The Long Story Longer

Eyes Wide Open

2011-03-07T06:05:00.004-05:00

Some days, you get lots of taps on the shoulder. You get lots of nudges, bordering on shoves. You see how beautiful your life is. You see how the ugly and hard mixes in and makes it, somehow, even more beautiful. You see where the stops and starts were, and how you obsessed and over-analyzed them; you can seem them marbled in the foundation like they were part of the plan all along. Which of course they were.

And perhaps it's moments of clarity, or finally getting over yourself and seeing that it's all layed out it front of you, every single day, and the only thing really getting in the way is you and your head. Notions, ideas, criticism; they all are flies in the ointment.

It was one of those days for me today. I was able to see it right in front of me: my daughters have their hands in mine with peanut butter stuck in the cracks of their perfect mouths, some of my oldest and dearest friends are jumping into the next part of their lives with wide-open hearts (and fear in their back pockets), my father is out of the hospital, my husband is installing a second bathroom (what!), and the sun is out on Cape Cod.

So tomorrow I'll try my best to remember how it looks and feels, with sand in my hair and little girls who can't imagine that life could get any better. Well, ice cream. Ice cream would make it better. But that's about it.

Gluten Free Partaaaay

2010-12-06T20:38:00.006-05:00

I took my oldest daughter to a party this Sunday for kids who have Celiac Disease. We haven't been to many events, but I think she's old enough to enjoy herself and I wanted her to meet other kids who have Celiac as well.

I think, because it's such a part of how we live our lives, that I forget. I forget the fear and the panic when she was first sick, and we had no idea what it was. I forget about the week at Children's and her rapid weight loss and her bony body in the tub. I want to forget hearing the word 'mass' from the emergency room physician, forever. But on Sunday I remembered, because there were new parents there. You could tell they were new because of the panic in their eyes. Shoving by to get samples or to check a box or a new bread loaf. A nervous energy rippled throughout the event. They checked boxes feverishly, even though everything there was completely gluten free. They double checked with vendors. 'Are you sure?' They packed their totes with boxes upon boxes of gluten free stuff as if they'd never see it again. Their fear was fresh for them, like it was for us 3 years ago.

And I felt it too, with my daughter. She kept asking, "Mommy, can I have that?"

And I said, "Yes!".

But she kept asking. Because she knows she has to. Because we've trained her to.

And finally, I said something I've NEVER said to her before. "Samantha. You can have anything you want." And I filled up then, because it felt so wonderful to say it to her. And to know that she could, and she wouldn't get sick. No emergency room visits. No IV's and nurses holding her down to draw vial after vial of blood. No sore belly the next day from all night of wretching.

Nope, none of that would happen today. Just crumbs and buttercream frosting and sprinkles. Just a warm hand in mine, pulling me to another table of goodies. Just a smile that came from her toes. Just a really, really, really happy four year old girl.

Please see some of these links for fantastic gluten (and many other allergen) free foods:

http://www.allcaneat.com/

http://www.unlawfullygood.com/

http://www.aandjbakery.net/ This features egg and tree-nut free foods as well. Delicious!

http://www.katzglutenfree.com/

http://www.udisglutenfree.com/

http://www.glutenusminimus.com/

And, on Facebook, many of these companies have pages to 'Like'.

Please also check out the Children's Hospital Celiac Support Group on Facebook for great companies, recipes, and promotions.

Thankful.

2010-11-25T06:30:00.007-05:00

For the early mornings and the tiptoe behind me when I rise to make my first cup.

For the beard my husband is keeping trimmed because he knows I like it. Grrrr. And because he's just wonderful and fantastic. And cute. And has a great bum.

For the pool at the Y and the people in it who make me smile every week.

For my strong body.

For my parents. For my parents. For my parents.

For friends who love me and my loud-ish ways. Maybe because of my loud-ish ways!

For the paycheck that lets me be in my head and reminds me of all the work I did to get here.

For school and the learning. I do love me some learning.

For old and new friendships. Like a bucket o' treasure I found in my backyard.

And for my own mat. Just big enough for me and my three.

Geneen Roth, "Women, Food and God"

2010-07-09T06:51:00.000-04:00

"Diets are the outpicturing of your belief that you have to atone for being yourself to be worthy of existing. They are not the source of this belief, they are only one expression of it. Until the belief is understood and questioned, no amount of weight loss will touch the part of you that is convinced it is damaged. A lifetime of suffering with food will fit right in with the definition you've formed about being alive. It will make sense to you that hatred leads to love and that torture leads to peace because you will be operating on the conviction that you must starve or deprive or punish the badness out of you. You won't keep extra weight off because being at your natural weight does not match your convictions about the way life unfolds. But once the belief and the subsequent decisions are questioned, diets and being uncomfortable in your body lose their seductive allure. Only kindness makes sense. Anything else is excruciating."

Yeah. What He Said.

2010-06-21T20:56:00.003-04:00

"People are itchy and lost and bored and quick to jump at any fix. Why is there such a vast self-help industry in this country? Why do all these selves need help? They have been deprived of something by our psychological culture. They have been deprived of the sense that there is something else in life, some purpose that has come with them into the world."

James Hillman, "From Little Acorns: A Radical New Psychology"

Get in the Friggin' Moment Already!

2010-06-15T19:35:00.005-04:00

This is how I generally feel about the concept of meditation or the Zen-like experience I keep thinking I have to have to really appreciate my life. I'm just not a Zen-er. I like me some compost, and I love growing my own food. I'm all about organic milk, and I think waiting in line makes me a better person. I'm all about the big picture. But I usually just want to get on with it already.

So, although I thought I got the whole 'being in the moment' stuff, I couldn't ever really practice it when it was important. I'm cool when my luggage gets lost. I'm alright when my dinner is wrong at the restaurant. None of this stuff unnerves me. But the idea of just sitting and being....of being fully present and feeling what I'm supposed to feel without rushing to get on to the next thing? No dice.

Perhaps this is why I fought doing yoga for so long. Stretch? For an hour? And focus on my breathing? And my chi? All set with that. But everytime I do yoga...I love it. And wonder why I don't do it more. So if it makes any sense (it makes perfect sense to me), I'm going to be. No more constant self-help efforts. I'm done with dieting. Forever. Why do I have to keep on trying to make myself 'better' when I am just be fine with who I am and how I think and the way I feel? It's working for me. I have a wonderful life, blessings abound. Why do I have to constantly feel like I'm a boring chapter in a self-improvement book that will just sit, dusty, on the shelves until the next yard sale?

So, in the moment I am. And feeling it. The good, bad and ugly. Sometimes it's uncomfortable but most of the time....it's glorious. To feel the grass on my feet, and the rocks. To smell the breath of my babies, to feel my husband's hand on my back. To sit in a restaurant and hear the din of the diners and feel my hand on the glass. To talk about difficult things. To sit and stew and feel...whatever it is I'm feeling. But I'm here. I'm feeling. And I think you're on my chi.

2010-05-26T08:21:00.002-04:00

In a haze of long summerish days and sweaty faces and papers to write, I've abandoned my lonely blog. If it had feelings, it would have it's arms crossed with me. 'Sure Jen, just use me when you're home with two small kids and no one to talk to. Just type on me whenever YOU need to. No, no! Don't worry about me. I know you have your playdates now and your work and your classes, but it's fine. I'm good. I'll just sit out here in the blogosphere and friggin' twiddle my thumbs while you think of something else to write about. Jackass'. Or something like that.

I wanted to write about guilt. But I can't, really, because I feel too damn guilty. I have two beautiful girls playing with the Noni, legs that are seriously too hairy for public viewing, and a video camera that needs charging for a gymnastics show later. So for my 4 readers, I will bid you adieu and be back on the scene like a sex machine sooner than later. Probably later.

