infection, the Pickle spent all of Sunday throwing up, the Land Baron is worn out from lots of late, long hours at the hospital and Pepper is plagued by some unaccounted for malaise. Everyone seems to be heading towards health again, except the Pepper. She has spent the last several days just sort of moan-y, a little feverish, cranky and weepy at the drop of a hat. Today was a particularly bad day for her. The final straw was apparently when I chose the wrong color socks to put on her little chilly toes. She wept from the depths of her heart as if I truly had broken it by suggesting the contrasting color of cotton.

So we needed to reset. Cut to: small children piled into the car, wind whipping around us, pulling out of the driveway under cover of darkness (at 5p.m. - but it seemed much later). Fifteen minutes later, pulling through the parking lot of our friend Wendy, nary a tear or a moan. It was, instead, replaced by the sound of contented children munching on the deliciously decadent french fries and Mr. Pibb for dinner. Add to that a few extra minutes on the road driving through neighborhoods looking at holiday lights and suddenly the world seemed a little more bearable for a two year old overwhelmed with the prospect of getting through even one more minute with her sanity in tact.

We returned and were able to manage bath and the bedtime routine without a single meltdown. Sometimes Christmas miracles really do happen in real life.

The Most Wonderful Time

So here's something most of you don't know about me. It never occurred to me that this was one of my "things;” you know those quirky habits, traditions, preferences that make each of our life stories so interesting. Anyway, I didn't know it was one of those until I mentioned it to my best friend last week and it was something that she never knew about me even though we've been friends for 18 years.

I love the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. Love it. Love it to the point of obsession. I love the balloons and the Rockettes and the Broadway numbers and all the different performers. I love the cheesy worn out jokes the Today Show hosts make as parade commentators. I watch it every year. No excuses, nothing that supercedes it on the television. I am so compulsive about it that we don't have an early dinner and won't go to anyone else's house before it's over. Most years I won't even answer the phone while it's on.

I don't really care about any other parade either. I can take or leave the Parade of Roses, 4th of July parades, even parades at Disney World. But the Macy's Parade is sacred. I cry when the cut the ribbon at the beginning, cheering "Let's have a parade!" and I will not turn it off until the credits roll over Santa as he makes his way through Harold Square. I've watched it polishing silverware as a young child, I've refused to let anyone out of the hotel room when spending Thanksgiving in Florida; I've made my children turn off movies and cartoons and Christmas specials to watch it. This year, I even Tivo'd it.

And yet, I could never go see it live. Why? Because I couldn't see all of it from the parade route. The ideal situation in that case would be to reserve a room in a hotel along the parade route - one with a veranda that I could sit on and drag the television out onto so that I wouldn't miss the commentators or the Broadway shows or the ribbon cutting.

I don't know why I put so much stock in the parade. I do know that in the very rare years I didn't watch the whole thing it made it very hard for me to get into the holiday spirit. Maybe it's the innocence of the parade, maybe it's because it reminds me of all the wonderful memories about the holidays when I was growing up. But I think I've been obsessed with this parade since the first time I saw it.

I hope that all of you are blessed to have something in your life that you are attached to because it evokes such wonderful memories.

Thanksgiving FAQ's

1. No I didn't make a Tofurkey.

2. Yes, I've made one before.

3. No, I didn't enjoy it.

4. We had everything but the turkey.

5. No, that's not a euphemism for sex.

6. Yes, you can make gravy without animal parts.

Hope yours was an enjoyable day as well.

"If the only prayer you ever said was 'Thank You,' it would be enough."

My Lesson In Gratitude

About six months before I left Los Angeles I was up in San Jose for a trade show. After working at the convention center all day, a couple of us were meeting some people for drinks and dinner at another, much swankier hotel than the one in which we were staying.

I didn't really know the folks we were meeting, they were business acquaintances whom I had never met face to face until that time.

I remember thinking they were much cooler than me, their jobs much more prestigious. They clearly made a lot more money than I did, and they could afford living in trendy parts of New York City. Their company clearly spent no expense to make sure they were comfortable and staying in an A+ hotel. Although they were funny and welcoming and lovely people, I felt inferior and just a smidge on this side of jealous.

After having a couple of martinis I excused myself for a visit to the ladies room. I walked in and there were a couple of women cleaning the bathroom. One was in a stall cleaning the toilet so I couldn't see her. The other was refilling the paper towels.

As I washed my hands, the woman cleaning the toilet came out. She was young, in her early twenties, Latino. She was very hot and tired; it showed in her face. She was also about eight months pregnant.

She eased herself onto the floor and took a drink of water. I'm sure she wanted nothing more than a nap.

I left the bathroom remembering how lucky I really was.

My wish for all of us this week is that we may all be aware of how much we have to be thankful for and how good we really have it.

Random NaBloPoMo Ramblings

Today starts a stint of night shifts at the hospital for the Land Baron. Not exactly ideal hours but the money is good and we figured out that he'd actually get to spend more time with the girls by working nights. He's been putting in loooong hours at the hospital and when he works twelve-hour shifts he's gone in the morning before the girls get up and comes home usually after they are asleep. Make that five days a week and the girls are a bit squirrely by day three or four. With night shifts, he's here to play with them once they come home from school and daycare, have dinner with them and start the bedtime process.

Pepper got her first haircut today. She's not exactly Rapunzel but she was starting to look like she had a mullet, so it was time. She sat stoically, watching the proceedings carefully in the mirror. It's hard to know what a two year old expects with a haircut, but this clearly wasn't it. Although she was psyched about the lollypop at the end.

It's been chilly here in the last week - I've loved it. It finally feels like November to me. But, in typical Maryland form, the closer we're getting to Thanksgiving, the warmer it's actually getting. Thursday it's supposed to be in the 70's. I have mixed feelings about this. And it happens almost every year here in Maryland, so you think I would have come to some conclusion by now. It's great to have weather where the girls can go outside and play while they have five days off in a row, but I really like it to be chilly over Thanksgiving.

