Well hello there! Are you ready for Christmas? Got all your gifts bought, wrapped and stuffed under the tree or shipped off to family and friends? You do? Really? Yeah, well I’m screwed. I thought I had budgeted enough time the last few weeks to get everything done before heading off to see family but I’m just too pooped lately to take advantage of every minute not spent at work, doing an event or wrestling the tot to get this holiday thing under way. In those free moments, I just want to crawl under the covers and disappear. Now I’m taking my lunch breaks at Best Buy and Massage Envy and Toy Joy. Hooray for me.
The hubs and I had a crappy date night earlier in the week. We went to one of our favorite places to eat where we know the owner and like to kibbutz back and forth with him during a delicious feast but we ended up making total asses out of ourselves as we proceeded to drink too much hooch and argue. One minute I’m feeding him dessert and the next we’ve basically cleared the bar area where we were dining. Was totally easy after I yelled “DIVORCE!” in the middle of a sentence I was spatting at the Hubs. He was up for the challenge, too, I guess. He didn’t back off either. We’re so classy. I ended up storming out and the Hubs followed after paying the bill and asking the hostess, “Which way did she go (insert giant hiccup here)?” Nice. The owner didn’t charge us for any of the wine. Not sure why. I would’ve charged us double. Don’t think we’ll be going back there for a while. FYI - we were totally laughing about it all the next morning.
Over the holidays, I’ll try and get some posts up. Always much to tell during this time of the year.
Adios.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Friday, December 14, 2007
Friday, December 07, 2007
Smash Mash Crash
Pile up on the Play-Doh highway. Yes, that's BROWN Play-Doh. As a kid I never had it so good. Brown Play-Doh in 1976 meant it ended up in the yard somehow.
W made a "cupcake" with the brown stuff after clearing the collision and knowing that he loves to blow out candles, I stuck in one of those candles that relights itself after being extinguished. At first W laughed his diaper off at the mysterious phenomenon but then it started to spook him. It wasn't long before he was standing on the other side of the kitchen and refusing to sing Happy Birthday one more time and blow the candle out.
What? You don't let your tot lie on the kitchen counter in his diaper with his head resting on a dish towel while eating a Funyun? Yeah, remember those? LOVE Funyuns. Onion flavored corn chip shaped like a method of birth control. Rock!
This is what I get to hang with at the end of a busy work day. I like him way more than Funyuns.
W made a "cupcake" with the brown stuff after clearing the collision and knowing that he loves to blow out candles, I stuck in one of those candles that relights itself after being extinguished. At first W laughed his diaper off at the mysterious phenomenon but then it started to spook him. It wasn't long before he was standing on the other side of the kitchen and refusing to sing Happy Birthday one more time and blow the candle out.
What? You don't let your tot lie on the kitchen counter in his diaper with his head resting on a dish towel while eating a Funyun? Yeah, remember those? LOVE Funyuns. Onion flavored corn chip shaped like a method of birth control. Rock!
This is what I get to hang with at the end of a busy work day. I like him way more than Funyuns.
Thursday, December 06, 2007
Foodie
I just devoured the book "My Life In France" by Julia Childs and Alex Prud’homme. Such a lovely read. Her point of view of everything French is very frank yet affectionate. The depths at which she dedicated herself to French cuisine are inspiring especially considering the interesting obstacles she faced. Read for yourself. You won’t regret it.
I was fortunate enough to be exposed to the French world of food at an early age. During my elementary school years my mom was the assistant to our neighbor who hosted French cooking classes for many years. I remember fondly her open-air kitchen filled with shiny copper mixing bowls and loads of pots and pans. The essence of brioche, boeuf bourguignon and omelettes shrouded the room always. Her handmade recipe booklets created for each class littered the countertops. I remember hearing the hearty and grateful laughter of the women as they said their goodbyes after class and climb into their cars on the circular drive. This also signaled that mom would be home soon with treats for us to try.
At home, there were afternoons spent perched on stools next to the stove as mom and I made many crêpes for sweet and savory dishes. Side by side, like little robots, we'd dip the bottom side of the hot crêpe pan in batter and then rest it on the metal ring that outlined the flame of the burner. When the edges of the flat pancake started to brown and lift, it was time to gently coaxed it off the pan and onto the heap of crêpes kept warm under a moist towel. I also learned how to whisk eggs, kneed bread, pipe pâte à choux onto a baking sheet and then fill it with a homemade sweet custard topped with a melted dark chocolate after baking. Heavenly.
We also had a gourmet kitchen supply shop and deli called The Mouse Trap. There I savored exotic cheeses, olives, pates, mustards and chocolates from around the world. This was 1981 in a very small town. When I get a whiff of a certain perfume (name unknown) these days, I am immediately back in the little shop making sandwiches and running the register for the moneyed folks and food adventurous in my hometown.