A Walk

2010-04-12T06:22:00.004-04:00

I've moved 17 times.

That's a lot. Yes, some of it includes college moves and crazy early 20's apartment living, but it still counts. Packing, unpacking, tossing and keeping. I always wanted to feel, in my digs, a sense of belonging and normalcy. That usually included a few key components. A dry cleaner: I need a familiar face when I drop off my blouses and ask them to pay some special attention to that spot on the right boob which there always seem to be many of. I was called 'Nips' in high school because in a completely unfair turn of events, an afternoon salad with Italian dressing made me look like a wet nurse. Fast forward 15 years later when I do indeed soak through my maternity shirts with the good stuff (I did consider ringing it out once, that stuff is liquid gold!).

Anyway, I liked having a mom and pop dry cleaner on the ready. And a library card. This was important. I love to read. Every night, I read. Even for it's 4 minutes. But I could get lost in libraries, often a spot to escape to when I was living with roommates (did I mention that I'm an only child and I. Like. My. Space.) and wanted to peruse the new Alice Hoffman or the latest Rolling Stone rag in a quiet little spot tucked between the mysteries and the large print sections. I could get lost for hours in a library. And I know that makes me a nerd, but it's cool. I've come to grips with my nerdiness. Nerdiness has served me well.

And what I always needed, no matter how brief my stay...was a place to walk. Of course I would have a variety of routes, depending on the time I had or the type of walk I needed. Is it a business walk meant for a workout only? The track will do. Is it a long walk kind of a day, with drop-ins to a downtown store (or perhaps to pick up my dry cleaning or hit the library?), I have a route for that too. Or maybe it's like the one I took Sunday. Long and lovely and sweeter than I imagined with a gentle wind at my back. I knew where the loud dogs would be, they didn't startle me when they jumped up against the gate. I knew where the guy from Ireland would be, waving to me and talking about the weather and how is daughter is in Quincy. I knew that I would see that lady I see all the time and we'd wave, and that we could repeat that for 20 years and still not know each other's names. And I remembered where that funny bump in the road was, and I hopped right over it. And I knew, as I came back around the way and my house came into view, that I really was home.

More Food. Hug a Tree.

2010-04-05T07:29:00.006-04:00

This is a rice burger (GF but of course Sam doesn't like it!), chopped extra firm tofu, sprouts and any other kind of vegetable you can think of. Marinate with any sort of sauce (we went with a light Indian simmer) and it's a full meal of protein, carbs and fat and tons of fiber.

This is actually just a pretty little bit of Amy's Organic Palaak Paneer with steamed broccoli and a glass of the lovely stuff. Kids were away. So was husband. Oh, dear. It was lovely.

Just a beautiful salad (sideways yo!) with real blue cheese.

Sausage simmering for kale, carrot, garlic and onion soup.

If you do, make sure you throw the chopped kale in first. It can take a while to soften.

Seriously? Yum.

Food. The Picture Series.

2010-04-05T07:26:00.002-04:00

Roasted butternut squash (or sweet potato) with cubed apple, pear and fresh cranberries.

Cinnamon. Nutmeg.

Lots of love.

5 Dollar Foot Long Munchkin Veggie Roll

2010-03-01T19:16:00.012-05:00

I hope you can grasp from this photo (I'm taking lots of pictures of really beautiful and colorful food and I only think it's a little tiny bit weird not completely holy-crap-she-needs-more-work, weird) how amazing this meal was. The largest and most delicious portion of seaweed salad I ever did see. Extra shaved ginger and wasabi 'for the pretty lady' at no cost (you will always have me hooked with the pretty lady stuff, by the way). And 12, yes 12! fresh, scrumptious and completely satisfying vegetable rolls with cucumber, avocado, asparagus and sesame rice.

Now, in retrospect, I should have taken a gander at the lunch specials. But the whole experience was a whirlwind. Children's Hospital appointment for Sam and her Celiac Disease, trip over to hubby's work for 'show off your kid day' (okay, it was just us who did that), and at the same time, manage to squeeze a meal in for mom.

Normally we are planners to the nth degree. We go everywhere with snacks and meal and drinks (because we have to with our peanut), but I had a plan this day. I wanted sushi. I would have it.

BUT, it's a sushi place wedged between a Subway and a Dunkin Donuts. I'm not even kidding. So you start to wonder and listen to the naysayers (of which I was one)....really? Should I go there? Will it be fresh? Legit? The real deal?

So I try another spot that is recommended, Ma Soba. Fancy. Sit down service. Not flanked by fast food spots on either side. But not open until 11:30. I had a husband and two small tired, crankabotomous kids in the car and a short window of time before they became truly wretched and started throwing shoes.

So Osaka it was. Shoved into a little space, these guys worked the bamboo roll with deft precision and the craftsmanship of sushi masters. It was fast and fresh and soooo good. It was lunch and dinner. And I wasn't too late to the car and the kids.

But the shoes still came off.

Recipes you did not ask for. But I'm a giver.

2010-02-11T21:06:00.005-05:00

Ginger Bok Choy Up In Here

1. Don't be afraid of the bok choy. It's the green stuff in all the sweet and sour chinese food plates we eat.

2. It's really good! Like celery on one end and crunchy romaine on the other.

3. Sautee some fresh or minced garlic in a medium-heat pan with some Pam spray or a spot of oil.

4. Add the chopped bok choy (as much as you want boo boo!) into the pan. Don't burn it.

5. Add a bit of marinade if you want. I went with the Archer Farms Asian Ginger Marinade. Ridiculous.

6. Add some bean sprouts at the end.

7. Add some protein if you want...beans, chicken breast, veggie burger. Tortoise. Whatev.

8. Eat it. Enjoy it. Tell your friends about it.

Roasted Root (come on, that's funny right?)

1. Bite sized pieces of butternut squash (or sweet potato)

2. Halved pecans or walnuts

3. Fresh whole cranberries (the dried ones become bullets and those aren't fun in the teeth).

4. Bite sized pieces (not too thin or they'll lose the sweetness) of apple or pear

5. Roast it for 15-ish minutes, keep checking on it.

6. I found mine to be ready when the cranberries were no longer tart.

7. Add a drizzle of maple syrup or honey. Enjoy with your favorite person and tell them how terrific I am for giving you this idea.

Butternut Squash Risotto

(this is stolen from Rachael Ray, but I skipped the butter, wine and sage...the kids didn't go for it but remember that they worship applesauce and hot dogs).

Ingredients:
One 32-ounce container (4 cups) chicken broth
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil (EVOO)
1 small onion, finely chopped
2 cloves garlic, grated or finely chopped
2 cups arborio rice
1 cup dry white wine
One 12-ounce box frozen butternut squash puree, thawed
Nutmeg
Salt and pepper
1 cup grated parmigiano-reggiano cheese
2 tablespoons butter, cut into small pieces
10 leaves fresh sage, slivered

Directions:
In a large saucepan, bring the chicken broth and 1 cup water to a boil over medium-high heat, then turn the heat to low.

In a large skillet, heat the EVOO , 2 turns of the pan, over medium-high heat. When the oil is rippling, add the onion and garlic and cook, stirring occasionally, until softened, 2 minutes. Add the rice and toast for 3 minutes. Stir in the wine and cook, stirring occasionally, until mostly evaporated, 2 to 3 minutes.

Add 2 ladlefuls of the warm chicken broth to the rice and stir until the liquid evaporates. Repeat with the remaining broth, cooking the risotto until creamy, about 18 minutes.

During the last 3 minutes of cooking, stir in the squash; season with nutmeg, salt and pepper.