I think I was going somewhere with all of this - but it's 10pm, I'm exhausted and the Pepper isn't exactly asleep yet - by which I mean she's still sitting at my feet awake and playing while watching some Muppets on TV. Her sleep has been all off the last few weeks- I'm not sure if it's because she's napping late at daycare or if she's overtired (which unfortunately, makes her sleep less) or maybe it's one of the other thousands of things that disrupts toddlers' sleep patterns. Anyway, I guess it means it's time for me to sign off for now and try to think of something witty and clever for tomorrow's post.

You Give Love A Bad Name

That's right, I'm going to see Bon Jovi in concert. My dear friend Colleen splurged on tickets so she and I can travel back in time to 1989.

It's time for me to break out my neon halter-top with a black mesh overlay, a jean miniskirt and my Peter Pan boots. I'll stock up on my cans of final net, find some purple mascara and dust off my dozens of black rubber bracelets.

Anyone know where I can borrow a Camaro for the night?

It's ok, you can be jealous. You can't help it.

Me and Jon and his painted on jeans. A night together in February.

Oh yeah, and ten thousand other people crammed into the Verizon Center.

New Math

25 hyped-up, overly excited preschool girls
+
1800+ toys in a locally owned toy store
+
7 gazillion cookies and juice boxes
+
5 overworked store employees
+
1 forty-five minute late actress in full "Beauty And the Beast" Belle costuming
=
3 days of recovery time for every single mother involved.



And how was your Saturday?

The Soapbox

I'm in the middle of two blissful uninterrupted hours at home. By myself. With nothing that I have to do. Well, that's not exactly true, but I decided that I would take these two hours and claim them as my own. No laundry, no cleaning, no doing for others. These are mine. They are delicious and I don't have to share with anyone. So there....nyah.

Pickle has an after-school playdate with one of her classmates so I don't have to be at school to pick her up. Since I'm already paying for full-time day care for the Pepper, I decided to leave her there late. I feel as if I am playing hooky.

By far, the hardest thing about these hours for me is to resist the urge to "do something." My mind keeps wandering back to what errands I could run, what I could clean or organize, what bills I could pay, etc. The little chattering monkeys in my head won't stop their assault - 'What if you just vacuum for ten minutes? Then we could let it go." But they couldn't, not really. After vacuuming would be laundry and filing and cleaning floors or changing sheets - you get the idea. They're little drug dealers offering little hits of self-satisfaction for completing some task that will edge me into the next hit and the next and the next until I'm rushing to get to Pepper before daycare closes and chiding myself for not actually taking time for myself.

Last night there was a presentation at Pickle's school about stress and preschoolers. They brought in a panel of LCSW's to talk about how stress affects kids today and what we can do about it. Three of the biggest offenders of stress in preschoolers are expectations, over-scheduling and absorption.

In general, we expect too much from our kids. Especially smart kids, good kids and kids who seem to excel in some area or another. We expect them to be perfect; we expect them to not melt down when they are tired, hot or hungry. We expect them to remember things because it's easy for us to remember them. I remember being ten and worrying because I hadn't figured out what I wanted to be when I grew up. If I knew then that I'd be 36 and asking the same question, I would have been apoplectic. Even knowing this, this is one of those things I am most guilty of especially with the Pickle. She seems so wise and old and together sometimes that it's hard for me to remember she is five years old. And that is very little.

It's no surprise that kids today are overscheduled. I have to say that is one thing that I am really conscious of. Pickle takes dance. That's it. That's plenty. Pepper is not in a tumbling class or a music class - she has daycare. A daycare that I chose carefully where she gets little to no time in front of a TV and a wonderful daycare provider who is engaged and makes sure the kids socialize and have lots of fun. Lots of Pickles friends take dance and gymnastics or soccer and music and...well, who knows what. They're always running off somewhere. And while sometimes I worry that she might enjoy other activities as well, I try to remember that extracurricular activities never take the place of free time in the space of a child.

What was surprising to me, although I'm not sure why now that I have heard it, is how much over-scheduling of the rest of the family adds stress to a child's life. Parents work many hours and then cram teacher's meetings, church, parties, errands, other sibling's activities and then suddenly, there isn't much time left over for play. And play is important, the most important thing a kid can do.

Then there is absorption- kids pick up on so much. Especially overly sensitive kids, like Pickle. Any conversation about money or disagreements with spouses or negative talk, they soak it up and worry about it over and over again. Limiting this dynamic is very important, and again, something I'm not very good at lately. But hearing it last night made me resolve to do better.

The anecdote for all of this? Play, play, play. Kids need time to play by themselves, but they really need time to play with us. When we're ok, they're ok. If we're having fun, they are too. It's time for us all to chill a little more and make sure we fit in all those things that we profess are most important to us but of which we often neglect.

Breathing and mindfulness and yoga and all those trendy things are fine but what we all need is to blow bubbles and play with playdoh and find animals in the clouds a little more.

As for me, I think there are some blocks calling my name.

10pm is too late

-for me to keep trying to post. And yet, here I am again. I've got to start working on this earlier because I am soooo not a night owl.

Goodnight. I'll check in earlier tomorrow.

Shhh.....

Finally came up with a great Christmas gift for the Pickle and the Pepper.

Princess Katie, their favorite kids Pop Princess has a new album coming out in late December and a CD release party in NYC the weekend after Pickle's 6th birthday. Can anyone say road trip!

If you have young kids, check out Princess Katie and Racer Steve at www.princessracer.com. Great folks - fun, good message, well-written music that doesn't make my ears bleed when the girls ask me to play the CD for the 6th time in a row. Lots of people make a comparison between Princess Katie and Natalie Merchant, but since I'm guessing she's probably getting tired of hearing that, I won't say that. I'll just say she sounds a lot like the front woman for 10,000 Maniacs.

I finally found one gift safer than anything on the shelves of Target.

Now if I could just find an old Bass O'Matic on ebay.

So...

Two guys walk into a bar, which is really stupid because after the first one hit it, you'd think the second one would be smart enough to move out of the way.

