A Trip to the Movie Theater

I recently took the kids to see Night at the Museum: Battle of the Smithsonian.

I hadn't seen the first one before seeing the sequel, though I knew the general concept behind it. The girls were more than happy to fill me in on everything, since they had seen the first movie many, many times.

I have to say, I was pleasantly surprised.

One thing occurred to me when we were watching the previews. We noticed that Will Ferrell has a family-friendly movie out soon: Land of the Lost. My munchkins are already begging me to promise to take them when it comes out.

Now my first response to the thought of taking them to see a Will Ferrell movie would be: "No fucking way!" Ron Burgundy? Hello?!

But on second glance, it appears that, like Ben Stiller, Will is making the move from R-rated hysterically funny/smutty flicks to the even more lucrative kid-centered PG/PG-13 movies. A few years ago, I'd never have guessed that the same guy who'd gotten his privates caught in a zipper (There's Something About Mary) or who'd pumped up his privates (Dodgeball) would ever be in a movie I'd let my kids see.

Now I think I'm looking forward to Land of the Lost as much as the girls are, but my most-anticipated movie of the summer is Julia & Julia based on The Julie/Julia Project, which stars Amy Adams, lately of Night at the Museum: Battle of the Smithsonian.

I like how things can come full-circle.

Good Food for Healthy Kids

I've mentioned in previous posts how concerned I am with nutrition, both the kids' and mine. I've had a great week so far since I decided to switch to a vegan diet. I've given some thought to how I want to deal with my kids' nutrition since I've made a fairly radical change. I know that taking a dictatorial stance with the kids won't work, especially since this is a two-house household; I'm afraid that if they don't like the vegetarian food at Mommy's house, they'll go overboard with meat, dairy or other forbidden indulgences elsewhere. Even adults don't make good food choices when they're ravenous, you can hardly expect better from kids! I want to do right by my kids because the eating habits we have when we are kids set the stage for the rest of our lives.


Believe me, I am no food-saint. There have been plenty of times when I didn't feel like cooking anything elaborate and just whipped out a box of mac and cheese and threw some frozen green vegetables in it, added a cup of fruit salad as a side and called it a meal. I have also fallen prey to the Perdue dinosaur nuggets as a main course. No more. The best I can do is give them the most wholesome food that I can.


The other day Kid#2 came home from school early because her stomach was hurting. She told me that she didn't feel nauseous, but the nurse thought it best to send her home anyway. Now, this kid is more of a puker than her sister. She's a huge milk drinker and tends to be more of a grazer, eating small meals, but quite often. I decided to reduce the amount of milk she drinks to see if her stomach issues would improve. She really does not like water, and I don't want to give her a ton of juice, which is basically sugar. I thought about having her try my soy milk.

As with many things when attempting to introduce new things to kids, a lot of it is in the presentation. I asked her if she wanted to try my "vanilla milk."

"It tastes sort of like a milkshake," I told her, offering her a sip. She screwed up her face and shrunk away until finally, she sniffed. Then again. Next, a tentative sip. Her eyes flew open and she gulped it down.

"Mommy this. Is. SO. De-LI-cious!"

Score one for mom. Now both girls are glugging down Silk Very Vanilla soy milk.

Not to be outdone by her younger sister, Kid#1 has decided to give new things a try. The other day she asked me about my vegetarian diet, why I'm doing it and what I get to eat, especially since I don't eat cheese anymore (that was damned-near unfathomable to her). I mentioned that I'd had an awesome carrot salad for lunch. She perked up her ears at that and asked me what was in it. After I'd rattled off the ingredients, she thought for a second and said, "I think I want to try that. Can you make it for me?"

Color me shocked, but I'm not going to waste time over-analyzing it when this opportunity for my kid to eat better has presented itself.

Here is the kid-approved recipe. Enjoy!

Sweet and Spicy Carrot salad

Ingredients:

• 2 teaspoons ground flax seeds*
• 2 tablespoons hot water*
• juice of ½ lime
• minced, fresh ginger
• agave nectar**
• 1/4 teaspoon of smoked Spanish paprika***
• dash of cumin
• salt and pepper to taste
• 2 large carrots, grated
• mandarin orange segments
• 1/4 cup walnuts, whole or chopped****

Directions:

1. Put the ground flax seeds in a small bowl and add the hot water. Stir and allow to sit 10 minutes until thickened.
2. Add lime juice, ginger, agave nectar, smoked paprika, cumin and s&p. Taste and adjust seasoning
   
3. Put the grated carrots in a bowl.
4. Add the dressing and mix well.
5. Fold in the mandarin oranges and walnuts.
6. Serve chilled or at room temperature.

* The flax seeds and water are optional. I first made this dressing without the flax as a thickener.

**You can use honey in place of the agave.

***To accommodate my kids' palates, I reduced the smoked paprika, since it's got some kick to it and my kids aren't as enamored with spicy food as I am. You can substitute sweet Hungarian paprika.

****Any nuts will do. Slivered almonds and sunflower seeds also go well with this.

40 Year-old Vegan

22 years ago I became a Vegan briefly.

Since that time I have run the gamut of diets and eating philosophies: low-carb, high-protein, like South Beach; low-fat, high carb, like the Ornish plan; full-fledged, indiscriminate omnivore like most people, but I've always come back to thinking about Vegetarian/Veganism.

Recently I've been feeling fatigued and cold all the time, have had problems with hair breakage and unexplained weight gain. I thought for sure that it was my thyroid, I mean seriously, I had 12 of the 14 major symptoms listed for hypothyroidism, so I scheduled an appointment to see my doctor for my yearly physical. Many blood tests and one eye-popping step on the scale later, we found that my thyroid was not the culprit, but that my cholesterol and other results were really quite good.

The verdict: I'm a lazy-ass. Gee, no kidding!

I resolved to start exercising, perhaps to take up morning yoga again. I also thought that this might be a good chance to drop the meat and dairy from my diet. When I'd adopted a vegetarian diet way back when I was 18, I lost a ton of weight fairly quickly. Unfortunately, I had not read a lot about how to maintain a vegan diet in a healthy way, and was unable to sustain it.

