The Random Tangent

My New Gig

2010-11-17T06:27:00.000-08:00

I got a new gig. I'm the Lake YMCA's new knitting teacher.

I'm really excited about the position for many reasons:
I'll meet new people in my still-fairly-new community and they won't all be moms of young children- I like variety in my friends
I get to pass along the craft I've grown to really love
I get to hone my skills in the process
I get to unload some of my yarn stash

A little over a year ago I recognized how much I love knitting. I love the feel of the yarn in my hands. I love the way the needles slide against each other in a gentle shhh shhh as I knit. I make garments in vivid colors, warm and durable and soft; sweaters, hats, mittens and blankets to embrace my husband, my children, my family, my friends and myself.

The process of creation is multi-step and every step is one of discovery. The pattern choice is probably the most important and most exciting- who will it be for? What season? What function will the garment have? What will it have to match? Cables? Or color?

The pattern choice drives the yarn choice. Choosing the yarn is the most exciting step- what fibers? What weight? What colors? Does it need to be machine washable? Where will I get the yarn? When do I get to feel it?

Next comes the gauge swatch and then measuring the intended recipient- torso length, arm length, shoulder to fall line, chest size. The most exciting step is next: starting. Seeing the sweater or hat or mittens or blanket begin to take shape on the needles it delightful. Does it look just as I thought it was going to look, or is it a little different? How quickly is the project going to appear. Seeing the project grow off the needles is like watching a genie come swirling out of a lamp- it's just as magical.

Blocking comes next and blocking is usually fairly straightforward. However, I have had an item or two completely change again during the blocking process. A knit blanket once went from being lumpy-bumpy and cute to being flat and sleek and beautiful. Even blocking delivers an occasional surprise.

The final stage I can't complete fast enough- the finishing up so that the knitted item can be used. The sewing together and weaving-in of the ends always looks like it will take forever until I actually start doing it. Suddenly I'm down to the last end and I can give it away. Giving something away is like giving someone a perpetual hug. It's love and warmth and comfort.

I get to pass it all along to a new group of people. That makes me one lucky person. Maybe the most exciting part will be seeing a new group of knitters complete their first projects.

Life is good.

I Want a Hot Dog

2010-11-05T05:47:00.000-07:00

My oldest child is in Kindergarten. He's sensitive and high-strung and inquisitive, stubborn, smart and very sweet. Putting him on the bus that first day in August and pushing him out of the nest was hard, but I knew he'd love school. I knew it was the first major step towards him becoming his own person, independent from me.

He's got his own friends and his own relationships now. He knows people I don't know- the gym teacher and the lunch ladies, the librarian and the school nurse. He had some conflict two days ago with one of the women who monitors the playground- yesterday afternoon he told me it had been resolved.

It's fascinating to me to see the evolution of my child. I see glimpses of the person he's going to be, even while the majority of his self is still firmly rooted in the 5 year-old person he is now.

Many of the changes are subtle; this morning's was not. "I want a hot dog for lunch today, Mom." Ted announced at breakfast. For the first time ever, he went to school without a lunch I'd packed. He's going to stand in line with the other kids and get his lunch, typing his code into the cash register to take the payment out of his account. He's not going to have me there to cut it up for him- he'll have to manage it by himself.

I want to be a fly on the wall and check on him. I'd like to ride in his pocket and just make sure that he's doing fine- give him encouragement throughout the day. Of course, that's not mine to do. He's got to figure it out on his own, just like I did when I was his age.

He took charge of another area of his life today. I am proud of him each time he takes another step towards independence.

I'd already packed his lunch when he asked for the hot dog. I didn't tell him that though, and his sandwich, vegetables and goldfish crackers are in the fridge. He can have them tomorrow.

Today he's having a hot dog.

.....And They're Off

2010-07-25T05:52:00.000-07:00

We got a puppy. He's going to be a big dog- he's 4 months old now and is almost the size of a small Lab. He's jumpy and nippy and boisterous, but we can tell that he'll eventually settle down into a very nice dog. He's sweet, tolerant and lovable.

Henry adores him. He can't get enough of Skipper. Every day I run interference so that Skipper can sleep without being piled with toys, blankets and Henry. Eventually, despite my best efforts, Skipper has to give up his nap, get up and play with Henry instead.

We were outside one morning- Skipper was minding his own business, napping under a lilac bush. I was pulling weeds in the herb garden. Henry was playing with a bungee cord he found. Henry spied Skipper sleeping and took the bungee cord over and used it to attach the lid of the sand box to Skipper's collar. Henry then came over to me to get sun-screened for the morning.

The sandbox lid is made of a lightweight plastic, but it's fairly large- maybe 2'x 3'Here's a picture of it:

As I was spraying Henry down with sunscreen, Skipper must have moved. The lid moved with him and spooked him. Skipper took off like a shot. Howling and running as fast as he could, he bolted past me and down the driveway, turned the corner and flew in front of the house, sandbox lid trailing behind him like a flying carpet. "Rooooooooooo! Roooooooooooo!" I dropped the sunscreen and started running after him as fast as I could, "Skipper! I'll saaaave youuuuuuuuu!" With a scramble of nails against asphalt, he turned the corner and ran past the garage. "Roooooooooooo!" all the while pulling his airborne sled. He scrambled around the last corner and got the sandbox lid wedged between the trashcans and our yard trailer. I finally caught up to him there and was able to release him from his pursuer.

Skipper ran off to recuperate. Henry, I'm sure, was already thinking of the next thing he's going to do with Skipper. Yesterday Henry covered him with truck stickers. Henry tells me that Skipper is his best friend and I believe it, but I don't think Skipper is going to fall asleep near the sandbox any time soon.

Changed Again

2010-04-06T03:17:00.000-07:00

I changed my comment posting policy to something that may cut back on the spam but that allows my friends to leave comments again. Hopefully this will help- I'm still getting spam comments so my attempts to curb it haven't been totally successful. I still don't think my readers are interested in German Viagra so I've been vigilant about removing the spam comments.

An Unfortunate Name

2010-02-24T09:57:00.000-08:00

Winnie the Pooh has been around forever, but I am still sometimes taken aback when my kids say his name.

Every mom has probably snapped to attention when she's heard her kid squeal with delight, "Look mom! There's Pooh!" (The first thing you think as a mom is "Where's poo? Do I have wipes? Is this going to require doing a load of laundry?" Then you realize it's "Pooh," not "poo." Sigh of relief.)

Never is this so true for me as in the evenings. I'm tired and ready for the kids to go to bed so that I can unwind for a little while.

I get a little burst of adrenaline every evening when Ted shouts "Mom! There's Pooh on my toothbrush!"

I really ought to get him a new toothbrush.

I'm Supposed to Care?

2010-02-24T09:30:00.000-08:00

Tiger Woods apologized the other day for cheating on his wife. He said that he hoped that the public could forgive him.

I was puzzled by the apology.

The pundits came on and told us how we were supposed to feel about it and psychologists told us about his body language and whether or not they felt he was being honest.

I was even more puzzled by all of that.

Tiger Woods is a golfer. Period. Tiger Woods probably owed his wife an apology, but I don't know what their arrangement was (nor do I care to) and I don't know what kinds of things she was engaged in while Tiger was... busy.

If Mr. Woods was my moral Northstar from whom I sought guidance on how to live a moral and corruption-free life, then I would surely be confused by his transgressions. But as far as I can tell, Mr. Woods never claimed to be an awesome family man from whom others could learn. If he ever marketed himself to the public as a domestic bliss Svengali, then the public would have a right to expect an apology.

I feel sort-of sorry for celebrities sometimes- I think that the public expects way too much from them. Actors are folks who are good at pretending to be someone else. This does not give them political insight greater than anyone else. I don't care who Tim Robbins or Spike Lee or Susan Sarandon thinks should be president. I see the ads and the interviews where the celebrities are giving their opinion on political issues and I wonder why they think they've got the answers.

I don't care what they think about gun control, same-sex marriage, the war in Iraq or wearing fur because they aren't experts in the field- they're actors.

I'd like to know what Sarah Jessica Parker does for her skin (truly, not just what the ads say she does) because she's my age and I look 15 years older than she does. Clearly she has some kind of insider information on how to keep your eyelids from being baggy, but I still don't care who she's going to vote for.

So Tiger cheated on his wife and apparently disappointed his public. Maybe they shouldn't count on him to be anything other than a really good golfer. Maybe the public should have apologized to him for expecting him to be more than simply an impressive athlete. Maybe we got it backwards. Maybe when the spotlight fell upon him for his off-the-course behavior we all should have turned the spotlight off and said, "We're sorry; we forgot- you're an incredibly good golfer- nothing more, nothing less. We'll see you on the course."

Is it Spring Yet?

2010-01-29T07:52:00.000-08:00

I have my garden planned and my seeds purchased already. They're waiting in the basement for warmer weather, or at least for the calendar date when I can put the seeds in some soil, under the lights in their fake Spring in order to get a jump on our growing season.

Yes, I know it's only January, but the snapdragons get started at the end of February and I was one of the last people to order my snapdragon seeds before the company ran out of the variety I wanted, so I'm not that crazy to have them this early.

Besides, ordering my seeds makes the weather outside seem less bleak, less endless.

We're putting in a garden this year. For the last couple of years I've had an ever-growing series of pots lining my driveway. We had no room for a garden in the front without turning the front yard into a garden and the back yard was shady and wooded. I'd have had to take down the neighbors' trees in order to get enough sunlight in the back, and I think they would have objected.

We bought a new house and moved in November; I brought along all of my pots so that I could plant flowers around the back deck. In our new house we have 3 acres of land with only one line of trees at the back of the property, so we have plenty of room for a garden. We've walked the property and decided exactly where the garden should go and I wait.

The neighbor, a Mennonite carpenter named Elmer Yoder who's lived in his house forever, told me that our property is largely "muck." While this sounded to me like it meant rich, fertile soil, I have since discovered that "muck" is actually a technical term used to describe property that is too wet for crops. There is a broken field tile in the front that will need to be fixed in order to alleviate some of the drainage issues and the county is overdue for dredging the creek that abuts our parcel.

The spot which we've chosen sits a little bit higher than some of the surrounding yard and I'm hopeful that there will be no standing water in that spot at the end of Spring. We'll figure something out, I'm sure, but if I end up using my old system for growing my tomatoes this year, heck, at least I've already got the pots for it.

Change to Blog

2010-01-02T10:53:00.001-08:00

I've got another post coming, probably more than one, but I made a change today that I wanted to alert my readers to.

I've been getting spam posts in my "comments" sections on my posts and it's been a pain to log in and clear them out- invariably they show up on older posts and I have to figure out when I wrote the entry first.

I am no longer able to accept anonymous comments on the blog- I am hoping that the change will completely eliminate spam postings (I really don't think anyone who reads this is interested in German Viagra) but I know that some of my regulars will no longer be able to post comments. I've hesitated to make the change for that reason, but I'm sure you all will understand.

Check back soon- I'm in a writing mood- I just need the time to sit down. I'll get something up this month though, for sure.

Edited to add: I got another spam comment today, written in a character language, so clearly the problem hasn't been solved yet. Spam is something, like vandalism, that I just don't "get." Hmph.

Speaking Chinese and Doing Calculus

2009-10-27T11:47:00.000-07:00

Disney has just announced they'll refund your money if you bought "Baby Einstein" videos from 2004-2009. Apparently, parents bought the videos with the expectation that they would increase their child's intelligence.

Although I purchased several of the videos I don't think I could ask for a refund. I never thought they were educational so I don't consider myself defrauded. There are lots of toys that bill themselves as "educational" whose claim seems ludicrous. I have occasionally joked that a toy is "educational" because if you throw it, you will witness the physical law of gravity in action.

Putting a picture of a square, a triangle, an oval and a rectangle on something does not make it educational. Nor does making the different sides out of different colors of plastic. As for the videos, the fact that there are toys and creepy puppets filmed against a soundtrack of classical music, in my mind at least, did not make it "educational." The surprising part about Disney's announcement (to me) is that people thought it was.

As I said, I have had the videos. They allowed me to take a shower or make dinner. I know that the American Academy of Pediatrics has recommended no video watching before the age of two, but until one of their members wants to come over and make dinner for us, I have to find some way to get things done. My kids happily watched the videos while I got something done. They didn't watch them all day but I did let them watch them on a regular basis.

I'm not surprised that my 4 year-old isn't doing calculus or speaking Chinese. I am thankful that I had an electronic babysitter to help me get dinner made or laundry in the washing machine, but I never expected the videos to be anything more than that. The fact that it has been determined that the videos are not educational do not make me feel parental guilt- I never thought they were anything other than entertainment for my child.

So Disney, you can keep your money from me. The videos came in handy. If some of the major toy manufacturers take note of Disney's actions and start using the word "educational" a little more judiciously when describing their toys, that'd be great. If they don't, I'll just keep using their "educational" toys to teach my children the law of gravity.

Uprooting the Deeply Rooted

2009-10-24T05:14:00.000-07:00

We're currently 2 1/2 weeks away from moving and there are boxes everywhere. The guy who works the Goodwill truck knows me by name. I'm starting to count things down- this is the last time I'll pay this bill or get this magazine or buy toilet paper until we move to our new house. The kids asked to drive by the new house yesterday. We're all excited, but it's a lot of work.

I bought our house 9 years ago when I was married to my ex-husband. I was working full-time and this house needed a LOT of work. There was a hole in the balcony as big as a garbage-can lid and every room was ugly beyond description. Instead of putting time into carefully going through and cleaning out my old house, I came over to the new one after work and painted, prepped, stripped and cleaned. The boxes in the attic, left there from my move from law school, were moved into the attic here. Some of them had been untouched during the 9 years I'd been here.

My husband Nate moved in after we got married in 2004. He already had a house, but we decided we'd live in mine. It was clearly MY house, with all of my artwork on the walls, my furniture everywhere.

Nate sold his house 3 days after he'd put it on the market, a year after we were married. We already had a child at that time and Nate didn't have the time or the energy to go through his things. They joined mine in the attic. I tried to make as much space for his things in my house as I could- I felt he'd sacrificed his home identity when we got married.

We had too much furniture, too many things. Two sets of plates and two coffee makers, eight phones, two standing mixers, three blenders, 12 blankets, 15 towels- we simply had too much.

Both of us tend to be pack rats and I have had to remind myself that just because something has value doesn't mean it has value to me.

There is an emotional component to it too- prior to meeting Nate, I had gone through a divorce which left me feeling like the stuff I'd kept was like the piece of myself he hadn't chipped away. I didn't want to give up anything I still had left. I was not done healing from my divorce when Nate and I married.

When Nate and I got married, Nate had been a widower for 4 years. Tossing out things that had been theirs was like treating his past with disregard- it was a dishonoring of her memory.

We've been married for over 5 years now. We have two children, we've been on 8 vacations; lost a grandparent and a friend; bought two cars; been to the doctor numerous times and to the hospital 5 times; been to a few weddings; welcomed a nephew into the family and gone through the daily and weekly trials and tribulations that a family goes through together. In short, we've both moved beyond our pasts. We carry them with us, for good and for bad, but we don't need the things anymore that were as important to us as they were when we united our households.

We've been going through the boxes one by one. We've had an extra trash pick-up at our house and we've borrowed an extra trash can a couple of times. We've made many trips to the Goodwill truck.