During the last minute of cooking, stir in the cheese and butter. Top with the sage.

Are you Really Suprised?

2010-02-11T20:39:00.003-05:00

I really really really wish I were a better blogger. I wish I could run off and type all the things I think about all day, but you know I just don't. Dinners to be made and clothes to be laid out and floors to be swept and honestly, there are bottoms to wipe. Don't get me wrong, I can waste time like a champion (remember this?). Anyway, the detox continued to go really well. And then we ended up in the ER with one lethargic little girl (long story, really longer and the most important thing is that she's fine, thankfully) and the chicken salad sandwich the nurse gives you is in your gullet faster than you can say 'kale spinach frittata'. I kept going though, not perfectly, and made some really interesting (life changing? naaah...maybe?) observations about myself:

-holy crap, I CAN live on vegetables and I will NOT die.

-vegetables are really good and really satisfying.

-I don't need as much protein as I eat. I need far, far less.

-I actually don't have to eat the candy in the dish. (I won't die!)

-I really love good chocolate (Ahoooo! Cacao!) and I will eat it every day of my life. Detox bedamned.

-that wasabi vinaigrette stuff? Good lord. I could put it on just about anything.

-new recipes are scary but waaaay more fun. (See this super cool book from my mother-in-law).

-it's not about having less and being satisfied, it's about finding interesting ways to be satisfied that go beyond the carrot and celery stick. I made butternut squash risotto for goodness sake!

Onward and upward and I'm surprised that I'm surprised by how good it feels. Wow, taking care of myself (which sometimes includes Mike's Pastry from the North End) is good for everyone in my home.

I'm on the list, bitches! And I'm going to stay on it!

Peace, namaste.

Go eat some eggplant.

Day 3. At Work.

2010-02-03T11:51:00.002-05:00

Work is historically a place where I 'screw up' any sort of good eating regime. Canisters abound everywhere with those peppermint puffy things that I could eat 20 of. And chocolate trays all over the place. A drawer full of emergency snacks and power bars and a coffee maker and a huge BJ's box full of mini-creams that really really should be used up already.

Breakfast of an egg white and baby spinach. Pear. Earl Grey tea.

So I was nervous. But I packed diligently and had a nice crudite dip: wasabi mustard mixed with good season dressing (made with some balsamic and only about 1/3 of the oil called for in the recipe). It was amazing! Three people came into my office and wanted in on it.

Lunch was a big salad with butter lettuce and baby spinach and a grilled veggie burger and the rest of the wasabi-grette. Really good. Really satisfying.

When is this going to be annoying? It's not yet. Maybe getting boring, but that's just due to a lack of creativity on my part.

Fresh fruit melon salad. Herbal mint tea.

Greek yogurt, large apple.

Got home. Some peanut butter and chocolate chips, dammitallstraighttohell.

Dinner was just like lunch but with an Asian veggie patty. Have you tried these, from Morningstar? Seriously delicious.

Gluten free pretzels.

More tea.

Not beating myself up about this at all.

Still waiting to feel bad. Still have good energy.

Day 2 of the Deet.

2010-02-01T13:00:00.004-05:00

I thought I would crack today. The mere THOUGHT of my coffee percolating made me almost cry. But I didn't...I cheated a little bit and had a bit of caffeinated tea though because I'm all set with a 'whatthehellareyoudoingwhyhaven'tyouhadcoffee' middle finger I was going to get in the form of a colossal headache.

Breakfast was some fatfree greek yogurt and a just ripe banana.

Snack of hot soup before I trucked the girls out to the Y. Did indeed indulge in a few bites of their gluten free pretzels. Dammit.

Lunch: started off with some stir fried (no oil) bean sprouts with a splash of low sodium soy sauce and good ol' helping of Kimchi (spicy marinated cabbage, in the Korean section). Really good. Suprisingly. Pear. Raw veggie sticks. More soup.

Dinner. More soup with a mashed up (delicious) Morningstar veggie burger in it.

25 Calorie hot cocoa (this is kind of ridiculous and against my chocolate religion but I needed something sweet).

Not miserable by the way. Still want some carb crunch, but I want to molest the pretzels LESS.

(Seriously, have plenty of energy and wonder it'll be when I want to just pass out).

Oh, Detox. You naughty little minx.

2010-02-01T12:48:00.004-05:00

I'm a big believer in not going too hard-core with the eating. I can't cut out a food group to save my life, unless it's licorice. Is licorice a food group?

I didn't last more than 2 days on the Master Cleanse, even though I bought all the lemons and ginger and raw almonds and field greens. I just don't have the ability, honestly. I also read time and time again that the body does it's OWN detox, naturally. It's called your kidney and your liver.

So a friend of mine suggested a more structured detox that's supported with some supplements and probiotics. It's vegetable and fruit-based, it bans coffee, and it scared the hell out of me.
I thought about it. Marinated. Decided I could. Of course I could! And after the holidays? Who doesn't need a good purge?

So...I went in. I bought the journal. I bought the 'cleansing fiber powder' which makes my rear end twinge a bit just by writing it.

I started yesterday. Sunday. The day of our Lord. I thought it was appropriate. Here's how it went down: (ps, I won't get into the habit of writing about what I eat. And you can always just go look at your US weekly, but you know what you'll see there? People talking about what they eat).

Sunday:

-green tea with lemon

-honeydew melon

-egg white

-veggie sticks

-homemade veggie soup with kale, leeks, carrots, celery, bok choy, stewed tomatoes, garlic and onion.

-add veggie burger to this

(this is really good!).

-marinated red cabbage with apple

-field green salad

-prunes (this is a no-no, but they were there and looked so delicious!) (See? I can't even go a DAY).

-scoop of low fat cottage cheese

-green mint tea

OK: I won't lie: I wanted to put my face in a bag of pretzels and just give it a big ol' motorboat. However, I kept my cool and was strangely satisfied. I think it's because I'm high from lack of fat and sugar.

Holistic. Or Not.

2010-01-12T14:45:00.003-05:00

Holistic: eating a rainbow of fruits, vegetables, nuts and seeds.

Notsomuch: Simultaneously shoving a cheese stick and a pretzel into your mouth at a stop sign.

Holistic: creating a beautiful soup of kale, French green lentils, carrots, onion and vegetable broth.

Notsomuch: Deciding the only missing ingredient is sausage.

Holistic: rubbing lavendar on my wrists at bedtime to create a peaceful sense of calm before slumber.

Notsomuch: lying in bed swearing at the tv because somebody can't shoot a goddamn free throw.

Holistic: organic cosmetics made from earthy crunchy ingredients and without an ounce of animal testing.

Notsomuch: crunchy mascara at the bottom of your Ziploc makep bag that you put on anyway.

Time for the THANKFUL post.

2009-11-23T07:41:00.003-05:00

It's trite and everyone does it this time of year. But that's okay because it's important to stop, inspect, reflect, and corn-ily gush about the things that make your heart go pitter-pat.

So, you know how I do with me lists:

-a husband who not only buys me coffee filters before I run out (he doesn't drink coffee) but who also buys me the t-shirt above because I love the show Friday Night Lights. Riggins is so dreamy.

-two little peanutty buttons who crawl into bed with me and whisper-shout with their yummy morning breath.

-a woodstove that cranks out wintery warmth and the money to buy wood for it.

-parents who would do anything for me and my crew.

-hot hot hot water.

-tea kettle and Earl Grey.

-real friends I can call who'll be ready for me, no matter what.

-the age and wisdom to know how and when to let go and move on.

-strong legs and a belly with some scars on it.

-food in the pantry and even more in the freezer.

-a job that pays me in many ways.

What about you? Share please!

Tidbits.

