Category Archive

Paula Deen.

I get her vibe, I do. She’s sweet and sassy and cooks like the Southern mama you never had.

But if I ate like she cooked for even two weeks I’d probably be dead. Or on my way to a quadruple bypass at a minimum. (Bad genes in the cholesterol department.)

We joined our local Y, Taxman and I, for the Fitness Center. We both need to be active, for different reasons, but the unifying theme is no excuses. So we’ve got a pretty inexpensive, nicely equipped, weatherproof gym that’s close to the house and on Taxman’s way home from work.

Anyway, I was at the gym today, doing intervals on the treadmill (GAH!) and watching Paula fry things all over the Food Network. Again, I am not against frying as a whole. I don’t think I have ever turned down any kind of fried potato in my life.

But at the end of the show she took a cheesecake out of her fridge, cut a slab from it, wrapped the slab in a wonton skin, and fried it. Then dusted it in powdered sugar. Then halved it, put it on a plate, drizzled chocolate sauce and raspberry sauce over it, sprinkled more powdered sugar, and finally added an enormous dollop of whipped cream and a mint leaf.

Really, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I would, however, probably step on some toes to get a taste of it.

After having no freelance editing work for six months, I finally got a project in May. It was originally supposed to be a short-term thing, but after seeing how much had to be done, the Powers that Be extended the editorial work past the deadline (June 1). I could be billing for this into October.

Good. But.

My mom (I am subcontracted through her) just offered me two short projects. One of them due Monday. Can’t say no to Mom, although Monday and Tuesday are Shavuot and I have to cook and get my tush into gear. Well, first for Shabbat and then for Shavuot.*

Then, out of the blue, a very kind blogger offered me a chance at a freelance job. Yay!

But the turnaround time was, um, unrealistic for someone like me. (Or potentially anyone!) When I say like me, I mean someone without a babysitter, without a personal chef, without a maid, and without a laundress. Oh, I also try to be in bed** for at least 5 hours a night. Boo!

I am not the fastest editor, but I think I am pretty good. Still, it killed me to turn down a job with a good pay rate–and connections to the outside world!

If only I could turn two days into, say, a week. Sigh. Money in the bank.

* Thankfully we are sharing Shabbat lunch with our upstairs neighbors (I am doing side dishes) and Tuesday lunch with friends (I am doing main course, 2 sides and a dessert–they’re doing the rest and cheesecake!).

** You’ll notice sleeping is not necessarily a realistic expectation.

That pretty much sums me up lately.

• Last week I took both kids to the doctor. Random bits of fever, sporadic complaints of sore throat, eat tugging, strep throat sweeping wildly through preschool. No strep, no ear infection. But two days later AM was back. Still feverish, not eating, cranky as hell. Guess what? Return of coxsackievirus, but the version where your throat hurts so much you don’t eat or drink for three days. So that was scary, and the one time I really wished I knew how much liquid he was getting when he was nursing, because that and cold cow’s milk was pretty much all he consumed.
• Oh, but also decaf iced coffee and a donut from Dunkin’ Donuts. I looked like the Worst Mother in the World ™, pouring coffee into his straw sippy cup (I KNOW! Full of BPAs!) and letting him scarf down a donut, but I swear that was the only thing he ate in its entirety all day. The next day I got him to eat a few grapes and two bites of sweet potato.
• In the middle of All That, my mom and stepdad arrived to visit.
• They stayed for five nights. The apartment seemed much smaller with two extra adults, but they were happy to read to the kids, take them to the park, or help with bathtime. So that was very nice.
• I was constantly worried about the next meal. Truthfully, during the week and during the day, I kind of eat whatever. A yogurt here, bowl of cereal there, cheese and crackers and baby carrots for lunch if that’s what I can grab. The kids are thrilled with a cheese stick and a tortilla, nuked peas and corn on the side, and would eat pasta every day if I let them. My parents do not eat like this–my stepdad eats low carb, which is kind of the opposite of us. We kind of intersect at fish and veggies and brown rice. Not bad, or hard, but not exactly as easy as pasta and salad. And fewer leftovers.
• There are a lot of days when Miss M does not want to go to school. Still. There are only 4 weeks left. I feel terrible–like I have failed her for making her stick it out in a class that she still hasn’t warmed to. (Of course, the only real alternative would have been no school at all this year, and that would have been unhealthy for us both.) I realized yesterday that her teacher is unnecessarily strict and sometimes just really not nice. Not abusive, but I would like my baby to have some TLC– at least someone to get down to her level and try to meet her halfway when she is tired and something is bothering her. I feel like someone who has been teaching 3 year olds for 10 years should make it look easier or better and be warmer and more lovely than me, who has never had a 3 year old before this one.
• AM is really trying to make some words. I can see that not too far away he will be calling me Ema and Taxman Abba (he can say “ahhhh-bah!” but won’t apply it to the person) and Miss M some version of her name. And it is awful to say, but I will really miss him padding around the house yelling “MA!” (for me) “BA!” (for Taxman) or “YA!” (for Miss M). He is really scrumptious, when he’s not throwing his damn trains at my head.
• Speaking of AM, he has his own numbering system. One equals one, two equals two, and three equals more-than-two. He has his own signs for all of these. It’s fun to play with.
• The freelance assignment that I have hanging over my head got modified and extended. Good because there is much to do. Bad because it is eating my brain. Engineers: good people, but most of them cannot write a lick. At least the ones whose writing I see.
• The in-between fruit and vegetable season is killing me. I want tomatoes and blueberries. NOW. (Please.)

The past few days have been a whirlwind: Shabbat with friends who moved to the leafy suburbs, brunch with Ianqui, book club meeting to pick our next six books, and the local La Leche League meeting. The last three of those things were at my house, in a 24-hour period. So despite the fact that my achingly dull and stupidly frustrating freelance assignment was unfinished, all I could do last night was lie on the couch and watch House. (Last week’s was better, methinks, but still! The drama!)

But I digress.

At Target last week, with an eye toward the events of the weekend, I purchased a mini muffin tin. And it was fun. I made banana muffins and zucchini muffins for Shabbat, and a mess of downsized carrot cupcakes with cream cheese frosting for everything else.

I highly recommend the carrot cakes. Yum. If you double the frosting you’ll have plenty to slather on the cakes. And extra to put on, say, some fresh strawberries. Or to eat with your fingers when you run out of strawberries because your children will!not!stop! pestering you in their quest to eat all the fruit in the universe house. (Yeah, I know about the dirty dozen. And yeah, we bought the organic strawberries. It’s going to be an expensive summer–and not just because of the gas prices.)

Is it just me?

I tried to find cute/funny cards for my mom and stepmom and found either schmaltz or sentiments that struck me as a little mean-spirited, to be honest. So I didn’t buy them, instead making phone calls and sending cute photos of the grandkids over email.

Anyway, I hope it was a lovely day for new mommies, newly christened moms, new grandmoms, moms-to-be, and everyone else who was celebrating with loved ones.

Special hugs and kisses to my (sadly blogless) friend 3daughters, who, as of yesterday, will have to change her name to 4daughters!

My county apparently thinks (or the computer controlling such things thinks) that it’s peachy to call me and Taxman on the same day for jury duty. When our trusty grandparental babysitters are out of the country.

Nuh-uh. Can you say “postponement”? Figures this didn’t happen before we had kids, when it would have been nice to be able to hang with a pal while-u-wait.

Somehow, AM’s winter coat smells of vomit. Or dog poop.

He does sometimes chew on the zippers, but to the best of my recollection, he has been near neither smell recently. The kids were in the care of my mother-in-law for several hours yesterday, and spent time on a city bus, but it is unlikely she would leave out a detail like bodily fluids.*

The bad news: It smells gross and needs a wash and will have to wait.

The good news: I figured out where the smell was coming from. Because boy, was it driving me nuts. I kept checking my shoes, his shoes, his diaper–although it did not smell like his poop.

But: Still completely mystified. Not enough No caffeine in my system to process further.

* She left a very detailed message on my voicemail yesterday telling me that Miss M had picked up a dime from the sidewalk and exactly where her jacket it was secreted for safekeeping. So, you see, not the type to leave out Big Stuff.

Dear Friends,

I love you dearly. Really. But I will not play Scrabulous with you. I have been a member of Facebook for 24 hours and already four of you (you know who you are) have tried to suck me in. Yea, if it is verily Teh Crack of Teh Internets, I am having none of it.

Unless you are willing to come clean my kitchen every day. Because, oy, is it a mess! (And while you are at it, can you give my kids a bath? Just not in the mood.)