It feels good to clean out and sort and purge the things we have.

We're moving into our house. We chose it together after looking at a LOT of houses. We'll pick out the wall coverings and the floor coverings together because it's our house. I'm excited about what it's going to mean for us as a family.

I still have too much fabric and he probably has more tools than he needs, but neither one of us is moving something into our new house simply because we don't know what to do with it.

That's a very clean feeling.

50 First Dates

2009-10-15T04:00:00.001-07:00

We just sold our house.

Thank goodness too, because the suspense was killing me.

Every time we had a showing it was like a first date. I never liked first dates- it was simply too stressful. Does he like me? Was this the right perfume? Is my neckline too low? Too high? Was that a good joke or did I just sound stupid?

Then the next couple of days were torture. Did he like me? Is he going to call again? Do I get a second date? I knew I wore the wrong shoes.

Selling the house was the same way. I'd do a last-minute clean-up of the kids' toys and walk out of the house, drive down the street and the questions would start: Are they there now? Do they like the paint color? Is my kitchen showing itself off well? Do they like the yard? Did my 4-year old pee all over the toilet right before we left? And then the inevitable: What did they think? Are they going to call again? Do they want a second showing? Maybe they'll pop the question!!

One time (I am not making this up and am still embarrassed by it) one of our cats threw a hairball on the dining room table, all over the literature about our house AFTER we'd left, but BEFORE our prospective buyers came through. Needless to say, they did not make an offer.

Sometimes we found out why the prospective buyers declined to make an offer and most of the times the reason made sense- they didn't like the ravine abutting the back yard or the layout wasn't conducive to their lifestyle. Sometimes the reason made no sense- one couple said that our kitchen was too small. The kitchen is a showplace room that I spent way too much money on. One of the largest rooms in the house and bigger than any kitchen in any house I'd looked at, the kitchen boasts top-of the line appliances and about a mile of Silestone counters. The kitchen, ugly when I bought it, sold the house to me because my old kitchen was a cramped little space that I couldn't work in. Those buyers made up a reason- their agent called them "crazy."

When we got a rejection, we'd kvetch and speculate about the real reason, much the way my girlfriends and I would kvetch and speculate about the real reason he didn't call back, whoever the he of the moment was.

When the first offer came in, our response was mixed. We were a little insulted by his figure- we'd made every major repair during our 9 years in the house- roof, furnace, A/C, kitchen renovation- and thought our house was worth more. We were part elated- someone liked our house enough to make an offer! And we were part terrified- lay-offs had just been announced at my husband's job and while he was unlikely to be directly effected, we weren't sure how deep the lay-offs would go or what kind of financial concessions we'd be asked to make in order to save jobs. In addition, we would be moving to a new community and neither Nate nor myself likes change- I like knowing where everything is in my grocery store.

We rejected the offer.

And then our buyer came back with more money. He really liked our house. It was going to be a good fit for him. Nate and I joined hands, closed our eyes and stepped off the cliff.

We signed the contract.

We didn't know where we were going to move to but had a couple of houses we were contemplating. We had a couple more we wanted to see. I did not sleep.

We went out one more time with our agent and narrowed our choices down to two.

We decided to make an offer. Again, I did not sleep. We'd made an offer on a house we'd decided was our dream house. It had everything we'd hoped for, including some things we thought we'd never get in one house. We knew other people were also interested in the house. We crossed our fingers and waited to hear from our agent.

This was worse than any first-date jitters I'd ever had. The phone rang and I jumped at it. Our agent! NO! I was NOT interested in taking a short telephone survey! The phone rang. Our agent! Sorry, dear friend, I will have to call you back later. AFTER our agent has called. The phone rang! Our agent! With a signed contract in hand.

Phew. I am so glad that's over. Now we just have to move. Ugh.

Project Grace Completed

2009-08-28T17:06:00.000-07:00

If you don't know about Project Grace, please read my last entry first- it will save me the time of re-writing it here.

I finished Project Grace a couple of weeks ago. We'd just gotten back from vacation and it took me until tonight to put my hands on my camera so that I could take pictures that would provide the evidence that I wanted.

There were two panels that gave me trouble- one was fairly easy to suss out- it took a couple of hours of research and a new book purchase, but my first attempt revealed the correct pattern. The "Bramble" was indeed "Bramble."

The "Slip Stitch Diamonds" turned out to be a bit harder to unravel. I searched every book I had including two newly purchased ones. I made a practice square- it looked good on the front, but the back was clearly different. It had to be perfect- good enough was not going to be good enough. I was also concerned that as the blanket aged, the difference between Grace's pattern and mine would become more evident.

Finally I went to a local knitting shop and asked the ladies there for help. One of them pointed out a bit of knitting that I would have missed- every fourth stitch had one more row to it- an odd bit of knitting indeed. They'd never seen a stitch like it before- it makes a perfectly flat diamond pattern. It's brilliant construction. Their discovery enabled me to work out the stitch the rest of the way.

The cabling was simply resolved with a little math.

Here's the blanket, in all its glory:

(Grace loved cats, so I let Patches stay and be photographed.)

Here's a picture of the end that I knit:

Here's a picture of the juncture where Grace's knitting ends and mine begins:

I tried to take that last picture at a point where the knitting is the most complicated because I figured that if there was a place where the transition would show, that would be it. I can't tell where she left off and I took over. My goal was for the transition to be seamless, and it appears that I accomplished that.

I'm pretty proud of the work I did and glad that I could do it right. I have a blanket I cherish and I will think of Grace often when I am curled up beneath it, with a cat in my lap. Anyone who knew Grace would know that spending time under a hand-knit blanket, sharing its comfort with a cat is the perfect way to remember Grace. I am lucky to have her blanket (and so is Patches.)

Project Grace

2009-07-31T09:05:00.000-07:00

A dear friend of mine died recently. Grace was only 64 and she died of pancreatic cancer. It was a horrible end to a gentle and generous person. I will miss her tremendously.

Grace was a knitter and seamstress extraordinaire. She could puzzle out a pattern in her head and solve other people's mistakes and mis-stitches. She could create patterns and tailor and calculate in her head. Her ability was both fascinating and impressive.

I have had the good fortune to inherit a mostly-finished blanket that was part of her legacy. It's about ten inches too short and it comes without any notes or patterns. This is it:

There are a total of seventeen patterned panels across the front and a border around it.

A couple of the patterns are easy to figure out:
This one is a simple X and O cable with a Diamond Bobble cable in the center

This one is a Trophy Cable on either side and a Seed Stitch Diamond in the center:

And the center section is a simple diamond trellis cable:

Then there are the Mystery Stitches:

Bramble?

Slip Stitch Diamonds?

I think that finishing this blanket without a pattern is the perfect way to remember Grace. I will have to use my head and I will have to be careful. I'm checking my gauge to make sure it will go seamlessly from her work to mine- I'll have to use a larger diameter needle- she always knit looser than I do. I've been thinking about how to recreate the mystery stitches and I've poured through my books. I think I have one of them solved- I found a pattern that looks like it's the right one and I have a swatch knitted up that I'll subject to a close comparison. The "Slip Stitch Diamond" I haven't found a pattern for yet, but I think I've worked it out in my head. I have a swatch of that started too- I don't have it perfect yet, but I think I'm on the right track.

Grace would have it figured out by now, most likely. She'd have loved the challenge.

I love it too.

My Orange Alarm CLock

2009-07-29T03:30:00.000-07:00

I have an alarm clock that goes off every morning sometime between 5:30 and 6, regardless of what I do to silence it. It used to make me a little hostile-feeling, but now I have some compassion for the annoying little bugger.

We have 3 cats, Feisty, Patches and BK. We also used to have Neal. Neal and Feisty were brothers; Neal was put to sleep back in January after being diagnosed with cancer.

In our bedroom, we have installed a pet door that goes out onto the balcony so that the cats can go outside. BK uses it as her main form of ingress and egress from the house. Patches will routinely go out and sunbathe as well. Feisty and Neal used to go out every morning and experience the sunrise from the balcony- they'd lounge out there for about an hour and a half before coming inside.

Feisty is a very dumb cat. Every morning, bright and early, Feisty starts to call out, "Mwrow? Mwrow? Mwrow?" while trying to figure out how to get outside. He'll paw at the wall a little bit. "Mwrow? Mwrow? Mwrow?" The other cats don't have this problem. They go over to the kitty door and nose it open and walk outside without hesitation. Feisty can't figure it out. I don't know if he can't find it or doesn't know how it works- I've tried to teach him countless times, but every morning it's the same drill. "Mwrow? Mwrow? Mwrow?"

I drag myself out of bed and open the kitty door for him (I stick my foot into it and lift the flap and he figures it out and goes outside- I do this every morning.) I used to get aggravated by it and throw pillows at him to try to get him to stop. Nothing worked.

Then I realized that he used to go outside without any problem when Neal was around to lead the way. Now when my alarm goes off every morning, I drag myself out of bed, go over to Feisty and give him a scratch behind the ears and simply open the door for him.

I don't know if he consciously misses Neal. As I mentioned, he's a dumb cat, even bearing in mind that he's a CAT. What I do know is that his life is a little harder for him without having his brother around.

Every morning at around 5:30 or 6, I miss Neal a little bit and I have a bit of extra affection for Feisty. It's not so bad a way to start the day, actually.

Penguins at the Feeder

2009-06-12T04:05:00.000-07:00

All kids say cute things and mine are no exception. I've been told "write them down" more times than I can shake a stick at. Being someone who likes to write, I ponder this advice.

Where? is the first question. I'm not a scrapbooker. I think scrapbooks are neat if you're into that kind of thing, but I'm not. And I'm not going to get into scrapbooking- it'd be another expensive unfinished project category that I'd need to store somewhere. Between my knitting and my quilting I have plenty of that. Besides, I don't have that sort of eye- it's just not my thing.

Why? is the second question. The obvious answer is so that I don't forget. I'm sure I'll forget some things. The other day Ted was wearing just a t-shirt and a pair of underpants. He and Henry were discussing the location of something and Henry queried of Ted, ""In pocket?" Ted responded, "No, Henry, I don't have pockets in these underpants." I laughed at the time and smiled rewriting it here; next week it likely will be a distant memory. If I wrote it down would it be a diary for myself? Perhaps something to read when they're 15 and 17 and driving me crazy?

I don't write a diary. I tried keeping one and didn't like it. Writing here is different because I don't keep a schedule and don't feel obligated. If I get to the point where I feel done I can simply delete the whole blog- there will be no books to discard or for my kids to worry about.

I also like the idea that my memories are not cataloged, not confined rigidly to a book. It seems more natural and right to me- Ted went through a phase where all birds were "chickens." We'd go to the zoo and he'd point excitedly at the flamingos and shout "Chickens, mommy!" There were chickens at the bird feeder and on the wires next to the highway. I realized the other day that Henry's doing the same thing. We were looking at a book of animals and there was a picture of a peacock; Henry excitedly exclaimed, "Penguin!" Since then I have found that there are penguins in our trees and at the pond nearby.

In the future I may confuse who was "chickens" and who was "penguins," but does it really matter? I think I'd rather let my memories be my memories, foggy though they may become.

Besides, it will give Nate and me something to correct each other on when we're older.

And I'm Back

2009-06-02T17:08:00.000-07:00

I'm not crabby any more.

I'll post again soon.

I get mad sometimes- I have a pretty quick temper, truth be told, but I'm disinclined to hold grudges.

So I'm not pouting any more and will probably turn out another entry within the week.

It was a tough afternoon though, so tonight I have a date with the couch and my knitting.

Ah, my knitting. Unfortunately, my husband is a man of very simple tastes. I am knitting him a sweater vest and so my knitting will consist of knit on the right side, purl on the wrong. Heaven forbid we have something outlandish, like a cable or some colorwork.

Knit on the right side, purl on the wrong side. In brown no less. Not aubergine or celadon. Perhaps if I came up with a more romantic name for "brown" it would make it seem more interesting. The good news is that he will wear it a lot, simply because I made it for him. It won't take long to make either because it's so simple, so even though boring at least it won't be long and boring.

So I'm off to the couch to knit a sweater vest in "Grizzly." (Did that sound more interesting than "brown?")

And She's Outta Here

2009-04-30T02:46:00.000-07:00

I'm taking a break.

I enjoy writing. I really do. I'll miss it.

But I haven't been writing much lately. I think about it. I formulate entries in my head and don't post them.

I didn't realize when I first started writing how much critical analysis would follow- not just of my writing, but also of my parenting.

It is the fate of my children to have me as a parent. I'm not perfect, but I'm happy with my life; I'm happy (for the most part) with myself.

My kids aren't going to have a million friends through my social contacts.

I'm not perky.

My house is badly decorated and cluttered.

I don't see the need for kids to be taking four different kinds of lessons at the age of 3.

I think that tv is over-rated and most programs are garbage. I think that many books are too.

To me, a day spent at the park is a day well spent and a trip to the grocery store can be just as educational (and more practical) than a trip to many museums.

Play groups make me anxious- they feel like first dates and no one ever calls for a second date. I'm just not that great at small talk. I never have been and I never will be. I'm ok with this for the most part but people telling me that I need to go out and make more friends so that the kids have more social exposure is, frankly, unhelpful advice. Would I like to have more friends? Sure I would. But I would have answered that question the same way just about every year of my life.

I really am doing the best I can as a parent, but there are basic things about my nature that make it impossible to transform myself into Donna Reed, June Cleaver or Claire Huxtable. I'm just not any of those people. My kids are going to have me as their parent, for good or for bad. I've tried many times to be someone I'm not because it seemed that other people were unhappy with who I am and the bottom line is that it doesn't work, it only makes me miserable.

Writing down the anecdotes has invited criticism of all kinds and it just isn't fun any more. I don't post because I don't want the inevitable phone calls and emails. So I'm taking a break.

I posted another entry this morning, one that had been sitting half-finished for a month or more. It'll be my last one for a while.

The Police Officer's Wife

2009-04-10T05:15:00.000-07:00

I am a police officer's wife.

Most people have an emotional response to that. The response ranges from empathy to distrust, from compassion to even a little fear.

Sometimes current events evoke a response; such has happened recently.

About a month ago a suspect shot and killed three police officers outside of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. The suspect appeared to have no particular beef with the officers who responded to the call to 911; other than his killing the officers, he'd had no contact with them.

News such as this always makes me grateful that my husband is as careful as he is. It makes me appreciate my friends, some of whom offer their thanks when such news makes headlines. Although my husband had no connection to the Pittsburgh incident, we know that it's a possibility that he may be tomorrow's news story.

I don't often think about that aspect of his job. It is typical that an incident such as Pittsburgh's is random- it happens in response to a simple traffic stop, or while answering a routine call. Since it is so random, thinking about it serves no purpose- the chances are real but slim and I can't let them consume me.

When I was pregnant with Ted I was still working as a police legal adviser for the department he works for. When there was an officer-involved shooting, one of my tasks was to go to the scene and report back to my office- our office was eventually the office that would be representing the city in any subsequent lawsuit. When I was about 4 months along I was called to the scene of an officer-involved shooting.

The shooting happened in the district my husband patrols, during a preceding shift. The suspect was a paranoid schizophrenic who had the belief that police officers were actually space aliens who were going to steal his body. In a previous encounter with a different police department he'd blown his hands off with a hand grenade in an attempt to thwart the "alien." That police officer, a West Virginia state trooper, had saved the suspect's life.