2009-11-23T07:22:00.003-05:00

Oh dear. Upon review of my blog I realize that it's been a cranky few weeks for me. We've had a rough fall as a family unit. But we're good. We're fever-free (I'm knocking feverishly on wood now, pun intended) and my antibiotics have almost run out and I'm seeing the light at the end of the tunnel.

And so I'm starting to make plans. Masters plus 30? Yeah, almost there. Getting myself in shape mentally and physically? Yep. Creating better boundaries and sticking close to home? You-betcha.

I'm also checking out some new sites that I really like:

www.crankyfitness.com (how perfect is this?)

www.susanpowteronline.com I know, I know, I'm still on this site. Even though I've decided that Susan and I won't be besties (I don't know if she appreciated my blog....oops!). Listen. The woman has some fierce recipes.

www.heythattastesgood.com This has awesome gluten-free recipes and the author takes amazing pics of her process and product. Think photojournalism meets gluten free hippy chef.

And read this book if you have any desire to...it's so interesting. Talk about the food industry. Talk about our brain's hard-wiring to not only seek out but 'hyper-eat' foods with fat, sugar and salt (and even moreso foods with layers of each and all). Talk about how strong dopamine is in our brains and how we (really) don't have control once the shoveling starts. If you like science-driven food information, you'll like this.

Oh! And if you have large feet. If you have Sasquatch feet. If you have feet that are hard to fit. If you have large calves (hey-o!) like me, you'll like www.zappos.com Free shipping! Sizes 11 and up! Pictures! Multiple views! And boots for us lassies with some husky calves.

Stay healthy!
XO
Jen

Are You Kidding Me?

2009-11-12T06:24:00.005-05:00

Let me set it up for you: My house is currently, an infirmary. We had two weeks at the end of last month that was snot-central. Where I hit the pediatrician's office every time I heard the wheeze of my youngest and got a sleeve crunchy with what I wiped off her face. I am pretty good and not flipping out about something that I can't directly control. I don't freak out when the terror-alert color changes. But this latest 'pandemic' has me checking cheeks and using rectal thermometers with a frequency that has my children developing a healthy fear of the vaseline jar. "It doesn't hurt honey. It just feels a little weird."

We've had two ER trips in the last two weeks (everybody's fine). If a trip to the ER doesn't stress you out, seeking people with masks on may. Or being quarantined in a room with other mask-wearers, may. Between the sleep-loss from midnight drives, sleep-loss from worrying that you're missing something, sleep-loss from hearing them cough, and sleep-loss from all the other reasons why you normally lose sleep, I'm tired. I'm really really tired.

So between my husband and myself, it's like Zombie-land at this house. Apart from the incredibly energetic bursts from the kiddos, which we're unfortunately trying to corral as they send them into long and painful coughing fits. Last night the youngest wanted to be up. And up she was. For hours. She also, apparently, wanted to get to the baby powder that's on the changing table. So, up she went with her spidey-like climbing limbs and she emptied it out. And then she got to the clippers (no blood loss). And honestly, nothing worked. No gentle reprimands. No redirections. No less-than-gentle reprimands. Usually my last-straw, "You go nigh-night!" does the trick but she may as well has just flipped me off last night. Girlfriend was not having it!

She finally, after three hours, made it into the big bed. Yes, she won! I lost! I caved! And it just didn't matter, because we both were desperate for sleep and I knew that not even an hour later, I would be peeling her Elmo-pajama'd body off my back and gently snuggle her in her own bed.

So I know you're stuck in your own sick spin cycle, but that's the view from mine. I'm off to Neti Pot.

Spin Cycle

2009-11-09T14:32:00.005-05:00

I remember my old spin cycles. When I was swamped with my job, going to graduate school, and trying to maintain a (albeit already terrible) relationship. Even earlier, managing part time work and a full courseload and making time for girl night and beer. There were times that it got so concentrated that I felt like I had to just shut my eyes, keep my head low, and drive through it.

Of course as a parent, my spin cycles are more intense and for me, harder to manage because these little people don't seem to sympathize when you are 'done' and need a nap, or a tub, or an afternoon to lay on the couch and watch TLC (or The Travel Channel when they're doing 'No Reservation' reruns. Anthony Bourdain is my kind of asshole). Whether it was early on when the baby ran a fever and we took turns staying up and watching her, cooling her off with a washcloth and keeping the Motrin at the ready; or perhaps now with two little ones, shuttling us back and forth to the pediatrician's office and trying to stay calm about fevers and coughs and 'flu symptoms'.

It's been like that for awhile here. Sick kids, sick parents, sick friends. Less sleep than is preferable. Less time for long walks. Less time on the phone with friends. So much so that I felt like I was under a blanket for a few weeks, not able to return phone calls or write emails. Just enough to prepare meals, keep a house (relatively) clean, keep the laundry going and have time to push kids on swings and read books, when they were feeling LESS lousy.

And normally I'll admit that I get very itchy when I feel like I haven't been out or just alone, really. But this last time was different. Maybe I was feeling particularly protective of our family time, after a rough few weeks of transition for my children and a time of reflection for me. Don't get me wrong, I've scooted out a few nights to hit the grocery store or go shop for the kids, but there is a rush to get back. To check in on them. Feel their cheeks. Snuggle them in. Smell their hair and smile a little at how silly they got in the tub earlier.

To know they are mine, always and truly. And to stay close for as long as I can.

I need Stacey London

2009-10-09T08:57:00.008-04:00

So, I wore this getup the other day. It was a mistake.

The dress was wonderful; 3/4 length sleeve, mock turtleneck, right below the knee length. Black.

The spanx-y girdle underneath was ONCE wonderful. Seems a little elastic collapsation has occured and momma had a lot of wedge-a-mite sandwiches all. day. long.

Bra was good.

SLIP. Ugh. So, let's just go back in time a little. I loathe slips. My mother is an old-fashioned Mom who believes in slips, wearing something on your feet already or you'll get a splinter or catch a cold, and writing thank-you notes. I totally agree with her on all counts excepts I have strategically shopped, over time, for things that do not require slips. You have a slip built-in? Sweet! You have a camisole-like spanxy thing that is part of the dress? You can't see the light of day through my legs? Nice nice nice. I'm in.

Well I bought the dress 'sight unseen' so to speak. I didn't try it on.

There were 87 people in line to try their stuff on, and from a quick glance I determined that each person had 129 items. So I just bought it and went home.

Okay, so...it's morning. It's a work morning (read: I need to be on time). Makeup is on. Hair is did. Teeth are brushed, lunch is packed. Yada. Yada. Yada.

Dress! Here comes the dress! I'm excited for the dress. I can wear fun hoop earrings and a cool scarf and I! Shaved! My! Legs! (honestly, this is the reason I ended up wearing the dress in the end. Who wastes shaved legs?).

So, on goes the dress. On goes the slip. Which I bought on purpose because of it's shorter length so it wouldn't peeakaboo under the dress. I didn't do that last part right though, because it was a bit too long. And it would show.

But I shaved my legs! On a work morning with 35 minutes to get ready I had shaved my legs. And moisturized them. I was wearing this dress, dammit.

So. I took a deep breath and pulled a move only 7th grade girls do when they just don't know better and their mothers haven't seen what they're up to.

I tucked the slip under my bra.

You know, it would have actually worked. BUT, the spanx issue had me picking all day. AND I pee. A LOT. I really pee a lot.

So, if you can imagine the breakdown and reassembly of the outfit. Remove scarf, untuck slip from bra, etc. etc. Then put humpty dumpty back together again and think, every time, 'Why the hell did I wear this in the first place? My friggin' slip is tucked under MY BRA.'

Anyway.

My legs were smooth.

I Believe.....