I've read a lot more since then, and with the powerful search tool of the internet handy, finding new recipes to test and like-minded people for support is easier than it ever was. As always, I plan on blogging about it. I'll post the new recipes that I find that are particularly appealing, plus my adaptations of old favorites.


Here's to my journey. :)

40 Year-old Vegan

Dessert Pizza

At our house, we like all things pizza. We had a dinnertime play-date once with some friends and their two boys. On the menu, several homemade gourmet pizzas, including this kid-approved dessert pizza.

This is an easy, kid-friendly recipe, as much fun to make as it is to eat.

Dessert Pizza




Ingredients:

• sugar cookie dough, store-bought or made from scratch
• whipped cream
• fresh fruit
• candy

Directions:

1. Spray a 10-inch round pizza pan lightly with cooking spray.
2. Pat out the sugar cookie dough to fit the pan.
3. Bake at 350° for 16 -20 minutes until slightly golden on the edges
4. Take it out and let it cool in the pan for at least an hour.
5. Top with whipped cream. If you make it yourself you can experiment flavoring it with different kinds of extracts. I like coconut extract.
6. Let the kids then top it with pieces of candy or fruit. My kids like maraschino cherries, mandarin orange segments, slices of banana and shredded coconut
7. Eat and enjoy! Refrigerate any leftovers there might be and enjoy them for breakfast the next day.
   

Cooking with Kids

How many of you have attempted this? As you may know from previous blog entries (More Homemade Takeout, and Toddler Nutrition, or How I Learned That Toddlers Can Survive for a Week on String Cheese and Grapes), I have begun to muzzle my kitchen control-freak and give the kids a chance at food preparation. So far, we've stuck to making personal pizzas on Friday night Pizza Night, pre-party mandu preparation, and letting Natalie make the occasional grilled cheese sandwich, although, trust me, I'm always hovering nearby with the fire extinguisher.


Last weekend I made two baguettes of French bread. I was in a hurry, so instead of kneading the dough by hand, I used my bread machine (a Zojirushi, the only one I will ever use again). It occurred to me that the next time I make bread when the girls are hanging around, I could let them have a whack at kneading the dough. As anger-management techniques go, you could do a lot worse. Plus, it's just plain fun!

In the meantime, I am thinking about something simpler, like making cookies with the girls soon. I mean, what kid (or mom) doesn't like cookies, right? I received The Cookie Book from my uncle for Christmas one year, and still refer to it for their butter cookies and snickerdoodles recipes. More importantly, it is written for kids, providing careful explanations of kitchen terms and items. It's out of print, but worth the trouble of searching used bookstores.


Another great book for bringing kids into the kitchen as active participants is Ready, Steady, Spaghetti. One reviewer writes:

"Ready, Steady Spaghetti is a charming and effervescent book, one that makes you want to bring a child into the kitchen and start cooking. Effervescence does not overwhelm usefulness, but adds to it, and the book will produce smiles when open to a recipe in the making, or when the recipe result is on the table. As the title indicates, the book is for kids in its selection of recipes that appeal to the younger set, and with kids in the clarity and simplicity of the written recipes. The book abounds in photographs that are so joyful that the adult will find that cooking with kids of any age is a form of entertainment, while youngsters will be inspired to copy dishes that are artistic in their presentation. Appealing to both the eye and the taste buds, a happy time in the kitchen is guaranteed. Not only a time for fun, coking together is also a time for bonding. If you don't have a young child at home, find one to borrow, and have a cooking party." - From inmamaskitchen.com

What a great review! Interested? Check out this blog for your chance to win a copy.

Now as for me, the cookies are calling, begging to be baked.

Lucy the Great

Attitude. Ah yes, 'tude raises its ugly head. You may think that I am speaking of my older daughter, and while it's true that she's beginning to display some "tweenishness," I'm actually referring to the younger daughter.

Not long ago, on a sick-day, we had a few memorable exchanges. I'd spent the morning running around fetching things for the poor invalid lying on the couch, when finally, after she'd delivered another imperious command for her drink, I asked her, "How old are you anyway?"

"6" she replied.

"Really?" I asked her, "Are you sure?"

"Yes," she said. "Now where's my drink?"

The little wretch did everything but snap her little fingers at me; I swear, the kid is a like a Catherine the Great in miniature. Just as she finished slurping her milk through three curly straws, she threw off the covers, stalked to the kitchen to put the empty glass in the sink, when she said, "Hungry! I'm hungry!"

She stood in the middle of the kitchen, arms crossed, tiny foot tapping, shimmying her shoulders slightly, giving me that, "Oh yeah, whatchoo-gonna-do-about-it, Lady" look. I stared her down with "the Look," known to moms and dads everywhere. She broke eye contact, giggled, and then with a sweeping gesture, pirouetted and frolicked. Yes, frolicked.

Amazed, I watched her dance around the kitchen before I snapped, "For a sick little girl, you sure aren't acting very sick! You are never staying home from school again!"

She stopped short, gave me a stricken look and promptly burst into tears before running back to the living room to hide under blankets on the couch. Way to go, Mommy.

*sigh*

I'm not sure I'll be able to stay sane once the two girls hit their teens. That remote convent in the Swiss Alps is looking better all the time.

Drive Around the Block, Mommy!

That's what Kid #2 said to me on the way home from school today as we approached the driveway. "The Logical Song," that Supertramp golden-oldie had just come on the radio, and the kid was bouncing around in her booster seat. You know the song. Go ahead and click. I'll be waiting.








See? You know that song. So back to my story: I did what I often do, turned off the blinker, turned up the volume and cruised on through the light.

Thank God my kids have good taste* in music. No Jonas brothers for them; they are more likely to ask me to turn it up and drive around the block when something by Queen, AC/DC or The Cars comes on the radio.

Those 5-hour road trips to visit my parents can be fun listening to the tunes on the various classic rock stations within listening distance of I-90. I am limited to the radio because my car still has the standard tape deck-AM/FM radio - cheap speakers it did the day it was born at the Subaru factory way back when. I've just never gotten around to buying a cd player, and you can forget a dvd player with which to bribe lull the girls into behaving on long trips. They can read, listen to my music or play their Nintendos. If they insist on something else, they can play their own cds on their little personal cd players.

See? It works out perfectly for everyone. Thankfully, they still think that their mom has awesome taste in music.