In my preteen years, mom transitioned to a funny little place in Longview, Texas called The Stock Pot. It was owned by a gaggle of aristocratic, super wealthy ladies who loved chef superstars and having them teach classes. What a coup it was for mom. There she helped stuff an enormous baked Alaska in a small oven with the 6-foot 2-inch Julia Childs, cranked out homemade pasta with Giuliano Bugialli while beating off the affectionate advances of his personal assistant and towered over the smallish Wolfgang Puck. When I go home for the upcoming holidays, I will be getting all of her cookbooks, some of them signed and most of them with the stains of meals prepared long ago. I look forward to ending the year pouring over their pages and beginning 2008 with a laundry list of new dishes to try.
Bon appétit!
I was fortunate enough to be exposed to the French world of food at an early age. During my elementary school years my mom was the assistant to our neighbor who hosted French cooking classes for many years. I remember fondly her open-air kitchen filled with shiny copper mixing bowls and loads of pots and pans. The essence of brioche, boeuf bourguignon and omelettes shrouded the room always. Her handmade recipe booklets created for each class littered the countertops. I remember hearing the hearty and grateful laughter of the women as they said their goodbyes after class and climb into their cars on the circular drive. This also signaled that mom would be home soon with treats for us to try.
At home, there were afternoons spent perched on stools next to the stove as mom and I made many crêpes for sweet and savory dishes. Side by side, like little robots, we'd dip the bottom side of the hot crêpe pan in batter and then rest it on the metal ring that outlined the flame of the burner. When the edges of the flat pancake started to brown and lift, it was time to gently coaxed it off the pan and onto the heap of crêpes kept warm under a moist towel. I also learned how to whisk eggs, kneed bread, pipe pâte à choux onto a baking sheet and then fill it with a homemade sweet custard topped with a melted dark chocolate after baking. Heavenly.
We also had a gourmet kitchen supply shop and deli called The Mouse Trap. There I savored exotic cheeses, olives, pates, mustards and chocolates from around the world. This was 1981 in a very small town. When I get a whiff of a certain perfume (name unknown) these days, I am immediately back in the little shop making sandwiches and running the register for the moneyed folks and food adventurous in my hometown.
In my preteen years, mom transitioned to a funny little place in Longview, Texas called The Stock Pot. It was owned by a gaggle of aristocratic, super wealthy ladies who loved chef superstars and having them teach classes. What a coup it was for mom. There she helped stuff an enormous baked Alaska in a small oven with the 6-foot 2-inch Julia Childs, cranked out homemade pasta with Giuliano Bugialli while beating off the affectionate advances of his personal assistant and towered over the smallish Wolfgang Puck. When I go home for the upcoming holidays, I will be getting all of her cookbooks, some of them signed and most of them with the stains of meals prepared long ago. I look forward to ending the year pouring over their pages and beginning 2008 with a laundry list of new dishes to try.
Bon appétit!
Wednesday, December 05, 2007
Sprout
Monday morning as the Hubs tried to dress W for school, the tot protested and proclaimed, “I wanna wear a dress! I wanna wear a dress!” Tears streamed down his cheeks as we stared at each other in shock. I mean, I knew this day would come but so soon? Perhaps the desire originates from the makeup I let him use on occasion. He’s very good with eye shadow. My own little Ziggy Stardust.
How rapidly the kiddo is growing and his vocabulary is incredible. Listening to him verbalize his thoughts is a hoot. Latest sayings? Thoughts? Well, here they are…
“No pee pee in the bathtub.” Yes, son. You are the pee-er and there won’t be any in there if YOU don’t wee wee in it.
“No daddy (or mommy)! Go away!” This usually means you a) haven’t quite woken up yet, b) are taking a VW sized poop, c) need a cocktail. No wait, that’s me.
“C’mon daddy! Let’s play rock n roll!” Yes, this one makes the Hubs feel like a million dollars.
“That was scare-wee.” This said after falling off the bed. Again.
“I love mewsket!” Yes, you do love music.
Current songs he sings while playing the drums…
“The Robot Song” Customized from his thoughts on The Iron Giant, his current favorite flick.
“Bob Bu Da” A personalized version of Bob The Builder.
He’s afraid of it being dark in the house but not in his room. He slides his little chair under each switch and flicks them on and the house is as bright as a football field.
Word has it that W is a trendsetter at school. I was told that during the daily group sing-a-long where they chant something like, “1, 2, 3, say hello to Zeke” or something like that, W jumps up and does this wild breakdancing, donkey kick move when they call his name. Historically, the kiddos have remained seated and clapped like a PGA audience when acknowledging a classmate. W has taken it to 11. I couldn't expect anything less.
How rapidly the kiddo is growing and his vocabulary is incredible. Listening to him verbalize his thoughts is a hoot. Latest sayings? Thoughts? Well, here they are…
“No pee pee in the bathtub.” Yes, son. You are the pee-er and there won’t be any in there if YOU don’t wee wee in it.