2009-10-05T07:08:00.008-04:00

-that lists and bullet points make my life easier and are far better than the run-ons I have a tendency to write.

-that Noggin and PBS should have Nobel Peace Prizes for all the peace they have brought to my home. And the dinners they allow me to make.

-that clipping coupons is a waste of time most of the time but for some reason I just can't stop doing it.

-that my scale should go in the dumpster.

-in the power of date night and the chance to actually look at my husband's face.

-that Facebook is a great way to give silent thanks for having good enough judgement to have never got with that guy who makes ridiculous posts but who was a superstar in high school.

-that extra money on good night cream is just worth it, already.

Mashed together like potatoes.

2009-09-25T06:41:00.004-04:00

You have to know that I think of new things to blog about every day. Many times during the day. How when I run out of concealer it's like losing a lover. When I talk to my high school students and feel like maybe if I look at them the right way, they'll get how ripe their lives are with possibility. How when my kids are all over me I feel tightness in the air that makes me feel trapped in a box. Or how I can be so filled up with love for them that it makes me a little shaky.

Or how about when I have a babysitter at the house so I can go get a pap smear (word!) and have just enough time afterwards to do nothing. Or maybe buy an overpriced coffee while I'm filling up on milk and diapers. That time to finish a conversation is just a dream and that I feel sometimes even more disconnected NOW because my babies are older and know how to ruin a phone call with world-spy like savviness. (Savviness? Saviety? Saviciousness?)

And maybe how when the girls and Jared are all snuggled up with me in bed I feel like it's the most complete and wonderful place to be and that I wouldn't want for anything else. Or perhaps how I want to eat like a hippie earth mother most days but some days could subsist on nachos and peanut butter sundae. And beer.

But that will have to wait for another day. Someone just pooped their pants.

Cleaning Out the Closets

2009-09-07T12:27:00.007-04:00

September has always been a month of rejuvination for me. I get a full-gust of wind and start tons of projects (or, finally finish some!). I feel productive. Alive. I see the days ahead of me and they are full and ripe and bursting with possibility and potential.

I clean out closets. I'll get rid of the summer dresses and cute tank tops that have been my wardrobe and the girls' wardrobe all summer and find the long sleeved numbers, the jeans, the sweatshirts and the thick socks. I'll tuck the bathing suits into the back of the drawer, and hope that the next time I pull them out I could be more understanding of the body they cover.

I want my job to be full of rigor and movement, I want my students to see with clarity the potential before them. I want them to recognize the support they have and flourish under the wings of their mentors.

I want my wood floors to shine with a new lustre. I want the bathroom to be ever-fresh and for the white tiled floors to not piss me off any more. (Who does that, though?)

I'll sit outside and smell the air. I'll harvest my garden with vigor, realizing soon enough I'll be inside, watching the plants wilt and crumble into their winter slumber.

Right now, I'll go roast some fresh green beans from my backyard, and hope for the cucumbers to sprout.

Wrap Up

2009-08-18T07:44:00.003-04:00

Well HELLO there, friends. It's been a whirlwind and you know how I like to do lists, so...

1. Surgery went well on the big guy's hip. It sucks for him. This is a man who does so much in our house that it's killing him to sit and do 0.07% of it. That said, he can still put together a decent breakfast for us and can sit and watch the kids play outside while I clean up inside and rock back and forth in the fetal position. I kid, I kid.

2. We had tons of help from family and friends! Thank you for visiting, thank you for cooking, thank you for letting me bring my kids to your house for an afternoon, thank you thank you thank you. Thanks to my folks who kept my kids overnight three times in the last three weeks!

3. The Curtis girls went to Jersey! We played with our friend Cha-Cha and I got to catch up with a good girlfriend. We had wine. We had brie. We had lots of Starbucks. We went to the Land of Make Believe. Our daughters had pretty princess parties with dress up and I saw the biggest collection of My Little Pony dolls on the planet. (My wonderful friend also swooped in and rescued us in a 'for another time' shituation that totally sucked but sucked WAY less because she was there. Thank you friend!)

4. We were hot. And not zexy hot but a 'why don't we have AC, again? hot'.

5. Potty training for both is in full swing. Oldest is good and is going through the NIGHT people. Word! Little one is working on it. I'm doing a lot of laundry.

6. KT is back in town. This makes me so so so happy. And she has a kick ass job that is (finally) seeing how wicked smaht she is. Girlfriend is bound for some serious greatness in her life. Proud of her.

There will be more later. I know you'll be waiting.

MamaSteph Part 4

2009-07-26T22:04:00.001-04:00

Puff! Little Jackie Paper! Lots of Ring Around the Rosie!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e84dTvKIyXg

MamaSteph Part 3

2009-07-26T21:59:00.001-04:00

Yeah, I'm totally singing in this one.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0_LbBxoPRaY

MamaSteph Part 2

2009-07-26T20:47:00.001-04:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vm5MoR0sdQc

MamaSteph Part 1

2009-07-26T20:43:00.002-04:00

There will be three videos posted here....it's okay if you just look for footage of your kid(s)...

I realized, far too late, that I sang through most of Mamasteph's songs...so....sorry.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DQyRtDSCSWc

Summer Bliss, 2009

2009-07-18T07:19:00.006-04:00

A day at Island Grove with a friend of over 20 years...

Softball in the backyard with kids who have great throws and ridiculous line drives...

Hot dogs and tuna steaks and salad with lettuce from my own garden....

Roasted marshmallows with my husband at the helm and my kids' faces gooey and smiling.....

Pre-Op

2009-07-16T06:34:00.002-04:00

We're readying ourselves for big daddy's surgery next week. So there will be guaze, bandages and ice packs on the ready.

Mom's spirit will be overtaken by a kind and nurturing soul who will not grimace or snicker and will tend to both husband and children with a Snow White-like charm.

Oh No You Diiiin't

2009-06-25T13:59:00.007-04:00

Seriously, Oxygen channel? A dancing weight loss competition called Dance Your Ass Off? Is this in response to the surmised sad, poor and hefty viewers of So You Think You Can Dance who want to feel the burn of the hot spotlight? Was this an idea hatched to even the playing fields and to give everyone a chance?

I dunno.

This is a time when I'm judging too soon. But the commercials for this program make my skin itch. It's bad enough that we are constantly engaged in watching people stand in front of a firing squad of 'expert judges' to decide if they suck or not. If they should keep pursuing the only dream they ever had. But throw weight into the mix? I worry. Will they still get crapped on by the judges for being overweight? Or will the judging be based on a mixture of their dancing chops and their weight loss?

"Not only was that a perfect funkymcfunkydanceymove, but you've lost 17 pounds in one week! It's totally unhealthy and it's water weight but YOU have edged out the competition this week and you are above the purple line of death and destruction." Or something like that. I think what gets under my skin like a greedy little wood tick is the idea that this show is meant for dancers who are passionate and beautiful and talented and who just happen to be larger than other dancers. If I were a betting woman (which I'm not because I'm horribly cheap and I don't like to give away my money unless it's for a really good cause or unless I'm put on the spot and want to look good), I'll say that there will be an undercurrent theme here that the program is all about self-empowerment...loving yourself no matter what...beauty on the inside will trump all....the importance of embracing your true dancer! Which in my humble, defeats the whole purpose....WHY does it then need to be a diet show, then? Can't we have some larger dancers? Or do we NEED to have them be weighed for them to be successful? For the show to be watchable? Grrrr. I'm not sure why this chaps my ass the way it does but know this: my ass is really chapped! Like, needs some ass-chapstick chapped.