With great affection,

One Tired Ema

• Eliot Spitzer: Can kiss my tush. Seriously. The most powerful man in one of the top 5 most powerful states in the US, brought down by his id. What is it about top political office that turns men into such idiots? Or were they always idiots, but now they are drunk-with-power and above-the-law (or so they think)?
• The secretary at the speech and hearing clinic: AM was supposed to have a hearing test today, as part of his whole speech workup thing. (We think his hearing is rather bat-like. But anyway.) I walked in at 12:40, dragging my tired baby, for a 12:45 appointment. She told me I was an hour early because the appointment was for 1:45. It was right there on her calendar! “Um, no,” I said, “I never would have agreed to 1:45. I have to pick my daughter up at school at 2:30. I was told that the test was an hour, so 1:45 would have been an impossibility.” I had to reschedule for April. Whatever, it’s not pressing. It just pissed me off that it must have been MY mistake. Incorrect, lady!
• Why nobody will make Friday night dinner for my friends who had a baby: I am arranging meals for them, and nobody will touch Shabbat dinner with a 10-foot pole. I always volunteer to make Friday night dinner for people because it is the one meal every week that I know I will be cooking! I just make more! Every weekday I throw whole wheat pasta at the kids, zap some corn and peas and call it dinner–but that’s not acceptable to bring to someone else. I would totally make them Friday night dinner, but I took tonight’s dinner slot (because I just started making calls yesterday and thought it was too-short notice), and I don’t want them to think I am stalking them.
• I joined Facebook. It’s weird. On the one hand, wow, I have like 21 friends already. On the other hand, I have no idea of the etiquette. People I don’t know want to friend me. I think I know how they got to me–they are “friends” with someone I know in person but I only “know” them from a Yahoo group that I have not posted to in about 18 months because it got so totally catty. Of course, that’s very different, somehow, from the fact that I friended bloggy friends who I have never met in real life. (What do I do about these other people? Ignore them? Friend them? Help!)
• Did I mention I joined Facebook in the hopes of finding freelance editing work? Wow, that is SO NOT GOING TO HAPPEN. Sigh. Does anyone need me to edit their dissertation? I have references.
• Daylight Savings Time: Or whatever it is that is making AM’s new schedule look like this…wake up 8:00, nap 1:30, go to bed 9:00. This is, in a word, sucky. Must to fix before I am never able to pick up Miss M at school again.
• Miss M’s Why phase: At the normal “why?” phase time, she was going through an equally annoying “What’s that?” phase. Now we are in “WHY?!” with a vengeance. It leads to some stellar conversations. Take this morning. Me: “Ok, I am going to take a shower.” Her: “Why?” Me: “Because I would like to get clean and wash my hair.” Her: “I don’t want you to take a shower.” Me (to Taxman): “How am I even supposed to respond to that?”
• Starbucks: Weren’t they supposed to come out with a $1 coffee? Where is it?
• Sprouty watch: The flower is turning in a bean pod. Who knew I could grow things?

• 4pm update: Number of kettles boiled today: 4. Number of cups of tea steeped: 0. (But none was wasted either. I guess that’s good.) 
• Sprouty: has flowers. C’mon! I can’t deliberately starve him now!
• The world: What is up with all the killing? Leaving aside the wars and stuff, shooting students? Doesn’t matter if it is in North Carolina or Israel. Murderers suck. Don’t these people have any moral compass? I am frighteningly close to 33 years old and I STILL do not understand how it is ok to take someone else’s life unless they are imminently threatening your life/your children/your loved ones.
• My neighbor: had her baby. (Yay! It’s a girl!) She told me she was going to get a manicure yesterday afternoon. Either she went to be induced instead or she did get a manicure, then went into labor. I’m betting on the former. Which makes me a little snitty, because I’ve been trying to run interference for her with the gossipy moms at preschool. I wouldn’t have said anything if she had told me the truth.
• (NSLS, you’re up next, I think. Of the people I know, anyway.)
• Now I am in total mother hen mode. I want to organize their meals (friends and people in the community make dinners for people who have had a baby) or stock their fridge or something, but I don’t have the go-ahead for that. Instead, we bought crepe paper so we can decorate their door on Saturday night before they come home. Now that’s useful.
• My kitchen skillz: totally off. Good thing it is just us for Shabbat dinner.
• My mothering skillz: Eh. I did figure out today, way too late in the game, that I just don’t understand the way 3 year olds think. But I recognized that it is not the way I think. So I apologized to Miss M for yelling at her for putting her pancake sans plate on the windowsill to cool off. Will it offset the lead paint/toxic dust/grit she ingested?
• My dishwasher: Does not clean properly unless dishes are rinsed well. It’s always been like this. I thought the point of new dishwashers was that you didn’t have to rinse.
• My husband: Keeps putting meat silverware in the (dairy) dishwasher.
• AM’s mouth: Last canine is finally close to poking through. I was finally on top of it with the baby Motrin last night. Much better. It’s been a long six weeks though, to get all of them into his mouth. Glacial paced teething, it’s his specialty. Next up? Two year molars. $&@#.
• Hope everyone has a nice weekend. I will be busy not sleeping enough. And getting old.

Ask Moxie is hosting a 60-day challenge, starting tomorrow.

I am participating and one of my goals is to cut down (NB: not “eliminate entirely”) things like high-fructose corn syrup and “bad” fats. I have basically been taking breastfeeding as license to eat whatever I want to, whenever, and not have to pay the price because people are sucking the calories and cholesterol out of me. Eventually, probably sooner rather than later, I will have to watch my diet again (for health reasons, not weight reasons). So I may as well “practice,” as it were.

The question is…do I make one last stop at Dunkin’ Donuts?

Although, frankly, the bigger challenge for me will be to quit eating Nutella at the drop of a hat, since it’s actually in my house.

• File this under “things I now know that I wish I didn’t”: If your order at Lands’ End is more than $200, you pay a flat rate for shipping.
• But I did get really good deals on parkas for the kids, hopefully to fit each of them for the next two winters. Although I could not find a “boys” sale parka I liked for AM, so I wound up with a “girls” one for him. In green. I figured why not, seeing as how I bought Miss M’s parka in yellow (excuse me, “honey gold”) fully intending that he will wear it when she outgrows it. What are the styling differences at this age, anyway? Just the zipper on the opposite side? It’s not like a 3T parka is going to come with a pocket to secret away a lipstick and a tampon!
• I seem to have survived a week of preschool vacation. Barely. But whoo-hoo!
• Honestly, last week would have been a wash anyway. Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday (if I were adhering to the school “health policy”) would have been sick days, and Friday surely would have been a snow day.
• AM’s progress in speech therapy is, well, slow. He says “more” now, and “in” (sort of), but it’s a struggle to get him to focus beyond the toys.
• He did appear to imitate one of his little friends saying her sister’s name the other day. Her mom–my neighbor, who knows almost as much as Taxman about the current ins and outs of my life–was here when he did it and she (all 39 weeks pregnant of her) just about fell off the couch in surprise. I spent the next two days attempting to get him to repeat it.  
• The most fascinating thing about therapy for me is that he totally knows the score. As in, he can walk all over the grad student, but when her professor pops in to offer advice, he snaps to attention. Looks her right in the face, tries to imitate her facial movements. Then she leaves and he goes back to his own agenda: ”Cars, cars, I want more cars!” How he understands the power balance in that relationship I have no idea. But clearly he was not born yesterday.
• Am I a crappy mother because I don’t cut Miss M’s grapes? (And only cut AM’s if he’s going to be wandering around with them instead of eating them directly in front of me?) She bites them. I don’t let her have chewing gum or hard candy, if that changes your opinion. I ask because I saw a kid who’s over four years old having her grapes cut for her. And this was with everyone sitting around the table, including Taxman (the EMT).
• Finally, I have to link to the funniest thing I have read lately: Amalah’s description of pregnancy hunger. Language is R-rated, if you care about that sort of thing, but it is beyond hysterical. Excellent riff on Girl Scout cookies included. (CCW, in case you have extra boxes to sell?)

But, wow, I’ve had better weeks.

Let’s just say that the mouth sores due to my little dance with the plague a virus left me rather, uh, disinterested in food and beverages. My son, however, lost no interest in nursing during this same time period. By Thursday evening, when I consumed a single English muffin with strawberry jam, about a cup of leftover (homemade) tofu fried rice with veggies, and one-and-a-half banana oatmeal pancakes in a 12-hour period,* I was feeling like hell. A couple of hours later we were discussing if I was really dehydrated and would need to go to the hospital for IV fluids by myself (because of course somebody would have to stay home with the sleeping children). I was so tired I just wanted to sleep, but I was nauseated and panicky and blech I don’t want to even write about this any more.