*Good taste in music is subjective, I know, but I will never consider boy bands as good.

Through Our Kids' Eyes

This meme passed through my friends' Facebook pages not long ago. Amusing and heart-warming, it was fun for all three of us - the girls loved being interviewed. It's always interesting to hear what they think.

The Interview

1. What is something mom always says to you?

Lucy: "NO."

No hesitation there.


Natalie: "NOOOOO."

Ditto.

2. What makes mom happy?

Lucy: "Hugs, squeezes and kisses from your babies."

Aww, she's right!

Natalie: "When we hug and kiss you and you think of us as babies. and when we enjoy your food and when we sleep with you."

Actually the middle of the night "I have to sleep with Mommy because I saw a teeny spider" sessions are getting old. Otherwise she's right on.

3. What makes mom sad?

Lucy: "When we don't listen to her."

Yeah, "mad," "sad," sure. Just not "glad."

Natalie: "When she thinks of us when we're away."

True. I miss them when they're at their dad's even though it's just down the road. Literally.

4. How does your mom make you laugh?

Lucy "She does silly things and she makes silly jokes and she's silly."

I guess I'm silly.

Natalie: "By fooling around, like singing the "Bad Baby" song."

When Natalie was a baby I took the Bad Boys song from Cops and changed it to:

Bad Baby, Bad Baby, whatcha gonna dooooo, whatcha gonna do with a diaper full of poo.."

So I guess they both think I'm goofy.

5. What was your mom like as a child?

Lucy: "She was good and nice and cute."

Not to hear my parents talk about me. They say I was a holy terror.

Natalie: "I don't know."

There ya go. No speculation.

6. How old is your mom?

Lucy: "44?"

WTH?!!

Natalie: "40. She's turning 41. She's old."

Gee thanks, kid. She's right, of course.

7. How tall is your mom?

Lucy: "I don't know, um... all the way up here? Um 6'2"?"

WTH? I'm 5'2 1/2" lol

Natalie: "I'm guessing around 5'7".

Wow.

8. What is her favorite thing to do?

Lucy: "Play on the computer and play games with her children and help them solve their problem."

Sure. I'll buy that, as long as the "problem" doesn't involve spiders.

Natalie: "Draw and spend time with us."

YES!

9. What does your mom do when you're not around?

Lucy: "Read books, go on computer and takes a nap."

How'd she know?!

Natalie: "I don't really know."

She can be quite a literalist.

10. If your mom becomes famous, what will it be for?

Lucy: "To paint."

Awww, thanks sweetie!


Natalie: "Your drawing and being the best mommy ever and having the biggest eyes ever."

It's nice that they like my art. :)

11. What is your mom really good at?

Lucy: "Painting."

:)

Natalie: "Drawing and spending time with us."

I think that they are my biggest fans.

12. What is your mom not very good at?

Lucy: "Explaining things. like Indiana Jones."

I have no idea what she meant, but it was funny!Maybe she meant "exploring."

Natalie: "Being stupid."

What a glowing endorsement. :)

13. What does your mom do for a job?

Lucy:"Works on the computer."

It seems that way sometimes.

Natalie: "You don't have a job, but you used to."

The Literalist strikes again! Apparently neither of them see mothering as a job.

14. What is your mom's favorite food?

Lucy: "Chicken."

No, but that's ok.

Natalie: "Is it Mexican food? Mexican and Chinese."

Closer.

15. What makes you proud of your mom?

Lucy: "Making dinner."

Hmmm, I guess she's hungry...

Natalie: "You being my Mommy."

Aww.....

16. If your mom were a cartoon character, who would she be?

Lucy: "Squidward!"

YEAH!

Natalie: "You wouldn't really be a cartoon character, because I don't know any that are like you."

Yeah, I guess I am one-of-a-kind.

17. What do you and your mom do together?

Lucy: "We paint together."

We need to do more of that. :)

Natalie: "Watch a movie, sometimes doing clay and sometimes drawing."

Ditto

18. How are you and your mom the same?

Lucy: "We're both white."

True. We're also both multi-cellular, carbon-based life forms.

Natalie: "It's very obvious. Everything except the glasses. And the wrinkles."

It's true. She is my Mini-me. Oh, but I do NOT have wrinkles!

19. How are you and your mom different?

Lucy:"Because you have glasses on."

True.

Natalie: "The glasses and the wrinkles and sometimes the personalities."

*sigh*

20. How do you know your mom loves you?

Lucy:"Because you always say that."

I do tell them that a lot.

Natalie: "Because you always say it and you're my mommy."

*sniff*

21. Where is your mom's favorite place to go?

Lucy: "Alaska."

It's nice, sure.

Natalie: "Alaska!"

I guess they think I really like Alaska!

Sibling Rivalry

“The Rule of Sibs: If your sibling gets something you want, you (1) try to take it; (2) break it; or (3) say it's no good” -Patricia Fleming

I first wrote about sibling rivalry back in March, 1997:

"I can't understand how it is that a 4 year-old and an almost-8 year-old can have so much in common that their main form of communication is arguing over every last detail of what they're going to play, how they will do it, who will eat what, who drinks what etc." - "Sisterhood, Ain't it Grand?"

And lo, not much has changed in the intervening two years.

Just yesterday when I was chatting with my sister on the phone, she said pretty much exactly the same thing, wondering why, with the age difference being what it was, my two girls continue to fight like cats and dogs. They couldn't even call a truce for Mother's Day, for God's sake!

They fight over toys, who owns what, which identical toy horse is whose, and even who used to own what and who has primacy over an object. We've recycled toys, giving Natalie's baby and toddler toys to her little sister as she outgrew them and got Big-Girl toys, yet still pangs of possessiveness flare up.

"Hey, that's mine! I now I haven't played with Tickle-Me-Elmo in like 7 years, but still... that's mine!"

It's not even the bickering over stuff or the ever-popular, "Mom, she's looking at me!" "Yeah? Well, she's breathing near me!" that get to me, though they allot plenty of time for all of that, but it is the intentional pressing of each other's buttons that drives me nuts.

Both girls are guilty of this, but Natalie is just a bit more devoted to it than her sister is. She will do some tiny thing guaranteed to make her sister scream, howl or whine and then go off to her room, cackling about it. When ordered to apologize to her sister, she rattles off some lame "OhI'msosorryLucy" which just oozes insincerity.