And then there's More To Love. It's Bachelor and Bachelorette for plus-size guys and gals. Really? Really? Can't we just have some plus-sized folks on the REAL show? Why do we need a separate frigging show? Irk Irk Irksome. You know why, and so do I. Would anyone watch it then, or would it be a joke? Would those really smart and funny and beautiful people just be fodder for late night stand-up? Would there be bets on how fast they'd get booted?

What do you think?

Totally getting all earthy crunchy on yo' ass.

2009-06-18T14:28:00.006-04:00

I've been feeling this for years now, but I beat it down with a conservative stick.

I'm unearthing my true self, my tree-hugger persona, my granola-rolla, my hippie chick.

I'm eating all organic-y and whatnot.

I'm wearing sandals constantly and the thought of heels makes me roll my eyes.

I'm recycling everything and copping a major 'tude when others don't.

I'm COMPOSTING for chrissake.

Yeah, for my garden. Which I'll harvest and eat. With the homemade gluten free bread I'm fixing to make.

I'm even considering using organic face products, but only if the concealer really conceals and the lip gloss doesn't have eucalyptus. Makes my lips burn.

I could be in the middle of the Himalayas, wearing Birkenstocks and rocking an organic-cotton Kotex before I forget my lip products.

I haven't gone veggie yet, I don't know if I'd survive in this house without some animal. And I know that the day J picks a lentil over beef will be a frightening day when the earth stops rotating properly and my toddlers listen and follow instructions the very first time I utter them.

Off to downward dog. With shiny lips.

You Can Say You Knew Me When

2009-06-10T13:34:00.005-04:00

Far be it for me to be so bragadocious, but I think I've got something tucked up my sleeve:

Stay at home mother of two, part time special ed teacher, full-time spitfire with an impatient streak and a tendency to take everything personally breaks through the literary world with a blockbuster smash about what it's like to be a real housewife.

Ok. Perhaps I could loosen up the phrasing on 'housewife' because the dustbunnies are at the moment having talks about an uprising about their overly-dusty situation.

But why not? I almost cried at the library today. Haven't you? When the 2 year old has dumped every. single. puzzle. on the floor and you know, looking at it, that the next 18 minutes of your life will be spent putting pieces back in spots whilst managing an already misbehaving toddler and an older sibling who's now stuck helping you and is pretty pissed about it. I pieced those puzzles like a pro and realized, as I put the Arthur pieces back with nimble fingers and dubious dexterity that all those books written and sold and read and shared at book clubs across the world are stories just like mine. Like yours, like ours. Women who just finally put pen to paper (finger to keyboard?) and did it. Think of all the good ideas you've had and then some other whippersnapper took it and made a boatload of cash.

So I don't know what my timeline is, but the clock is tickin'.

What do you want to do?

I See You Looking At Me All Different Now

2009-06-05T14:35:00.011-04:00

So, it all started with my quest for a brassiere. Not a nursing brassiere. Not a Wal Mart special (less than $9.00) brassiere. Not a bra that I knew would be soon stained with something or over-worn and under-washed.

I was going to Victoria' Secret. I was going to buy me a proper over the shoulder boulder holder.

To be honest, Vicki's never really did it for me in the days of old (when I was on the prowl and thought, like a dufus, that guys cared about stuff like that). I didn't care for the single clasp on the back, that even on a skinny day made me feel like I could shove some quarters in my back fat and save them for later, in case I happen upon a gumball machine or need to do some laundry at the coin-op. I didn't care for the shiny flowers. I didn't care for the price tag. I didn't care for the fact that I was a 'irregular size' and told that repeatedly. A 38 B bra size just makes me more special. And screw you, Tiffany. Eat something other than your cigarettes and your Bubbleyum. Sorry.

I think I may have gone the catalog/clearance route once or twice, but the days of lingering over a lingerie magazine are far from my reality. When I usually realize I need a bra, it's much, much too late. There are usually already stains, stretches, inappropriate cup situations. Backfat for you and your friends. It's kneejerk, which unfortunately seems to be how I take care of things like this. But it's a new day, my friends. And when I say friends I am actually referring to those two, but you also.

So I go. And I wear the wrong bra. It's like a sports bra (see? I just throw on whatever is there that won't show my nipples...I just don't like those things sticking out, it's not sexy to me. Just makes me feel all nekkid). So the VS girl measures me and she says I'm a friggin' A CUP.

After I wake up from passing out in a zen-state of euphoria....this is a long story too but I would always prefer small biddies over big biddies and hearing that I'm an A cup is like hearing that I really am black on the inside (I've always known this) and that DNA has just proven it to be true.

Or, that I have really small biddies. Wheee!

So I have to come back at a later time. This usually means I'm not coming back. And the sucky thing is that I have a coupon for free skivvies and $10 off a fancy bra should I choose to purchase one. But I can't get the free skivs and use the coupon at different times so I apparently really do need to come back. Historically I would never go back. But remember, it's a new day. And my breasts deserve a nice, lofty, cushy, expensive new high-rise condo called a brassiere.

I go back! I think I hire a sitter (I mean this is an act of breastly desperation, right? Who hires a friggin' sitter to get a BRA?...Oh, a mom does). Anyway, so I get sized. Still a 38B, the earth still rotates properly and all is right in the world (I sadly let the A cup fantasy go). She brings me 3 kinds. Two are promising, but ensure me lots of strap-pulling and back-fat glancing, so I decide to just go for the extra nice purty one that I didn't think I could pull off. It's also $50.

$50 for a BRA? The only expensive bra I've ever owned was purchased for me by my dear Mommy and it was post-delivery-second-baby-in-14-months-holy-shit-this-girl-needs-a-decent-bra, bra. It was wonderful with lace cups and underwire and snaps and I wore it EVERY DAY for 9 months. Medela, like the breast pump, bra. It was amazing in a world of early mornings and late nights and tearful latches and very hairy legs.

So it's called the Bio Fit Bra. You can wear it 7 different ways! And you know what, I don't know about you, but I have about 4 shirts I just don't wear AT ALL because I can't find the right bra to wear with it. Maybe it's a racerback tank top. Maybe it's a tighter blouse that makes me feel like I'm a coin collecter for the laundry. Maybe it's just too sheer and my little guys pop out. I don't know, but this bra has switches and hitches and hydraulics and clear straps and like 15 different places to latch the little strappies into. And a lacy little pouch for the extra straps Oh Dear Me! And it fits me. It fits the cups and the back and the shoulders. It's got 3 THREE, for the love of God just give us THREE rows for clasps.

And so I buy it. With my coupon ($40 for a bra still makes me want to throw up a little) and my free (read: boring) underpants and off I go.

I'm excited!

I'm thrilled!

I'm proud!

I put the bra in the closet. I hang it on a friggin' HANGER.

And I don't wear it for 2 weeks.

Why? Because it's a $40 bra. That is super-special. That fits me. That makes me feel fabulous. Why would I go and do a silly thing like ENJOY it?

So I rock the Old Maidenforms for a bit. And the Wal Mart Not So Specials (I swear one makes my girls like torpedoes, like something out of Austin Powers and it's just not cute on a real person). And then I just decide I need to break. out. the. sling.

So I do. And I rock it. Hard.

Cups are flush.

Back fat is in it's place and it's not even thinking of pulling any funny-coin-business.

And business is covered.

So if you see me with an extra som'm som'n in my swagger. It's the bra baby.

It's the bra.

Freedom Rings...

2009-04-24T06:25:00.007-04:00

You know it's springtime in New England when you can smell the outside burn piles and see the sun shine after 6pm. It's a time to crack open the windows in the house and let the dusty air out. When the Sox seem to be on every night, and a cold beer is the perfect accompaniment to food on the grill.