Friday, I managed to get Miss M to school while pushing AM in the stroller. Without passing out. I managed to get home from school (more difficult, because it’s up a hill) without falling down and move my car (alternate side, natch) without passing out. Very big achievements.

But once I ate a reasonable dinner I began to feel more human–especially since we were in bed last night at approximately 8:34. No joke, I think Taxman was sleeping before Miss M. It took me my usual 45-60 minutes to turn off my damn brain, but that made for some quality horizontal time, even with all the usual interruptions.

So here I am. I apologize for neglecting most of your blogs in the recent days. I will rectify that ASAP. Although Miss M is on vacation this week, so no telling when the ASAP will turn out to be…

And I have got to get my hands on some chocolate. It’s been way too long that we’ve been apart.

* I normally eat way more than this. It’s not necessarily at regular times, and it’s sometimes real trash, but calorically speaking this day was essentially mouse food. Not fit for a lactating human.

Getting a cheesecake, free, delivered to my door…

…and having it taste like cotton balls, with the texture of a sponge.

Sigh.

AM hasn’t let me sleep in three nights. Or four?

But also:

• How is it acceptable that the candidates have essentially deserted their jobs in their quest to have another? I can’t think of another type of job where this would be ok, but apparently it’s fine in politics. But only at the highest level: When someone we know ran for city council, he took a leave of absence from his job. Senators? Eh, who really needs them to be on Capitol Hill anyway? For 18 or so months of a six-year term they are allowed to seek other employment? Again, why are we paying them?
• I can’t even talk about politics with people, not that I would really want to, but I seem to be surrounded by single-issue voters. “How is Candidate X for Israel?”
• Not that I want to dismiss the importance of that, being a religious Jew and all, but for the time being I live here, in the US. And on the earth at large. (Um, Kyoto?) And vote accordingly.
• The comparisons of Obama to JFK. I don’t get it.
• The fact that Romney actually has to defend himself in Massachusetts. Excellent. But shouldn’t that TELL people something? Like “he was so disliked that even in a primary he has to really campaign”? Romney, as far as I can tell, is the ultimate in job desertion–apparently halfway through his term he decided he was SO OVER Massachusetts. Or so my friends from Massachusetts tell me. They are all Democrats, as far as I know, but apparently the Republicans are also feeling snitty.
• I thought I had more to say on this. But I haven’t really slept since last Thursday.
• Go vote if today’s your day. Duh.

And:

• I know it takes time to print the ballot cards and whatever. But my choices included Biden, Kucinich, and Richardson. Even though I mostly get my news from Mamapop, I knew they were already out of the race.
• I have been a registered voter for almost 15 years. I hope this is why I don’t recall ever presenting proof of identity, age, or citizenship in order to vote. But at some point I must have, right? All I have to do now is give my name and sign the register–I assume the signatures are supposed to match. But let me say that when I originally became a NY voter, I had just changed my name and the signature was really new. So now, eight years later, I do a lot more of the “scrawl.” Nobody says a word.
• Madeleine 4 Prez! You’ve got my vote.

I have to present three book choices to one of my book clubs in a few days. I have a shelf full of unread books. I need opinions! Good, bad, yes, no, never! Help me winnow!

Here’s my (incomplete, but appropriate for this particular book club) list of unread books, in no particular order:

Never Let Me Go (Kazuo Ishiguro)

All the Finest Girls (Alexandra Styron)

Small Island (Andrea Levy)

On Beauty (Zadie Smith)

An Unfinished Season (Ward Just)

A Death in the Family (James Agee) or My Antonia (Willa Cather)*

Secrets of the City (Anne Roiphe)

The Fourth Hand (John Irving)

The Bonesetter’s Daughter (Amy Tan)

Mister Posterior and the Genius Child (Emily Jenkins)

King Leopold’s Ghost (Adam Hochschild)**

* I haven’t read either; I have a suspicion that the book club coordinator, who is an English prof, has read both. Although her specialty lies elsewhere.

** I generally far prefer fiction for book clubs, but this came highly recommended.

Dear Mr. Retiree Volunteer,

It’s very nice that you volunteer your time at the Maritime Aquarium. You’ve obviously earned the respect of the organization because they use you in their promotional materials.

But perhaps it’s been a while since you’ve had quality time with the toddler/preschool set. Yesterday, a school in-service day, my friend and I blitzed through with our kids. Their ages are 4 years 2 months, 3 years 7 months, 22 months, and 21 months. We had four kids, two strollers, food, sippy cups, diapers, coats. (What we needed were valets and a sheepdog, but really not your fault.) We managed to get the kids interested in the touch tank. Not to actually touch things, because they were not feeling so brave, but to look at the little creatures right up close.

“Oooh, starfish!” exclaimed the older girls, thankfully pausing in their frantic inspection of the large tanks (in 10 second chunks).

In the interest of being scientifically accurate (I am assuming), you said, “Actually, we call them sea stars, because they’re not fish.”

To which I did NOT reply, “Are you KIDDING me?” But I wanted to. I just could not think of a polite way to dress you down while respecting your volunteer commitment, setting a good example for the preschoolers, and preventing AM from diving in with the otters.*

Kids this age are little sponges and will soak up what you have to say, but they’ve got to stop whirling like tops first.

Please enjoy the rest of your afternoon.

Cordially,

One Tired Ema

* He couldn’t have gotten in. But damned if he wasn’t going to try.

My 2-year (crazy!) blog anniversary is tomorrow. But I don’t have anything especially fabulous or deep to say. I keep meaning to post Cool Stuff or Great Ideas or Informative Tidbits. Most days, though, it is just a relief to get from 7 to 7 without anyone in my house having some sort of physical or mental breakdown. We’ve managed that small daily achievement, for the most part, and it’s not good blog material. It’s pretty boring, actually. The “good stuff” is hanging around in draft form, waiting for me to be not quite so exhausted, not quite so perfectionist (’tis the editor in me), and to post the damn things instead of the little distractors that have kept the blog limping along: “Hey, look over there, cuteness!” “Hey, three year olds are funny!” “Hey, I met four bloggers this year!”*

I am not much for resolutions, but if I were, I’d want to take better care of myself physically (more walking, less chocolate for breakfast, figure out a way to eat kosher and organic at the same time), read more books (an upside to the TV writers’ strike!), spend less time yelling, enjoy the kids more, and finish things that I start.

As the year turns over, I’d love to know from my readers (yes, including people who mostly/exclusively lurk): What was the best/most important post you read this year from any blog? It didn’t have to be written this year, but something that you’ve read in the past 12 months that sticks with you and you want to share….links appreciated, but vague recollections are ok too.

I’ll start. My soft spots go to Julie from A Little Pregnant and CCW just for their hysterical slices of life in the face of some Really Serious Crap. Collectively, the community at Ask Moxie make me feel like a less clueless parent every day. It’s really grown this year and the gazillion comments per post can sometimes seem overwhelming, but there is so much kindness and encouragement and good will there.

But the most important post I’ve read this year is this one (see! not written this year!) from Chichimama. (No, I didn’t pick it because she let my kids trash her house.) It really changed my whole attitude about socializing–and the best Mommy friendship I’ve developed is with someone who lives in my building, no less. Playdates in pajamas! Trading off picking up the big girls at school in the icy weather while someone stays home with the toddlers. Swapping a cup of rice for an egg. Commiserating about the school vacation schedule, husbands working long hours, and preschooler attitude. It’s just…nice. And sanity saving. And who can’t use that? 

Next? Pretty please?

* True. And it was fun! The blogger meetup material does not fall into the category of placeholding!

Picture it. You’re 10 years old, home sick from school. You’ve read a little bit, had a small bite to eat. But now you’re bored. All your friends are, obviously, in school; your assignments won’t be delivered until later.

How will you pass the time until noon, when you will eat chicken soup and then lie down?

Duh! If it’s 11:00 am, parked on the couch with a glass of orange juice (or sometimes ginger ale), watching The Price is Right. There is nothing like watching people fawning over kitschy merchandise in the hopes of getting a chance, based on their encyclopedic knowledge of the price of drugstore items, to win cash! Cars! Snowmobiles! Bedroom sets including fine linens! China cabinets filled with fine china!

(’Fess up. Who else?)

On Christmas Day, I was washing dishes in the kitchen, Taxman was working in the living room, and the kids were wandering around doing what they do best (burying the rug beneath mounds of toys, books, food particles, and other detritus, in case you were curious). AM found the remote control for the television and started flipping channels. And wouldn’t you know it landed on CBS. The time was 11:06, and I heard the familiar command and upbeat music, “Come on down! “

I dropped my sponge and ran to the couch, scooping AM into my lap as I went. “Kids,” I crowed, “this is classic television!” Taxman grinned. “I don’t think they quite understand,” I said.