“No daddy (or mommy)! Go away!” This usually means you a) haven’t quite woken up yet, b) are taking a VW sized poop, c) need a cocktail. No wait, that’s me.
“C’mon daddy! Let’s play rock n roll!” Yes, this one makes the Hubs feel like a million dollars.
“That was scare-wee.” This said after falling off the bed. Again.
“I love mewsket!” Yes, you do love music.
Current songs he sings while playing the drums…
“The Robot Song” Customized from his thoughts on The Iron Giant, his current favorite flick.
“Bob Bu Da” A personalized version of Bob The Builder.
He’s afraid of it being dark in the house but not in his room. He slides his little chair under each switch and flicks them on and the house is as bright as a football field.
Word has it that W is a trendsetter at school. I was told that during the daily group sing-a-long where they chant something like, “1, 2, 3, say hello to Zeke” or something like that, W jumps up and does this wild breakdancing, donkey kick move when they call his name. Historically, the kiddos have remained seated and clapped like a PGA audience when acknowledging a classmate. W has taken it to 11. I couldn't expect anything less.
Friday, November 30, 2007
I Are Here
Hello guests and readers of my blah, blah, blah. Forgive me for my tardiness. I sometimes type away at a blog entry but refuse to post it until I have pics to back it up which is a bad idea because I sometimes can’t get to downloading those needed pics.
I know Thanksgiving is a forgone thought in everyone’s minds now and you’re probably caught in the headlights of the Christmas highway already but to recap…we had a stupendous turkey day with my brother-in-law and his fam. Not only did this mean we had to do zero traveling over the holiday but it also meant that the food was guaranteed to be divine. My BIL (brother-in-law) could be a chef, should be, in fact and the Hubs and I are constantly harassing him on many occasions with questions in the midst of culinary chaos at home. For the grand feast we contributed the Italian sausage dressing and green beans in brown butter with oregano and pine nuts and the BIL prepared the heritage turkey with Marsala gravy, mashed potatoes with walnut oil, Hudson's on the Bend corn pudding, and of course, cranberry sauce. There were also homemade biscuits and yeast rolls. This is my plate before complete consumption. Burp.
As of late, we’re still wrestling the tot at bedtime. Actually it’s way after bedtime when we finally get him to sleep. After all the months and months and months of easily putting him to bed, saying goodnight and, at worse, shedding a few remorseful tears before conking out we’ve gone to the darkest side of hell. The silver lining is that I have had to relinquish bedtime duties to the Hubs who now puts W to bed and hangs with him ‘til he drifts off. Totally works for me. I was sound asleep by 9:30 p.m. last night. This was after I took myself on a date to Asti, sat at the bar and read (see updated “What I’m Reading List” for details). I sank into a bowl of duck rigatoni, beet and endive salad and two juicy glasses of wine. Perfect evening.
Speaking of the Hubs, seems as though W is finally taking a shine to him. Yeah, so it’s only taken about 26 months and the Hubs IS his dad, I promise. He’s finally realizing that he's Disneyland on legs. “I wanna fie, I wanna fie!” he says as the Hubs picks him up and swings him through the air. “C’mon, daddie, c’mon daddie, c’mon daddie” he repeats as he heads to his room. “Daddie play guitar!” he yells while sitting behind his little drum kit just about every morning. And for your viewing pleasure here’s daddy and W jamming away now…
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
The 'Ho Is Back
Let the holiday ho’-ness begin, y’all! It is no secret that I’m a slut for the red and green and Christmas songs and Rudolph and gingerbread men and fat bearded men with fluffy white cuffs that call me by name…”Ho, ho, hooooo,” and mistletoe and spiked eggnog and twinkling colored lights. But on the flipside, I loathe the gift shopping for family and friends, loathe it like a pap smear so yesterday, on my lunch break, I hoofed it to Toys R Us to do Santa’s heavy lifting. The thought of venturing in there after Thanksgiving in hopes of finding even a couple of items to stuff under the tree makes me want to eat arsenic. So I blasted through the relatively quiet store like a contestant on Supermarket Sweep and I’m happy to report that I can now cross W off of my holiday gift list. The rest of my shopping will be done online because why in the hell would I go out in my car, deal with the traffic and cranky shoppers/cashiers/salespeople, and still not find what I’m looking for when I can get it with a click of the mouse and free shipping to boot? I’m also focusing on an eco-friendlier version of gifting this year ‘cause now that I got a kid, y’all need to be saving up some resources.
So it’s day 5 or so of Operation Omit Paci and other than a few requests for the missing paraphernalia the transition has been smooth. The only true fallout from the lifestyle change is W’s need to stay up late, like until 11 p.m. last night. He just hangs out in bed with me singing songs, reading books, playing with cars and channel surfing but it’s seriously cramping my style. I had a German subtitled flick to finish last night and it’s damn hard to read on a portable DVD player with a toddler driving a pickup with a horse trailer attached across your chest. Putting him in his bed is a terrible idea as he yells and screams my name over and over and over until I go down and tell him MOMMY IS NOT MY NAME ANYMORE! And then he says, “Mama?”