Sorry, my writers were all out on the picket lines in front of Universal Studios today. Hopefully the industry will come to an agreement soon so this blog can be funny again.

I hope so, for your sake.

A Day To Remember

This is my friend Colleen. We like to joke that the Land baron and I are her token liberal friends. She's an amzing woman in so many ways, but especially in all that she tries to do for our veterans. We may not see eye to eye very often in the political arena, but I have a tremendous amount of respect that she works so hard to make sure the next generation appreciates some of the sacrifIces that have been made by those who have come before us.

Take a look at this.

The New Neighbors

Pickle discovered our new neighbors last weekend sitting in one of our trees in the back yard:







Admittedly, these are not spectacular pictures, but if you never been to our house, these trees are well over 100 years old and very, very tall. This is as good as my zoom lens gets.

As near as we can figure, they are red-shouldered hawks. They are large birds. They are loud birds. They are extremely cool birds.

We've seen one hanging out in a mud puddle in the road after a big storm last week, probably looking for frogs. Today Pickle discovered one sitting on the top porch of the house across the street. I don't have any idea how long it was there but when Pickle showed me, it took off and swooped into the field behind our house. Later when we left the house, it was on a powerline in the field looking for dinner, I imagine.

I don't know if we are a stop-over to someplace warmer for the winter, or if this particular pair is from up north and we are the southern destination. Maybe they've decided to call our little corner of the world home too. Whatever the reason for their presence, I'm happy they are here.

It's impossible to bring them a plate of cookies, so I hope they feel welcome. I'd love for them to stick around for a while.

'Tis The Season

Pepper, who is two, told me today thay she didn't want to sit on Santa's lap this holiday season. Instead she wants to take him out to dinner.

I like the way this girl thinks.

Me and St. Francis Are Tight

Driving to pick up the Pickle and the Pepper this afternoon, I came off the highway and was sitting at a light on this incredibly busy street when I noticed a small kitten and a woman walking behind it along the sidewalk. My initial thought was "Why on earth is walking that kitten on this busy street without a leash?"

Then my heart sank as I realized she was carefully, slowly chasing the kitten because it had gotten loose. Her dilemma was that if she moved too quickly the kitten might dart into the street or under a chain link fence that lined the edge of the sidewalk. I watched her grab at the kitten a couple of times and miss; the kitten started moving faster. She started walking faster...with one last grab, the kitten freaked out, and started running toward the street, she blocked it and it tried stuffing itself under the fence. Just as she almost had it; it would run off erratically again. I couldn't handle it. I had my eyes covered and I was yelling, "No, no, no!" Needless to say, I am not good under pressure in general.

Now growing up Catholic and going to Catholic school until 8th grade means that regardless of where you go in your life, there are certain elements of Catholicism that stay with you. For me, it's the saints. When I lose something, the first thing I do is ask St. Anthony to help me find it. On the rare occasion that I perform anymore, I ask St. Cecilia to help me get through it. I'm not saying that these saints have nothing better to do with their day than help me find my car keys, but I will say that more times than I can count a crazy idea comes to me right after I pray for intercession, and yes, in fact, somehow my car keys ended up in the freezer.

So as I was sitting in my car in fetal position with a green light ahead of me, and cars beginning their procession towards the next intersection, I couldn't handle the stress of this maniacal kitten any longer. Just as she was about to run out into the street to certain squishdom, I reflexively yelled, "St. Francis, do SOMETHING!"

No sooner were the words out of my mouth than that kitten dead stopped. Not slowed down, not stopped because something blocked it's path...just stopped. And in that second, the woman was able to snatch the little thing up and head back to her own car several yards down the street.

Now don't expect that if you pray to St. Anthony to return the family dog that ran away twelve years ago that he's going to show up on your porch next week. (Although in 1st grade,, my dog Bowser ran away and after three days of Sister Sophie having my class pray to St. Anthony, he did show up in our yard, filthy, full of burdocks but thrilled to see us.) But today, a kitten, on the verge of ending it's own little tiny life was saved at the last second when a tiny little person on this planet who doesn't claim to have all the answers cried out in fear and desperation and the Universe in it's own way, answered.

I'm just saying....

The Grinch Who Stole Christmas

Apparently, my children will be getting string, a couple of sticks and maybe a shiny rock or two for Christmas as it appears that every toy on the commercial market today is actually some sort of deathtrap exported out of China. It reminds me of the old Saturday Night Live Skit where Dan Akroyd is the unscrupulous toy maker selling such treasures as "Bag of Glass" or "Board with Nails Sticking Out of It." I'm sure you could find it at Youtube if you want to watch it. It's a classic.

Pickle had her heart set on Aquadots...so that's out. Polly Pockets? Nope. Dora/Elmo/Fisher Price/Mattel - not on your life.

In general, we don't buy a lot of toys. If you ask the Land Baron, we have too many as is. I know lots of parents who buy something for their children every time they go out shopping - or that a trip to Toys R Us is a form of entertainment. I won't even step foot in that place. I loathe everything about it. Occasionally there is a small toy as a special treat, but mostly, just Christmas and birthdays. It's my little stand against consumerism. I am inconsistent and don't always follow this rule but at least having the rule gives me a goal to strive towards. I suppose if I had a 3,500 square foot house I might not notice all the stuff, but since space is a premium in our little corner of the neighborhood, everything in the house better be put to good use. Otherwise it's just taking up premium real estate.

The dilemma for me is that while I hate all that plastic, mass-marketed stuff, my oldest daughter doesn't. Luckily, a used toy is often just as good as a new one. Several of her toys were acquired through Freecycle and Craigslist. A few others I picked up at consignment shops. I feel a little bit better knowing that we're recycling some of this plastic and will eventually also pass them along to another child to love as well. And Pickle & Pepper do have the largest dress-up box of any of their friends. Plus, send them outside into the yard and they make up wonderful games and interesting stories.