Drew Carey is the host now, but everything else is pretty much just the same. The screamers, the people who need help (? really? how helpful are they?) from the audience members, the crazy t-shirts–although no more “I heart Bob.” Drew, we guessed, is still not entirely comfortable with all the touching from the (admittedly nutty-acting) hoi polloi. But he has the right sense of fun to connect with the lady from South Dakota, who was thrilled to win a snowmobile.

Anyway, Taxman and I waxed sentimental about sick days of yore. And I realized that in the age of DVDs, DVR, and PBS kids, our kids were probably going to miss that. Not that I am bemoaning the fact that I am shielding them from 4,000 commercials a day on terrible cable programming or completely screwing them over for a chance at being pop culture wizards, but will this generation have seminal experiences like this? That don’t involve death and destruction, I mean. They’ll never have the sick day choice of The Price is Right vs. two soap operas and two scary talk shows. I would just pop in a video and that would be that.

It seems ridiculous to be blue about something so stupid, but sometimes I just love connecting with Taxman, or anyone my age, really, about what we were watching, or doing, or reading at a certain age. It makes me feel like part of a generation, linked to others despite growing up in different houses, in different places. Again, nothing earth shattering, but something happier than “What were you doing on January 28, 1986?”

I am on fire!

Taxman and I–well, mostly me because I AM ON FIRE!–took his parents for ONE DOLLAR AND FIFTY-SIX CENTS in the annual nittel nacht poker fest. I suppose we should have shown some mercy for their 35th wedding anniversary, but we had to save face after barely squeaking out a victory last year with a mere 11 cents.

For the first time ever, I can understand the appeal–and danger–of gambling. You win a little. Then you win a little more, unexpectedly, and your bets get reckless. Sometimes you win, but mostly you lose slowly. It takes a lot of restraint to haul your mind in and think clearly. Of course, playing penny poker with relatives is as safe as it gets.

Las Vegas is still one of the last places on earth I would want to go. But I have a better appreciation of the psychology that sucks people in.

Yes, I should be cleaning my living room for company, but honestly this is the daytime cup of tea I have had all week.

• Miss M is by turns infuriating and cute. (What? This is BRAND NEW INFORMATION!) No, really. The cute is that she says funny things and “reads” books to all of us almost verbatim.
• The infuriating is a long list: We have caught her sucking her thumb at night because, we think, AM does it. But he started at three months old. Three and a half years seems a tad late for that, no? She has started dawdling to the max while eating or dressing. Grrr. Her latest response to being told no, or not now, or I don’t think so, is to violently throw herself to the floor. I think this is very obnoxious and will ultimately result in her really hurting herself. But she didn’t ask my opinion.
• AM is getting more defiant by the day. Still very cute, but OY! it is only a matter of time before he gets hurt or I lose my mind.
• I have had to try very hard not to respond to either/both of them with the phrase: “This is SUCH BULLSHIT!”
• Because I’d lose all of my mother of the year votes. So close to the end of the year, it seems a shame.
• We had two therapy evaluators come Wednesday to see AM. The speech therapist gave an initial diagnosis within two minutes. There were a lot of questions about his eating habits, which turned out to be related to her suspicions. He stuffs food into his mouth, which I thought was just a toddler thing, but apparently relates to his jaw musculature and oral sensation.* Also very important was Taxman’s seemingly (to me) irrelevant comment that he likes spicy/garlicky food. That was kind of the linchpin. She was afraid, though, that he would score too high in other areas to get services. “But I only hear him making vowel sounds, so that’s good.” I said, “Off the record, he does make consonant sounds while he is babbling.” “I didn’t hear that!” she exclaimed. Good grief.
• Meanwhile, the special ed teacher was shocked by how good his “play skills” are and his responsiveness and critical thinking and attention span.
• Hey, state of New York, we never said he wasn’t smart. He just doesn’t speak and now we have a good sense of why! If you don’t approve us for therapy we are NOT going to wait six months to re-evaluate. We are going to take our good health insurance benefits and use them!
• (Chichimama, thanks for the heads up on all the qualifying vs not stuff!)
• I have been obsessing about really unimportant things lately. For example, I made a meal for a family who is spending a lot of time at the hospital. I spent way too much time debating if I should make salad dressing from scratch or just pop some bottled Italian into a Dixie container. Because really, when your husband/father is battling pancreatic cancer, salad dressing is what you are going to notice. Of course I wound up making honey mustard vinaigrette from scratch and sending extra brownies; food is emotional comfort, right?
• Both my book clubs pushed their January books to the extreme end of the month. If I read now I will never remember what happens. I feel like I am at loose ends. I grabbed Girl with a Pearl Earring last night, but 15 pages in I am not sure that I will really love it.
• I think I got almost seven hours of sleep last night. Wow.
• I should be less cranky if that’s true.
• I am very torn over trying to nightwean AM. Many nights now, he does nurse but goes right back to sleep without a problem. And he really nurses, as if he is hungry, so I think it is more than just a comfort thing. (Miss M, who we nightweaned at the same age, would wake up, nurse for 10 seconds. That was not worth it.) He often goes 7p to 4a (or even 4:30), which is just so much better than 2:30, somehow. If we do it, there will just be a lot of crying and more disturbed sleep. I am not sure I am up for that.
• I really should go to bed at 10:30 every night. It makes a huge difference.
• But then we’d have to be invited out for Shabbat meals every week for the rest of our lives. Because I can’t get much done when the clowns are awake and climbing the furniture. It took me 25 minutes to put together a chicken marinade this morning–if I had done it when everyone was sleeping it would have taken less than five. So you see my dilemma.
• Ok, 20 crayons are calling me from the floor. “Put us awaaaaaayyyyyy!”
• How’s by you?

* Um, yeah, so I feel pretty dumb/guilty for not noticing and/or not thinking that it was relevant. In my favor, though, I did pick up on the fact that he drools more than I think he should.

There’s some saying about divine protection for fools, right? Because I can pretty much confirm this is true.

Par for the course, this morning I could not find my wallet. It wasn’t in the coat I wore yesterday, and I hadn’t taken a diaper bag with me when I went out to stock up on missing essentials (bananas, clementines, milk). Hmm.

I had left in the car. The one that gets parked on the street. In New York City. Yes, in a safe neighborhood, but cars still get broken in to often and occasionally stolen.

And why was it still in the car? Because yesterday I had taken it out of my coat pocket to make sure that I had my Dunkin’ Donuts drink punch card–buy six, get one free!–with me; I was on the fence about stopping in for a hot chocolate or a decaf. Ultimately, AM was too close to his nap, so I came straight home, leaving my wallet on the cupholder console.

So, yeah, lucky. (And stupid!)

Let’s hope the luck extends to all of Miss M’s preschool class. Why? Because of the mom who showed up to the Chanukah party today, pronouncing herself “sick as a dog, but not contagious because I don’t have fever.”* Now, her husband, her father, and her video camera were also present for the five-minute “aren’t these kids too precious for words” song-and-dance** routine, so she could have seen the whole thing from the comfort of her bed. But then she would have missed the chance to infect 25 preschoolers, a dozen younger siblings, and at least 40 adults. Seriously! Chanukah songs! Not Nobel Prize acceptance!

* Is THAT what qualifies as contagious? Maybe once my sore throat works itself into a nice snotty cold I’ll hand her my sodden tissues. I hardly ever run a fever with a cold, so I won’t be contagious.

** Despite weeks of practice at home, Miss M sat quietly in her seat and did not participate. Hey, stage fright! She finally gets something from me!

I am sure I had other things to blog about today, but they have all been swept right out of my head with the news that WE HAVE A BRAND SPANKING NEW NIECE, all 6 pounds, 9 ounces of her, born this afternoon (Israel time).

We won’t see her in the flesh until April, so now I must proceed to engage of a lot of retail therapy at Baby Gap to make up for that.

Toodles!

Julie’s recent post, dealing with her extremely cautiously optimistic potential pregnancy news (”something”) as juxtaposed to her grandfather’s rapidly declining health, reminded me of a similar story in my own life.

In June of 1999 I was summoned to Florida, where my grandpa was “not doing well.” Relatively robust, even after heart bypass surgery at some point–in the 1980s, I think?–a stroke around the time of his 87th birthday sent him into a bit of a tailspin–both in terms of his physical and emotional health.

If I remember correctly–and I may not–I managed to squeeze in a visit with Grandpa and a college friend’s wedding in the same weekend.

But I do remember what I said to him.

Grandpa was a consummate joker, accomplished pianist, world traveler, superior amateur photographer, and all around fun guy. He was bigger than life and tended to sweep everyone in his path along with him for a good time, sort of like a friendly hurricane.