At school you see it, too. The staff is out the door by 3pm, the students seem to glaze over when you remind them about MCAS tutoring and getting their physics homework in on time. They know what awaits them. A friend's car. Windows down. The music so loud that no one can hear the others talk, but nobody cares. Stopping for an iced coffee. Smelling the air for the first time in months.

It's hard to believe that this season of warm weather and flip flops is just as long as the other part of the year, the part with shovels and snow-chunked boots and hot cocoa in mugs. It feels like it just flies by. Like the rest of what's good.

So this year, I won't pine. I won't worry about summer and it going too fast. I won't worry about next year and the budget and school cuts. I'll be in the moment with my two peanutty buttons and my love and my cut lawn and my Red Sox.

But it's a MAGIC Bullet!

2009-03-15T07:00:00.007-04:00

I have a problem.

With infomercials.

It's been going on for awhile now, but I've kept it in check for years. Mostly because I have a husband who would either A) laugh me out of town or B) remind me that we are a one and a quarter income family. I will say that over the years I've found some wonderful products. May I?

TaeBo: Billy Blanks is a surprise here. Not a fluent speaker, sweatier than most should be, and apparantly hung like a clydesdale (tight biker shorts, not insider scoop!). But actually a really challenging workout. I bought the VHS tapes and they are hidden somewhere with hair ties from 5th grade and journals about who I wanted to kiss (I'm not telling....you'd probably find them and poke them on facebook).

Juiceman Juicer: Sigh. One of my many attempts at drastic, effortless weight loss. After a small investment in bags of apples and carrots, it also went into a box of the great unknown.

BodyFlex (this will hurt me considerably, especially when Jason P gets ahold of it....but I must live and sacrifice for my craft!). Wow, another get skinny-quick scheme. The concept of your body using oxygen to remove inches from your body by exhaling in a freakishly exaggerated and loud manner, inhaling sharply, and putting your body and/or face into a strange position to get the most extreme inch-dropping results. (This worked, I sweartogod....but honestly, I just got ridiculed so hard that I laughed through each pose, so I moved on to the Tae Bo).

Asparagus Diet Pills: sigh. You think your urine smells sharp after your morning go? I match you and raise you.

Proactiv. It works. Seriously. As a matter of fact, I'll be digging out some repair lotion soon. I imagine you'd do that too if your three-year-old looked at your chin, pointed to an incident, and asked you if you got a boo-boo. From a hammer.

The Firm exercise series. Would you like to know about the Original Series? The Fanny Lifter series? The Transfirmer? I have them all.

The PedEgg: your at-home pedicure! Little mini razors painlessly remove dead skin from your feet! Unless you have a problem with moderation and get down to the bone.

P90X: this is my latest fitness obsession. It's excellent. It's rigorous. I'm taking a break b/c I blew my back out, but I do believe that I bounced back quickly because of this program. We call it P90WD40 because it's more fun (KT! Excellent Description Vernacular!). I may dig this out again soon, especially where aforementioned three year old who said, "Mommy, maybe you can fit in the swing if you get tinier!"

Magic Bullet; I actually didn't purchase this. But bless Jared's heart because he listened to me extol the virtues of the magic bullet super salad slicer, and bread maker, and special blade for shredding carrots. "Babe! We can make HUGE salads in like 45 seconds! We can dice those potatoes for Sunday morning breakfast in like under a minute (and undo all the salad work because we do potatoes by frying them) and honey I can totally make bread for Peanut because it mixes the dough right inside the bowl thingy and we can keep it gluten free!"

I talked myself off the ledge but did manage to hook myself up with a juicer. So I'm technically back to square one, I suppose. But I'm smarter and less-inclined to buy really crazy things. But have you seen the Sham Wow? I mean, it looks incredible. Let me know.

Pouty Patty Stomps on the Soap Box

2009-02-27T13:35:00.004-05:00

I know, I know, I'm a bit of a prude when it comes to following the rules. I like to do that.

So, when it says "Cell Phone Use Not Permitted in Waiting Area" that means hang up your friggin phone and go into the hallway.

Unless you're saving lives. Or keeping nations at peace. Which I'm thinking is not the case as you guffaw and "OMG!'d" on the phone with your girlfriend while your kid angrily stacks blocks and gives you the stink eye because you're ignoring her and because it says in 14 places "Cell Phone Use Not Permitted in Waiting Area" and she knows you're an asshat, too.

For Shizzle

2009-02-25T14:42:00.002-05:00

Yeah, you know what? I've been busy and you have too. Friggin' New England winter has made me almost a slave to my home and most-def a slave to my pediatrician's office. Thankfully, I like them there and they are nice to my kids and they give out free aquaphor. I will admit here that I am a potential hoarder and when they say 'Take a bunch!' I take that literally and I mean I take 12. And then if my husband is there he does the same thing. We are a creamy family and we likes our lip balms.

Anyway, so waah waah waah. But I'll say in a nutshell: bronchitis, ear infections, new day care (that is fantastical and wonderful and let me know if you want info), family drama (save it fo' yo' mama!), peace, my jacked-up back, a sweet wood stove and a very special 3rd birthday. Everything is cool. We are lucky folks. But I've had too much on my mind to blog. And I can't blog about half the stuff that's on my mind.

I am in flux though. I'm changing. I can feel it in my bones and in my face. I'm starting to evolve into something else. I just don't know what. But it's fun, and it's interesting....I'll keep you posted. I don't even know what I'm wearing tomorrow, but I know that I'm having a turkey sandwich. Some stuff is just more important than others.

peace and chicken grease

Like A Naive and Determined Woman-Child

2009-01-14T06:52:00.015-05:00

I've had a crush on this perfume for over 10 years. It started when I was a Boston newbie, seduced by the splendor of the city, entranced by the sparkle of storefronts and the scents of bistros. And Neiman Marcus. I was entranced by Neiman Marcus.

I recall spending weekend days in the city when it was shiny and new to me, before I became jaded by the subway funk, and the lack of umbrella etiquette (seriously, I should have worn safety goggles) and before the sheer fatigue of commuting to a soul-sucking job started to show on my face.

I'd meander my way into the city, one day to Haymarket for produce and flowers, another day to ogle the window displays on Newbury St. and dream of a day (soon!) where I could go into any dayspa and order one of those $400 Days of Beauty and not blink an eye. Maybe another day I'd browse books on travel and fine food and nurse a $2 cup of coffee for hours. And then another day when I would go to Copley, the 'mall' that really isn't a mall for most of us. It's a showcase of the most expensive boutique stores you can imagine. Where people drop thousands of dollars on handbags and jeans. Where there isn't a fast food joint in site (but through the glass tunnel is a California Pizza Kitchen, which is analagous to a Popeye's Chicken and Biscuits in a regular mall for us normal folk) but espresso bars with $7 pastries and bottled Evian only. This is where I stepped into Neiman's.

I didn't realize at the time, as it was my virgin tour, that Neiman's only accepts cash and American Express. Although at 23, I'm not sure that it would have mattered because I was living pretty large (remember now that I was 23) with a low overhead and I had just discovered my love of makeup palettes. I wandered through the clothing sections, glancing at price tags well above anything I had seen in my Marshall/TJ Maxx days. Hundreds for a blouse? Is it magic? Is there a jacket that comes with it? Maybe it's a chameleon shirt that actually changes to match the color of your pants? No. Just expensive and there was no way that I'd ever allow myself to partake. I did have my limits (let's go out to dinner only 3 nights a week, okay? I totally have to watch my budget).

So, on my way out, I happen to pass the perfume and cosmetics bar. This place, I would learn, would be the gauntlet for me, the intersection I had to muscle through if I wanted to get out of a store safely. And it was even more true in a place like Neiman's. Trish McEvoy brushes, Shu Uemura creams, Chanel perfumes. It was intoxicating.