So it’s day 5 or so of Operation Omit Paci and other than a few requests for the missing paraphernalia the transition has been smooth. The only true fallout from the lifestyle change is W’s need to stay up late, like until 11 p.m. last night. He just hangs out in bed with me singing songs, reading books, playing with cars and channel surfing but it’s seriously cramping my style. I had a German subtitled flick to finish last night and it’s damn hard to read on a portable DVD player with a toddler driving a pickup with a horse trailer attached across your chest. Putting him in his bed is a terrible idea as he yells and screams my name over and over and over until I go down and tell him MOMMY IS NOT MY NAME ANYMORE! And then he says, “Mama?”
Monday, November 19, 2007
Mommy The Butcher
W has always had a dreamy head of hair and as it grew, I would merely snip a little here and a little there and the overall loveliness would still be intact. In the beginning, trimming it was an adventure in my latent desires to do rockstar makeovers. Lately, he's been too defiant and combative about the much needed trim and as a result he comes out looking like the I gnawed the hairs off. I really managed to butcher his bangs a week ago so some serious intervention was in order. I took him to Bird's Barbershop as I was certain the bright lights, rock music and video games would be familiar and comforting to him. Ummm...no.
Yes, I did his bangs. So, so sorry son.
The stylist had to consciously avoid snipping that HUGE bottom lip.
"Hmmm...okay. This isn't so bad."
I guess he preferred the Bird's sticker instead of his new 'do.
Yes, I did his bangs. So, so sorry son.
The stylist had to consciously avoid snipping that HUGE bottom lip.
"Hmmm...okay. This isn't so bad."
I guess he preferred the Bird's sticker instead of his new 'do.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Arugula
Lordy. Where do I start? Let’s see…Britney Spears ran over another photographer’s foot? Amy Winehouse gets booed off stage? W kicks his paci addiction? Umm, yeah, let’s start with W. Way more compelling than Winehouse and Spears.
So W and I talked about a paci intervention for several days. I told him that intervention meant that the pacis go in the trash and he gets a big surprise in return and on a designated evening I presented him a toddler racetrack with all sorts of bells and whistles. His paci fell to the floor as his jaw dropped open. He gathered up the pacis I had collected and stuffed them in a paper bag. We both walked over to his trashcan and tossed them in. Simple. As. That. Sure, he mentions his long lost pacis on occasion and has been staying up in bed with me 'til about 10:30 p.m. but he also says, “Pacis in trash, pacis bye-bye.” I think the fact that we talked about paci rehab prior to paci disposal helped so it wasn’t a surprise to him that it was going to happen. Now it’s just a boy and his blankie and I couldn’t be happier.
Last weekend, our neighbors got their door kicked in and much stuff stolen. Curiously enough, we had just had a conversation with some other neighbors (they live next door to the ones that got robbed) about the abundance of break-ins in our cozy little ‘hood just the day before. After some research on our end, we found that our general area has been hit 80 times in the last month by thieves. Yeah, for real. They kick in your door, take your stuff and haul ass out. 80 times this has happened. Are we paranoid? You bet. We have since put in another deadbolt on our each of our exterior doors and installed a security system just this morning. Next up, a dog. One thing about situations like this is you really get to know who your neighbors are. We’re forming a small army. I would hate to mess with us now.
Y’all, next week is Thanksgiving. Now how did that happen?
And you know what’s better than chocolate? Boggy Creek arugula. I’m not kidding. Either on Saturday morning or Wednesday morning, get your buns in your car (or on your bike) and head over to the east side to get you some. If you haven’t been to this small farm, you have to indulge yourself. Take the kiddies, too, if you got’em. The produce is still warm from the sun and there are some free samples of different stuff to nibble. Lovely chicken coop and a tempting sand pile, too. It’s all I can do to keep from eating a whole pile of the veggies before I can get them in the fridge. Please go. It’s local. It’s fresh. It’s supportive.
How’s work, you ask? Crazy, nutso, insane. Remember that conference that we work on once a year while doing other events throughout the year? Well, last year we knocked out 80+ parties in 9 days and we’re already working on double the number of parties we were working on this time last year (cue Psycho shower scene music here). My Christmas list includes much wine and Valium.
So W and I talked about a paci intervention for several days. I told him that intervention meant that the pacis go in the trash and he gets a big surprise in return and on a designated evening I presented him a toddler racetrack with all sorts of bells and whistles. His paci fell to the floor as his jaw dropped open. He gathered up the pacis I had collected and stuffed them in a paper bag. We both walked over to his trashcan and tossed them in. Simple. As. That. Sure, he mentions his long lost pacis on occasion and has been staying up in bed with me 'til about 10:30 p.m. but he also says, “Pacis in trash, pacis bye-bye.” I think the fact that we talked about paci rehab prior to paci disposal helped so it wasn’t a surprise to him that it was going to happen. Now it’s just a boy and his blankie and I couldn’t be happier.