So to see him frail, bedridden, and incoherent was shocking, even though I had been warned. My grandmother and two of their children (my aunt, who was already retired, and my uncle, who was a musician and not on a strict schedule) were tending to him, along with a flurry of visiting nurses. “Daddy,” my aunt said when I arrived, “look, it’s Katie.”* He took one look at me, then burst into tears.

I held his hand and tried to chat. But his wails grew louder. Finally I leaned over and stage whispered, “Grandpa, I have a secret! I’m getting married! But don’t tell Mom; she hasn’t met the guy yet.” (The last was mostly for the benefit of my aunt.)

I have no idea what possessed me to say it. I mean, we were seriously dating and had, for all intents and purposes, decided to get married, but Taxman had.not.met.my.mother. So all our plans were, for the moment, purposeful-yet-hypothetical.** Until they flew out of my mouth, lucid witnesses standing by.

Thankfully my mom, stepfather, and brother all decided that Taxman was the greatest thing since sliced bread (seriously! He’s the favorite), and several weeks after my little, uh, revelation, we had everyone’s*** blessing to proceed.

We went down the aisle on December 5.

Happy Anniversary to my worst-kept secret. Love you!

* Family nickname. Don’t even think about it.

** Taxman actually took advantage of my absence from New York to pick out my engagement ring.

*** My dad and stepmom had met him Memorial Day weekend, when I attended a wedding of another college friend in the city where they live. While I was at the wedding he went sailing with my dad, which scored about a million bonus points right there.

Monday

The La Leche League meeting I hosted was really fun. Sometimes there are so many moms and babies in my not-so-big living room, or some really serious issues–newborn not latching, 3-week-old not gaining weight, etc.–but this one was comparatively loose and carefree. The youngest attendee was six weeks and already nursing like an old hand, so we wound up talking about strategies for nursing in public and comparing nursing bras and tanks (yes, by lifting our shirts). It was very Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret, but for grownups. And way cooler.

Tuesday

My attempt to get a “younger siblings of 3 yr old classmates playgroup” off the ground was, yet again, partially stymied by people who I think don’t like me very much because they can’t be bothered to remember dates or write them down or act the slightest bit interested after the initial contact. But honestly? The three kids who were here (AM, a neighbor, and one other) had a good time and the adults were actually able to have a conversation because there were plenty of toys to go around.

Wednesday

Miss M’s favorite school day of the week was subverted by pre-Thanksgiving festivities. Turkey for lunch (boo!), but also sweet potatoes (yay!). Topped off with the arrival of Taxman at 5:15 pm–just an hour after dark! So we kicked up our heels and went out for mediocre pizza. Well, we had just had pizza days before so I had a greek salad. But it was the principle of the thing.

Thursday

Do I sound like I am about 80 years old if I say that one of the highlights of Thanksgiving was parking my behind in a chair at the kitchen table, talking with whomever happened to be in the kitchen at the time, and not getting up? For an entire hour, just sitting? (The kids were, naturally, not present.)

Friday

I did my shopping for Shabbat at 11:00, returning home at 12:00. Shabbat started at 4:14. I made mushroom barley soup, honey orange chicken, baked chicken for the fusspot Miss M, roasted potatoes, and grilled zucchini & eggplant for dinner. (Making up for subpar Thanksgiving eats? Why yes, I was.) And then baked ziti for lunch. I got it all done, plus left the kitchen in decent shape.

I never, ever want to do that again. The time pressure, it makes me unpleasant. Ask anyone.

Saturday

Miss M woke with a raging case of pink eye.* Treated with multiple courses of breastmilk in the eyes. (PSA: breastmilk is antibacterial, gentle, free, and does not require a prescription. Handy for holiday weekends. Am I already worried about a time when it will not be in my house? Yes, since I had trouble expressing an ounce to use. Nursing two older kids doesn’t demand on the body quite like an infant.) Praying she can go to school Monday.  Taxman and I scraped by with a minimum of childcare duties in favor of reading Harry Potter (6 for me, 7 for him).

Sunday

Skipped a bris in favor of a funeral. My grandmother’s. (The funeral, not the bris.) It was sufficiently non-traditional that Taxman, a kohain (descendant of Temple priests–not allowed to be in the presence of a dead body or human remains), could attend. So that was weird, for me but especially for him. My mom and my aunt gave amazing eulogies, considering that my grandma was a difficult spirit. In many ways. But holy moly could she cook.

All week long

Insomnia, why do you torture me so?

Just 26 days until the next four-day weekend…

* It should go without saying that she smeared it from one eye to the other, despite our almost literally tailing her with a squirt bottle of hand sanitizer all day Saturday. It should also go without saying that AM, also known as “the boy in my bed (sharing my pillow),” has it now as well.

It was fine.

Kids were pretty well behaved except for the last hour or so. Everyone flipped for them. Naturally.

No! Traffic! (A Thanksgiving Miracle!)

I got to sit in a chair and not move for an entire hour–kids at the playground with my dad and Taxman. (Another Thanksgiving Miracle!)

Miss M cried in her sleep for the last half hour of the drive, waking up AM who cried for the last 25 minutes of the drive. Is it telling that Taxman and I just shrugged at the caterwauling and realized that this was really for the best–because it answered the “are the kids ready to bunk in the same room” question. (Not quite.)

Twentysomething cousins playing football with AM? OMG! so cute and get these people babies very soon while they still have the energy!

Maybe someday everyone will come to us and we’ll all eat turkey together.

@ Dunkin’ Donuts

Why has thou forsaken me? Bring back the pumpkin donut! I understand about seasonal products, I swear I do, but why does pumpkin season end with Halloween? Perchance you’ve heard of a quaint little holiday we call Thanksgiving? And its’ traditional finale of pumpkin pie?

 (Please?)

@ General Mills

Cheerios Oat Cluster Crunch. How, precisely, is this different than Multigrain Cheerios? Don’t get me wrong, I am a fan of the Multigrain–which is, in part, why I willingly bought this. At Costco. But the “Oat Clusters” are neither as big nor as plentiful as the spoon shown on the box would imply. Nor are they as tasty as I think they could be. Plus, the television commercial for this? Annoying.

@ Crayola

This one’s probably my fault. I generally believe that improving long-lived, best-selling products can come to no good. Some improvements, to be sure, are nice. Washable magic markers? Super. Having an artistic 3-year-old, I have to give that general concept two thumbs up.

However: Crayola crayons? A classic. Crayola crayons specifically for construction paper? I have my doubts as to the “improvement” factor. (I am not even counting such clearly deliberate marketing ploys as scented crayons, glitter crayons, twistable crayons, EXTRA-BIG crayons, etc.)

But somehow I forgot all my principles in Target, when I saw Tadoodles. Markers–washable, of course–designed for pudgy young toddler hands. Brilliant, I thought. Despite the fact that Miss M, just two years ago, managed to produce her first scribbles without such things.

Ah, sadly, no. First of all, the area where the marker can be applied to paper is rather small and requires pretty good aim. Despite AM’s good fine motor control, he required help. But moreover, I found that the spherical shape is weighted incorrectly–for AM, at any rate. So when he grasped the marker, it was with the drawing side to his palm.

Miss M would happily pounce on these markers if given the chance, so they won’t go to waste now that we own them. But at something like $3.49 for three, I feel rather cheated.

My bad, but a cautionary tale for all of you….

@ Library of Fairly Big City Just North of Here

Thank you for allowing me to have a library card, even though I do not live in this city. And allowing me to check out books, even though you say I have three overdue ones going on two months.

I did not know about this–and I think it’s unlikely that I have three of them kicking around the house. Your librarian did offer a potential explanation when I said that my most recent book return had been to one of the other two library branches in the city–and in the book drop at that. (Which is, as far as I know, 100% allowed.) Apparently sometimes these other branches shelve this branch’s books as their own instead of returning it to its proper home. Apparently this shows up in the system as the library patron not returning the book at all.

What?!

After I perform due diligence and look behind the beds and the couches and (probably) do not find said books, it is then my responsibility to go to the other library branch and have them try to track down these specific books and get them sent over to their home branch in order clear my record.

Can I just say…sigh. Why is it that the New York Public Library, which has more than 50 branch libraries, can deal with this in an efficient way–if I ever had reason to be in Staten Island, which of course, I don’t, I could return books taken out from the other 2 boroughs that participate in the NYPL system–and this particular city, which has just three library branches, cannot?

What’s bugging you today? Big or small, come one, come all!