While I would love to buy handmade, wooden, paper and cloth toys exclusively, it is a costly process. I try to balance it all out a bit by buying from a wonderful locally owned toy shop in the area. They carry almost none of the typical mass-marketed toys and buy toys that use natural products. But again, it can be expensive. The simple answer is to just have less but better toys. In a culture like ours, however, sometimes the sheer number of ponies you have brings the greater joy.

But this year the debacle that is the toy industry may just put me over the edge. The girls may in fact unwrap boxes filled with shells and pebbles and sticks - they might not like it, but at least I know that the worse they can do is poke their eyes out.

Seems like a better gamble than buying a toy from a mass retailer.

Grateful

Like many writers, I have a fairly well defined obsession with notebooks. I can't help myself. I am always on the lookout for the "perfect notebook," whatever that is. It doesn't matter if I'm at Walgreens or a high-end stationary store - the siren call of notebooks beckons me as soon as I walk through the door.

And don't get me started on pens or office supplies. I go almost apoplectic just walking in there. Over the years, I've amassed a rather large and eclectic collection of notebooks. I use different notebooks for different tasks- one to write morning pages, one to write character ideas, one to specifically journal in. And I can't tell you what makes me attracted to a particular notebook - my tastes run the gamut from unlined, expensive art paper to lined $.39 notebooks with a plain green cover. My attraction to notebooks is like abstract art - I can't describe what I like, but I know it when I see it. About a month ago, I found this notebook in a lovely store in Clarksville, called Nest:




Believe me when I say that this photo doesn't do it justice. I saw it and I literally had a visceral reaction to it. I picked it up and literally starting crying. Why would I cry holding a notebook you ask? I have no frickin idea- I just did. And I had to have it. So I bought it and brought it home and then...it sat. Unused. Occasionally I'd pick it up and hold it and try to discern what to use it for. And I got nothing, except that it had to hold something beautiful. Then I'd put it down and leave it untouched.

Until Sunday when I finally realized what purpose this beautiful, delicate, spiritual notebook was destined for. It has become a gratitude journal. I've never kept one before, I never needed to - I was well aware of all that I had to be grateful for and I've always been the eternal optimist. And then this year tackled me, kicked my in the kidneys and left me for dead on the curb. And suddenly it's become hard for me to see how much I really have.

So this little journal has now become a big part of my life. And it feels right.

Take Your Pickle to Work Day

Pickle was off from school today while her teachers prepped for parent conferences at the end of the week. The Land Baron worked at the hospital all day and I didn't want to use one of my precious few days off so, we packed up a bag full of distractions and off we went.

First stop- Baltimore Coffee & Tea- a lovely new coffee place across from the mall. They made a lukewarm hot chocolate for the Pepper - which is a brilliant idea because 1) she could drink it right away and it didn't need to be an exercise in delayed gratification and B) they don't get their asses sued when some child scalds themselves. Seems like a win-win to me.

So with warm beverages in hand we went to the office. Pickle has been excited for days. She couldn't wait to see what it was like at a real office where grown-ups do actual work.

If I was a betting woman, I would have given her 2-2.5 hours max before boredom set in and she'd start asking "Is it almost time to go yet" every 1.3 seconds. But she was a trooper. She played on the Internet and colored and cut things out and helped me open the mail and watched a DVD. She even helped me walk the bosses dog as an extra-special treat.

As a side note, I have to say that although I truly enjoy having the dog come to work on the rare occasions when my boss brings him in, I can't help thinking that the reason I went back to work in the first place was to clean up less poop during my day. But since I am often the only one in the office and everyone else (including my boss) is out working with clients, it's a worthwhile trade for the companionship and the chance to get a little fresh air in my mornings.

Pickle really only started bouncing off the walls about ten minutes before we left. She was ready for some running around time - as, aren't we all at the end of a work day.

Her favorite part of the day was when we both got our lunches out and sat at the conference table in my bosses office eating from our lunch bags and flipping through a magazine together as all good lunch buddies should.

But I think she was a touch disappointed that there was less excitement than she imagined. I don't know what she was expecting but I don't think it was the sight of her mother sitting at a computer, typing away--which is what I do at home most of the time anyway. I think she thought adults at work led interesting lives full of movement and energy and who knows what. Now she knows that I'm basically the same person both places.

Maybe I can convince her I'm an international spy and this is just my cover...

The Inquisition

Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury, I enter into evidence Exhibit A:




A pan of delicious vegetarian rice krispy squares. Note the proper distance between the back of the counter where the pan is located to the front of the counter. (If you also noted how beautifully clean the counter is too that would be great, thanks.)

Now I present Exhibit B:



Someone has clearly helped themselves. But who??????

Finally, Exhibit C:



Is that a carb-induced sleep coma I spy? Or was it the little pieces of rice krispies in his chest fur that gave him away?

Although leniency is recommended, the prosecution would like to note that there has been absolutely no display of remorse from the accused. Typical....

Ooops!

So I spent my day chopping up jack-o-lanterns, boiling them and blending them into a puree for the dogs.

What? Does this strike you as odd? Doesn't everyone do this?

Well, the next time your dog is puking up whatever they've eaten from the trash, go buy some canned pumpkin and give them a spoonful with every meal. Pumpkin is a great tummy calmer for pooches. And since I have three large dogs who love to get into the trash when we have the audacity to both leave the house AND leave the trashcan sitting on the kitchen floor (where it always resides), it's always good to add a little pumpkin proactively into the food dish and just accept the inevitability that I will forget to put the trash can on the counter before I run out the door.

It's National Blog Posting Month - or as the hip kids like to call it; NaBloPoMo. I forgot. I thought it was in December and so now I've missed the first two days. Oops. I hope they don't mark me down for it.

In case you've never heard of it. NaBloPoMo is a challenge for bloggers (and wannabe bloggers) everywhere to write a blog entry every day for the month of November. You can join by going to http://nablopomo.ning.com and creating an account. Or, if you already have a blog, I suppose you can just blog away. It's really just up to you. For those of us Type-A's who are always afraid of getting it wrong, you can post your blog entries on both your own blog and the Ning blog. Really, the amount of obsessiveness is up to you- or maybe it's not - depending on your amount of obsessiveness...