In this incident the officer was responding to a domestic disturbance. The suspect was armed with a WWII era long gun loaded with armor-piercing rounds. The responding officer received a career-ending injury when a round penetrated his torso, just below his vest. The suspect fired several times but was eventually shot to death by the officers who responded. The primary officer involved was in the hospital for many weeks and returned to the job only for a short time- his injuries made it uncomfortable to wear his gear, even after a year of recovery.

Officers' wives pull together under such circumstances. I was one of many who made two meals for the family- we had a schedule that we followed so that they weren't inundated with too much food at once. I'd never met her before, but I knew that it could have as easily been me to get that phone call we all occasionally think about getting. The officer had done nothing wrong. He hadn't been sloppy. He was a good officer with a good reputation who was doing his job the way he was trained to do it. It happened anyway.

My husband and I have an agreement. If he's going to be more than a half-hour late getting home from work he calls me and lets me know. More than a half-hour late and I start to worry that I'm going to get that phone call. I think that maybe he's at the hospital and no one's thought to call me yet. I start to get anxious.

How he leaves for work every night is routine to the point of superstitious: He kisses me good night and tells me he loves me, I tell him I love him too. I tell him "Have a good night" and he walks down the hall and whispers at our children's doors that he loves each of them before heading downstairs and out the door. I have to tell him to have a good night. It's for me- he hasn't asked me to do it, but I feel like something's wrong if I say something different. He has his ritual, I have mine.

Every night for a fleeting moment just after he kisses me goodnight there lingers the the shadow of the prospect of getting that phone call. I expect that other officer's wives feel the same way when they see their husbands walk out the door.

People sometimes tell me that they couldn't do what I do- live with that specter. But I love my husband. He's been a police officer for his whole adult life. It's what he does. I don't want to change him- he's good at his job and those rare occasions when he gets to truly help someone he's reminded why he does it. When he tells me those stories he positively *sparkles*.

I don't think I do anything special just by being married to my husband. I'm happy with my life and I think I have it pretty good. As long as I never get that call.

The Trouble with PBS

2009-03-16T06:07:00.000-07:00

When the thorny subject of television comes up, that is how much and what type of television I allow my children to watch, it is often assumed that I only allow my kids to watch programs on PBS. My kids aren't interested in Sesame Street- they are Elmo impervious, so that's not an option.

The truth is that I don't like most of the PBS programs. Everything has a message- that is true with most kids' programming from what I can tell, but the messages that I often encounter on the PBS programs are messages I don't agree with. The episodes are too watered-down, too politically correct, too sissified I guess. When I explain this, I am met with raised eyebrows.

We just came back from vacation. Normally, I let the kids watch a couple of programs on Noggin or Discovery Kids but neither channel was available, so we watched a little PBS while we were there. I took note of one of the episodes so that I could give an example of what kind of message I take issue with.

The episode was a re-make of The Boy Who Cried Wolf.

The original goes something like this: A boy is charged with watching the prized sheep for a village in the mountains. He is lonely and bored with this task and at one point calls out that there is a wolf threatening the flock. The villagers all come running to help and discover that there is no wolf. The boy is chastised, but the excitement has given him some relief to the boredom. Despite his instructions to not "cry wolf," he does so again, purely for his own amusement. The villagers again come. The boy is again warned. The third time he cries "wolf" there really is a wolf, but the villagers do not believe him. The wolf decimates the flock of sheep. The message is that the alarm should have only been sounded when the threat was actual; sometimes one has to put the needs of the village above one's own amusement.

I don't think there's anything wrong with this story. I think the message is an important one. (And yes, I understand that the wolf is probably unfairly villianized in the original version.)

The PBS program version goes like this.

A boy makes friends with a wolf. He cries "wolf" so that the townsfolk can come and meet his new friend. The wolf has gone off to the bathroom when the townsfolk come. The townsfolk leave before the wolf returns. The boy and the wolf throw a party for the townsfolk so that they can meet the wolf. When the townsfolk arrive the wolf has gone off to retrieve a ball and so the townsfolk don't believe the boy that there really is a wolf. The boy tells the townsfolk that it "makes him feel bad that the people don't believe him. It hurts his feelings and they should trust him." The townsfolk agree and await the return of the wolf. The wolf returns and they all have a party. The townsfolk apologize to the boy for not believing him and hurting his feelings.

In the PBS version we were supposed to find the "super word" from the story. The word had 5 letters, among them were T R U _ _. I was convinced that the "super word" was going to be T R U T H because it was so important to tell the truth. I was wrong- the "super word" was T R U S T because the townsfolk should have trusted the boy.

The program that followed had the message that if you should be unfortunate enough to win some kind of physical challenge such as a race or contest of strength your first thought should not be one of personal pride, but rather of how to make the losers of the contest feel better about themselves. There was even a song to help drive this message home.

Not all of the programs are as offensive to me as the two highlighted above, but there is enough of that type of programming that I am disinclined to turn on PBS for my kids to watch. My kids watch the programs that I can deal with. If it's too annoying for me, they don't get to watch it.

They don't watch what I consider to be a lot of television, but I do use it as a tool to change moods or distract or to give myself a break during the day. I truly wish there was better programing out there for the kids. I don't find it on PBS. Life is hard and you don't always get to win. Sometimes you have to do things that are boring, difficult or painful. Not everyone will be nice all of the time. I give my kids a lot of positive reinforcement, but I don't think that I'd be doing them any favors if I set themselves up to believe that life was going to be rainbows and ponies all the time.

That's my trouble with PBS.

Potty Training- Dante's Forgotten Circle

2009-03-16T04:43:00.000-07:00

We finally got through Dante's Forgotten Circle of Hell- potty training the stubborn pre-schooler. I knew that timing was going to be pivotal with Ted- pushing him too early was simply going to make him intractable and it's not as though one can actually force a child to produce. My bigger problem, however, was going to be Henry.

Henry is a force of nature. He is part hurricane, part tornado, part earthquake and part flood. Leaving Henry alone while giving Ted the time and attention that potty training was going to demand was something I occasionally contemplated and I saw no solution to. I was disinclined to involve family due to the scope of the favor I'd be asking. Henry is tiring. Asking someone to come and watch him for 3-4 days while I worked with Ted seemed a monumental favor.

Then opportunity knocked.

Henry turned 2 on February 12. He received a train set and one of the engines from the "Thomas and Friends" tv series- "Henry." Henry the train is a fine, green engine with a smiling face and a coal tender. Ted coveted Henry the train. Ted would take the engine from Henry and I'd give it back. Ted would take it again and again and again. I'd give it back. Finally I said, "You know what, Ted? If you poop in the potty, I'll take you to the store and you can pick out whichever engine you want."

Henry, upon hearing this, jumped to his feet, marched upstairs and pooped in the potty.

The next day, February 14, I put them both in underpants and didn't look back.

Ted's totally potty trained and about 2 weeks into the process he decided he wanted underpants at night instead of a Pull-Up- he's been completely dry at night. Henry got an ear infection and went on antibiotics. Any mom who's had a child on antibiotics knows what that can do to a child's digestive system and I'll just say that I was glad we went back to diapers for him. He'll probably train again this summer- I'm not worried about Henry. Henry will do it on his own, when he's ready. Henry's a force of nature.

The Battle of the Fish

2008-11-22T03:52:00.000-08:00

Sibling rivalry has begun.

We have gotten little glimpses of it, but the events of Wednesday evening were a very clear picture of what we have in store.

On Wednesday evening Nate and I had errands to run. I wanted to go to World Market to pick up some dishes for Thanksgiving; Nate needed new thermals from Dick's. The stores are next to each other, so we each took a kid and went our separate ways. I took Ted because Henry + fragile sparkly things = disaster but Ted is much more cautious and respectful. While we were there, Ted fell in love with a fish. The fish is a bright plastic clown fish with a green worm-on-a-string at his mouth and when you pull on the worm, the fish's tail flaps back and forth. "He's wagging his tail, Mommy!" I heard over and over while my dishes were being wrapped.

Nate caught up to me and we all got in the car. I'd purchased the fish for Ted and hadn't thought to get anything for Henry. (I thought that Nate, upon seeing Ted with the fish would divine that I expected him to let Henry pick something out too. We don't normally let the kids pick something out just for going along, but I was feeling indulgent.)

The whole way home Ted flapped the fish's tail. "He's wagging his tail, Mommy!" Henry grew more and more desperate in the adjacent car seat. Two-thirds of the way home he was weeping "FSH FSH FSH" and pointing to the toy.

When we got home I needed to make dinner, a task much more easily accomplished without monkeys trying to climb up my leg, so we sequestered the kids. I convinced Ted to let Henry have a turn with the "fsh" while Ted watched a video in his room. This involved a couple of tears, but the toy was surrendered without huge amounts of protest and I took the fish to Henry, still crying with grief in the family room.

Henry giggled and cooed at the fish. He pulled the worm and watched the tail flap. "FSH!" When he'd thoroughly examined it, he went up the stairs to Ted's room.

He opened the door, brandished it at Ted and took off running down the hall. Ted was in hot pursuit, "Give it back, Henry!" Henry, realizing that Ted was gaining on him, threw the fish down the stairs, giving me the opportunity to pick it up and squirrel it in a closet.

Henry often surprises up with his resourcefulness and cheek. Considering that he's not even two yet, we expect we will have many Henry stories to tell as the years pass.

The Mystery of the Cookie Cutter

2008-11-20T10:25:00.000-08:00

I have lots of cookie cutters that I've gotten from various sources. I've purchased many of them myself- there's a site that I like using- great prices, fast service- it's this one:

Others were handed to me in their ubiquitous fruitcake tins, complete with a strip of masking tape and the words "Cookie Cutters" written across the tape in black permanent marker.

Some of them are easy to identify. The teddy bears, bells, pine trees and gingerbread men are obvious. Some are less so- the Christmas wreath is plain enough when it's decorated, but not as identifiable before adornment. Some are more obscure- Santa with a pack or a reindeer can sit to the side, unincluded until halfway through the cookie making process when someone declares, "I know what that is!" Is it a bear? Or a dog? Or a sheep? Who knows? Clearly that one is some type of quadruped and the kids will enjoy decorating it how they see fit.

Then there are the other ones that remain a mystery.

I finally figured out how to determine what those cookie cutters represent: ask a three-year-old.

I have one cookie cutter that I'd routinely pull out just to try to solve the mystery. "What is this?" Most people wouldn't even venture a guess.

One person declared it was a leprechaun with a very large penis. "Come on," I asked,"why would someone make a cookie cutter in the shape of a leprechaun with a very large penis?" "Well," she retorted, "If you're so sure that's not what it is, then tell me- what is it?" I had no answer for her- I'd been trying to figure it out for a couple of years. Since I had no answer for her, she declared herself right.

I finally found out what it is.

"Ted," I asked yesterday while making gingerbread cookies with the kids, "What is this cookie cutter supposed to be?" Without pause he answered, "It's a penguin, mommy!" That's much more appealing than the leprechaun. My other mystery cookie cutter was identified as "A rabbit wearing a hat, Mommy!" Very well then.

Anyone want a penguin cookie?

Smiles, Smiles Everyone!

2008-10-23T04:35:00.000-07:00

I have recently joined Facebook. I have been surprised by the number of people who have re-connected with me there. I have caught up with friends I lost touch with, some more than twenty years ago.

I go to the profiles and if they have photo albums I will often take a few minutes to look at the pictures they have uploaded. The snapshots of my friends' lives are truly inspiring. I see such love and joy and affection beaming out from my computer screen.

I am a sap. I am glad about that. I have been brought to tears by the happy pictures of my old friends. It brings me true joy to know that the people I care about have so much in their lives.

So keep posting the pictures my friends because you often make my day better. :)

Editorial Comments Re-thought (Or Use a Stamp, Please!)

2008-09-24T08:56:00.000-07:00

I read my news online by-and-large. I receive the local paper on Saturday and Sunday only and sometimes I don't have the time to read it- occasionally it will go into the recyclable-paper bag almost completely unread.

It's easy enough to click on the news links when I take a few minutes each day to check my email and catch up with my fellow bulletin-board members. I've got a couple of news sites saved so that's often how I receive my news. I try to stop reading once I reach the bottom of the article but occasionally I can't stop myself and continue reading.

What comes after the text of the article are the viewer-supplied editorial comments. The vitriol and ignorance contained in these missives is always startling.

I think it's simply too easy to provide comments. Anyone with a computer can dial in their viciousness for all to ponder- no stamp required.

My grandfather used to carefully craft letters to the editor. He was a wordsmith and an educator- he wrote his letters because he felt that his opinion could change something he viewed as wrong. He was proud when a letter was published. He was very careful about what he wrote- every word was thought-out.

I wonder what he would think if he read some of the things that I have read in the editorial comments- offerings such as "but anyway maybe turning urselfs into some kind of stupid tactics is too complicated and i hope people wont peak on you or i hope it last!" (I culled that gem, verbatim, offered as a full sentence, from something I read today.)

I've heard it said said that people should have something invested in what they own in order to get them to treat it with respect. Perhaps the same is true with opinions. If editorial comments could not be made anonymously and required some kind of investment, such as a stamp, then the quality of what is being offered would be better contemplated and maybe even worth reading.

Maybe these sites should have some kind of terms:
Before submitting your editorial comment you must check the box:
"By checking the box I certify that my opinion is valuable, contains an opinion worth sharing, is not overly repetitive, has been edited for content and grammar...."

I believe that most people don't read the terms they're agreeing to with those "check the box" notifications though, so maybe a $.42 stamp would be a better investment to require.

Until that time comes to pass, I'm going to continue to try to keep myself from reading beyond the text of the articles!

Good Stuff

2008-09-09T17:58:00.000-07:00

I really like my 3-year-old. Ted's turning into quite a character and I really like him. He's stubborn as a mule and won't do anything he really doesn't want to. Sometimes his logic doesn't make sense to me, but we've figured how to work with each other in a very satisfactory way.

I've always loved the mulish little cuss, but I'm really developing a fondness for him that is different than the love that I have.

I think what's changed is that he's really coming into his own as a person. Over the last couple of months his physical skills have taken huge strides- he can climb a ladder for example, or walk on a balance beam. At the same time his verbal skills have increased exponentially. He can tell me about things that happen when I'm not around, or add his own details to a story. He will volunteer things about a picture- what the characters are doing or how they are feeling.

He's started treating us a little better as well. He's more inclined to say "please," "thank you" or "you're welcome" and he will put his dishes in the dishwasher, help me dry the dishes, bring me things or throw things away.

He shares his opinions and has them on just about everything- plaid button-down shirts with collars if you please.

With his increase in independence I have some relief. An opinionated child who is unable to express his preferences can be frustrating. "What? What do you want? I'm trying to give you what you want and I just can't figure it out." This is something I have said more than once to my children, whether the recipient has been the wailing infant at 3 AM or the toddler who's thrown himself on the floor because I pulled fresh socks out of his dresser (???)

He doesn't always get what he wants. He asked for peanut butter and jelly today just as I finished cutting up his grilled cheese sandwich. He had the grilled cheese sandwich for lunch. It's easy enough to grant his other requests though- he wants shirts with collars? That's fine with me.