Last weekend, our neighbors got their door kicked in and much stuff stolen. Curiously enough, we had just had a conversation with some other neighbors (they live next door to the ones that got robbed) about the abundance of break-ins in our cozy little ‘hood just the day before. After some research on our end, we found that our general area has been hit 80 times in the last month by thieves. Yeah, for real. They kick in your door, take your stuff and haul ass out. 80 times this has happened. Are we paranoid? You bet. We have since put in another deadbolt on our each of our exterior doors and installed a security system just this morning. Next up, a dog. One thing about situations like this is you really get to know who your neighbors are. We’re forming a small army. I would hate to mess with us now.
Y’all, next week is Thanksgiving. Now how did that happen?
And you know what’s better than chocolate? Boggy Creek arugula. I’m not kidding. Either on Saturday morning or Wednesday morning, get your buns in your car (or on your bike) and head over to the east side to get you some. If you haven’t been to this small farm, you have to indulge yourself. Take the kiddies, too, if you got’em. The produce is still warm from the sun and there are some free samples of different stuff to nibble. Lovely chicken coop and a tempting sand pile, too. It’s all I can do to keep from eating a whole pile of the veggies before I can get them in the fridge. Please go. It’s local. It’s fresh. It’s supportive.
How’s work, you ask? Crazy, nutso, insane. Remember that conference that we work on once a year while doing other events throughout the year? Well, last year we knocked out 80+ parties in 9 days and we’re already working on double the number of parties we were working on this time last year (cue Psycho shower scene music here). My Christmas list includes much wine and Valium.
Thursday, November 08, 2007
BFF
We had the pleasure of hanging with Caca a little last night while her mama did an interview for a story. W was thrilled to have her in his orbit. I'm always in awe of how close they seem and the level of respect they share despite their age. I could learn a little from those two sweet spirits.
Here's a brief pictoral of last night. They are like Fred and Ethel and that also means that sometimes Caca is Fred and W is Ethel...
Here Caca looks like she'd been working at the ranch all day and now she's kicking back with her evening beverage and best bud but wait... she's expecting a call about some unfinished business! Willem looks like he's been gravedigging in that shirt.
Here she is laughing at W in a way that seems to be giving him a complex.
A dramatic moment on Miss Spider's Sunny Patch Friends.
Umm...totally cute.
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
Chhhhh-Changes
I was completely dreading the time change but that was until I realized which direction we were changing. I had it all reversed. “Hello, blondie?” And as much as I really don’t enjoy waking up with the ass crack of dawn, this little arrangement is working quite nicely. I actually have time to move at a much needed slower pace and even get a few extra things done like put away the clothes I decide not to wear to work instead of leaving the bedroom looking like a spastic stripper blew through. I get to drink an entire cup of coffee instead of gulping the scalding caffeine I so desperately need to get me out the door. I also get to serve W breakfast twice. He’s either a growing boy or got a tapeworm at the beach.While at the beach over the weekend with a couple of the Hubs’ family (which was a glorious break from everything I do on a daily basis…oh, how the routine punishes the spirit), it was brought to my attention that W sticks out his tongue…a lot. In fact, it was mentioned that he uses it like a tail and I have to agree. See…
"Please bring me mah snacks on the veranda, dahling."
Thursday, November 01, 2007
Deep In The Belly
I sliced into this pumpkin and it shed a beam of light on my son like Skywalker's lightsaber.
Naw. Just kidding.
See how he totally stays on task?
Good job, W!
Naw. Just kidding.
See how he totally stays on task?
Good job, W!
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Little Jack White
So the "hammer, hammer, saw, saw" jelly candy bribery worked and I managed to get W in costume this morning. He just about jumped off the changing table with glee when I mentioned the sweet tooth opportunity. I had to pre-layer the shirts so in essence I was pulling only one shirt over his head and I had to pre-loop the belt so I could slip on the britches and velcro. He was almost aware of what I was making him do and started to protest but I was saved by the neighborhood street sweeper. The whole way to school he sang "Where is sweet sweeper, where is sweet sweeper, down the sweet, down the sweet..." to the tune of Farajaca.Here are the little White Stripes. Getting them to stand together was like herding cats. Impossible.
And this blue eyed fella is Z but the Hubs and I call him Bill Clinton because he's usually standing by the gate smiling up at you and you almost expect him to shake your hand every time he's there.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
One White Stripe
The Hubs and I are simultaneously battling allergies in the worst way and having both of us suffer together isn’t the picture of “let’s cuddle in bed, share Kleenex and watch bad daytime TV as we drift in and out of sleep." Nope, it’s more like “I’m sicker than you so you see what W needs while I sip more of this hot toddy and channel surf." I usually never get allergies but something in the air has got me all twisted. It’s all I can do to keep from coughing up a lung on to my desk at work. My co-workers better love me for the personal sacrifices I make for them.