Anyway, I hope you give it a try. And, keep checking in here, hopefully sooner or later I'll blog about something interesting.

The flu was totally worth it.

Just to see this!

The...best...reality...show...EVER!

Sick AND Tired

I have the flu. Blah. Not the worst bout it of it I’ve ever had, but it’s not good. I’m frustrated because I had so many plans for this weekend- not the least of which was some long overdue cleaning. Instead, I've traded a weekend of productivity for lying on the couch under a blanket and sipping Dr. Pepper. This is the downside of now having a job: I have to cram a whole bunch of things into the weekend and one small bout of throwing up and a bad case of the chills can derail the whole process.

But on the plus side, I did get to watch a Martha Stewart Halloween special, Footloose, a couple of Will and Grace reruns and I got to finish a trashy little chick-lit book I was reading. Such a shame that the only time I take for myself anymore is when I have no choice.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some more 80’s movies to watch on VH1…

Hippo Birdies Two Ewes.

My Pepper turned two this past week. Her birthday itself was a relatively quiet affair except for the infamous elevator incident which I will post shortly. There was pizza and a couple of presents and dinner with Daddy at the hospital. Sunday was the main event – a small party with just a few friends and a couple of kids, but Pepper’s first very own birthday party nonetheless.

I wasn’t convinced she understood that the party was for her until she woke up on Sunday morning and walked into the dining room where Pickle and I had starting setting the table and had hung several Elmo decorations. Bleary-eyed and stumbling half-awake, Pepper wandered into the room and with an air of awe simply said, “My party?” When Pepper told her it that yes, it was for her, the smile that broke out across her face said it all.

And what a glorious afternoon it was for the Pepper. There were three “big” girls and a boy her own age to play with and follow through the house. They played and ran wild, the adults ate and ate and ate and we all enjoyed not having to organize anything for them to do. There was one simply craft- glitter glue and sticky jewels and foam hearts and stars on little paper boxes; just enough to bridge the gap between lunch and cake.

The cake was a simple affair- chocolate – deemed by the Pickle as the only type of cake appropriate for a birthday. I could have bought a much prettier cake from, well, just about anywhere, but then I wouldn’t have had an excuse to make my favorite butter cream frosting. Elmo, Zoe, Big Bird and Cookie Monster appeared on the cake, courtesy of our “Chutes and Ladders” game and there were lots of sprinkles. Perfect for a two year old. When we started singing ‘Happy Birthday” and she knew it was for her, you would have thought we were crowning her Miss America.



The great thing about being two is the complete focus on the present and not on the presents. We waited until everyone left to open them and while the Pepper enjoyed them, it was the people and party that made her day.

The only real downer of the whole weekend was Monday morning when she woke up and toddled back into the dining room. Most everything was back in its proper place, except for a couple of the Elmo decorations, which I thought I’d leave up for a few days to help ward off the post-birthday let down. Still the disappointment was written all over her face when she looked around at everything cleaned up and said, with a complete understanding that it was all over, “my party”.

Here she is modeling her sporty new backpack:

So that's my problem.

Saw this article title on the latest issue of Cosmo while waiting to check out at the grocery store:

"Hair That Gets You What You Want."

It all makes sense now.

The End of An Era

Pickle has fallen asleep by herself for three nights in a row.

She's actually asked for me to leave after reading books and she has fallen asleep in under ten minutes.

For those of you who haven't been present at bedtime for the last five and a half years, this change in our routine adds approximately 432 extra hours to my evening.

Now if you'll excuse me, I've got some of my own sleep to catch up on...

The Leaves They Are A Changin'.

I’m packing up and moving to Maine.

At least in my mind, anyway. This feeling takes over me every year about this time and yet every year, I am surprised at its arrival. I feel almost ambushed by the ferocity with which it grabs hold of me, invading my brain so deeply, it’s almost all I can think about. I’m ready to pack it all in, move to a small little farm house and prepare myself for an autumn of apple-picking, hiking, crunching around in fallen leaves, sweater wearing and crisp, quiet air.

For a few weeks every fall I check out the real estate websites and search various towns up and down the coast. I survey independent schools and Unitarian churches to see where we would best fit. I start imagining a new life – one less stressed, over packed with stuff, following our dreams of living more simply and more in tune with our world. I may even learn to knit. Just send me your sock size!

The problem is that this picture of life contradicts my other dream- the one that involves the West Coast- having my daughters grow up at the beach and on the ocean. The dream of writing television comedy and making people laugh. Living larger than life, participating in the absurd.

And then there is the present where we dwell somewhere in-between these two fictional existences. We live in a small town that is close to two big cities. We get all four seasons, even if fall remains a little warmer than I’d like and the summer is just obscene in terms of the humidity index. Pickle attends a school that we all love. We’re members of a church that we find challenging, enriching and life-sustaining. We can both hike and go to the beach here, although we often do neither.

And I think that’s the real issue. My life is dangerously off-course from where I’d like it to be in many, many ways. I focus (aka obsess) on things that pollute my time and energy. I become paralyzed with fear and instead of taking action, I stress myself out over things that would change dramatically with just the smallest of steps. I wish for change, but I want someone else to do the changing for me. I am one of those people for whom making a decision is always life or death so I am unable to choose. I look for the perfect answer, I crave clarity with every step, determined that if I research all the options long enough, squint hard enough and cock my head just so, everything will come into focus and the right path, the perfect one, my Holy Grail, will open up before me and all I have to do is walk through the light to be there.

Just as a reality check, I do realize how ridiculous those last few statements sound even before they leave my head and spill out on the paper. But we’re not talking about logic here; we’re talking about the freak-out zone in my brain known as emotion.

The irony to all of this is that I know that the road is fuzzy, murky, or in my case, as dark as a coalmine. And if you came to me with the same fears, the same questions about your life, I would confidently tell you that it doesn’t matter which step you take first as long as you take a step. And I would believe it with my whole heart. As many of you know, I am incredibly intuitive. The problem is that when my intuition turns inward, I ignore it, chastise it, belittle it and basically send it muttering back off into the far reaches of my brain, giving the finger to me as it walks away. All of which I rightly deserve. But you can see why I’ve ended up so far astray.