*sigh*

I polled people informally about this just the other day and was assured that even though they used to fight with their sibs when they were younger, eventually they grew out of it and became friends.

I remain unconvinced for now.

Some Mother's Day Sweetness.

My older daughter made this for me.

Go grab some insulin, you may need it to counteract the pure sweetness.

"Mommy, you are the BEST Mommy ever!
Others are nice, but you'er the BEST!
Mommies are warmhearted,
Mommies are warmspirited as well,
YOU ARE THE BEST MOMMY EVER!!!!!"

I may actually be doing something right with these kids.

That is good to know.


Happy Mother's Day, and let's remember to appreciate all the Mommies out there.

It's amazing the things you'll find when you're de-cluttering.

I've been on a de-cluttering and organizing kick lately. Just the other day, in fact, I loaded my copy of Quicken and spent a good two days entering in all the data from three years' worth of bank statements and checkbook register notes. Sometimes it pays off to be a pack-rat. Oh yes, it's been a little bit crazy here Chez Babs.

It all started last week when, for some reason, after I finished watching Slumdog Millionaire I leaped off the couch (literally, I actually did jump up) and marched over to my little studio downstairs which has been virtually unusable since in an effort to keep the living room habitable, I have just been tossing the kids' junk in there and slamming the doors shut. "Out of sight out of mind," right? But really, by doing that, I have basically been punishing myself because I couldn't even use my special studio space to make art whenever inspiration struck me.

So, I got up, dragged all the stuff out, sorted it into big piles of things to toss, things to recycle, and things to keep. I then did a mini-reorganization of the stuff in the studio so that my work table is usable. Now, just imagine, I have quick access to art supplies. Brilliant, I know.

In my de-cluttering frenzy, I found many, many pages of the girls' school assignments. These included, as always, a fine collection of paper-plate and brown paper bag art endemic to our education system (see right for the latest example from Lucy); the crowning glory was an old assignment of Natalie's from last fall in which she had to describe her family.

Natalie is a very funny kid. She's quick-witted, lively, and quite often, very silly. She is also right on the cusp of beginning to get sarcasm and irony. I have high hopes for her maintaining a sense of humor. I remember hearing her giggling when she'd been writing this assignment, and when she'd finished, I asked her what had been so funny. She ran over to me and gave it to me with that mischievous Natalie-gleam in her eye. I sat on the couch, read it aloud and started giggling myself. Soon, all three of us were laughing, and once we'd stopped, one or another of us would get going again.

That's a good memory.

About My Family

My dad is a guitarist and a sociologist. He's 43 years old.

My mom is america's best drawer! She's 40 years old.

My brother sadly he's dead. I think he's 7 years old.

I have a tabby cat named Cheetah. I think he's either 6 or 7.

I have a pesky little sister. She's 5.  She's truning 6 in December.

I'm 6th out of my family.

Heres good things about Natalie's family.

Its a good thing I have a pet.

Its a good thing I have a sister so if I'm in trouble I can blame  her.

Its a good thing I have parents because - well they do lots of stuff.

Its a good thing my dad is a sociologist because he makes money so we can by food.

Mommy is amaricas best browny baker!

I left the spelling and punctuation errors in for authenticity, although I am tempted to see if there's a version of Eats, Shoots and Leaves for kids.


Have a great day, everyone.

The Parent's Lexicon

I thought I might combine my love of language with my experiences as a mom to create this much-needed lexicon.

The Parent's Lexicon

1. "We'll see."
   
   This means, "Stop pestering me about it and maybe the answer won't be 'No!' "
2. "Maybe."
   
   This generally means, "No, but I don't feel like committing to a definite answer yet because I want to forestall the whining and tantrums."
   
   
3. "Because I said so, that's why!"
   
   We trot out this gem for one of two reasons. Some parents feel that they should always have a well-reasoned answer for their kids' every complaint demand for an explanation, and quite often, they have no reasonable rationalization behind what they're telling their spawn to do/not do. When we consider that most parents don't feel like engaging in an extended debate on the issue, you can see how they might fall back on the time-honored "BISS,TW!"
   
   Others among us simply harbor secret desires of world domination.
4. "Soon."
   
   When I say this, like in answer to, "Mommy, when can we go back to the zoo?" I usually mean, "Hopefully never again, and I hope that by saying 'Oh, soon, honey' I can buy some time before you ask me again."
   
5. "What has the cat ever done to you?"
   
   I mean, "Leave the animal alone before he takes out your jugular with his claws!" or "Leave the animal alone or I'll send him right back to the shelter!" <--Of course I would never actually do that, I love the furry little animal, but it is a tempting thought on those days when the kids and cat keep pestering one another.
6. "If you kids don't knock that off, I'm going to sell you on eBay!"
   
   
   This means "Knock it off right now."
   
   I tell my kids this all the time. My kids know that I won't actually sell them on eBay, mostly because I'm pretty sure it's illegal, but they do think it's funny and for some reason, humor often works to keep them in line.
   
   I did get a really dirty look from another mom one time I said this in public - Wegman's I think - and I was astounded that someone might have thought that I'd really do this.
   
7. "I am going to count to three!"
   
   This is the best thing ever. It is sort of adapted from "3-2-1-Magic." What you do is, tell them that you will count to three and if they don't stop what they're doing/do what you're asking them do by the time you say "three," then BY GOD there will be consequences.
   

   For example: Your kid is meandering about the house aimlessly, after having made a merry mess on the living room floor with a ream of computer paper, crayons and glitter glue. You have told her to pick her stuff up, she does not listen; in fact, it seems that she is pointedly ignoring you! Once it reaches critical mass and you can't bear the idea of picking it up after her, you say, "Kid, I am going to count to three and you had better get to picking this mess up or I will start throwing all of this stuff out!"
   
   Crucial Hint: Be strong and follow through. If you say that you will toss stuff out but cave, you have just undermined your authority. The little munchkins will never take you seriously. Believe me, all it takes is one incident with the Black Hefty Garbage Bag of Doom and your kids will be true believers. Then all you have to do is say, "I think it's time for the Black Hefty Garbage Bag of Doom," and they'll be running up the stairs with toys in hand.