I very intentionally did not sign up for NaBloPoMo. I certainly have stuff to say, and I will try my very best to get up some meaty posts over the next few weeks. But when I am pressured into speaking (uh, writing), I come up with such bon mots as:

“Happy Anniversary! Wow, 27 years! We hope you’re out celebrating with good food (and BOOZE!, added Taxman). But not too much celebrating, because you’re not as young as you used to be. You know, not as young as you were 27 years ago.” 

– What I left on my dad and stepmom’s answering machine last night.

So you won’t be hearing from me every day this month. No sad faces, k?

Also, Life Happens, which sometimes makes it difficult to post in a timely way. Kids (read: AM) get snotty. Kids (read: Miss M, the drama queen) have various life crises at the drop of a hat. Plus, my mom was here all week. She got to totally bond with the kids, who are going to be very upset when she is not here tomorrow morning–they fight over French pressing her coffee. It’s cute, in a twisted way.

Even though my mom was technically on vacation, she brought work–have laptop, will travel–and even tossed a freelance assignment my way on Tuesday afternoon. I almost died because I could not really say no (to her face?!) and originally she wanted it today. But thankfully I now have until Sunday evening, so I was able to cook for Shabbat and go out with her Wednesday night and enjoy a kickass off-Broadway play (if you will be in NYC between now and Dec. 16–SEE THIS PLAY!) and last night Taxman and I went out to a late dinner, which was very lovely and very unusual. The mini dessert trio we got (apple tarte tatin, dark chocolate torte, and tiramisu) was so good we almost ordered another one.

Ooooh, we should have. To toast my parents’ anniversary. Damn. What a missed opportunity.

But:

• Taxman is coming home today from his client conference. Which is excellent. But I have to say, this year’s absence was a lot easier than last year’s.
• All things considered, I slept quite well. Better, I daresay, than when I go to bed and am just drifting off when Taxman comes in and I stupidly begin to talk to him. That always sets me back by a good half hour.
• AM has been in his own bed, with very little resettling required, until 2:30. A whole week of this and we might be able to stretch him until 4:00 or later. This would be a Whole New Era!
• I took AM to our pediatrician yesterday. I love her. I even stopped at Dunkin’ Donuts on the way so I could get breakfast (not the healthiest, but whatever), knowing that she was likely to quiz me on my most recent meal and night’s sleep. I mean that in the best of ways. She thinks I should get a medal for my sleep woes. I just want my memory back, because I find myself grasping for words a lot.
• I went in worrying about his (nonexistent) speech, his 18 month vaccinations, and poop. Of course, there’s always poop.
• I came out reassured that he is not autistic, given the signing and attachment and all, but nonetheless tabled his booster vaccinations until he’s speaking.
• But now I have a whole new thing to worry about–almost flat weight gain over the past three months. In combo with his poop particulars. So we’re going to have him worked up for celiac.
• I am not not not thinking about a non-verbal toddler and an endoscopy. Not.
• My mom is coming tomorrow night.
• The house is a wreck. Of course.
• Unfortunately when she arrives the kids will be sleeping so they will not be able to serve as distractions to said wreck.
• Maybe I will ply her with cake and hope she doesn’t notice.
• I have Vegan Chocolate Gingerbread in the oven right now.
• I love Moosewood.
• If I could eat anything I’d so go there over a place like Peter Luger. Hands down. Even though I am not a vegetarian.
• Where was I? I lost my train of thought. Good thing it’s bullets! Ha!
• Miss M announced the other day that she was a princess.
• She picked that up at school.
• Sigh.
• And now I must really fold laundry.

Yesterday I became a woman. Again.

For the first time in more than four years (four years!), I got my period. I had the PMS over a week ago–serious bloating, cramps, general ick, breakouts, nursing tenderness, yada yada–so I was wondering what the hell was going on.

So it’s good and it’s bad.

Good: Our current method of birth control is working. When I had the PMS and nothing to show for it, I was a little freaky because my pregnancy with AM kind of felt the same way for a while.

Also good: Said birth control makes things rather short and sweet, as it were.

Also good: Now when various and sundry medical professionals ask for my LMP, I don’t have to explain that yes, I mean August of 2003, and yes, I’ve had two children since then.

Bad: This, I cannot explain right now. Maybe when I know you better. In like 10 or 15 years. Oh, ok. Maybe five.

I didn’t like either of the books I had to read for October (Accidents by Yael Hedaya and White Noise by Don DeLillo). I read Three Junes by Julia Glass in between, just for kicks (liked it but felt as if I might have been emotionally manipulated), but have no one with whom to discuss it.

I read four pages of a November book last night (Spectacular Happiness by Peter Kramer) and found myself restless and impatient already. This does not bode well.  But maybe I shouldn’t have started it at 11pm.

Meanwhile I keep collecting books from Paperback Swap that get shunted to the side. It’s kind of sad that two novels a month is totally kicking my ass and eating up all my reading time. 

On the other hand, a lot of moms have no idea how I am managing two books clubs in the first place.

Hey, a girl’s gotta have goals.

I had a couple of real posts in the hopper.

But my night ended at 4 am.

I got up to go to the bathroom–ah, the lasting legacy of pregnancy!–and then Taxman got called out by the Rescuers. Before I got back to sleep, AM was up to nurse. (Actually, it was kind of a relief; he’s been skipping his late afternoon nursings and my body isn’t quite up to speed.) He wiggled his way back to sleep, finally, and then Miss M roused me with a shriek–for no apparent reason–at 5:15. Clearly we had been lulled into complacency with her sleeping straight through until at least 6. The adrenaline charge from that lasted until Taxman returned at nearly 6:00. Miss M hadn’t gone back to sleep, but at least she was mellow, so AM was peaceful.

“It was a long call,” he explained; 90 minutes is average, but sometimes in the dead of night they go faster.

“You should have gotten breakfast,” I told him. “At least coffee.”

“I know. I am seriously considering going to Dunkin’ Donuts on my way to work.”

“But what about me?” I groused. “I’ve been up since you left, if that makes you feel any better.”

“It doesn’t, actually.”

“I can go while you’re getting ready for work.”

“Ok. You can take Miss M.”

“No, I can’t. I have to take your car [which lives in a spot in the garage, no carseats]; mine is on the right side for today.”*

Around this point AM snuffled awake. When it was clear that he was still satisfied from the 4:00 extra-full serving, I pulled some clothes out of the hamper, took Taxman’s keys, and piqued Miss M’s curiousity with the promise of an “extra-special breakfast.” I was full of determination: Taxman needed a Very Large cup of coffee; I wanted to continue my quest to experience the seasonal pumpkin line (this time with a donut).

But before I left, I accosted Taxman. “If I put your sweatshirt over what I’m wearing, do I have to put on a bra?” (As if I could find a clean one the one I was wearing yesterday one.)

“No,” he said.

“Ok.”

“Was that the right answer?”

Of course, honey! Your training is very advanced!

* See, life in NYC is determined by alternate-side parking.

Ha! If I had listened to something other than Laurie Berkner this week, like, say, the news, I would have known that alternate was suspended today for Idul-Fitr. Not that I don’t love Laurie, though. 

When I first became religious, I used to come out of a 3-day holiday (which doesn’t really exist–it’s a two-day holiday with Shabbat on one end or another) with the urge to just flip light switches. 

In a past life, I could have spent last evening on the couch, reading The New Yorker. In my future life, I will probably be like my mother-in-law and her sisters; they stay up until 2 in the morning after the holiday ends, putting their houses back together, sweeping up grandchildren’s cereal crumbs and removing endless bags of trash, all in the name of waking up to a clean kitchen and a chance to do the crossword puzzle.

For now we are caught in the middle. There is no earthly way we could finish all the tasks before us, but neither were we free to ignore them. Of course the house will never really be put together–because the kids still live here–but we really must do dishes and laundry, at a minimum.

But I digress.

I ventured out because I hadn’t bought perishable foodstuffs, namely fruit, since Monday. When you have two children who are the human equivalent of fruit bats, five days without a fresh supply is an incredibly long time. Miss M could possibly go for another day solely on dried fruit and applesauce, but I was not going to chance it.

Time had gotten funky over the holiday, elongating afternoons, shortening mornings, extending nights. Both kids went to sleep just before havdallah, so I drifted out to the store carrying only wallet, cellphone, and keys. It was a balmy night, but I was nevertheless shocked by how many kids I saw, on the sidewalks with their parents, shopping for groceries. I know in other parts of the world it’s regular to keep kids up late, but really everyone I know has their small children in bed by 9 at the latest. And it had been dark–seemingly–for hours.

It was only when I got back to my car that I realized how lost I was in post-chag oblivion. It was only 8:09.* Thank goodness, though. Plenty of time to do what we had to do and watch the finale of Top Chef.

* I think I was messed up by the weather. If it’s that warm and that dark, it should be 10:00.