So instead of looking at Maine real estate or checking out new congregations and schools, this fall I’m trying to breathe through that anxiety and instead, focus the need for change on the present, the here, the known. It all sounds very Zen and neatly tied up doesn’t it? For the record, I’m not delusional enough to think that this revelation is going to be enough to change everything (and I mean EVERYTHING!) that I am unhappy with within myself. But it does me that I am going to put a little more faith in myself and my intuition and take those first few unknown steps into the mineshaft – I’ll try to keep the squinting to a minimum but I make no promises about the freaking-out part.

How I Know We Are In Trouble

Here's Teaghan's newest phrase:

"Total Annihilation"

Now in her defense, she is just copying a line from the movie "Dogs and Cats" when this cute beagle puppy is trying on different code names as part of the doggie secret service. But still...out of all the possible phrases she could have chosen from that or anything else she watches, she chose that.

I guess it could be worse. She could walk around the house singing, "I love you, you love me...."

And Now for Something Completely Different

You know, I've been thinking that it would be great if I had a place to record my thoughts, do some writing about my daily life, find some way to reach out to my friends with whom I don't chat with as much as I'd like. I've been hearing about some new-fangled web thingy called a blog. Thought I'd look into that...

Yeah. So. Right....

I'll do better now that I am unearthing from the summer. I promise.

School starts for the Pickle next week. The Staples commercial from a few years back is running through my head. You know the one- "It's the most wonderful time of the year" is playing and the dad dances with his shopping cart while collecting school supplies for the sullen children following behind. We are all VERY ready for school to begin.

And the Pepper begins daycare, but not until October. For those of you who don't live in the world of daycare, you are blissfully unaware that being under two years old is the kiss of death for daycare. It is the stuff of which nightmares are made. In Maryland at least, the ratio of caregivers to children under two is 1:2 where children over two is a 1:6 ratio. Which means there are substantially less childcare options if you are under 2. We have a lovely daycare lined up for Pepper but unfortunately, we've got six weeks starting from when we need it before she can actually attend. It's a nightmare. No one wants to babysit part-time short-term, not that I blame them and a nanny service is waaaaay out of our budget. So we piece together days- Land Baron is going to work evenings and Saturdays and handle the morning shift - I'll take over the afternoons and on Sundays we'll be able to spend time together as one family. Six weeks....

This October thing also means that Pepper can't start school for an extra year. In some ways this is good because she'll get to be the oldest in her class- a role she'll never play in the family. But it is daunting for me to think that she still has two years before preschool starts.

I have to be very careful with this whole "Back To School" season. I'm addicted to office supplies, much like any writer, and the potential of going to staples and dropping three hundred dollars on pens and notebooks and pencils and cases and sharpeners, well, I'm salivating at the thought of it. If we need anything there this week, I should probably send the Land Baron to go pick it up.

I know, I have a problem....

Quote of the Week

It's hard to be religious when certain people are never incinerated by bolts of lightning...


- Calvin and Hobbes

Ellen Goodman, a nationally syndicated columnist who works for the Boston Globe wrote an article entitled "A Third Gender in the Workplace.” It’s a discussion of the theoretical monetary value of moms, both stay-at-home and working. More interesting/disturbing to me about the piece, however, is the discussion of the results of a study by Shelley Correll published in the American Journal of Sociology. Correll discovered in her study that there is a “Motherhood Penalty” in the workplace. Moms were seen as less competent and committed. Moms were half as likely to be hired as childless women or men with or without kids. Moms were offered $11,000 less in starting pay than non-moms. Eleven thousand dollars!?!?!?! And, just for good measure, they were also judged more harshly for tardiness. Correll also extrapolated that women who have been out of the workforce for two years or more, have it even harder.

I’ve been in a job search for many months now: many long and fruitless months. I have had exactly one interview- for a job that turns out, pays a lot less than I can afford to work for. Now I absolutely realize that I do not have the skills or experience to become a CEO or senior-level management. What I’m aiming for is a job that will cover the daycare I’ll have to pay for to go back to work and have some money left over to make a contribution to the family finances. If I was challenged and enjoyed the job as well, that would be a bonus. I am blessed to be a well-educated woman. I’ve been successful in the workforce. And I cannot find a job. I can’t even begin to imagine what it must be like for mom less-educated or younger or with more children. What is left over after childcare?

I’ve been trying to wrap this blog entry up for three days now. I can’t seem to write a final paragraph wrapping it all up nice and neat. Maybe it’s because I can’t wrap this topic up nice and neat. Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve been writing after the girls go to bed and no one is sleeping well in the house so we’re all sleep deprived. So maybe I’ll just end like this: Cut moms a break. We could all use it.

36

I have a little site meter on my blog. Nothing fancy, although it took me a few weeks to figure out how to install it properly. For those of you unfamiliar with site meters, they keep track of how many people visit your site each week, how long they hang out for, etc. I have been stunned the last couple of weeks when I’ve opened up my report and found that fairly consistently I’ve had 33-36 visitors per week at my site. Thirty-six? Now that could be thirty-six unique visitors, or it could be one person who doesn’t really have enough going on in their day. I prefer to think that it’s closer to the former.

But over the last two weeks, it’s been sort of haunting me. I really thought that maybe one or two people were stopping by occasionally, just to see if there was anything new up, just to be polite, just checking in. But thirty-six? Now I feel responsible. If all of you are going to go to the trouble of showing up, the least I can do is post a little more than nearly never.

Thanks, by the way, for sticking around.

So I’m working on a spec script. It’s a half-hour tv spec. I think it’s pretty good. I’m amusing myself with it, which is about all you can hope for in your own writing. It has the word “boobies” in it. I think that speaks for itself. I’m entering it in a couple of upcoming competitions. Thought you’d like to know.