The other night in the middle of the night I awoke to a mysterious crunching sound. I listened harder in the direction of the open bedroom windows and though it was a squirrel enjoying a midnight snack but the chomping was too close. In the pitch I turned my head so both ears could dial up the sound and process from hence it sprung to wake me (some pretty fancy writing, huh?) and was convinced that the squirrel was in our room. We don’t have screens on the windows so it was a viable possibility. I looked in the direction of Hubs whose profile I could barely discern in the moonlight and sure enough, I could see his jaw working away. The “squirrel” was the Hubs chomping on cough drops like stolen Halloween candy. Took a lot of will power to not grab a pillow and gently place it over his munching head.
Tomorrow is Halloween and we are almost prepared for the ghosts and goblins to appear. W is going to be Jack White from the White Stripes while his best bud, CaCa, is going to be Meg. As we all know from the previous blog entry, W doesn't "do" costumes. Took FOREVER to find some red pants in his size with belt loops for his white belt. I did find him some britches but they are for girls…and they have silver sparkles in them. Not only is the white belt going to mentally scar the child but the girlie britches with sparkles may send him in a demonic fit. Thank goodness he’s only two and loves a certain kind of jelly candy that I have a secret stash of for bribery cases such as these. Yes, W gets candy after his oatmeal tomorrow morning.
The other night in the middle of the night I awoke to a mysterious crunching sound. I listened harder in the direction of the open bedroom windows and though it was a squirrel enjoying a midnight snack but the chomping was too close. In the pitch I turned my head so both ears could dial up the sound and process from hence it sprung to wake me (some pretty fancy writing, huh?) and was convinced that the squirrel was in our room. We don’t have screens on the windows so it was a viable possibility. I looked in the direction of Hubs whose profile I could barely discern in the moonlight and sure enough, I could see his jaw working away. The “squirrel” was the Hubs chomping on cough drops like stolen Halloween candy. Took a lot of will power to not grab a pillow and gently place it over his munching head.
Tomorrow is Halloween and we are almost prepared for the ghosts and goblins to appear. W is going to be Jack White from the White Stripes while his best bud, CaCa, is going to be Meg. As we all know from the previous blog entry, W doesn't "do" costumes. Took FOREVER to find some red pants in his size with belt loops for his white belt. I did find him some britches but they are for girls…and they have silver sparkles in them. Not only is the white belt going to mentally scar the child but the girlie britches with sparkles may send him in a demonic fit. Thank goodness he’s only two and loves a certain kind of jelly candy that I have a secret stash of for bribery cases such as these. Yes, W gets candy after his oatmeal tomorrow morning.
Monday, October 29, 2007
It Takes A Village
So this is the episode where I have to give mad props to all the mommies and daddies who are the kick arse parents of the kids in W’s class at school. Can I just say that I’m the luckiest momma on the planet to have such an awesome bunch for a) drinking buddies, b) open-minded, laid back, non-judgmental conversationalists, and c) measuring 11 on the 1-10 scale of total foxiness. Seriously, we should all pose for a calendar and I bet we would sell the hell out of it. We could donate some of the money to the school and spend the rest on wine clubs.
Friday, W had his first school program. They had been studying about Africa for 2 weeks and this was the apex of all their research. A small gathering of parentals waited like paparazzi for the tots to burst through the classroom door dressed in kente cloth vests made of paper bags and painted images and anklets made of pipe cleaners and bells. It was no surprise to see W sans kente vest and bells. I can barely convince him to dress in the morning. All of his friends paraded around in costume and banged on various instruments while W promptly put his toosh in my lap and watched. “I ain’t wearin’ no stinkin’ paper bag.” Yep, that’s my boy. He takes very much after his father.
Afterwards, I took W to my workplace to finish my day and pack up while he ate the dusty candy pumpkins perched on my edge of my desk as decor. I then wrangled the sugar-hyped tot and hoofed it over to the motherland, Central Market, where everyone from W’s class noshed and kibitzed as a PG-rated group. The wine bottles lined the tables like centerpieces, the kiddos ran amok and danced to the live music and we all had some good laughs at watching them wrestle, mosh, do yoga poses and hug. Good times, good times.
Friday, W had his first school program. They had been studying about Africa for 2 weeks and this was the apex of all their research. A small gathering of parentals waited like paparazzi for the tots to burst through the classroom door dressed in kente cloth vests made of paper bags and painted images and anklets made of pipe cleaners and bells. It was no surprise to see W sans kente vest and bells. I can barely convince him to dress in the morning. All of his friends paraded around in costume and banged on various instruments while W promptly put his toosh in my lap and watched. “I ain’t wearin’ no stinkin’ paper bag.” Yep, that’s my boy. He takes very much after his father.