   
   

Do you have any crucial translations to add? Let me know!

Thanks for reading, more entries to come!

The 24-minute Diaper Change

The past few days I have been going through old blog and journal entries, partly to find new fodder for blog entries, and partly because I love reminiscing about when my kids were younger. They absolutely love it when I regale them with stories of their impishness.

Just the other morning, I stumbled across this gem from when Lucy was a baby. Our diaper days are long gone, and we've emerged on the other side of the potty training war relatively unscathed. From time to time, Baby Fever still afflicts me, especially whenever I see a newborn fresh with that New Baby smell clinging to the top of his little, hairless baby head. It's good to go back and refresh my memory with some smelly stories.

This 24-minute diaper change incident from April, 2003 ought to do it!

3:57-4:00 pm

Place child on mat, change dirty diaper, wipe baby’s butt, put on clean diaper, snap up onesie and pjs.

(Note to Self: For all its wretched stink the diaper was not heavily soiled.)

Take diaper to trash, wash hands.


4:00-4:06

Come back in, pick up baby. Nose is met with a definite stench.
Place child on mat again.
Unsnap pjs and onesie, check diaper. Yuck, very dirty.

(Note to Self: Baby’s tummy is still rather gurgly)

Take off diaper, wipe butt, put on clean diaper.
Notice stains on onesie, strip baby down, toss dirty onesie in hamper, locate clean one, change baby.
Toss dirty diaper in trash.
Scrub hands thoroughly.


4:06-4:11

Come back in, pick up baby, see red face, hear grunts, figure kid isn’t done pooping, place baby back on mat, leave room.
Go to kitchen and scour pan which has been soaking for two days in the sink.
Next, scour hands.

(Note to Self: Buy more hand soap)

4:11-4:18

Come back in, sniff the air, see a fresh poop stain on brand-new onesie.
Sigh, take off onesie, see that the pjs are also soaked through, toss them in the hamper, locate new pjs and onesie, put aside.
Take off dirty diaper, wipe butt.
Feel warmth on hand, look down to see a geyser of pee washing over hand, and soaking clean diaper and onesie.
Sigh deeply, dry butt, change diaper, undress baby.
Drop wet onesie in hamper, locate last remaining clean onesie, dress baby.

(Note to Self: do laundry)

Take wet diaper to trash.
Disinfect hands.



4:18-4:21

Come back in, pick up baby, smile back at smiling baby, get covered in a flood of curdled spit-up breast milk.
Take baby into bedroom, find new pjs for baby and new shirt for Mommy.
Get dressed, dress baby, wash hands.
Go to couch, sit down and begin breastfeeding.

(Note to Self: the vicious cycle will repeat itself in approx. 2 hours)

Of course, funny videos of dads changing diapers, including one dressed in a Hazmat suit, notwithstanding, diaper changes really aren't all that bad. If I could, I'd do it all over again in a heartbeat and have another kid, though I might hire someone to potty train them for me.

Coming soon! The Snow Leopard wars!

Name That Sound!

Parenthood changes your perception of a lot things, especially what sounds can mean. If you have no kids running amok, a random "click" from a room two rooms away doesn't take on the ominous meaning that it does once you have kids underfoot.

Here are a few notable examples from my own experience.

1. Silence:

Any seasoned parent will tell you that the sound of silence coming from the next room will set off alarms. Instead of sitting back with a huge *sigh*, a parent faced with an abrupt silence one room over will immediately leap out of her chair, wondering, "What has the kid gotten into now?!"



2. Silence, followed by *thwack-thwack-thwack*:

You know this can not be good. What could it be? Is it as simple as a throw pillow whacked against a coffee table or is it something more ominous, something involving the cat? Things that make you go "Hmmm..." right before your head explodes.



3. Silence, followed by peals of laughter:

This is especially troublesome once there is more than one child in the equation. The amount of trouble increases exponentially with each additional child. The last time I heard this series of sounds, it involved my two children, a set of magic markers and a pile of blank card stock. The card stock, as it turned out, was just for show. The real artwork appeared on the littler child's face and hands.




4. Silence, followed by *thwack-thwack-thwack*, *skitter-skitter-crunch* + peals of laughter:

In all honesty, this made my blood run cold. In case you have no idea what that combination of sounds could possibly mean, it is the sound that a large Ziplocked bag of Cheerios makes when it is beaten to death by a Cat in the Hat Toy.



5. Snip-snip-snip:

Picture, if you will: I was up in the studio with my 5 year-old daughter. I had given her her safety scissors so she could do her collage, with strict instructions that "scissors are for paper, nothing else!" After a while, it occurred to me that the short, sharp snips I was hearing were different from the longer, drawn-out sssssssnips I should have been hearing. With the utmost trepidation, I turned around in my swivel chair, and what do I see? Natalie, hunched over, brow furrowed, lower lip bitten in extreme concentration, giving the cat a buzz cut.



6. Dribble, Dribble Thwack-Ssssplop:

That's the sound that a fleece bathrobe belt makes once it's been soaked in water, and then swung around in circles and launched at the wall/furniture/carpet.


Where in the good, green hell do kids dredge up these ideas?

"Gee, what should I do with this bathrobe belt and sinkful of water?"

"I wonder how long I can beat this big bag of Cheerios with the Cat in the Hat toy before it explodes?"

"Gee, Cheetah would look cool with a mohawk! Or shorter whiskers!"








I have weathered these incidents pretty well and can laugh at them, and the girls absolutely love hearing these stories, but I know that my days of being surprised by new sounds aren't over. These kids are nothing if not creative and resourceful.

Burning Down the House With Spiders

Last night, as I was putting on my pjs, the theme from Hells' Kitchen (Fire) still stuck in my head, I heard Natalie scream in her room. I opened my door, poked my head out and shouted, "What?" only to hear her shriek "Fire!"

Paralyzed for a split second, all I could think was, "How the hell can there be a fire in her room?" My first thought was, oddly enough, a Molotov Cocktail, but, I reasoned, I would have heard the smashing glass. I took a mental inventory of all the incendiary devices in the house: we have two large lighters for the fireplace and I knew that there was a random pack of matches somewhere, but no, she couldn't be playing with matches. Could she? No. Then it hit me- an electrical fire!