I visited my local kosher donut eatery and did not get a donut two donuts to go with my decaf. I got a “seasonal” pumpkin muffin. Which, if you take away the streusel topping, is practically health food.

I feel like I’m growing.*

*(with apologies to Nora Ephron)

School.

Tomorrow.

At last.

Real posts resume…next week, maybe? Still have more Jewish festivities to cook for live through celebrate.

Update!

Despite some first-day jitters, which were overcome with a promise that we’d check it out for five minutes and reassess, things at preschool could not be better! There were so many of her favorite things to do in one room (drawing! playdough! play kitchen! sand table! painting!!!!), she couldn’t get rid of me fast enough. I stayed for three minutes, through one anxious look when I gave her a hug at the play kitchen, then waved to her from across the room as she scooted to the playdough.

Is it tragic that I was then so excited to go to the post office with only one squirmy child?

Now said child is napping, so I have one hour and forty minutes to myself. Seriously, what will I do? Read/watch the season premiere of House vs. kid laundry/dishes? Or finish the freelance assignment for my mom.

Or maybe just stare blankly into space, breathing in and out.

After a rip-roaring trip to the library and the park, the sidekicks and I got into our elevator.

It smelled like popcorn.

Not just any popcorn, but movie theater popcorn.

Now, I’ve been to exactly two movies in the past three years. (But you don’t forget.)

Unfortunately, the people I was with have never been to a movie theater. So I couldn’t discuss this odd turn of events with them.  Fortunately, I have all of you.

It was a beautiful day, although too warm to be fall, so we ignored all the other stuff on our collective plate and had our annual apple picking trip today.

But we didn’t go here. We went here.

I’m normally pretty loyal to places and products that I like. At least until I’ve been shown the error of my ways.

And now I’m torn. The farm we visited today was lovely. There were large patches of veggies for picking as well, and we came home with super-sweet orange cherry tomatoes, Roma tomatoes, corn, a head of red cabbage, a few handfuls of spinach, and a couple of bell peppers in addition to apples, grapes (Concord and Niagara), and a few pears. If Taxman weren’t going away tomorrow for business and we weren’t spending half of Sukkot with relatives in New Jersey, I would have picked eggplant and broccoli as well for a rockin’ veggie fiesta.*

But–and here I must be honest–the apples in the orchard were “eh.” I did find some pale yellow ones (called “Golden” at the orchard, but they were not Golden Delicious) that were superb, and I picked at least 20 of them. But the Red Delicious were watery and tasteless, the Crispins and Granny Smiths (too early for the Grannys, I think) disappointing, and the Cortlandts did not have the snap that I recall from other years. For the first time in eight years we came home with less than half a bushel of apples.

In my pre-kid days I used to make apple pies and apple crisps for weeks after we went picking, but I just don’t do that any more. I don’t think I’ve made a pie since we moved to our current apartment–when Miss M was an infant. So do I need fabulous apples? Or are a few good ones ok amidst the great vegetables?

Or has our second car completely eliminated the need for this trip entirely because I go to the farmers’ market nearly every week and can find farm fresh apples in a dozen varieties at the drop of a hat?

I know, I know, tradition…it’s good for the soul.

* The green beans were mostly picked over, which was a shame because the two or three that we tasted were SO good.

• To 3daughters, in case my email was spammed: b”H, good. Extraordinary sleeper.
• To NSLS: See here. Debacle still in progress. September 24th? October 8? Um, yeah.
• To everyone:
• Computer was whacked out yesterday. (Taxman seems to have fixed it.)
• Miss M once again thinks that 5:30 is an acceptable time to start the day. Sweetie, just because you have to pee does NOT mean that it’s time for breakfast.
• But AM seems to be ok with going back to his own bed after his middle of the night nursing. Which is good. The fact that I cannot seem to get him to STOP the middle of the night nursing, well, that’s not so good. If it’s only comfort nursing it’s taking an awfully long time (15 minutes). Sigh.
• I am trying to figure out if I am brave enough to take both kids to the zoo by myself. We spent a wonderful day at the Maritime Aquarium in Norwalk last month–but the aquarium is much more self contained. Plus far enough away that everyone slept on the way home.
• Sleeping. Still, not so much.

I kid, of course.

Plenty of food. So much, in fact, that we did not defrost the meatloaf and split pea soup in the freezer for Shabbat but rather just ate leftovers. We also plowed through two cakes, a pan of brownies, and a pan of coffee blondies. (Confession: I ate about 2/3 of the pan of coffee blondies myself.)

Lest you think that all I did during Rosh Hashana was eat and entertain guests, I also read a novel, went to the backyard playground, and spent a total of about 50 minutes* in synagogue**–but the part I was supposed to be there for (shofar blowing), so, you know, go me!

There are more holidays to come, but for the meantime I’m stuck very much in the moment because Miss M’s school is still not open. So my sanity, it’s really day-to-day.

* over two days

** Taxman was ba’al shacharis in our minyan and I got to hear about, oh, four seconds of it. Like the beginning of Ashrei after tekiah. Remarkably, this was more than I heard last year.

This is the post where I am supposed to have some gravitas, where I have deep thoughts about the upcoming Very Important Jewish holidays.

But, dude. Every time I darken the door of a synagogue, I am immediately thrust into my regular role of Giver of Snack. Except I am wearing pantyhose and shoes that hurt. And have to keep the kids quiet and contained. So the profundity…well. It’s lacking.

I know it’s a few days early to sign off, but I’ve got a lot of cooking to do. I have three pounds of string beans that need to be trimmed. That’s a lot of beans. Eight pounds of chicken. Five pounds of salmon. You get the idea.

I leave you, temporarily, with this thought.

You know you’ve been watching too much Iron Chef America and Top Chef when the following appears on your Rosh Hashana dinner menu:

Gazpacho shooters with guacamole and blue corn chips

To which Taxman said, “Shooters? Are you kidding?”

Nope.

Because part of the Rosh Hashana dinner is the ”course” called “significant omens.” First you dip an apple in honey and offer blessings for a sweet new year. Then there are other foods that have a role  in the ceremony, such as pomegranates, carrots, and fish heads. (We skip the fish heads!)

Anyway, by the time everyone has their fruit medley, that’s half an appetizer right there. Hence the small appetizer to follow.

I thought it was creative!

Plus, I make kick-ass guacamole.*

K’tiva v’chatima tovah, y’all.

* Taxman will not eat avocados, so he has not experienced this seriously tasty delight.

Important point of information–with the exception of watermelon, Taxman is the family melon purchaser. I can’t seem to pick good ones, so I almost never buy one without his assistance. (Except at the farmers’ market, where they are usually–not always–much better than average.) Because why throw away $3 or $5 or however much? 

Taxman: How’s the cantaloupe?

Me: Well, I had to throw one out yesterday because one end was moldy. This one is tasteless.

Taxman: Ah.

Me: But the kids are eating it. The two of them just ate half of it.

Taxman (sarcastic): Shocking! (The kids are total fruit whores.)

Me: I wouldn’t bother, though. I guess the lesson here is not to buy 99 cent melons. There’s probably a reason they’re 99 cents. And not a good reason.

Taxman and I hit the outlets today.

We don’t live all that far away, but going there is such a project that it happens very rarely. Despite the fact that the mall was teeming with small children and strollers, it is not a day that I personally would want to attempt with a child between the ages of, say, four months and 12 years.

I haven’t been to any large mall, really, for a very long time. We have relatives who generously shower our kids with cute clothes. I pick up something here or there for them at a strip mall Gap Kids or Old Navy, Children’s Place or Carter’s. But a big mall with department anchors? An outlet mall the size of a small town? I get overwhelmed just thinking about it–particularly how I would deal with my, um, hangers-on. Internet commerce, I praise thy name!

But I digress.

My mother-in-law generously agreed to spend a good chunk of today entertaining the beasties, so we charged ahead. Even though we arrived a mere 75 minutes after the stores opened, we parked a generous distance away. Dodging Japanese tourists and Beis Yaakov schoolgirls, we began to spend money. Shoes and pants and skirts and housewares and shirts and kids clothes and a new watch.

But the Gap outlet was so crowded I couldn’t even browse. I spent 30 minutes on line at The Children’s Place to buy the kids matching white shirts to wear in an as-of-yet unscheduled photo session. Everything was jammed. It took 30 minutes to get out of the parking lot. I can only imagine that next Sunday, as vacations reach their penultimate day and school looms even closer, will be worse. I didn’t even enjoy myself–our to-do list was overwhelming and I worried that my mother-in-law was suffering at the hands of my cute-but-sometimes-tyrannical children.