Afterwards, I took W to my workplace to finish my day and pack up while he ate the dusty candy pumpkins perched on my edge of my desk as decor. I then wrangled the sugar-hyped tot and hoofed it over to the motherland, Central Market, where everyone from W’s class noshed and kibitzed as a PG-rated group. The wine bottles lined the tables like centerpieces, the kiddos ran amok and danced to the live music and we all had some good laughs at watching them wrestle, mosh, do yoga poses and hug. Good times, good times.
Friday, October 26, 2007
Faker
For several weeks now parents have been reading about the misuse of infant cough medicine ending in some overdose cases but I have yet to read about the addiction they may cause. For example, I’m getting ready for work this morning. W is doing his usual rooting around in various drawers and reveals two bottles of adult cough medicine. He brings the larger of the two over to me and says, “W cough, need cough medicine.” He starts fake coughing and continues begging for the meds. I tell him this one is for adults and he doesn’t have a cough and stop sticking your finger down your throat and let’s watch Curious George instead. The dramatics are cued and he starts with the whining and begging and more fake coughing/choking and I’m just looking at my toddler junkie and wondering who I should call for backup…911? NA? His doc? Pest control? My imaginary therapist? I admit to using cough meds when I felt he needed it but I’m not a believer in the band aid method of curing what ails you. I believe your body should work to banish the illness on it’s own. With constant observation and care of the situation, the natural method usually works for us but I’m disheartened by my 2-year-old’s junkie-like reaction to the sight of a cough medicine bottle. Anyone ever heard of toddler intervention?
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Old Cowhand
I’m pooped. Pooped from sitting at my desk all day pecking at the alphabet with my fingertips. It’s the wrong kind of pooped, too. It’s a crime, in fact. I should be pooped from jogging or housecleaning or building a yurt but I’m depressed to report that this fatigue is from non-activity, the slothfulness that is a desk job. How did this happen? It’s so wrong. If anyone with a ranch wants to hire me to run it, I’m your girl. Seriously. I’m a cowgirl at heart and THAT’S where I’m supposed to be. In the meantime, I’ll continue taking the baby steps necessary to get me there. Where there? Outdoors…with livestock…and friends, old and new…and divine food from my garden…and campfires…and starry skies…and feeling rightfully pooped.
Monday, October 22, 2007
Evolution
A few weeks ago I learned I was getting a new molar. My tongue rubbed the gummy surface in confusion and discovered the widening divot. Hello? I'm a little too old for this. I was happy with only three wisdom teeth. What I thought was a sign of evolution (I mean, we’re not wooly mammoth eating cave people anymore. Who needs all these teeth?) is instead a latent arrival that is surely going to wreak havoc about the time an 8-course Thanksgiving meal is set before me. I’m sure this is going to go poorly. I never had the other three removed and now I think number 4 is going to destroy the dental harmony. My top teeth are going to start looking like a pile up on IH-35. Sweet.
So I’m sure that anyone who lives in this part of the country and blogs will be writing about the weather here today because it’s totally writeable fodder. Yesterday, the sun shone and the air was in the mid 85’s. Bliss. Today Mother Nature smacked us with much needed rain and temps in the low 50’s. The projected high for the afternoon? Something like 58 degrees. Where in the hell am I? I opened the screenless windows of the upstairs bedroom to enjoy the coziness of the down blanket but the enjoyment turned to complete annoyance as the howling wind shook pecans loose from the trees. The machine gun popping sounds of the plump nuts hitting the balcony and roof just about drove me mental. Feeling a little sleepy today as a result.
For a complete change of scenery, check out the schonze on this here fish. Snapped it at an aquarium while on vaca.
So I’m sure that anyone who lives in this part of the country and blogs will be writing about the weather here today because it’s totally writeable fodder. Yesterday, the sun shone and the air was in the mid 85’s. Bliss. Today Mother Nature smacked us with much needed rain and temps in the low 50’s. The projected high for the afternoon? Something like 58 degrees. Where in the hell am I? I opened the screenless windows of the upstairs bedroom to enjoy the coziness of the down blanket but the enjoyment turned to complete annoyance as the howling wind shook pecans loose from the trees. The machine gun popping sounds of the plump nuts hitting the balcony and roof just about drove me mental. Feeling a little sleepy today as a result.
For a complete change of scenery, check out the schonze on this here fish. Snapped it at an aquarium while on vaca.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Mr. Creepers
I can hear W clapping to the Curious George soundtrack in his room. His little palms smack loudly. It’s both sporadic and meaningful. Lately he’s been spending a lot of time playing in his room, exploring, creating, and destroying. I adore hearing his sweet voice as he talks to his cars and trucks, pretends to be a cat, makes up words to Farajaca and reads to himself. These moments in the day are precious gifts.