As this all was racing through my head, I was tearing through the kitchen and leaping up the stairs. For a brief second I thought that I should grab the fire extinguisher from underneath the kitchen sink, but by the time I'd processed that thought I was already in the upstairs hallway.

I burst into Natalie's room, shouting "What?! What-what-what?" At the same time, I heard her saying, "It came down from the ceiling! It's on the carpet!"

Bewildered, I thought, St. Elmo's Fire? WTF?

************************************************************************

Meet Frieda.

Frieda is a Black and Yellow Garden Spider, Argiope aurantia commonly found outdoors throughout the United States.

She may be big and scary-looking, but according to all the sources I found, these spiders are harmless to humans, preferring to stay outside. They often like to anchor their web under eaves of a building, like the north-facing windows of my studio as seen in this photo.



We first saw Frieda when we were pulling into the driveway. Natalie's voice gravid with awed terror, quavered, "OMG look at that huge spider!" I had to sigh and roll my eyes. The kid has this thing about spiders. The tiniest black speck on the far reaches of her ceiling will bring out a blood-curdling shriek and she'll stand on her bed, sobbing, and beg me to kill it. So, I was skeptical. I asked her where this huge spider was. When she told me it was on the front of the house, the skepticism grew. I marched them both to the front of the house to show them there was no giant spider hanging out by our house like some disaffected James Dean smoking a cigarette and scowling when I saw her.

"Holy shit," I thought, "That's a damned big spider."

I expected screams. Instead, the girls crowded around her and said, "Cool!" "Wow, it's a girl-spider, see? There's an egg-sac!"

I ushered them inside and they immediately took off for my studio where they could watch her up close and personal... with a barrier of double-glazing between them and her. We had our own nature program broadcast live from the comfy depths of my swivel chair. They named her Freida.

I looked her up on the internet and we discovered that Black and Yellow Garden Spiders prefer to stay outdoors (good), eat small flying insects (better) and are not venomous (best of all.) So, I decreed that Frieda could stay, just as long as she does not break the cardinal rule: Do NOT come into this house. If she breaks that rule, I warned the girls, she will die. If I ever saw that monstrous thing crawling around the floors of my house, it's her or me. If I had to use the microwave to beat her to death I would do it.

That said, they sat in my studio for a good hour and watched her and reported her every move. They looked on in knowing dread as some hapless mosquito got stuck on the web. Until that point, Frieda had remained pretty much motionless. I heard Natalie saying, "Is she even alive? I think maybe she's dead."

Oh no. In a flurry of motion that had my daughters screaming, Frieda dispatched that mosquito. The girls thought that was the coolest thing of all. Frieda has since gone on to die, and her egg sac got destroyed one very windy afternoon, so, there have been no little Friedas outside my studio window, and although the girls still hope for a Frieda II, Natalie's gut-wrenching fear of teeny-tiny house spiders persists.


So last night when I burst into her room, screaming, and she babbled something about things coming down from the ceiling, instead of St. Elmo's Fire or arcs of an electrical fire raining down from the light fixture, I saw a tiny black, many-legged dot wriggling on her carpet.

"A spider?" I shrieked in disbelief.

In A Christmas Story, Ralphie described his father's cursing as "speaking in tongues." Well, when under duress, I stand guilty of this as well. I am not even aware of it as I do it, it's like an exhalation of curses. So, seeing that there was no fire, but a baby spider's itty-bitty baby, I sighed, stalked to the bathroom for a tissue, and came back to first squish and then flush the spider. The whole time, I exhaled a stream of colorful words.

I caught a glimpse of Natalie's stricken face, teary-eyed, and grabbed her in a hug. "Honey, I'm not mad at you. I was worried. I swear I heard you scream 'Fire!' instead of 'Spider!" She sobbed a bit, so I continued, "And then I got to thinking, what the heck is that kid doing, smoking cigars up there?!"

She giggled, so I knew we were ok.

Then I started to shake and see spots in front of my eyes. For a second I thought I was having a heart attack. Nope, just stress. Stress... and relief.


Ok, perhaps it was an overreaction on my part, but I have discovered that to be a parent is to live in fear some of the time.

The great fear that enters parents' lives once they have kids is that something will happen to their kids. For most parents, this fear is remote, something that happens to Other People, not them. I can tell you though that once it does happen to you, this feeling changes. It happened once, why not again? I have already buried one child, what's to keep the fates from smacking me down again?


People who say that lightning never strikes the same spot twice are woefully misinformed. Lightning is more likely to hit some spots than others because of topography, and makeup. As far as this fear of something happening to another one of my kids, I can only describe it as feeling like a lightning rod for tragedy. Part of me actually expects to bury another child in my lifetime, and I live with this soul-numbing dread every day.


I try not to let this fear rule me to the point that I smother my kids. I don't wrap them in bubble-wrap and make them wear helmets. I don't hover. I give them autonomy. Hey, I even let my older daughter walk home from school by herself on occasion, but when asked, without even thinking about it, I can rattle off a long list of possible ways for them to come to serious harm right here in our safe home: a broken neck from falling down stairs; traumatic brain injury from rough-housing with each other; choking to death on a pretzel; a back-breaking back-flip while jumping on the trampoline bed; a penetrating abdominal wound from running with scissors or a pencil and falling on it; even, perhaps some scenario involving a long-overdue retribution from the long-suffering cat. The list goes on and on.


I never expect fire, however, and thankfully, there was none. Last night's amusing story of miscommunication came about thanks to our rooms being at polar extremes of the house and a flannel pajama top muffling my 40 year-old ears as I pulled it over my head just as she screamed "SPIDER!" Well, that and my overactive imagination.

Underfoot

Yesterday as I was moving around my kitchen making dinner for myself, I stepped on something.

Usually if I'm going to step on something small on the kitchen floor, it's a piece of kibble that the cat knocked out of his food dish and swatted around. He'll do that occasionally in protest of the brand of cat food or as a reminder that he needs a fresh can of tuna.

He's very thoughtful that way.


What I stepped on, however, was small and hard and did not go *crunch* underfoot.

It was a tiny, hard plastic cherry from one of the girls' games Hi-Ho-Cherry-O.