I just read an article about improving efficiency in your life. One of the mandates was to stop multi-tasking because that kind of distracting, split-focus doesn’t work. Of course, if you are a parent of a small child, or even a medium, large or extra-large child for that matter, you know that this is just crap. If I didn’t multi-task, the only thing I’d actually complete during my day is the sentence, “Just a second.” Children don’t live in a linear time plane. Time is irrelevant. Everything must happen instantaneous and simultaneously. The only time I get to dump multi-tasking is for the few minutes before bed when I work on a Sudoku puzzle just so my brain shuts down enough to go to sleep. I multi-task to keep my head above water. There was a time when I didn’t multi-task and I still had plenty of time to do everything that was important to me. But that was B.C. (Before Children). I am always astonished at the amount of time I wasted B.C. and for the most part, I was a pretty busy person. I think if I could get that kind of time back, I could cure cancer, bring about world peace and make a pan of vegetarian rice crispy squares to scarf down while watching Grey’s Anatomy. Speaking of- Am I the only one hoping that the spin-off will finally be the star vehicle Taye Diggs deserves?

On that note, I need to go to bed before I make said pan of treats and end up channel surfing for the rest of the night.

Thanks again thirty-six. Let’s do it again real soon.

A Couple Random Updates

Welcome to the world Calvin! I hope you like it here. We've been waiting for you and your arrival thrills so many of us. You change the world just by your presence.
____________________________________________________


I've been reading a book, written by a friend of mine, that has achieved a good deal of success. It is, quite frankly, scaring the crap out of me. I used to be able to read good horror fiction any time of the day or night. I can't pick up this book once the sun goes down. So I get through maybe three or four pages a day. It's good, in a very creepy way.

The coolest thing about this book, World War Z, by Max Brooks, pick it up literally anywhere books are sold, is that he gives me a little shout out in the book by mentioning Dax, my Dalmatian whom we had during my grad school days. I am tickled, thrilled, giggly and amused. Fantastic. Thanks man. You made my month.

Hi. Remember Me?

If any of you are out there, still checking in, I haven't disappeared completely. I actually have a couple of writing projects I'm working on and all my free time has gone there. The one I can talk about is a little bit of an article that's going to appear in Chesapeake Family Magazine in June. It's my first article so I'm a bit nervous, but excited too. Yeah me!

The other thing- well, I'm not ready to talk about it yet. It's going well though, and I'll speak more of it later this spring.

By the way, I saw Anne Lamott speak this past week. She read from her newest book and then took questions and just spoke. Teaghan's middle name is Annie- after her. She was lovely and funny and relaxed and listening to her was like sitting with an old friend. I could have sat and listened to her all night. I had never seen her live before and she was everything I could have hoped for. I was a little afraid to go see her, in case she wasn't as if I imagined her to be. But she was great.

So I'll see you all back here real soon. Hang in there with me. I'll try and poke my head in a little more often.

Blame It On The Chicks

I read this blog entry today over at Breed 'Em and Weep. It's like she crawled inside my brain and scraped out everything that's going on inside there. It's a veritable "Being Reg Malkovich." It hurt to read the rawness of the post and my visceral reaction was to cry and hyperventilate and feel outed and freed all at the same time. There is a small moment of healing when you realize that your silent pain, your moments of secret desperation are experienced down to the minute detail by others.

February was a hard month for me. I expect March will be similar.

If we talk and I'm hoarse, you can blame it on the Dixie Chicks.

Oh The Places You'll Go

"You have brains in your head.
You have feet in your shoes.
You can steer yourself
any direction you choose...

Out there things can happen
and frequently do
to people as brainy
and footsy as you.
And when things start to happen,
don't worry. Don't stew.
Just go right along.
You'll start happening too...

You'll get mixed up, of course,
as you already know.
You'll get mixed up
with many strange birds as you go.
So be sure where you step.
Step with great care and great tact
and remember that Life's
a Great Balancing Act.
Just never forget to be dexterous and deft.
And never mix up your right foot with your left."


Happy Birthday Theodore!
And Erica!
And me.

Shhhh...

No one's home- I have the place to myself. I'm supposed to be working. But I just had to share this story with you:

This morning, for reasons that I won't go into detail about, I put myself into a time out. For the record, I had not done anything wrong, but before I completely blew my cool, I thought I would step outside for a few minutes and breathe deeply. I headed down the stairs off my deck so I wouldn't see the two little pouting faces wondering where I was going without them and sat on the bottom step overlooking my yard and the field and woods behind our house.

In the five minutes that I sat there, I saw:

Four bright red male Cardinals
A party of five Blue Jays (so much cheerier than a murder of crows)
Various and sundry sparrows and chickadees
A Great Blue Heron flying overhead towards the river
Two Turkey Vultures soaring in the wind
A little Red Fox who has built a den in the scrub I think
And A sharp-shinned hawk who flew into the view, causing the jays to lose their minds. He sat in the tree watching the fox and then followed her closely in case she left some food behind somewhere.

I had a National Geographic special in my own backyard.

Ok I gotta get back to work.

Lend Me A Tenor

Apparently, this is old news (circa 1993) but this is the first time I've read this:

Scientists have determined that Black Holes sing in the key of B flat.

57 Octaves below Middle C.

You can return to your life now.

Excuse me, there's a dinosaur in my soup

Over the past few days, a baby pterodactyl has moved into our house. She spends her days shadowing me, following close behind with her little, stompy, lilting gate, wings dragging behind her, shrieking her non-verbal demands. It’s not that she’s particularly upset- although the shrieks do get louder as her frustration level increases; it’s just that delightful stage of toddlerhood where they recognize that they can actually manipulate the world around them through verbal communication. Of course it has now backfired on her. On the first day, I would come running every time the shrieking started because I was sure she had somehow managed to climb her way onto the kitchen counter and cut off her own toes with a knife. Now, as she stands on a stool announcing herself and pronouncing whatever point she is trying to make over and over again, I just go about my day. When she feels like she has said enough, she gets down off the stool and follows me around again until some new thought occurs to her and the shrieking begins anew. If it weren’t for the sheer continual repetition of the noise, she is actually quite adorable as far as baby pterodactyls go.