At least I'm not trying to guess about everything any more.

He's still a stubborn little cuss but at least now I know what's causing him grief because he can clearly tell me about it. Neither one of us is as frustrated as we used to be and our relationship is flourishing. One of his current favorite things to do is stand on a chair in the kitchen and watch me cook- I explain every step to him. I LOVE sharing this time with him.

So far this stage is my favorite.

Betsy's Got a Brand New Bag

2008-08-30T04:17:00.000-07:00

I've finally given gardening a try.

I've always considered myself to have a black thumb- every time I tried to grow something it quickly failed and died, leaving me sad and guilty-feeling.

This year was different. I have my son's Tot Time teacher to thank for it really. For one of our crafts Miss Susan gave all of the toddlers a small flowerpot, some dirt and marigold seeds. Ted was never much interested in the crafts (New Thing! Must not enjoy New Thing! Not until it is My Idea!) but when we got home he took some real interest in it.

We planted the seeds in the pot he'd affixed his stickers to, watered them and put the pot on the kitchen windowsill. We watered the pot every day and checked it for sprouts. Just about the time I was figuring I must have killed the marigolds without them ever sprouting, little green blades appeared on the surface of the soil. We got excited (me more than Ted I think) and watched them grow. Soon they were about two inches tall. But like all of my prior experiences, the leaves started to look depressed and the plants developed a lean. I started to get sad- I'd been here before more than once and I knew what was coming.

Outside! Maybe I should move them outside and let Mother Nature take over. She's not nearly as homicidal as I when it comes to plants!

So the pot went outside on a wall and the leaves righted themselves and recovered. They were doing just fine until we had a bad storm. The storm knocked the pot off the ledge and the little seedlings lay ruined at the base of the wall, surrounded by dirt and pieces of broken pot.

For the first time ever it looked as if my plants were going to survive and we were done in by outside forces. I was dejected.

But not yet beaten.

Off to the local gardening center we went. "I'm a rookie," I explained to the man in the green apron, "but if this is going to be our project, I think we need a vegetable- something we can actually harvest. I have no idea what I'm doing or where to start, so load up my cart with everything I'll need."

Our tomato plant has been glorious. We'll get nearly 30 tomatoes from it all told. They're not all perfect, but they're pretty darned tasty; the petunias that surround them have bloomed heartily all summer long.

The marigolds that we salvaged from the wreckage are lush and blooming. The cucumber didn't fare as well, but we got 4 cucumbers from it and I think I know where I went wrong with that one. I have harvested each of the basil plants a couple of times and still have much more than I can use. The mint got transplanted next to the house. I went back and got vincas and impatiens and they have carpeted the area where I planted them. I went back again and got lantana and superbells and the butterflies come and visit them daily.

The house that we live in is not ideal for gardening- we have lots of shade, but I have places where I can put pots. I have plans for my garden next year already and I'm excited by the possibilities. I dreamed of radishes last night.

I tend to go all in with a new project and I'm trying to rein in my enthusiasm so that I don't go overboard- I am still a rookie really- just a rookie with a good first season. I don't need a huge grow light or a greenhouse kit or a new house.... yet.

A Suggestion

2008-08-28T06:01:00.000-07:00

What's up with "serving suggestions" on containers of food? Have you ever noticed them? I'm always curious who comes up with these things because I don't understand the reason behind them. A can of soup will have a picture of the soup that is inside the can but it's been put in a bowl with a spoon in it. Next to the picture will be the text "serving suggestion."

Can people really not figure out that the soup can be put in a bowl? Does the manufacturer actually need to suggest that a spoon is the appropriate utensil? Because if the consumer really is that stupid then why does the manufacturer think that same consumer can read the words "serving suggestion?"

Frozen dinners are another one- it will show the frozen dinner, cooked and put on a plate. "Serving Suggestion." It's cooked and put on a plate to remind the purchaser that it shouldn't be devoured frozen, box and all, I suppose.

Serving Suggestions- just another one of those things that makes me scratch my head.

I'm a Dork

2008-08-14T18:10:00.000-07:00

It's been a busy summer around here.

We just got back from vacation- my second in a month- and I have a lot to write, but the evening is my time for writing. But I can't write anything while I'm watching the Olympics.

I first got into the Olympics in 1980. I was 15 years old and I made an Olympic scrapbook from newspaper clippings and my brother's copy of Sports Illustrated, my parents' copy of Time magazine and anything else I could get my hands on.

Ever since then I have been a total dork about the Olympics. I get teary every time our national anthem is played. Every story of courage and obstacle makes me feel pride even though the stories are not mine and I know none of the athletes. I don't know why I get so choked up about all of it, but I do.

I have new pictures I need to upload and stories to tell. I will be back. Just as soon as the Olympics are over.

A Toy Rant

2008-06-01T18:14:00.000-07:00

I'm mad at Curious George. Not the Curious George. A Curious George. Specifically, this Curious George.

Ted recently turned 3 and we had a party for him. My sister was in town and rather than having four different family events to go to, we decided to streamline our week and have one big family party and say it was for Ted's birthday.

One relative called and asked what to get Ted for his birthday. I explained to her that really the party was to get family together, but if she really wanted to get a gift she should go to the grocery store and spring $2 for one of those balls in the big wire basket in the aisle by the cash registers.

Being conscientious, she instead went to Target and carefully selected Tub Time Curious George, spending approximately ten times what a grocery store ball would have cost. I can see why she would have chosen it- everyone loves Curious George, right? And he blows bubbles! What's more fun than bubbles if you're a 3-year old? But the toy is a dud. It is difficult to work and the reason it's marketed as a tub toy is because if you don't hold it exactly upright, it vomits soap from its mouth. Oh, and you're not supposed to get it wet. Really.

Toys should be made better than that.

I have come to believe that toy manufacturers look at the public as a prey species. Just as the guys at the bait shop will tell you what the fish are biting on, I imagine the toy execs sitting around highly-polished long tables, wearing expensive suits, trying to figure out how to get the most money from our wallets. What will lure out our cash?

I believe their tactics fall into one of two categories:
1. They can make good toys
2. They can make crappy toys and slap Curious George or Mickey or Dora or Diego or Spongebob on it and watch it fly off the shelves.

By putting a beloved figure on a crappy toy, they create the lure. The fish are biting. As parents we know that our children will light up when they see their favorite character peeking out from behind the paper. It's Mickey! And he came to my house! To play with me! As harried shoppers we see a familiar face and think "Surely Spongebob wouldn't endorse a crappy toy. I know Spongebob and he wouldn't stand for something like that." Our children see the ads on TV and that toy becomes the one that they really really want. And so out come the credit cards. Out comes the cash.

I am lucky that I have some time to shop. I generally do my pre-shopping from this chair. I read reviews. Hundreds of them. I winnow down my choices. I am glad my children are disinclined to watch much TV- they don't clamor for the crappy toys yet. Over and over I see the same thing- toys that are designed to make you buy more toys- like this one: It has a Mickey Mouse that plugs into four small holes. The car seats one figure and it only works when the figure is plugged in- meaning it won't work if you lose Mickey or don't have another figure from the same series to plug into it. Not only is this difficult to get plugged in right if you're still working on your fine motor skills, but Mickey has a tendency to go on walkabout in my house. Without my intervention this toy rarely works.

Toys that just plain don't work, like George. (It worked exactly once.)

Toys that only work with the cars or figures that come with it- the Mickey car being a prime example. Many of the car ramps also fall into this category. (I am not including train sets or building sets in this category- in those cases consumers know beforehand that they are buying part of a set- it's not a surprise.)

Toys that are not durable. One car ramp that I declined to purchase had reviews that said over and over "It falls apart every time I try to move it."

------------------------------------

I have put nearly-new toys in my recycle bin and I cringe when I do it. The money that was spent on the purchase was spent in good faith. It was spent in the hopes that the toy being purchased would be beloved. Not recycled.

Toy manufacturers ought to be ashamed of themselves for producing crappy toys. The Amazon reviews of the George toy gave it 1 1/2 stars, only because reviewers can't give less than 1 star. Even the good reviews said that the toy didn't work, but their kid liked it anyway because it was Curious George. That's not good enough.

The toy industry ends up being able to take advantage of those people who don't have the time to research their toys and those who don't have the ability to. I have a couple of relatives who wouldn't know how to begin to research a toy.

I don't know how to put an end to it. I can't ask everyone I know to start putting in the kind of time that I do simply because it's important to me. If there are any toy executives out there who happen to stumble across this blog, though, I'm talking to you. And I sure hope you have a conscience.

For award-winning toys, go here or here or do your own search- there are lots of good toys out there- you just have to go looking for them.

Curious Nostalgia

2008-05-28T18:34:00.000-07:00

I miss the viruses of my youth. Really.

I finally have my voice back. I got a cold and lost my voice for six days. SIX! Laryngitis and I are old friends. I have occasionally gotten it- maybe once every two years or so- for my entire life. I remember getting it in grade school. My voice would be hoarse and I'd lose my voice for maybe half of the day- the rest of the day it would be patchy. The next day I'd sound like Kim Carnes (Remember "Bette Davis Eyes?") and then I'd be fine. None of this six day BS.

The stomach viruses of my youth were nothing compared to what we have now either. Ted got some infernal virus called "rotavirus" when he was a year old and threw up for 8 days. EIGHT! And that's normal for that virus.

When I was a kid, other kids would get sick and they'd be out of school for a day. Two days in a row meant that either they were REALLY sick (like they had leukemia) or it meant that their mom was a worry wart. Nobody threw up for more than a day.

Some people miss the television shows or the department stores of their youths. Not me. I miss the viruses.

Yeah, yeah, yeah

2008-05-28T18:10:00.000-07:00

I could make all kinds of lame excuses for why I've been bad at making it here lately. I haven't posted since March, even though my blog address is in my e-mail signature. You'd think that would make me a more regular poster. Ha! Peer pressure be damned!

I do have folks who nudge me occasionally- you haven't written anything in a while.... Yeah, I know that.

The truth is that I'm busier than I ever thought I'd be as a stay-at-home mom. This evening by the time I got the kids put to bed and the dishwasher started, it was 10 minutes until 9. I had a busier day than most- I went to the zoo with a friend and her 2 kids, came back and made lunch for everyone, put the kids down for naps, ran to Gabriel Brother's to find some cheap t-shirts for Ted for the Summer, came home and played with the kids, made dinner, played with the kids, put them to bed and cleaned the kitchen (sort of.) It only took me about 12 minutes to make dinner however and there were many things that I did not do today- no laundry, no menu planning, no bill paying, no grocery shopping, no school, no library, no crafts, no cleaning other than the kitchen, no errands. It's now 20 past 9 and I'll be going to bed in another half-hour or so. My day is spent.

I still have a hard time putting my finger on it when people ask me how I fill my time though. To the question "What do you do all day?" I tend to answer "Everything" or "Good Lord, what don't I do?" because "Raise children" seems even more vague than those responses.

I don't really know why I don't have more time to write- I suppose it's because I go through phases with everything and right now I'm simply not in a writing phase. I'm in a quilting/knitting/crocheting phase, so I'm more likely to spend my discretionary time doing that instead. But my projects are starting to pile up as well.

My time is slipping by. I don't know where it's going, but I will tell you that I spent a full hour today as both of my kids together climbed on me and I tickled them while they screamed and laughed and begged for more. I was lying on the floor and Henry would tuck himself under my chin and roll over so that his belly was right there, prime for raspberries and Ted would roll over my back laughing and shouting "more!" I consider that to be an hour very well spent.

When I sit down and make a budget, I have carefully taken notes that explain my spending habits. I know how much money a week I spend on coffee or lunch or groceries. I suppose I could make a time budget for myself and try to account for the minutes of my day. It might help explain where my time is going. It might also help me answer the question "What do you do all day?" I suppose I'll get right on that. Ha!

Maybe when people ask me what I do all day I should respond "I play with my children."

A Mellow Buzz

2008-03-16T04:35:00.000-07:00

A mellow buzz. I expect that's what she wanted, my beloved relative whom I will not out with the story of her Friday night. She's a lightweight, that one, and not well versed in cocktails. She probably just wanted a mellow buzz. Had she known the volume of alcohol that a Long Island Iced Tea has in it, I'm sure she wouldn't have ordered one in the first place..... let alone two..... and a half....

I have no issues with lightweights. They are cheap companions who often get to forgo the dragging the next day that many of their compadres will inevitably experience. She should know what to order in a bar. So, too should my other friends who fall into this category, so I figured I'd blog some choices for my lightweight friends.

Some General Rules:
Avoid any drinks that refer to destruction. Drinks that have the following words: eraser, melting, meltdown, wreck or flaming are likely to be potent.

Likewise, avoid most drinks that have sexual references. These drinks are often sweet and intended to contain enough alcohol to lower a girl's inhibitions. (Men are unlikely to order a drink with a sexual innuendo. "I'd like to have a Sloe Comfortable Screw...." or "I'd like to have a Busted Rubber" are not words many men want to say in public. I expect you'd have to be in certain bars to hear that spoken by a man and the gal I'm primarily writing this for is unlikely to be in those bars.) An exception to this rule is Sex at My House. You can have Sex at My House.

Avoid drinks with the word "Nazi." They most likely have Jagermeister in them. Don't go there.

Avoid drinks with the word "Irish" in the name- these usually fall prey to the stereotype that the Irish are heavy drinkers and pack an inevitable punch. Most of them also have whiskey in them and if you don't like to drink, you probably won't like whiskey anyway.

Avoid Martinis. Many of them have almost no filler and are one different alcoholic beverage on top of another. If there is a mixer, it's often just an ounce.

Avoid drinks with references to pain. I can think of several drinks with the word "screaming" in them. No, no, no.

Finally, no "iced teas." Whether it's a Long Island, a Boston or any of the others, it's likely out of your league.

What you should be looking for if you are a lightweight is a drink with a low proof alcohol and a lot of mixer in it. If you have a glass of something in your hand then you still get to be a part of the party, so order a drink that you can sip for a long time. Good examples of this are the Amaretto Sour or the Sloe Gin Fizz. Wine Spritzers are another good bet- wine's proof is generally about half of what sloe gin is; you use more wine in a spritzer, but I expect that the actual alcohol volume would be roughly the same.

Avoid shots. Just say "no." If you do a shot then you end up having no drink in your hand. The effect of the alcohol in the shot takes a bit to reach full fruition and it's too easy to make a poor drink choice at this point if you are a lightweight. If you can truly order a shot (again something low volume only) and then sip a soda for the next hour, fine. I think it's better to resist temptation.

Get used to saying "Heavy on the...." to the bartender as in "Rum and Coke, heavy on the Coke." The bartender will respect you for knowing your limits. Bartenders don't like having really drunk people in their bar. It's a greater responsibility, more work and sometimes that work includes clean-up of the worst kind. Bear in mind that the lightweight should always order their own drinks. Sometimes "friends" like to "have fun" with an unsuspecting lightweight and get them polluted. Any two ingredient drink is a good option so long as the lightweight makes the request heavy on the mixer. If you ask for it in a tall glass, the bartender will usually use the same amount of alcohol but use enough mixer to fill up the glass. I would suggest making this clear with your barkeep so that there's no room for misunderstanding.