The game board has long since disintegrated, but the girls hung on to those little cherries tenaciously, first in a ziplock bag, then in a plastic pencil case. Eventually, I thought that the cherries had finally made it to that Great Toy Land in the Sky where missing checker pieces and Barbie's socks, stilettos and scrunchies spend their eternity decomposing.

Somehow that little guy survived and ended up, like so may other things in this house, underfoot.

Spunky Critters Underfoot:

Stepping on the cat is usually fraught with greater peril since he has a full set of claws and teeth and will use them as needed.

The kids are bigger now, so I'm not likely to stomp on them; they're more likely to tackle me these days, but they still manage to get in my hair.

Special "Offerings" Underfoot

The girls are pretty good about letting me know if they've thrown up somewhere so I'm not likely to step in it. Unfortunately, kids tend to throw up in the wee-est of wee hours of the morning, like, say, three in the morning, at which point all they want to do is cuddle with Mommy. At three a.m.

The cat, on the other hand, is not quite as diligent about keeping me informed, regardless of what time he pukes. He's just as cuddly though.

Scattered Toys Underfoot:

The catnip toys don't pose a huge danger, although the kitty-drool that saturates them may be fairly high on the Ick-o-Meter.

Stepping onto one of the kids' toys, whether it's a teeny-tiny Barbie accessory or the most dreaded of toys: the Lego, is excruciating.

Ok, so it might not be as painful as childbirth, but those Legos hurt! They just might be indestructible.

On the list of the worst children's toys to feel under your feet, I think that Legos have to be at the very top of the list, although when I was a kid, I think that jacks would have taken parents' vote for the least favorite toy to step on when they're navigating a dark house in the middle of the night.



Do kids even play with jacks or marbles anymore? I loved them. One of my most vivid memories of playing with jacks involved flushing them down the toilet to see if they'd get whisked away.

They did, in case you were wondering.

Better that than impaling your foot on one and then having to go to the Emergency Room for a tetanus shot, right?

Right. :)

Poop, Glorious Poop

I swore I had blogged this here once, but as I perused the archive, I did not see it anywhere. Hmm, such are the perils of opening 678,953 blogs all over the internet. I really need to consolidate them, because truly, it would be a crying shame if this fine bit of family history were lost forever. My kids still ask me to tell them this story.

This comes from way back in March, 2001, when I was rather pregnant with my son. My older daughter Natalie was not quite 2 at the time and totally uninterested in potty-training. That was ok by me. Frankly, I'd rather just toss a dirty diaper into the trash than have to follow a half-naked kid around the house with a spray bottle of Murphy's oil soap and a roll of paper towels. Also, consider all the money, water and time saved on laundry just by tossing a soiled diaper in the trash, right?

Well, this one day, I had put Natalie down for her morning nap and decided that I would take one too. I'd been sleeping pretty poorly, being preggo and all, so I thought it would be a fantastic idea. Sure. I woke from my nap feeling refreshed, and from the gentle babble coming from her room, heard that Natalie was up too. She was just talking gently, so I wasn't expecting any sort of disaster when I opened the door.

But really, who ever expects disaster? It's a lot like the Spanish Inquisition.

First, some background. At the advanced age of not-quite-two, my darling daughter did not like wearing clothes. I didn't really mind; she would just run around with a diaper on at home. She managed not to strip in public, so I hadn't thought it would hurt anyone. Up until that fateful March day, she had been good about keeping her diaper on. Can you see where this is going?

I opened the door and this is what I saw: Natalie, curled up in a ball on her security blanket, a sodden diaper in one corner, her wet clothes, wadded up in a ball in another corner, and right next to where she lay, a big pile of (for lack of a more colorful word...) poop. I closed the door and gave my husband, the cleaning wizard, a call at work and asked him what the best cleaning strategy would be.

Some minutes later, armed with a bucket of hot, soapy water, a sponge, some carpet stain remover, roll of paper towels and baby wipes, I trudged back upstairs. Again, I opened the door and Natalie, pointing a poop-encrusted finger at the stained carpet, chirped, "Hi Mommy! Mess!" I opened the windows, got the ceiling fan going and went in for a closer look. The pile of poop had been trampled into the carpet. I think she may have even danced on it.

First step: I cleaned her off. It was caked on her legs, between her toes and fingers, on her cheeks and in her hair. Maybe she rolled in it like a dog, who knows? At this point I was not ruling anything out.

Second step: I started in on the carpet. My darling daughter tried to "help" Mommy, but I'm afraid I wasn't very appreciative. She wanted to help with (read: play in) the bucket of water, and shake the carpet cleaner, and unroll the paper towels. Oh yes, a big help indeed.

I'm afraid that the whole neighborhood knew that I could swear like a sailor on occasion- ok, so not my proudest moment, but there it is. I knew that if Natalie ended up swearing in her temper tantrums in the following week, that it'd be all on me. Oh well.

Once I got the carpet as clean as I could, and let the stain remover soak in, I hauled the child off to the tub. Somehow, I did manage to get her clean. Don't know how I did it, but I did. I took her downstairs, put her in the highchair and gave her some food while I did some dishes. Turning my back on her was, as ever, a huge mistake, because after I finished the dishes I saw that she had taken huge mouthfuls of juice and spit them out onto her tray and was splashing it all around. I couldn't even yell anymore. I just cleaned it all up, did some more laundry- her clothes, blankets, bedding, and put her in the play pen.

Next, I put some deep-cleaning foam carpet shampoo on the stains (I bought the stuff once on a whim- I'm glad I did), let it dry and vacuumed it up. I had a little lunch and logged onto the computer to tell my internet friends about Natalie's recent exploit. My head throbbed and my back ached and I felt like crying. Afterward, I had to apply yet more carpet stain remover. Still, it didn't really work.When my husband came home from work that night, he checked out the room. I had done a good job, but there was an aroma of kennel lingering in the room which was there even when we moved later that year. Some messes have a way of sticking around.

I no longer shudder when I tell this story. I smile at my kids' unholy glee at hearing this story old over and over. I suppose that a distance of 9 years is enough for even the stinkiest story to sweeten up a bit. After all, life goes on, and, as any parent will tell you, it is filled with poop

June 18

Forgive me if I'm not responsive today to messages or phone calls. I may not even answer the door.

Today, all is ashes in my mouth, and I can't see through the tears.