The other night the Hubs had a gig so W and I were tandem for the evening. As bedtime drew near, I abandoned the greatly insisted upon idea of reading the same five out of 50 books he owns and turned on the TV instead. I’m the best mom ever, I know, I know. I unfolded his Spongebob Squarepants couch and we squeezed in together. This actually means that my arse end is hanging off the edge and my weight is deforming the box-shaped frame. Spiderman 2 was on. W knows who Spiderman is but not what he’s about. Since it was a relatively calm moment in the film, we tuned in for a few minutes. It was the scene where Kirsten Dunst is at a café with Tobey Maguire and she asks him if he still loves her. During this time, W moved from being wedged in the couch to sitting on my belly. Tobey says he doesn’t love her and her character is obviously pained by this. W is engrossed by the intensity of her expression although he doesn’t understand what is going on, or so I thought. She whispered, “Kiss me. Kiss me. I have to know something. Kiss me…” or something like that. W suddenly turned to me and whispered, “Kiss me.” I burst out laughing. He did it again and started to slowly lean in all slobbery lipped. The humor of it quickly reached a super creepy level and I gently pushed him back. He gave it another go and seemed to enjoy my second grader’s reaction. In an instant his attention turned to a car flying into the plate glass window of the café and I was saved by some kick ass special effects.
Seriously y’all, that intimate kissy moment gave me the hebegeebees something fierce. What’s up with this kid?
Friday, October 19, 2007
Better Late Than Never
Can’t seem to get my blogging act together.
Many of my girlfriends are busy nurturing buns in their lucky ovens and don’t cha’ know it makes my baby makin’ machine start to churn with the urge. Granted, at the more than ripe age of 38, it’s not so much a churn as it is a chug. The Hubs and I have talked about procreating again but as we’ve learned throughout this tour of “dooty” it’s a pretty big (huge) deal. We’re not quite ready to welcome another round of sleepless nights into our world and with W sleeping 10 to 11 straight hours a night, life is pretty grand but it’s nice to think about the possibility of family member number four, talk about it, consider it a little. All of W’s baby things are stuffed in the attic like piles of promise rings so maybe, just maybe, we’ll expand our little rock n roll nest to include another band member.
W and I went to see Thomas the Tank Engine this past Saturday. We found the bright blue cartoon train anchored to a series of passenger cars and grinning eerily up at the sky, looking at nothing in particular. W was as cool as a cucumber as other children around us exploded into billions of pieces upon seeing their beloved train. The swirl of activity kept W welded to my torso. He seemed happy to be there and loved the actual train ride but, thankfully, he wasn’t buying the commercial seduction and neither was I. W’s love affair for the afternoon was in the form of my college roommate’s 6 or 7 year-old daughter, Zoe. W was captivated by her and held her hand for 3 city blocks before we had to go our own way. The boy has great taste.
.JPG)
Eating ice cream, if that's what you want to call it...
.JPG)
My friend's husband who gets all the credit for these photos said, and I quote, "The subject line is actually what one of my friends said it looked like W was doing in this photo. That is actually you, waving a napkin in front of his face while I was taking the photo. The photo has been the source for much head-scratching amongst my familiars." The subject line:
Burping the ghost of Christmas past
Many of my girlfriends are busy nurturing buns in their lucky ovens and don’t cha’ know it makes my baby makin’ machine start to churn with the urge. Granted, at the more than ripe age of 38, it’s not so much a churn as it is a chug. The Hubs and I have talked about procreating again but as we’ve learned throughout this tour of “dooty” it’s a pretty big (huge) deal. We’re not quite ready to welcome another round of sleepless nights into our world and with W sleeping 10 to 11 straight hours a night, life is pretty grand but it’s nice to think about the possibility of family member number four, talk about it, consider it a little. All of W’s baby things are stuffed in the attic like piles of promise rings so maybe, just maybe, we’ll expand our little rock n roll nest to include another band member.
W and I went to see Thomas the Tank Engine this past Saturday. We found the bright blue cartoon train anchored to a series of passenger cars and grinning eerily up at the sky, looking at nothing in particular. W was as cool as a cucumber as other children around us exploded into billions of pieces upon seeing their beloved train. The swirl of activity kept W welded to my torso. He seemed happy to be there and loved the actual train ride but, thankfully, he wasn’t buying the commercial seduction and neither was I. W’s love affair for the afternoon was in the form of my college roommate’s 6 or 7 year-old daughter, Zoe. W was captivated by her and held her hand for 3 city blocks before we had to go our own way. The boy has great taste.
.JPG)
Eating ice cream, if that's what you want to call it...
.JPG)
My friend's husband who gets all the credit for these photos said, and I quote, "The subject line is actually what one of my friends said it looked like W was doing in this photo. That is actually you, waving a napkin in front of his face while I was taking the photo. The photo has been the source for much head-scratching amongst my familiars." The subject line:
Burping the ghost of Christmas past
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