If you are a lightweight and belly up the the bar, here are some drink options:

Amaretto Sour: 2 oz Amaretto, fill with sour mix.
Melon Sour: 2 oz Midori, fill with sour mix
Sloe Gin Fizz: 2 oz Sloe Gin, top with sour mix, shake, splash with soda water
Sloe Poke: 2 oz Sloe Gin, top with cola
Wine Spritzer: Fill wine glass 3/4 with ice, fill 3/4 with desired wine, fill with soda water
Amore-Ade: 1 1/2 oz Amaretto, 1/2 oz. Triple Sec, fill with soda water
Sex at My House: 1 oz Amaretto, 1 oz Framboise, fill with pineapple juice
Bitch Fight: 1 oz Peach Schnapps, 1 oz Orange Liqueur, dash of lime juice, fill with cranberry juice, shake
Fuzzy Fruit: 2 oz Peach Schnapps, fill with grapefruit juice
Fuzzy Navel (with caution): 2 oz Peach Schnapps, fill with orange juice. When I was a bartender, this was the recipe for Fuzzy Navel. I have seen new books add a shot of Vodka to this drink. We used to call that a Hairy Navel. In the current guide I have the recipes for Fuzzy Navel and Hairy Navel are identical.)
French Summer: 1 oz Framboise, fill with soda water
Cherry Life Savor: 2 oz Amaretto, fill with cranberry juice

So happy drinking, my lightweight friends. Enjoy your nights out and enjoy the following day too.

All of the drink recipes come from here: For my money, it's the best drink book out there and I thank the author for making such a comprehensive guide.

I Thought So!

2008-02-24T06:15:00.000-08:00

I re-read my post from yesterday. In it I mentioned that Henry was on the verge of walking.

Yeah.

Yesterday afternoon Henry turned away from the window where he was standing and took his first step into my arms.

It's hard to describe the emotions that come bubbling up from such a feat. In that single step he moved away from babyhood to toddlerhood. With that single step he reminded me that he will be my last baby and he's not going to be a baby for much longer. I'll call him a baby until he is truly walking- not just a step here and there, but now that he's realized that he, too, has this gift of bi-pedal ambulation, he's been all about practicing.

That is, when he's not being pinned by his brother.

I Being Noxious!

2008-02-23T06:49:00.000-08:00

We all officially have cabin fever. It's February 23, we've seen the sun maybe twice since November and the kids have taken up Big Time Wrestling as their main hobby.

Our new slogan is "As long as nobody's actually bleeding, it's OK."

Seriously- the kids (remember that they're only 1 and 2) have taken up full-contact wrestling as a way of relieving the constant boredom. Screaming is a common background noise if you call our house.

And before you start thinking of other things to do, bear in mind that we take them outside to play. We go to the mall. And to the pool. And to the park. And we separate them and take them on separate excursions in the afternoon (one of the major benefits of Nate's schedule.) The kids are bored roughly 5 minutes after we return from any outing. We've also bought them new toys and taken them to the library every week. Still they are bored.

Sometimes if Henry is hollering, I'll make eye contact with Ted who is often laying across Henry, pinning him to the floor, and he'll slide off Henry and say to me "Be Nice to your Brother!" And sometimes I'll say to Ted "Quit being obnoxious." He looks at me with pride and replies, "I being noxious!"

Well, yeah- you are being noxious.

Spring is around the corner- the corner is a little farther away than I'd like, but March in Ohio brings the occasional glorious 70 degree day. We'll be able to go to the park and actually use the slides once or twice in March. I can't wait. neither can the kids. Henry is on the verge of walking and I know that chasing them around the park will be a two-person job this summer, but at least we'll be outside. We'll be able to let the kids play in the sandbox on the balcony and run around in the yard. Hopefully the screaming will subside. There's a lot of laughter too- they really do enjoy rough-housing with each other- the screaming is what is trying though.

In the meantime I'll be stuck inside for the most part with the relentless baby and Ted. We'll be watching the snow fall and I'll be peeling them apart when it appears that blood will soon be flowing. Henry will be getting into everything- emptying trash buckets and trying to reach the toilet. Ted will be trying to relieve his boredom.

How will Ted do that? By being noxious.

Sweet Relief

2008-02-20T17:22:00.001-08:00

It's been going on for three weeks now, so I am going to commit it to writing.

Henry is sleeping through the night.

In case you didn't hear that, HENRY IS SLEEPING THROUGH THE NIGHT!!!

Something changed- I have no idea what it was, but Henry suddenly went from waking up 2-4 times a night to a child who sleeps through. I now have my patience and energy back. The bags under my eyes are fading and I've returned to the level of competence I used to enjoy. I am fairly sure that my days of going to the grocery store without a list are behind me, but at least now I am well-rested enough that I don't forget half of the things written on the list that I have in my hand while I shop.

Woo Hoo!

What a Difference a Haircut Makes

2008-02-02T06:14:00.000-08:00

Henry transformed from a baby to a little boy yesterday.

The "after" picture isn't great, but it's the best we have at the moment. We'll take him for professional pictures sometime within the next week.

Oh Henry!

2008-01-15T07:07:00.000-08:00

Oh, Henry! I don't know how many times a day I say it. He's exasperating. He's into EVERYTHING all of the time. he's relentless.

He does not like to sleep and fights it as though he'll die if he falls asleep. I have tried every method suggested to me and nothing works. Last night it took me an hour and forty-five minutes to get him to sleep. I placed him in his crib six different times. Finally I nursed him until he fell asleep and held him on the pillow in my lap for an extra five minutes to make really sure that he was asleep before gently transferring him to his crib. His eyes flew open and he howled with protest. I shut the door so that I could collect myself before snatching him back up. I was tired, frustrated and even a little angry at my baby. I'd had a 13 hour day already (not counting the hour during which they both napped- a minor miracle unto itself) and I was raw around the edges, so I waited before going back into his room.

He was quiet. Then he began crying afresh. Then he was quiet. Then he cried. This cycle sometimes happens when he is finally winding down for the night, but it's unpredictable. Sometimes he winds down and goes to sleep. Sometimes he winds himself up and goes into a full-out screamfest. I never know which one it's going to be until it's over.

I stood at the top of the stairs for fifteen minutes while he went through this cycle of crying and quieting. I wanted my day to be done. I wanted a little bit of time to myself before heading to bed.

Henry is 11 months old and I still don't get him. He has no routine that he sticks to. He's still a mystery to me. I am surprised by this. I study my children and Ted has been so easy to read- Is he cranky? If so then he's
1) Hungry
2) Tired
3) Overwhelmed
That's Ted's list.

Henry's list is different.

Is Henry cranky? If so then he's
1) Hungry
2) Tired
3) Suffering from some mystery ailment that I'll never be able to decipher
More often than not, it's number 3. Last night was this way. I'd given him some Tylenol in case he was teething (he's chewing on his fingers these days) but he didn't want me to hold him. He didn't want me to put him down. He wasn't hungry. His pjs weren't binding. His diaper was fresh and dry. It was comfortable in the house. He was clearly tired, but he wouldn't go to sleep.

Mostly Henry is bubbly, happy and engaging. I couldn't love him more. He's cuddly with both Nate and myself and he adores his brother. When he's being difficult, though, he has no rival. He is immensely frustrating. I hope it's a phase as opposed to him asserting a part of his personality that will manifest itself in various ways in the future. I just can't figure out this child of mine.

Oh, Henry! What am I going to do with you?

My Tractor at School

2007-12-17T18:15:00.000-08:00

It's been nearly two months since I last posted and I figured an update is in order.

Ted. My sweet and funny 2 year old kid. He's still the intense little dude he's always been, but the last couple of months have brought many changes for him. Many of the people who read my blog commented to me via email or otherwise that they were really touched by my post "My Love, My Tractor." It was a dark set of circumstances that brought me to write that post. The result of my concerns was that I enrolled Ted in a "mom and me" class that met on Friday mornings. I got a sitter for Henry so that I could take Ted and have no distractions.

I wanted Ted to have interactions with peers and other adults. I wanted his communication skills to be prodded along. It had become clear to me that we'd gotten into some bad habits and I didn't want him to suffer from our close relationship.

There are parts to this parenting gig which I really don't enjoy, but I do them because I think I'm doing the best for my kids. Sometimes it's hard to know what the right thing to do is. I am glad to have an interested partner in parenting, a husband who is sensitive and gentle and firm. So even while I fought the idea of getting Ted into a class at the tender age of 2, I did it. My husband and I had long discussions about whether he really needed it and whether my concerns were appropriate. In the end we decided that since it was unlikely to hurt anything, enrolling him in the class was an ok thing to do.

Ted has really enjoyed school. He has been tentative with the crafts. He's steadfastly refused to participate in anything that will get his hands dirty and he'd really rather watch the craft being done than participate in it himself. We have taken the craft home and he'll often do it at home without any problem. This was the only way in which Ted distinguished himself. That and the fact that he was the only kid who wouldn't eat a single marshmallow when they were a part of the snack. All of the other kids (ALL of them) ate the marshmallows first. Ted left all of his marshmallows and stole the pretzel sticks off of his neighbor's plate. I expect I was the only one who noticed this though.

He played very well with the other kids. He engaged them and initiated play. He invented new games and his language skills flourished.

He still memorizes and recites his books, but there's nothing about him that really makes him stand out as a peculiar kid anymore. School has been good for us both, it turns out. I hated it at first simply because I hated that we were there so that I could prove to myself and others that there was nothing wrong with my child. The first couple of classes I watched his every move. I analyzed everything and turned it all over and discussed it with my husband. But after a couple of classes, I was able to relax. Ted blended with the other kids and ended up having friends he was happy to play with week after week.

I ended up really liking the other moms too. They were a cooperative and friendly bunch and I probably wouldn't be uncomfortable giving any of them a phone call. I still haven't found a friend set among the moms of my town, but I'm feeling less and less that it's out of reach.

It's the holiday season and I have a billion more things on my plate than I should. 8 days from now it will all be over though and I'll wonder how it went by so quickly. At the moment, however, I ought to hit the hay so that I can power up for tomorrow.

I'm glad that we're going to end the year on a high note. :)

The Night of the Glow Stick

2007-10-19T05:32:00.000-07:00

Henry wouldn't fall asleep the other night. He wailed in his crib like he was being stuck with pins and simply would not tire. For those who don't have children: this happens sometimes. You may discover the secret behind it or its cause may remain a mystery. It's always exhausting and it breaks your heart a little to see your baby, inconsolable, in his crib red-faced and hollering. It's also frustrating, especially when it's past your bedtime.

So the other night when wee Henry would not sleep, I eventually loaded him into the pram, wrapped in a blanket and pushed him around the neighborhood. It took a couple of laps, but he eventually fell asleep. I then pushed him home and very gingerly picked him up and relocated him to his crib.

When I placed him in his crib, he immediately flipped over onto his belly and I knew that my night was not yet over. Sure enough, for the next two hours he awoke every 15 minutes or so, complained and went back to sleep. This went on until 10:30 when he started to fuss louder. When I went into his room he had a complete meltdown. Nothing would console him. Back into the pram for Henry.

My neighborhood has no street lights. We live close to the end of a cul-de-sac and it's dark on our street. People often turn down our street thinking it is a shortcut to a popular destination and when they realize they are mistaken, they press down on the gas pedal, whip around the cul-de-sac and fly back up the street. Pushing the pram through the neighborhood after dark was not my first choice of how to get Henry back to sleep, but nothing was working.

I'd made most of my first lap when I saw an unearthly glow down the street. My husband was making his way towards me with a glow stick- one of those sticks you see kids carrying at Halloween or that you see parking lot attendants using after dark. They have a chemical inside them that is contained in a glass tube and you bend the tube, breaking the glass tube that creates a chemical reaction, producing a brightly glowing tube. It lasts for about 8 hours.

Nate has a lot of emergency equipment and he wanted us to be illuminated while we were walking. He fell in step next to me- our 2 year-old was sleeping soundly and we hoped we wouldn't be long. Besides as parents one has to do what one has to do.

Henry was not going back to sleep this time. His eyes were open and bright. He hadn't cried at all since being put in the pram- he was perfectly happy there, he just wasn't going to sleep.

The glow stick captured his attention. He reached for it and called to it. They're sturdy and unlikely to break, so Henry was given the glow stick. He burbled and cooed at it and held it above his head like the Grand Marshall of our peculiar parade. He put the end in his mouth and made his cheeks glow. We circled the block again.

We must have been quite a sight- the two of us pushing a pram down the street, emitting an unearthly glow. Maybe since it's close to Halloween no one thought anything of it. It was trash night, so we did run into a couple of neighbors.

Eventually we decided to give up and go home. Henry went into his crib.

With his glow stick.

He burbled at it and waved it around. He cooed at it and shook it. He admired it and loved it.

After about an hour, he finally fell asleep with it under his blanket, by his side. Nate went in and removed the glow stick from his crib. Henry slept peacefully through the rest of the night.

I don't expect our travails of that evening to make it into any parenting books as in "If your baby won't stop crying, try giving him/her a glow stick...." It worked for us for one night though. Who knows what will work the next time? I know I'll make sure we always have a supply of glow sticks in the house, just in case. Heck, maybe I'll even stash one in the diaper bag.

Rescue Me!

2007-10-09T17:26:00.000-07:00

Ha! Fooled you. I don't want to be rescued. I don't need to be rescued.

I've had a couple of well-meaning people tell me that if I ever need a break from the kids- as in NEED a break from the kids- I should give them a call and they'll take them off my hands for a couple of hours. Um. No thanks. If I really get to that point, that's what my husband is for. Heck, that's what Baby Einstein videos are for.

What I'd really like is for someone to offer- without my having to reach some kind of breaking point- to take the kids for a couple of hours. That kind of offer would help relieve some of the stress and isolation that being a stay-at-home mom can create.

I think that it's good for kids to have relationships with others that are independent of their immediate family. I have always had a close relationship with my aunt, independent of my parents. I went to boarding school and my aunt and I wrote letters to each other then and the relationship continues strongly to this day. We've even taken vacations together. My relationship with her is one of the best things about my life.

I have tried to convince my well-meaning family and friends that if they are waiting for me to reach some kind of breaking point in order to give me some respite then it's never going to happen. As much as my kids drive me crazy sometimes, I've never come close to doing something bad to them, unless you count putting them in their room an hour early for their nap. I will confess that happens on occasion.

I am not one to simply call up and ask for a babysitter unless I have a tangible need, whether it's a dentist appointment or the hair dresser (which doesn't happen as often as it should.) In the meantime, my kids are not seeing as much of these folks as they would if someone simply offered.

I do have a couple of people who check up on me and make sure that my life is not being overwhelmed by my kids, so I suppose I shouldn't complain. One of them is, of course, that same aunt with whom I have the close relationship. She never tells me that if I ever need to be rescued, she'll be there. Instead, she is there. Every week we get together, rain or shine.

My kids adore her.

The ironic thing is that while she's never offered to rescue me, she's one of the reasons I'll never need to be rescued. While others wait for me to call in distress, she is building a solid relationship with my kids, independent of me. Funny how that works out, isn't it?