I received this not long after my son's death 7 years ago:

Oh Mother, my Mother

Oh Mother, my mother
I touch your tears
invisible fingers
soothing your skin
I know you think of me often
in the day, in the night,
in your dreams
going into an empty nursery
knowing I'll never be there
but I am... in your heart
in your soul, I shall always be
for you gave so unselfishly
of yourself.
Inside of you, you created
such a world for me
a world of laughter, of love,
of sadness, of sorrow
every emotion people come to know
you shared with me.
And even though I may never
feel your arms around me
I felt your heart beating,
like a lullaby, singing me to sleep
and your spirit giving me a safe haven
already protecting me
nurturing me
preparing me of things to come.
But sometimes the journey
of life pulls souls apart
and yes, I had to go on
to another place.
I wish I could stay
I wish this was a decision
I could make
and I know you do too.
Know this wherever you are:
I will always remember
that yours was the first love
the first joy, the first soul
I will ever know
you gave me courage to
go on in my journey
I hope I can do the same
for you
Your heart beat will always
call me to you

Love, your child

Happiness is three pairs of fuzzy socks

Yesterday, in the final blow-out of our extended pajama-party/lazy-slug-fest that was Christmas vacation, the girls stumbled upon the bag of stocking presents I'd hidden away so cleverly that even I'd forgotten where I'd concealed it. (Note: not the first time that has happened...) Kids' noses are extraordinarily keen at sniffing out those presents, and my 8 year-old seems to be especially adept at it.

She went into my room for some made-up reason; I heard a rustling and then, "Hey Mommy! I think I found something that you forgot to put away!"

Well, I knew that could only mean a box of feminine hygiene products or the bag of stocking gifts which I'd been unable to find in that mad dash to pack and get the hell out of the house and on the road to my parents' house. I did a quick inventory in my head and realized that I'm very good at concealing the first items and figured she meant the gifts.

I bellowed back, "Get out of that bag! And get out of my ROOM! ARGH!"

The wretch sneaked back out with the hugest grin on her face, so I knew that she'd seen the Hello Kitty purse I'd bought her. Lucy, now aware that something was afoot, then got up off the couch as unobtrusively as a 5 year-old could manage (read: not at all) and tip-toed into my room to have a look for herself.

By her squeal, I judged that she'd found the Dora purse I'd gotten her.

"Get. Out. NOW!!" I hollered.

Giggling, she ran out. The two of them looked at me with those twinkling eyes and any hope I'd had of keeping the bag of gifts as a fall-back for Natalie's birthday in April had crashed and burned. Monstrous children.

"Ok," I sighed. "Go get the damn bag and let's see what we've got."

We had: a purse and a locket for each of the girls, some ordinary socks (hey, I'm a mom and a practical one), some Hello Kitty glamor pens, a bag of chocolate coins, a colony of chocolate santas, and three pairs of fuzzy socks. We divvied up the chocolate among the three of us, and looked at the fuzzy socks.

"Hmmm," I thought, "How do I split up three pairs of socks among two kids," when Natalie said,

"Hey Mommy! You get a pair too!"

Cool. Problem solved.

We all put on our fuzzy socks and giggled. I swear, I think we were high on chocolate, or maybe it was hypothermia, it is pretty cold here after all. For some reason, it tickled all three of us that we each had our own pair of fuzzy socks. We sat all snuggled up on the couch and admired our feet clad in slippery, fuzzy, shiny socks.

"OMG, Mommy! Take a picture!" shrieked one of them.

So I did.



I'm amazed at how happy I am lately.

Maybe I'm just high from some sort of radon leak in my house. Who the hell knows.

I do know that my times with the girls the past few months have been better, happier, more content. Sure, they still push my buttons and I send them to their rooms, but we've had so many more times all snuggled together on the couch watching cartoons, movies or reading books. On occasion, they even like to nap with me now, sucked up to me like a remora on a shark.

Could it be that they've finally adjusted to the separation and consequent bouncing back and forth between two houses? Now they're happy when they're here and not missing their dad as much as before because they know that they will see him in a few days and that they'll be back here after that and so on.

Or maybe, sometimes happiness just comes in the form of three pairs of fuzzy socks.

It's indescribably beautiful

My lovely older daughter woke me at 3:30 am with repeated kicks to the kidneys, just like when she was still in my womb. Now, 8 years older and some 70-odd pounds heavier, she really packs a wallop. Long after she'd settled back into that heavy slumber only children can attain without drugs, I lay there wide awake, my mind a-whirl.

I got up after a fruitless hour of trying to re-enter my dreams and found my little Lucy awake on the couch, stuffed cheetah under one arm, and the real life, purring Cheetah on her lap.

"Mommy! You're awake!" she chirped at me.

Nodding, I plunked myself down next to her and she gave me a smack on the cheek followed by that famous Lucy Smile. She reached up and petted my hair, a sweet quirk of hers she's had since infancy and one which she reverts to in our quiet moments together. I shivered in the early December morning air, looked out the window and saw that winter had come in the night and covered the ground with pristine white crystals. The air was still thick with silent falling snow. I gave Lucy a kiss and got up to make my Marine-strong pot of coffee.

Natalie came out of my room holding her blanket. "Mommy? Is it still night or is it morning?"

"Both, actually honey. It's early," I replied. "Do you want to go back to bed? I'm just making some coffee and then I'm going to put in a movie for me and Lucy."

*yawn* "Nope. I wanna sit with you on the couch."

Some ten minutes later, there we were, all three of us girls and one content orange tabby snuggled together on the couch with a pile of pillows and a heap of blankets, afghans and comforters, watching "A Christmas Story."

No matter how many times I watch that movie, and I watch it dozens of times during the build-up to Christmas, I laugh to the point of crying, and cry to the point of hiccuping. My girls have seen that movie so many times that they rattled off bits of the dialogue with me perfectly and giggled in anticipation of favorite moments.

Lucy hooked her little arm in mine and rested her silky-haired head on my arm while Natalie looked over at me and grinned the same face-splitting smile she's had since she first gazed up at me and laughed as a fat and happy baby.

This is the color, shape, smell and touch of contentment. If I never do another great thing in my life, I know that I helped bring these two sweet, loving creatures into the world.

Life is hard, but indescribably beautiful.