She sounds a little like this.

Pickle had a very short pterodactyl phase if I remember correctly- maybe a couple of days. I don’t think that’s going to be the case with the Pepper.

Pickles and Peppers are not the same vegetable.

Pickle was a very laid-back, take in the world kind of kid. She was, and still is, extremely cautious about new situations. It takes her about twenty minutes to warm up to anything new at all – once she does, she heads into it full of confidence and understanding. And although you’d never know it now by the fact that her personal volume is set at eleven, she’s actually quite sensitive to noise and stimulation.

Pepper on the other hand is very, very busy. She is total kinetic energy. She moves and climbs and dances and flops and falls and runs and twirls through her day. She acts first then thinks about her plan if it doesn’t work. She is the physical manifestation of impulse. Pepper thrives on activity and noise.

The real issue, besides the non-stop splitting headache, is that it makes any contact with the outside world a little shaky. People at the grocery store come whipping around the corner into my aisle, relieved to see that I am not actually repeatedly running over my daughter with my grocery cart. And I can tell the moms who’ve been there. When they see me, they have the telltale “I’ve been there. Boy am I glad that phase is over” smile on their faces. And of course, it’s virtually impossible to make any sort of phone calls. No one quite believes me when they hear her and I explain that she isn’t in distress. To be fair, it does sound as if a snapping turtle has her by the leg as she is trying to take flight. But really, there’s nothing wrong. She’s just testing and enjoying the power of her own voice- and as much as I can stand it, I’m inclined to let her figure out that her voice is a powerful tool. She’ll need to know that later on in life. So if I owe you a phone call, remember, it’s not you, it’s me.

I Left My Heart in Oswego

6 feet of snow!

Another foot coming this weekend.

And people think Maine gets too much snow.

I may have to make a pilgrimage up there in the next couple weeks.

I'm not kidding.

Yeah!

You Can Reject Me Or Be Jealous Of Me But You Can't Do Both

Variety announced today that Studio 60 is being shelved after tonight. Sigh. Although I'm trying to remain optimistic, it doesn't look good. I should stop right here and say that if you don’t watch the show, you may want to just skip this post all together because it’s all I’m going to write about today. I may not get the chance to do this again. People feel very strongly about this show. They love it or they hate it. Or they very strongly want to love it but find themselves hating it.

Studio 60 turns me on. (For which the Land Baron is eternally grateful.) And not just because I have had a thing (and by thing I mean a full blown obsession) for Bradley Whitford since the first time he walked into the White House.

I love the show. I love the pacing and the humor in the conversations. I love that they steamroll right along so if you didn’t get the joke, you don’t have time to think about it and have to go back and re-watch it on TiVo until you do. I love that it’s about the industry. When I watch the show it makes me hurt to be back out in Los Angeles. I love Matthew Perry’s character and his obsession to be perfect at his writing. When his character is on the screen I feel like I’m looking at who I was supposed to be, who I still am hidden underneath this façade of suburban stay-at-home mommydom. Matt makes me stop breathing every time he tries to find the right word, the right sentiment, the right theme that will tie everything together. His character is who I am in the deepest corners of my soul.

And yet, the show is still finding it’s footing. Although many people cannot, I can forgive this because so many things are going right in the show. The ensemble is amazing- you won’t find that many talented, well-honed actors on one sound stage anywhere else in Hollywood. I think up until now, Matthew Perry has been one of the most underrated actors in Hollywood. (Although, he did appear in a brilliant, three-episode arc on The West Wing during the last days of Friends.) The writing on Studio 60 is smart and fast and doesn’t cater to anyone. It is not a show for the masses. The masses won’t get the Gilbert and Sullivan jokes. And that’s ok. Now if we could just convince the execs at NBC of that…

So maybe to some of you, Studio 60 is just a show; but to me, it’s an alternate reality. It rekindles that other part of me- the part of me that gets lost among the playdates and the preschool and the laundry- the part of me that struggles to survive these years of toddler identity theft. That’s why I’m rooting for it’s survival. That may be a lot to put on one television show. But I think they can handle it.

Update

This is what I was hoping for:




This is what I got:






Then there was this:



Because, clearly, there isn't enough dog fur on our clothes already.

Yippee!

It's supposed to snow around these parts today.

Well, it's not exactly what I would consider a "real" snowstorm- only a couple of inches. But with this weird winter we're having, I'll take what I can get.

I'll keep you posted...

The Blue Period

The Pickle is studying Picasso in her pre-k 4 class this week. She was full of descriptions and factoids when she got into the car yesterday describing Picasso in great lengths. She asked me if I knew about his Blue Period when "He painted everything that made him sad, blue." When they had the opportunity to try their hand at a Picasso-style masterpiece of their own, she painted mountains and birds and a river running through the whole picture. She was very proud of the fact that she only used blue colors for her painting. (Which in and of itself is amazing because Pickle is usually firmly planted in the pink end of the spectrum.)

She called it "The River of Sadness."

And So It Begins...

Here we are. (Looking around, whistling nonchalantly)

I'm sure I'm supposed to do something with all this space, I'm just not sure what exactly. Looks like it could use a fresh coat of paint, maybe some curtains. I'll definitely need to hang something on the walls.

You may be wondering why I asked you all here. I can't answer that for you, but I can tell you why I am:

You sit down I say...And you try to quiet your mind so you can hear what that landscape or character has to say above the other voices in your mind. The other voices are banshees and drunken monkeys. They are the voices of anxiety, judgment, doom, guilt. Also, severe hypochondria.

Yet somehow, in the face of all this, you clear a space for the writing voice, hacking away at the others with machetes, and you begin composing sentences. You begin to string words together like beads to tell a story. You are desperate to communicate, to edify or entertain, to preserve moments of grace or joy or transcendence, to make real r imagined events come alive. But you cannot will this to happen. It is a matter of persistence and faith and hard work. So you might as well just go ahead and get started.



So I might as well just go ahead and get started.