My Love, My Tractor

2007-10-04T04:12:00.000-07:00

This last week, for the second time as a mother, I allowed someone to cast doubts on the rightness of my first born son. Ted is not a typical child. I know that he's different- I am not denying that- it's the degree of differentness that I deny. I ran through the on-line autism check lists (it's what was suggested) and it simply does not fit. There are a couple of "red flags" that I can check off- he does not point with his index finger and he plays well independently. He was late to hit all of his physical milestones. He uses speech to engage others but not to talk about the world around him so much- he mostly talks about his books.

When I look at these differences I simply see my kid, but others have raised questions. When others raise questions, I begin to doubt myself. Maybe I'm ignoring a problem that really is there. Everyone tells me that early intervention is the key to allowing your child to live a normal life. My God, I'm worrying about whether my child will live a normal life. As I said, I've been down this road twice now and it makes me want to lock the doors, draw the curtains, hold onto him and not let anyone tinker with him or touch him or ask him questions or try to change him. But I have been to the specialty sites about this that or the other and nothing fits. Ted is Ted. He doesn't have something. He isn't some diagnosable oddity. He's just Ted.
Ted is a different child. It's true. He's intense and inquisitive. He's generous and empathetic.

The neighbors' grandkids came over one afternoon and were playing in their back yard. Ted saw them and got excited and took them his ball. They took it without a backward glance and excluded him from the game. His response was to play with something else instead. I've seen him give his toys out in several different settings. This is not typical behavior for a 2 year old. He's not territorial or aggressive. He doesn't break things or flush things or unroll the paper towels. He's never emptied out the flour bin or turned over the waste paper baskets. He can play with one thing for 45 minutes without losing interest.

He has compartmentalized some of the things that he does. Someone worried to me that he didn't play peek-a-boo when he was younger. He did play peek-a-boo, just not with that person. He seems to understand that he has different relationships with different people. When my aunt comes over, he will immediately go to his toy piano. When I tell him that she's coming over, he'll play his toy piano because that's what they do together. He's always been this way.

He and I communicate well and with a minimum of words. When others are around, he generally does not modify this. Being as lazy as the next person, I have fallen into some patterns with him that probably do not help public perception. I generally don't make him articulate what he wants if I know what it is. I'm working on this- only recently did I realize I was doing it.

My husband never questions whether our child is "ok." Nate says that he looks at Ted and sees himself as a child. I can see some of these characteristics in Nate. Whenever Nate and I go somewhere where he's meeting new people in a group, I can count on Nate to not be the life of the party. He watches and takes it all in. Every nuanced gesture, every Freudian slip, every furtive glance, every laugh, snicker and comment is absorbed, catalogued and retained by Nate. When we get into the car, I can't wait to ask him about what he observed because it's all there. He has unraveled things about those around me that I never have been able to pick up on my own.

Nate walked late and talked late. Nate did things on his own schedule. In high school he was not motivated by what others were doing- he did things his own way. I, on the other hand, did things my own way but always wanted to fit in. I wanted things to be as easy as it seemed they were for others. I never could figure out what it was that made me unpopular, but I was. I would like for things to be easier for my children than they were for me. I adore my kids and don't like the fact that things might not be easier for them.

I suppose it was destiny that I ended up with Ted as my child. If he is as much like Nate as Nate believes, then I know that Ted will be as slow as a glacier, but also as persistent and as powerful. Nate describes himself as a tractor- not much to look at, but you can always count on your tractor. It's the tractor that will pull the 4X4 out of the mud when it gets stuck.

I need to get a thicker skin. I need to accept that Ted will be Ted. I have been criticized- when he wasn't using crayons, I was told that I needed to work with him more. Short of using duct tape to secure the crayon to his hand, how does one work with a child who wants nothing to do with the crayon? I was doing everything that the books and experts said to do, but he wanted no part of it. You just need to work with him more, I was told again. Well, he's coloring now. One day he decided that coloring was something he could do and he's been doing it since.

And it's been that way with everything.

Ted's never going to be the sports car that I seem to keep looking for. He'll never be style over substance. He'll never be flashy, he'll never be first. He has no interest in being first. He walked late but when he did start walking he never fell. Once he started climbing the stairs he learned it in 10 minutes and never had a problem with going down them. He did them when he was ready and when he already had the skills honed. There was very little "practice" involved.

Ted, like his father, is going to be a tractor. Steady, slow, durable and reliable. It's in his genes.

In the long run, I'll be glad that this is his nature. If I can temper my worrying in the meantime I'll be much happier. Every couple of months I have to remind myself that Ted will simply be Ted. My adorable little tractor.

My Definition of Family

2007-09-15T10:40:00.000-07:00

I have an unusual family. In fact, my family is so unusual that I often find myself explaining it for other people. Others don't "get it" or even "feel sorry for me" because it must be "so hard."

I try to tell them that their sympathy is truly wasted on me- I really neither need nor deserve it. I love my family and find that it works for us in all of the ways that family should work, despite its unconventional makeup.

My husband was married when I first met him. Happily married. I was also married- less happily, but married nonetheless. 5 years later, when we began dating our fortunes had changed significantly. Like many women my age, I had gotten divorced- I won't go into the story of that here, but circumstances were such that I have not had contact with my ex's family since I moved out of the house and I had contact with my ex only to the extent that it would facilitate our divorce.

Nate's story was different. Nate had been widowed. It was something that had been a very real possibility- her illness had been grave and she'd long outlived her life expectancy when they met. She grew up in a tightly knit family that is marked by its friendliness, warmth and compassion.

When Nate became her husband, he was embraced as family and throughout their marriage he was never "that guy that she'd married" but was their brother, their son, their cousin.

So when I first started dating this man who would be my husband it was clear to me immediately that with him would come not only his mother, father, brother and brother's children but his first wife's sister, her brother, her parents and nieces and nephews as well. As he put it, "When do you stop being family?"

People are comfortable with divorce. Divorce usually marks a clean break- as I mentioned, I have had no contact with my ex's family. I think the issue is that widowhood is a lot less common until later in life and so these waters are less navigated. People truly do not understand where I am coming from.

Her family has embraced me from the start- literally. The first time I met her sister, she threw her arms around me and let me know that I was welcome. She and her husband are a loving addition to my life, as are their kids. Her parents are happy and warm. Her brother is the uncle who puts Ted on his shoulders and runs around while they both holler "AAAAAAAHHHHHH!"

And the questions still come. The comments:
That must be so hard for you.
How nice of you to still let him be close to them like that. (!?)
How do you deal with that?
Don't you worry that they're trying to replace her with you?

If he was divorced from her, I'd probably have an issue with his remaining close to her family, but that's not what happened. It's NOT the same. But that's what people are used to- it's the experience that they can relate to, so they think it's the same.

Some think that his remaining close to them is a sign of disloyalty to me. I think of it as a sign of his loyalty in general. Should something happen to me, I will not worry about whether my family will have a continuing relationship with my kids- when Nate becomes a member of a family, he stays a member of that family. His ties to my family will be no less strong than his ties to hers. He is their brother, their son, their cousin as well. It's now up to my family to embrace him just as his first wife's family did.

And some of my family has done that. Some of my family still treats Nate like he's an outsider who has yet to prove himself. I keep hoping that they'll put aside their feelings and be able to embrace him. I wonder if I have made it harder for him since he's not my first husband- maybe they think he's not going to be around in 5 years or 10 years from now. He is, I have no doubts about that. And 5 or 10 years from now, I'll be the great aunt to Nate's first wife's sister's kid's kids. How's that for a mouthful?

Yeah- I love my family.

Blog Sweet Blog

2007-09-15T10:35:00.001-07:00

I've been MIA. I miss writing and I have a few entries brewing. There are a couple of reasons I haven't written in a while:
#1 is that the boys conspire against me. They nap on opposite schedules- napping at the same time is a rarity and Henry usually takes what I refer to as "micro-naps" anyway- 10 or 15 minutes and he's up and on the go.
#2 is simply that it's been a busy summer. With graduations and out-of-town friends and family visiting, a vacation and a funeral thrown in for variety I have been busy doing many things out of the house.

Everything's calming down now. There's a chill in the air and the leaves are starting to change and I expect that the boys will sleep more as the cold weather settles in.

So expect some new entries soon. I'm going to start to work on one now.

He's Growing Up

2007-07-18T04:55:00.000-07:00

I ditched the baby monitor for good. It wasn't a good-quality piece of equipment anyway. I had to position it just right on the night stand or it would buzz a little bit and sometimes what started out as a perfect position somehow became imperfect as the night wore on and it would start to buzz and wake me up.

I turned it off two-and-a-half nights ago and I've slept better ever since. It needed to happen.

Henry's big enough now that he can summon me from my room if he really needs me and I don't need to hear every bit of movement he makes. Here's a current photo:

He'll be my last child- two is a good number for us and with me being 41, almost 42, the risks go up every year of complications with not only me but also the baby. Two is a logical number for us.

I had a strong urge to be pregnant again a couple of days ago. It came from out of nowhere. I didn't want to have another child- I just wanted to be pregnant again. There's something special about cradling life within- it's really the only chance you have to be completely protective. It's a secret club that only has two members. It's easy to overlook the heartburn and fatigue and constipation and every other pregnancy complaint when the product of that state is laughing at his rattle on a blanket next to my feet. The truth of it is that pregnancy is a chore, but the glory of it is unmistakable. If I was a younger woman I might not be able to resist its siren song, but I'm a practical woman. I've had 2 successful pregnancies despite being of Advanced Maternal Age and I'm not going to press my luck.

When I unplugged the monitor it struck me that this was a step towards independence for him. There are countless tiny steps you accompany your child through that lead eventually to his independence. The first one is birth. The others are less dramatic, certainly, and many of them are tiny, but each one is a little milestone. The first big one after birth in our family is moving the baby out of the bedroom and into his own room. That happened a few weeks ago.

The turning-off of the monitor is a tiny step. I'm sure it's what prompted my desire to be pregnant again. Since Henry will be our last child I know that every time one of those little steps is taken, I will sigh with the knowledge that I will not be experiencing it again. Some toys are starting to migrate to the attic where they will await the eventual garage sale and I've begun to sort and catalog the clothes for eBay sale.

I've tucked a couple of things into a keepsake box for him- both boys have one. The boxes contain their hospital bands and mine, the outfit they came home in, their ultrasound pictures and a couple of other items. Ted's has a lock of hair- Henry's will have one eventually too.

I'm glad the monitor is off. I needed to sleep better. I'm glad my boys are growing up. And I'm glad I'm not going to be pregnant again, truth be told. I will continue to be a little wistful I'm sure, but as I said before, I'm a practical woman at heart.

Anyone want to buy a baby bathtub? I've got one I'm not using anymore.

Do Not Operate Heavy Machinery

2007-07-15T08:12:00.000-07:00

"Do Not Operate Heavy Machinery..." It's a warning I've seen on my prescriptions at times. It was on the prescription I got after having my wisdom teeth removed. It was on the prescription I got after having my C-section.

Today I have no drugs other than caffeine in my system. I went to bed at 10. Henry nursed at 10:50 and again at 11:30 (?!) Ted awoke at 12 and howled until I went to check on him. Nothing was wrong, so I changed his diaper and told him to go back to sleep. He woke up again at 2 and howled until I went in and told him that when it was dark it was sleeping time. I used my Angry Face and my Mean Voice. Henry woke up at 2:30 and nursed. He then awoke at 5 for the day. I got another 20 minutes of sleep when he took his first nap before Ted woke up for the day. So my longest stretch of uninterrupted sleep was from 3 until 5.

I have a headache that has taken over the right side of my head and it feels like I'm clenching my teeth even as I sit here, slack jawed, typing away. So far I have read 2 books 5 times each. The boys are watching their third video of the day. They're tired and crabby too. It's hard work to coordinate a waking schedule like that I suppose.

I've emptied a couple of trash cans and frankly feel good about how much I've accomplished considering how I feel. Last night was bad, but it wouldn't have this kind of effect on me except that I have only had two or three good nights of sleep since maybe November.

I tell myself every morning that it won't be this way forever, that any day now Henry will start sleeping through the night. And that Ted will stop waking up- it's a phase. And some nights I get 3 hours of sleep in a row twice. When I get more than that I wake up disoriented because it's so unusual.

Some people fantasize about winning the lottery. I fantasize about getting 8 hours of sleep. It sounds completely unattainable- even typing it seems ludicrous.

I am so out of it that I chant to myself "coffeecoffeecoffee" when I pad into the kitchen because if I don't then I will actually forget why I'm there. There's no way I am competent to work a power tool today- it would certainly end up with a visit to the emergency room. And thanks tons to all of the people who tell me "You should nap when they do." Great idea Einstein, I wouldn't have figured that one out on my own. I haven't gotten the boys to overlap their naps for more than 15 minutes in WEEKS. Sorry for being surly.

That warning? "Do Not Operate Heavy Machinery while under the influence of this medication" which they stamp on bottles of some medication? They should have stamped it on my kids.

The Nature of Happiness

2007-07-09T03:55:00.000-07:00

It will never be my intent to call anyone out on this blog. However, my friends and family will see themselves all over this entry. So if you know me well, ask yourself where you fit in.

Recent events have left me contemplating the nature of happiness. Where does it come from? What guarantees it? Is it the same as joy? Or is it the same as peace or tranquility?

I've decided that happiness can't be the same as joy, but joy can be the sparkle of happiness. And if you are happy it is likely also that you have joy. I think that inner peace lays a foundation for happiness. Without that foundation, happiness can't take purchase.

I have a friend who comes from a disfunctional family. Her childhood was marked by horrible events. As an adult, I have watched her seek happiness. She truly wants to be happy and have peace in her life. She was not taught it at home because it didn't exist there, but she knows it exists somewhere and so she seeks it. I believe that one day she will find it because what she does have is an immense capacity for joy. I have laughed with no other person more than I have laughed with her. She has a profound sense of the absurd and loves to laugh. We have laughed until we ached and it hurt to breathe the next day. Is she happy? Not yet. Is she getting there? You betcha. She's working at it.

There are others in my life who have no real struggles in their lives. The drama in their lives comes not from without, like my friend I just mentioned, but from within. Life should be good. But there appears to be a short supply of joy and little happiness. Never sure of their footing, there seems to be an almost-constant catalog running- a continual comparison to determine one's place on the totem pole. These people are not looking for happiness, they are looking for victory, perhaps. I really think they don't have happiness as a goal. They don't seem to be seeking it. I'm not sure what they're seeking. Conquest?

There are others in my life too who have both happiness and joy. Life's struggles have been nothing beyond the ordinary and they have been free to simply be. They appreciate what they have and don't seem to be phased by what they don't. They are easy to be around because they give the benefit of the doubt- hurt feelings are hard to come by. Conversation is natural and uncalculated. I never have to worry about what I say around them because they don't take offense at things- they don't make things personal that were not meant to be.

I watch my 2-year-old and I see how passionate he is. My husband took him into the back yard to pick up sticks the other day after a wind storm. Ted got so excited helping out that he was actually shaking as he put a stick into the can. The capacity for joy that a 2-year-old has is immeasurable. What takes that away? How does it translate into future happiness? I don't know. My husband and I often talk about how we need to care for his childhood so that he can become a happy adult. We talk about how we need to lay a foundation so that he can achieve peace- so that it can be available to him when he's older.

I do know that the adults whom I see as being the happiest react to my 2-year-old in similar fashion. They want some of that joy. They get down on the floor and play with him. They pick him up and spin him around. They chase him and play and roll around in the grass.