But the real source of my dissatisfaction was that I hardly found anything. I love shopping for books, browsing on-line for just about anything, heck, even food shopping (sometimes). But here I was, prepared to spend some cash to outfit myself for the first time in a long time, and I couldn’t really find anything that fit. I came away with an outfit plus a skirt at Ann Taylor petites in the first 30 minutes, and then it was a big stretch of Things That Did Not Fit.

When Phantom blogged about her triumph of recovering her body After Children, I was uncharacteristically quiet. That’s because what I have to say will have you all pulling out your tiny violins.

But here goes.

I used to be a pretty slender person.

In college I sometimes ate four meals a day (being up for all those hours in a row will do that) and didn’t exercise, so I was carting around a tad extra. Not a lot, but enough to make me a solid size 4/6.

By the time I got married, I had been cooking for myself for 2 1/2 years and was down to a size 4. This is what I should be, I think. I am a small person–genes are weird, and in terms of bone structure I resemble my aunt over my mother. (Miss M takes after my father in her height and Taxman’s family in many other ways.)

After I had been trying to conceive for a year, I stressed myself to a nice case of acid reflux. I also started running to stave off high cholesterol because I couldn’t take any of the medications. My weight was hovering at around 100, but I felt like I was in shape for the first time in my life. I wore a size 2.

Miss M eventually came along. Breastfeeding followed. The baby weight fell off. So did an extra 10 pounds. I looked…hollow. Taxman worried. My OB did blood tests. Nothing. I went to a GI guy for an endoscopy. Nothing conclusive. I finally came to acknowledge my new size. It was a zero.

I finally bought a few new clothes. A week later discovered I was pregnant. Forty pounds up with AM; 35 came off. Still a zero.

It is hard to find things that fit me. That don’t hang or swallow me. That make me look nice and feel good. I always feel like I am rattling around in someone else’s clothes. Hiding what I really look like because I am consumed by fabric. Or tugging at my shirt to ensure it covers my skirt hanging inches below my waist.

I also feel like this is only my temporary body. Someday I won’t be nursing anyone. My hormones will calm down; my incessant sweet tooth will abate; I’ll sleep in my own space, for hours at a time. What will happen then? Will my midriff still remind me, python-like, of my last big meal? Will the weight come back? When? Where will it go?

It’s enough to keep an ema up at night…in case nobody else is.

• It was chilly enough for long sleeves. Weird. But–don’t get me wrong–beautiful weather!
• The naps were thrown off enough on Saturday that both kids were up for havdallah (8:45 or so?). Also weird.
• As my MIL would say, “It’s almost winter!” (She says this as soon as Shabbat starts getting a little earlier, so about the end of July or so.)
• I wore an outfit two years in the making. As in, I bought the top and the skirt two years ago, then immediately found out I was pregnant with AM, so I couldn’t wear the skirt that fall because of the paunch or the top last summer because of the p0rn star b00bs. When we were out in bright sunlight I looked at the skirt and realized it clashed with the top. Sigh. Indoors it looked ok.
• We voluntarily stayed up until midnight on Friday, hosting friends who are awaiting their first baby any day now. They patiently waited through all the rigmarole of getting our kids to bed and we actually had real!adult!conversation! Much of it related to birth and whatnot, but I got to use three-syllable words and everything.
• The reason we messed with the naps was to go out for lunch, to friends in our building.
• There were five kids under seven at the lunch.
• It was the most kid-unfriendly food I think I have ever seen at a Shabbat table. A touch gourmet, perhaps, but (to go all Top Chef on you) poorly executed. Tough leek ends in the cold cucumber-leek soup (which was an odd combo). Green olives and flavorless dressing in the rice salad. Underdone eggplant in the chicken dish.
• I didn’t like it much either, but I, unlike a preschooler and a toddler, can roll with the punches.
• Taxman went back to our apartment to bring something for our kids to eat besides challah.
• I make half a box of pasta and steam baby carrots and/or zucchini every Friday afternoon to ensure that my fusspot (Miss M) and any other visiting small fry will eat something at lunch.
• People usually exclaim over this like I’ve reinvented the wheel.*
• But really, if you have a toddler, how can you not if you’re going to go an entire day without being able to turn on the stove/oven/microwave/toaster and/or bring in pizza?
• Also at lunch, I got asked if AM has been evaluated for speech therapy. Because “he so clearly has something to say, but he can’t get the words out.” (She wasn’t being obnoxious–she is just a fan of early intervention, as she explained later.)
• I literally felt myself blinking in disbelief as I said, “No, he’s 16 months. He understands everything, and he says Abba and Ema and has over 20 signs.”
• But then I found myself worrying later because the 15-month-old at lunch, who is being raised bilingually, already makes animal sounds.
• I was so worried about Miss M’s speech but not at all about AM’s, which seems to be on a similar trajectory. Perhaps I should be worried just a touch?
• What is wrong with people sometimes?
• In that vein, I made an enormous faux pas with a pregnant friend at the park. I assumed, based on her toddler parenting style, that she’d be breastfeeding. But she alluded to having had breast reduction surgery 15 years ago and being too worried to do it. A little salt and pepper for my foot would have been nice. Makes it go down easier.

* I know that 3daughters wouldn’t, because I’ve spent Shabbat at her house and seen nine kids make a meal out of a pound of pasta and a can of tomato sauce. I’m sure she’d agree that while it’s a nice, sensible thing to do, it falls short of magical.

There are guys right above my windows doing brickwork, as required for city ordinances.

The work requires some sort of drilling. There is a lot of noise. And a lot of vibration. And a lot of chatter among the workmen.

We are not supposed to open our windows while the work is going on. (Monday-Saturday, 8-5.) Or run the a/c. (Hahahahaha.) It’s suggested we keep our shades drawn for privacy.

All I can say is…it’s a good thing the kids can fall asleep/stay asleep through it. (I never could!)

Wait until they’re next to my windows. Can you imagine how much fun I’ll be then?

Update: *happy dance* It’s raining! Thunderstormin’! They had to stop. If anyone got electrocuted, could you imagine how high our maintenance would go? (That’s a little co-op humor for the apartment dwellers among you.)

I have to finish my vacation blogging….

I left the best for last. Blogger meetups! On our way to Maine Malden, Massachusetts, we made a quick right off the Mass Pike and met Phantom. Actually it was my whole gang and her whole gang, so she and I did get to talk for a bit while the daddies were corralling and leading brigades through the woods. (If only AM would have let me out of his sight.) As I experienced previously in the summer, when I met Chichimama and Suzanne, it is such a relief to meet someone in a situation where you already know some things–some trivial, some not so trivial–about her and vice versa.

We commiserated over the potty and sleeping (or not) and sunscreen application and stranger anxiety and Teh Crankies. It was all fun and games until Baby Blue had the misfortune to be treated like AM–namely manhandled and knocked down by Miss M in her eagerness to play ring-around-the-rosie. Oy vey.

I have to report that Mr. Blue 110% lived up to his reputation as Teh Fun Daddy by entertaining Miss M for at least 20 minutes by pretending to be asleep and startling awake at her behest. She thought this was the funniest thing. Ever. He seemed to have no interest in the adult conversation and was completely engaged, like he didn’t have a 3 year old at home already. I offered him a seat in the van as we made our way to Moosehead Lake. (Shotgun, even! Next to the snacks!) Everyone seemed to think I was joking. Oh well.

On our way back to Malden (we have non-blogging friends there that we stayed with–we’re not randomly obsessed with it) we stopped off to meet the currently blogless mc. She graciously allowed AM to torture follow, coo at, and pet little Rocky the Shih Tzu. Then upend her kitchen. Then knock over a pile of CDs. In all fairness, we were providing her with a babyproofing preview because, from her reports, Ess was not far behind. (Yeah, those low lying wine bottles are bound for higher ground.)

But that was not all the excitement! Miss M, who had refused to poop at our hotel in Maine….well, she was due. mc managed to not call child services as, more than once, we ushered Miss M to her bathroom to cries of “I don’t WIKE this potty!” and “I want to get off!” Finally, mirabile dictu, we had success. Miss M still mentions from time to time that she “went poopy at mc’s house.” And, mc, you will be happy to know that she no longer shrieks while doing so, and she even escorts herself when she has to go. (The secret was time and Kandoo flushable wipes.)

This was all less than a month ago, but it already seems so far away. When are you all coming to visit?

I have all these potential posts rattling around in my head that I have promised to write at various points. Not like I have the time to do this, but I’m wondering what you want to hear…

• Why I’m not cut out to be a Beautiful Person (in follow up to my spa day)
• The dark side of Farmers’ Markets
• Why the park stresses me out
• What I do with my hair and why (this will bore the BTs and FFBs among you)–this leads to another post on the problem of dressing myself

I need some direction!