The adults I see as being less happy appear to be too worried about what others would think. They don't roll around on the grass. They might engage the toddler, but they ask him questions and then turn back to the adult company.

What is the key to happiness? Does anyone really know? I can tell you this though:

The happy people I know are generally unconcerned about what other people are doing or acquiring as it relates to them.
They are inclusive of others rather than exclusive.
They let go of hurt feelings.
They give others the benefit of the doubt.
They expect others to give them the benefit of the doubt.
They don't have rigid preconceived notions about how life should be.
They give lots of hugs.

They also don't see everything in relation to them- by that I mean this: if I was to say "I'm so glad I don't drive a mini-van. If I drove one it would make me feel frumpy." The happy people I know would take that to mean exactly what I said. The unhappy people would take that to mean that I think they are frumpy if they drive a mini-van. (I drive a mini-van btw and I might even be a little frumpy.)

I think that one can have moments of joy without having happiness. I don't know that it's possible to have a life of happiness without moments of joy. I think the key to happiness is personal satisfaction- inner peace. I think that if you have acceptance of yourself and are able to forgive yourself and maybe even like yourself then you can be happy.

In a couple of weeks I am going to be meeting some friends for the first time. We are part of an internet chat group and while we've talked to each other for a couple of years, we've never actually met. This morning it occurred to me that my only real concern is whether my boys are going to sleep. (We're going to share a lodge and I'll sleep in a room with both boys and I snore like a freight train.) I'm not concerned at all about whether these women are going to like me. Before I found happiness, I would have worried about that a lot. I would have fretted and thought about it and thought about what I was going to talk about and how I should dress. It would have been like a first date.

I'm not worried about it. I guess it's because I'm giving them the benefit of the doubt and I expect I'll get it in return.

While I was thinking about all of this, one lucky family member kept coming into my mind when I was thinking about people I knew whom I considered to be happy. I called her up and told her that she kept popping into my mind as a person who was truly happy. You can guess what she said.

She said: Awww, that makes me happy!

My love of Engrish

2007-06-18T10:01:00.000-07:00

For those who don't know, the broad definition of Engrish is English translations that have errors, often comical.

I love Engrish. It cracks me up. I look for it and sometimes go to sites like http://www.engrish.com/ to see if there's anything new posted. Sometimes it makes me laugh out loud. There are the emails that occasionally make the rounds that have lists of bad translations like this one http://ayersline.com/Jokes/badtrans.htm and I always read them with amusement.

One common place to find Engrish is in fortune cookies. I was dining with my mom when she got the fortune "A Happy Day! You better shirt all kind of overwork." I kept that inscrutable fortune cookie in my purse for three years. I stumbled upon someone who wanted to BUY it from me, so I gave it to him- I figured if he was willing to pay for it, he should have it.

Recently, while looking for a new electric razor for my husband for Father's Day, I stumbled across these gems on Amazon in the customer review section:

I used to have a simpler shaver, with 3 head but a lot simpler than this one. Now I have a really good one. My skin when I end shaving becomes really soft. My previous shaver (Philips also) used to leave a lot of hairs back in my face and almost all other I could fell with touch. NOW the felling at the end is awesome, my face becomes really nice in the touch. A nice product, I'm really happy with him.

I was looking for a cheap quick alternative to brades, this seems to meet my expectation. For around 30 bucks, you really can go wrong. Time saving, priceless. I usually finish my shaving with brades in about 10 to 15 minutes, now it's 10 seconds.

I'm not a hard user so all stuff is awesome!

There is a flip side to this though too. Tattoos that utilize Asian characters, Arabic or Sanscrit are currently popular. However, word on the street is that if you are going to get one of these tattoos, you need to be really careful because people are getting tattoos that don't say what they think they do.

So I wonder if there is some web site that some 40-year-old Asian woman likes to go to that makes her laugh. It has pictures of people who have things like "I wet my bed until I was 17" tattoed on their shoulder or "Only losers get tattoos on their necks" tattooed on their neck.

I hope so.

That would make me laugh.

I Know This Much is Also True

2007-06-13T17:16:00.000-07:00

The correct dosage for a 2-year-old is 1/2 of a Flinstone's vitamin. Even though it's only a vitamin, it's still a little creepy to have 4 or 5 Flinstone's heads roll out into your hand first thing in the morning.
If you are an adult, running through the streets in a downpour and splashing water on your friend will cause police officers to conduct field sobriety tests.
If your outdoor cat brings a rodent inside for your indoor cats to play with, it is not a good thing.
If you have cats and think you smell something under your sofa, even if that sofa is a hide-a-way bed, it's best to investigate.
Ant spray will not kill flies.
An easy way to confuse drunks is to sit on a bar roof at closing time and blow bubbles over the edge.
Snakes make bad pets.

I know other stuff too- these are just some things that popped into my head this evening.

Who Writes This Stuff?

2007-06-10T06:33:00.000-07:00

My two-year-old Ted LOVES books. I think that's great- we're all readers in my family and I'm happy to read to him as often as he wants to be read to, provided I'm not in the middle of doing something else like cooking dinner.

I expect I read somewhere in the neighborhood of twenty books a day to him and his vocabulary is building itself by leaps and bounds. It's fun to hear him tackle new words and to be able to finally express some of his wishes verbally- it makes it a whole lot easier on me too.

One thing that I have found out is that the quality of children's literature varies greatly. Some of it is wonderful and some of it is simply crap. It's quality does not seem to make a difference to Ted- he is equally enchanted from the cream at the top and the scrapings from the bottom of the barrel.

The sign of a good book is much different to me. Since I am going to be the one reading it 15 times in a row, I have certain qualifications for a child's book to make it stand out.

1. It must be sturdy- if the book lasts two days because one episode of being folded all the way open has broken the book in two, it does not deserve to wear the badge of "Board Book." That title should only apply to those books hardy enough to endure and survive at least a month of love from a toddler.

2. It must have decent artwork. If the artwork is ugly or lacks perspective then it's not a good book. Bearing in mind that if a book is a favorite then it may be slept with, it may come to the dinner table and accompany the child in the grocery store or the car, it ought to be appealing to the eye.

3. It must be easy to read. If it is a rhyming book and the rhymes are forced and the cadence is off, it becomes a hated book by the reader. There are parts of Ted's books that I read the way I think they should have been written instead of the way they were written.

Examples of great books are "The Napping House" and "Good Night Moon." When I see parents listing their child's favorite books, "Good Night Moon" is on nearly ever list I've ever read. It's lyrical and easy to memorize. It almost sings itself. "In the great green room there was a telephone, a red balloon and a picture of the cow jumping over the moon." The artwork is good too. "The Napping House" has the same qualities. The artwork is intricate and nuanced; the book almost sings: "There is a house, a napping house where everyone is sleeping. And in that house there is a bed, a cozy bed in a napping house where everyone is sleeping."

I love those books and reading them 15 times in a row is not a chore- it's a labor of love that is easy.

Then there are the other books. The books that make me wonder- whoever wrote the text to this book- how did they get that job? Did some book manufacturer walk out into his staff room and look around and say "You there- throwing up into the wastebasket- are you still drunk from last night? Never mind- I want you to write the text to this book. Here are some pictures. I don't care if it's not your department- in my office I demand flexibility!" Are there no editors? There are good writers out there looking for work- how can they all get overlooked when it comes to writing children's books?

There are two books in particular that I cringe when Ted brings them to me to read. They were bought by a relative who bought them because they were on clearance for $2 apiece and the original price on the back of the book was $25. ($25!!!!! For a 4 page board book.)

They are sturdy. They have lasted and lasted. The artwork is decent too- not inspired by any stretch, but the perspective is fine and they aren't ugly to look at.

The text is wretched. Just awful. One begins "Under the ocean live two little fish. The big one is Mommy and that's her son Tisch." In these two sentences I see these problems: Fish live IN the ocean, not under it. Under the ocean implies that the fish are buried in the sea bed. Little fish, one of which is big. Which is it? Are they big or little? "Tisch?" Are we getting clever by adding the "c" in there so that no one will notice that it's a name fabricated to rhyme with "fish?" Well, the gig is up- I noticed. The cadence is off- I stumble over the words of the text when the stanzas have a 4 syllable phrase in a 2 syllable spot. I HATE reading it. I never thought I'd hate reading a book, but I do.

I have it memorized. This book is currently the favorite. I haven't read it this morning because it's still in his crib- he slept with it last night. I did get to read "A Party in the Jungle," its companion book, written by the same imbecile. This one follows Eric the Elephant and it tells us that you have to be cute to have friends, bears live in the jungle with elephants, monkeys and deer and elephants are good dancers.

Throwing away a perfectly good book seems like blasphemy to me, but it just might happen soon and by my hand.

I have a recommendation to anyone who will be buying children's literature for the younger set. Read it. Read it out loud at least twice before buying it. Think about reading it 15 times in a row. Does that seem like a punishment? If it does, then pick up a copy of "Good Night Moon" or "The Napping House" or anything by Eric Carle instead. Someone will be glad you did.

The Nursery That Took Over My Life

2007-06-07T10:58:00.000-07:00

So I've been MIA for three weeks. I've really been meaning to get here and jot a few things down. I've been really busy. I've had snowbird relatives come back in town. Ted had a birthday. My mother-in-law had a birthday. We've had two celebrations at our house. We had a new back yard put in. And I decorated the nursery.

Henry will be 4 months old in 5 days now, so I decided it was finally time to get his nursery decorated. He's been sleeping in a co-sleeper attached to our bed and both Henry and I will sleep better once he's no longer right next to me- when he is even a little restless at night I'm inclined to nurse him instead of allowing him to work his way back to sleep on his own. He is big enough that he ought to be sleeping through the night now, but I know that I'm working against it- time to put an end to that.

Those who know me know that I'm decorationally challenged. My house is painted in antique white with white trim in just about every room. My kitchen stands alone, but I didn't decorate it- my sister did. She's an architect. That room looks great. Everything else looks bland. Except for the nursery now.

I don't have the linens on the crib yet and the crib needs to be assembled- we received it yesterday- but here are the pictures:

Now that Henry will be moving into his own space, I'm hoping to start getting a little more sleep at night. I'm looking forward to that!

I have another random tangent halfway written. I'll post that after Father's Day. Hopefully I'll have a little more time to write now that my big renovation project is complete. :)

The Dreaded Question

2007-05-17T05:39:00.000-07:00

The other day someone asked me what I did all day. I used to be a legal advisor for 9 police departments. I taught at police academy, did appeals work, reviewed evidence, wrote search warrants, trained new prosecutors, wrote a newsletter on changes in the laws and had other various duties. When I was working and someone asked me, "What did you do all day?" It was easy to answer that question with something tangible and important sounding. "I made fifteen bond arguments after reviewing all of the cases and then I worked on an appellate brief." That would be a fairly typical answer on a fairly typical day.

My days just don't translate into something that concrete anymore. Someone I used to work with recently asked me, "Are you doing anything anymore?" I knew what he meant- he wanted to know if I was still practicing- but my mind raced through everything that a typical day entails and I stammered for a response that was appropriate and didn't minimize what I do spend my time doing.

Someone else asked me recently, "What does Teddy do all day?" I answered, "In a broad sense, he spends all day learning." I know that it's true. I see him stacking cups and flipping through the pages of his book and I see him refining his eye-hand coordination and I see him taking in the images. He talks to his toys and the pictures in his books and each day his language becomes a little clearer and I can understand a word or two more. I sit with him on the floor and I help him with a task that's frustrating to him and I see him learning patience and perseverence. But how do you translate that into a sound bite? How do you explain why it's so draining, especially when the toddler is having a day filled more with frustrations than accomplishments?

Sometimes I think about what my goal for the day is going to be. I used to do it while driving to work. "I really want to finish that appellate brief this afternoon and get it filed" or "I need to finish that legislative update and get it sent out to the different departments." Now it's "I really need to get the floor mopped" or "I need to get my grocery list made out and go to the grocery store." It doesn't seem as important when I'm explaining it to someone who's never done it. It's even a little embarassing, actually.

I know that what I'm doing is crucial to my children. I know that my first responsibility is to them and I know that as surely as I know I'm going to draw my next breath. For me that means being here. Henry laughed for the first time a couple of days ago and his dad got to be there for it. So many of the milestones that they hit I get to see first and report on. To my recollection, I've been there for each of them. That's more important to me than any appellate brief I've ever written.

When people ask me "When are you going back to work?" I answer the question that they mean- when am I going to be a practicing lawyer again- but if they followed me for a day they'd realize that sometimes trying to get the kitchen floor mopped is a less realistic goal than finishing an appellate brief. My work is always interrupted and often superceded.

Speaking of, Teddy doesn't usually sleep this late- I need to go see if something's up. I've already fed Henry, changed his diaper and gotten him dressed. I coaxed him back into his first nap. Now I'll get Ted, change his diaper, get him dressed, feed him breakfast and clean the kitchen. My coffee's almost cold since I haven't been able to have an uninterrupted cup in months. I am a perpetual motion machine. So what will I do all day?

Everything.

My Favorite Sound

2007-05-14T17:57:00.000-07:00

Someone once asked me what my favorite sound was. Today I realized what the answer to that question is.

Henry laughed for the first time.

I called my mom, aware that it was unlikely that I'd actually reach her; I still had to breathe in and out a couple of times fast so that I wouldn't start to cry when I left her the message on her phone. Yes- I am that much of a softie.

I spent the rest of the day trying to get him to laugh again and I got him going so hard that he got the hiccoughs.

Laughing is my favorite milestone with the first steps being my second favorite. So far, at least, that's true. So far nothing has given me as much joy as hearing my babies laugh for the first time.

It's a good day.

I Know This Much is Also True

2007-05-12T09:33:00.000-07:00

Here are some other things I've learned:

No matter how many recipes tell me that pearl onions' skins "slip right off" after they've been in boiling water for 10 minutes they are not to be believed. They all lie and it will always take like an hour to get the skins off of a bag of pearl onions.
Frozen pearl onions are a poor substitute for fresh. They taste as though they've been frozen with the skins on.
Tags inside clothing are made from a material closely related to steel wool. Almost any garment is made more comfortable by the removal of the tags.
Do not remove the tags of any clothing labeled "Dry Clean Only." This advice is unnecessary if you have a boyfriend or husband who ever does the laundry. He will not read the tags, you may as well remove them.
Counselling a husband or boyfriend to always read the tags inside any clothing that is shiny or fancy is a waste of time. He will simply stop doing the laundry out of fear. Or at least he will stop doing your laundry. Even socks.
When you discover something in the back of your fridge and do not remember when you bought it, do not smell it to tell whether it has gone bad. Assume it has and throw it out. Your day will not improve by smelling the mysterious substance.
Homemade beer is seldom as good as the beer you buy at the store. Usually it's worse. By a lot.
Playing moonlighter frisbee at 3 AM will cause police officers to conduct field sobriety tests.
Putting a piece of duct tape over the speaker of any toy will reduce its volume by a lot.
Duct tape in a color that matches the color of a toy is often overlooked by a toddler.
Duct tape comes in almost every color. If you don't believe me, go to www.tapebrothers.com
It is possible to capture a flying squirrel in a laundry basket.
If you spray a raccoon with pepper spray, it will leave your garage.

I know other things too. This is just a sampling.

The Devil in Disguise

2007-05-07T05:37:00.000-07:00

We've been going out for a walk in the evening. Every walk starts the same way. I'm pushing the baby carriage with Henry, who's wiggling and cooing and smiling. My husband is walking with the toddler. We turn right at the end of the driveway and the toddler turns left and makes a beeline for the manhole cover that's in the middle of the cul-de-sac, three doors down. He likes to sit on the manhole cover and feel the raised metal with his hand. He will sit down there for as long as we'll let him, but since we're going for a walk, we try to herd him along in the same direction we're going.

Herding a toddler who has a specific destination that is 180 degrees in the other direction is not easy. He has more moves than a gymnast and is more flexible than a yoga master. He will suddenly drop to the ground and twist away, at the same time emitting a shrill cry that has the effect of piercing your temple like an ice pick. He'll throw himself backwards against the ground. As parents, our first impulse is to protect him. We don't want him sitting in the middle of the street for obvious reasons. When he is throwing a temper tantrum in the road, we are trying to control and protect him from hurting himself and we are also trying to teach him to be a good citizen. Being a good citizen does not encompass temper tantrums in the middle of the street.

This is new behavior. He wasn't always like this and hopefully he'll return to his former behavior at some point. Better yet, hopefully he'll return to is former behavior sometime soon. In fact, the sooner the better. We know that it's important to remain firm. We know that a child who is unsure of who is in charge is unmoored. We sure as heck don't want him thinking he is.

Every walk ends the same way: I'm pushing the baby carriage with Henry, who has fallen asleep. Nate is carrying the toddler who has his back arched and he's trying to wriggle free- kicking and twisting and pinching and pushing. His face is red and his mouth is open and he's sobbing so hard that either no sound is coming out or else he's making so much noise that the neighbors have started to look in our direction. (They're all hobby gardeners, so they're always outside.)

He's awfully angelic when he's in a good mood. Long lashes and crystal blue eyes, light brown hair and a peaches-and-cream complexion. He smiles easily and laughs heartily and flirts with every stranger he sees. We were at the grocery store the other day when someone asked him how old he was and he responded "terrible two." (I suppose he's been listening to me talking on the phone to the veteran moms I keep on auto dial.) The lady said, "Oh- I can't believe that." I said "Come by our house in time for our evening walk- he looks like an angel but he's a devil in disguise."

We've discussed not taking a walk in the evening simply to avoid the stress. Sometimes we forego it if we're not up to the task or we put him in the stroller where he remains contained. We've come to the conclusion that the lesson is worth the hassle- he'll eventually learn that he doesn't make the rules and that we're in charge and that crying doesn't get him what he wants. At least that's our motivation for continuing the walks. And those are lessons he'll learn one way or another. In the meantime, if anyone wants to watch two parents wrangling an angry toddler, we take our walk right after dinner every evening- just ask our neighbors.

The Eye of the Hurricane

2007-05-06T10:56:00.000-07:00

I recently got one of those e-mails that asks about 20 questions such as "What's your favorite flower" and "When you were little, what did you want to be when you grew up." It went around a group of us who all have toddlers the same age. One question had a striking number of the identical answers. The question was "What's your favorite time of day?" The answer: nap time.

I've been thinking about that for a couple of days now- about why nap time is so important for the children and for us too. Nap time has lots of purposes to the stay-at-home-mom.

It is a time to recharge the batteries.
Toddlers are learning so much and growing so quickly that they need a nap. If they don't get one, their behavior gets worse. They cry and hit and yell if they don't get a nap. They are already completely id motivated, but now it's an angry id-motivated being who is volatile and loud. A toddler who's had a nap is still id motivated, but he's not a volcano that is seconds away from spewing molten lava on all of the villagers. A toddler without a nap is like a wild badger.

It is a time to get things done.
Nap time is the only time to mop the floors without having to worry about the toddler getting into the mop water or something else while being kept away from the mop water. Nap time is a time to fold laundry without the toddler taking each item and tossing it out of the basket with a squeal. It is a time to pay the bills without interruption. A time to put away the groceries without "help."

It is a time for assessment.
Sometimes during nap time I feel like a general- I think about my morning battle plan. What worked? What didn't? What tactics am I going to use this afternoon? What do I need to accomplish this afternoon?

It is a time to rest and regroup.
We all have bad days. On occasion I will give the toddler lunch a half-hour early just because it means that I can put him down for his nap early. Some days he is extra clingy, needy, frustrated, angry and bored all at the same time. Some days this mood coincides with the infant going through a growth spurt during which I have to feed him every hour-and-a-half. Nap time is like the eye of the hurricane- that bit of calm during a raging storm when you can look out and see what damage has been done. On days like that when nap time comes, all I have energy for is plopping myself down on the couch and watching completely inane television. (The parents of the girls on MTV's "My Super Sweet 16" ought to be ashamed of themselves.)

It is a time for myself.
I own nap time. It is the one time of the day that no one else needs me. My husband is upstairs sleeping and if the stars have aligned, both boys are sleeping too. It is my time. I can use it how I want to. I can call a friend or write my emails. I can do chores if I want to, but in the end I am accountable to myself and myself only. This is the only time of day I have that is truly mine. The rest of the day is accounted for by one or the other of the children or by my husband.

Your life gets taken over when you decide to stay at home. When you are working you have responsibilities to your boss and the company you work for, but I never felt like my identity was taken over by the job. I feel that way now- that I am less "Betsy" and more "wife and mother." Except during nap time. Nap time is when I get to be just Betsy again.

"I Am Two"

2007-05-04T07:08:00.000-07:00

It came from down the hall "eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh.
So I went to see what it was. I knew who it was- it was Ted, my toddler. As a mom, you do these things in the middle of the night with a list in your mind. At first you hear it coming from down the hall and you have a conversation with yourself that goes something like this:

That's Ted. I must get up right now and see what the matter is!! Wait. He's almost 2. He could be manipulating me. Do I really want to encourage him to do this when he's bored? There's no real urgency in his voice. Maybe he'll settle back down. Besides, the covers are just where I like them....

And then you wait to see what will happen.

(My husband works nights, so I have this conversation with myself.)

eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh.

Maybe his foot's caught? Maybe he's leaked out of his diaper? Maybe he threw up? Maybe he had a nightmare?

So my mom-guilt and I get up and walk down the hall, trying to avoid the squeaky part of the hallway in case I decide I don't need to go into his room. I step on it every time of course. I put my nose to the crack of the door and I smell. This will often answer the question of whether I need to go into the room or not. (I think that only other moms will understand why that's not either gross or a cop-out.)

So it was last night. I'm nursing the infant- voracious little guy nurses three to five times a night still. He's two-and-a-half months old and has already gained 7 pounds. So I don't want to get up and tend to a toddler who might just be bored- I really need to sleep when I can. But even if there's nothing wrong that can be tangibly addressed, my opinion is that if the toddler has a bad dream, it would be a scary world if mom didn't come down and see what the matter was. Finding the right line between compassion and spoiling is not always easy.

So I went into his room and turned on the light. He was lying on his back, holding onto his bear, his feet up on the crib rails. He appeared genuinely surprised to see me. Bear in mind that I had been sleeping with a white-noise machine in the room when he woke me up and I had enough time to run through all the pros and cons before getting up and going into his room. All the while, I could hear him at the other end of the hall:
eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh.
He had no issue that needed to be addressed, he was just making noise. At least for last night, I figured out what
eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh .
means. At least for last night, it means "I am two."

Did You Say "Blessed?" or "Pissed?"

2007-04-30T06:58:00.000-07:00

I'm a stay-at-home-mom. I don't belong to a playgroup. When I quit work to become a sahm, all of my local friends (except one) were fully employed, mostly professionals. We'd have drinks after work and sometimes that'd evolve into dinner. I went to ballgames and conferences and seminars out of town.

When I quit work I stepped out of that world and my new world was dramatically smaller. It's >< this big now. That fact has had some impact. Every bit of adult interaction is now much more important to my sanity.

So when I go to the grocery store, I choose my line with some care. I have a favorite clerk. Her name is Theresa and I know about her kids and her grand-daughter and she was actually one of the first people I told when I got pregnant with Henry. Unfortunately, Theresa broke her foot and has been off work for a couple of months now. I miss her.

There's only one clerk I actively try to avoid.

I went to the grocery store a couple of weeks ago. I had a lot of items to get and it took some time. I went as I usually do, with the toddler in the cart seat and the 2 month-old in a mei tai, strapped to my chest. He was sleeping peacefully but I knew he'd wake up soon. In addition, we were approaching lunch and nap time for the toddler.

When I got to the check-out there were two lines open. One was clerked by Michelle who I like fine. The other was clerked by The Other Michelle. The first Michelle's line already had three people in it, each with a fair number if items. The second Michelle had no one in her line and the belt was empty. She was talking to her last customers about how they could file a complaint against the corporation that owns the grocery store. The store was re-organizing and these customers had a hard time finding what they needed, so Michelle was encouraging them to complain. This did not surprise me. It may be the only time she's ever been helpful.

I contemplated my options and then I made the wrong decision in an effort to be efficient with my time.

"I just won't ask today." I counselled myself. Michelle always asks how you are, not because she cares, but because she wants to answer the reciprocal question. I feel guilty when I don't ask it, but today I wouldn't ask. I was loading my groceries onto the belt when she said, "How are you today?" Her mouth was turned down and her eyes were full of malice. "Fine." I said, "And you?" dammit dammit dammit. I asked. Even after thinking about it, I asked. "I'm so blessed I can hardly stand it." She said in a monotone, her angry gaze locked with mine. I looked at my one son who was trying to add a magazine to my purchases and my other one, sleeping peacefully against my chest. I choked up a little. "Yeah, I know what you mean." And I felt blessed- I really did.

She glowered at me. Very clearly I could not know what she meant. She said something about Henry sleeping in the car and I said that actually he hated the infant car seat and would probably cry the whole way home. That gave her purchase. She had something to hold onto. Off she went on a tirade about infant car seats. The thrust of her tirade was that she never used them with her kids and they were just fine. I mentioned that people are worse drivers now. (They are too- NHTSA has the stats. The only reason there aren't a lot more fatals every year is because safety equipment has improved dramatically- yeah, like infant car seats. There are a LOT more cars and a lot more multiple car accidents now.) She locked eyes with me. "Oh no they aren't!" She said, shoving my bread into the bag with the canned goods. She stopped ringing up my items for a moment and glared. I don't know why she's so angry about car seats- they seem like a good idea to me.

I only had a couple of items left at this point, so I started digging in my purse for my bank card even though I knew right where it was. She's like that every time I go through her line- angry and looking for someone to vent it on.

At the beginning of the transaction she always makes sure that I know that she's "blessed." In fact, this time she said she was "so blessed she could hardly stand it." I would think that if you knew that you were "blessed," it would put you in a better mood. Maybe she meant "pissed."

The Differences Between the Boys

2007-04-30T06:32:00.000-07:00

If you are expecting consistency from this blog, I'll refer you back to its title.

My oldest turns two in three weeks and my youngest is 2 1/2 months old. Everyone told me that the boys would be night and day. So far there are some marked differences and some similarities as well. I figured this might be a good place to chronicle the differences and similarities. This is for my own reference more than anything else- I doubt this entry will have much entertainment value.

So far the big difference is sleep. Ted was going 6 hours between feedings at 3 weeks old. By the time he was 6 weeks old we were contemplating moving him out of our bedroom and by 8 weeks he was in his own room.

Henry's gone 6 hours between feedings exactly once. I'm still nursing him 3 times a night regularly, sometimes more. He's still in our room with no prospect of moving out. (Some of that is my fault though- he's moving into my sewing room, Nate's ready room, and every time I go in there to start getting things organized, I end up sitting down at the sewing machine and making something new. Recently it was 17 fabric balls, each having 36 pieces. I have more fabric on the sewing table now than I did when I went in to get it organized.)

Ted was late with every physical milestone- for this first time mom it was a little unnerving, but I'm over it now. He:

rolled over consistently at 9 months
crawled at 11 months
walked at 19 months
started talking, really talking, last week- that will at some point be the subject of a future entry.
got his first tooth at 6 mos but started teething at 3 (this was on time)

The lesser milestones I don't remember. I'll check his baby book and see if I have them written down.

Other differences between them: Ted had periods where he'd cry nonstop for no reason I could ascertain. It didn't happen often, but it did happen. It was frustrating because I kept looking for a cause and a cure. Henry's a generally happier baby. Ted was intense- always observing. Henry's a lot more interactive. He smiles and burbles and coos. Ted required more laundry- every time I fed him, he pooped. Henry's gone as long as 8 days between. Ai-yi-yi what a mess that can be. Ted loved being in the car seat- I would put him in it sometimes when he was fussy even if we weren't going anywhere. Henry loathes the car seat. Ted would only sleep in a couple of places, but when he slept, he'd sleep for a long time. Henry can catnap anywhere. He even fell asleep in his grandfather's lap yesterday afternoon.

One main similarity is in build. They are both long in the torso and both have quickly grown out of their clothes. Henry's already pushing the outer limits of clothes that are labeled as being 3-6 mo clothes. Ted did the same thing. Not quite as quickly, but Henry was a half pound bigger than Ted at birth.

I'm looking forward to getting to know this little guy. We're beyond the newborn stage and Henry's personality is coming through. Ted has a lot of my intensity. I wonder who Henry's going to be like.

I'll update this post as necessary when things become apparent.

It be an effectual

2007-04-29T09:53:00.000-07:00

I always check my bulk mail folder in my email. Occasionally I'll have a piece of email in there that I actually want, but it got turfed to my bulk mail by mistake. By-and-large, however, it's usually something titled obscurely, like "It be an effectual" or "Now an merger." The sender is usually improbable, like "Pedro MacDaniel" or "Luigi Yoshiko." It always makes me wonder where they come from. Clearly there are lots of these emails that go out. Does anyone ever open them? If no one ever opens them then I'd expect that they'd stop after a while, and yet they march on. Almost every time I open my email, there are more.

I'm always tempted to actually open one. I have a Mac, so I'm not so concerned about viruses. Having heard the warnings enough times, however, I simply press delete, even though my curiosity makes me wonder what such a missive would contain. I got one titled "He tung my cylindric" What could that possibly be about? Or "Go vaccinate do sagebrush"? Or "I runge in eurasia"? or "Ride this stock rocket cameraman."? I'm genuinely curious.

Some of them at least harbor a clue as to the contents:
"Better taste sperm" was another one- I can kind of guess what that one's going to be about, but I'm not sure if that's an offer or a command. One other one got me thinking: "You ejacculatte within a few minutes of penetration!"

Ejacculatte- is that like a mocha-latte? "I'd like a skinny ejacculatte with extra foam."?

So here's my question: Are they all emails about penis size, or do they ever contain anything else? Maybe one of these days I'll open one. Then maybe I, too, can runge in eurasia.

First Entry

2007-04-29T07:11:00.000-07:00

Welcome to my blog. I'm new at this so as of now I have a title and this post. I named my blog "The Random Tangent" because in thought or conversation I tend to go off on seemingly random tangents. It all makes sense to me, but to my long-suffering family and friends, I'm sure it can be both endearing and really annoying. The title is to let them know that I know that I do it. Sorry.