And then I saw this beautiful little bottle. Delicate. Gold-embossed label. Refined. Wrapped in fancy gold ribbon. French. A true fit for Neiman's. It was everything I wasn't. I was a White Musk girl from The Body Shop and had been for years. Wasn't it time for a change? Wasn't I ready to be refined and French and fancy with gold ribbon around me?

It turns out I wasn't. Maybe I had enjoyed some gluttonous weekends and thought the price was too steep at that moment, maybe I wasn't convinced I was ready for such a big change. I mean, I had a signature scent after all. I left Neiman's and figured I'd get it next time.

Of course I didn't, but each time I'd go to Neiman's, I'd go through and give her a sniff. My Neiman visits have been few though, and over time I forgot the name of it and moved on to other perfumes that I've loved. I have recently run out of my latest signature scent and my other two scents are not for everday wear. I didn't think too much about it, knowing I barely wear perfume every day anyway.

I had a playdate in the city with my girl Kathryn (you remember her, she sang with my oldest while folding my laundry because that's how she do) who lives in NYC but thankfully is considering a trip back this away (hands in prayer position). We sipped Italian coffee. We talked about the things that workplace Russians and toddlers wouldn't permit on phone chats and of course, took in the city and I could see the splendor again. We went to Copley. I remembered a perfume I once loved, but what was the name of it? Something with the word petite. That's all I had.

We went to Neiman's and started to meander. I couldn't find it on any of the glass trays on the countertops. It was alright though, because the perfumier Ann saw that we were struggling and swept in like a chopper to answer our eau de toilette prayers. It two seconds, "I think it has the word petite in it...?"

Oh, there it was.

Petite Cherie. Annick Goutal.

There was the bottle! There was that fine gold cap, the delicate ribbon, the ballooned bottle with etchings down the side. The bottle of who I ain't.

So Kathryn and I sniffed and whiffed and Ann did her best Neiman spiel (but not too pushy, that would be gauche and very un-Neiman-y) but I passed (hello? diapers and gluten free foods and a husband who hand-splits and chops our wood...am I really going to come home with bottle full of ridiculous? No. I'm no martyr, I just want to play fair, you know?). She did, however, hook a broke sister up when she gave me 4 sweet little samples. I knew in that moment that I could stretch them out for months.

And so today, it came for me in the mail.

Kathryn did it.

She decided it was time. For me to be the golden bottle, or just to smell really really lovely.

And I don't know what was more moving; the fact that she did it, or the fact that she knows me well enought to know that I wouldn't do it myself.

I could blast you with some serious corny right now, but I think you get it. Kathryn is the kind of girl who knows I'm really a clearance gal but who thinks I deserve a little Neiman's once in awhile. Thanks.

And if you were wondering, this is what I'm rolling with right now: A fruity-floral fragrance in which vanilla, peach, musk rose and freshly cut grass recall purity and boldness. Like a naive and determined woman-child who both stirs the senses and moves the heart.

Yeah, that'll work.

Not that you asked. But you're here, right?

2008-12-28T17:01:00.005-05:00

1) Musical Sit and Spins are really just better as regular Sit and Spins.

2) Shoving presents at my children to open up just feels funny. They really don't care. They want to play with the first two they opened.

3) When did the holidays become something we have to get through?

4) Triscuits and wheat thins. Festive, they are not. But I feel permitted to eat them in ridiculous quantities from December 21st to December 26th.

5) And cheese. Large, luscious blocks of high-fat cheese. I want to cry just thinking about it.

6) Watching my oldest get excited about this Christmas is one of the neatest things I've experienced as a Mom.

7) Cooking for a house full of people makes me happy.

8) Cooking white asparagus and purple potatoes makes me feel like a foodie when I'm really not. I just watch Top Chef.

9) Making bread pudding in a crockpot. Not a good idea.

10) Making sugar cookies with my peanut for Santa and his reindeer. The most fun ever.

11) Edaville Railroad still makes me feel like a kid.

This one is even funnier!

2008-12-14T17:09:00.001-05:00

Send your own ElfYourself eCards

In My Free Time

2008-12-14T13:46:00.001-05:00

Send your own ElfYourself eCards

The Good, The Bad, and The Gnarly

2008-12-12T07:07:00.006-05:00

The Good: Beautiful, sunshiney days filled with soft sand between our toes, pushes on swings from Gampy (the kids I mean, I keep getting stuck in the toddler swings) and warm evenings without a jacket and the window all the way down. The best visit.

The Bad: Seriously cantankerous kids on an airplane. One with an ear infection we don't yet know about. The other with just an attitude problem. Oh. And 65 really agitated fellow travelers prone to giving us a weak smile and then an eye roll they think we don't see.

Gnarly: The boozed-up 'lady' in line next to us as we embark, on the phone with her ever-lucky friend, citing specific details as to why she missed her first flight. Clues: new diagnosis of constipation. Chowing of several prunes for breakfast. Followed by airport hamburger (Danger Will Robinson!). Followed by copious imbibement of vodka. Followed by quality time in a seated position and one missed flight. Happy Trails!

Katie's Got A Brand New Bag!

2008-11-16T11:25:00.007-05:00

It's time to go shopping, right?

Please check out this site from one of my very bestest friends, Katie Pye. She has launched a purse and belt design business, and you'll see from the page how very talented she is.

Personally, I'm a fan of the Florence bag, brown with large pink ribbon. I was very surprised to see how reasonably priced her bags are too, especially when you see the high-quality fabrics she uses. But, Kate's a smart whipper-snapper and she has eliminated the middle-man. Her wares are hand-stitched in her home and she's using all her business savvy to create, design and launch her very own business. So cool, Katie. So friggin' cool.

Jared: this is my hint. I like the brown bag with the large pink ribbon. It's called the Florence. You can purchase it here.

Happy Browsing and Happy Shopping!

Because I'm An Eight Year Old Sometimes

2008-11-11T15:40:00.004-05:00

The kid was trying to show his Mom at work. Which happens to be at Home Depot, in the shovel department. But that kinda ruins it for me.

Tee Hee.

MamaSteph!

2008-11-09T08:40:00.005-05:00

If you live on the South Shore and you're a Mom, you probably know MamaSteph. In our home, she's legendary. These photos are from this summer (obviously, I mean I do indeed sweat in sweaters, but I don't rock a tank top in November) and it was probably our 4th time to see her. We've kinda become groupies.

Try and picture it: Scituate Library. Vera Bradley diaper bags litter the floor, Volvo keys in side pockets, babies and toddlers adorned in Gymboree outfits, breasts feeding babies underneath boutique blouses (it's Scituate, not tapestry-blanketed Brookline...I don't stereotype at all though), and parents and children, fixated on one very imporant woman: Mama Steph.

She has a guitar. Long, silver hair (I'm going to bet that the idea of coloring her hair is completely foreign to her), printed batik skirt and tank top. Here is my notion of Mama Steph: she eats organic vegetables that she grows, natch, in her backyard. She eats whole foods, she does serious yoga. She is happy. She sings constantly, finding rhymes about anything. She sang songs to her children about maple syrup, about tennis shoe laces ("and you can turn them into all kinds of funny faces!"), about the way the (organic) cucumber is the perfect crunch for the perfect lunch! She sings like a child of the 60's and really does just put all of us in a trance.

For awhile this summer, I utilized, with great success, the MamaSteph Behavior Management System. When the toddler got a bit naughty, I pulled MamaSteph out of my pocket with fantastic results.

"Do you think MamaSteph would like to see you do that?

What would MamaSteph say?

Do you think MamaSteph would like to see you push Sissy like that?"

It was way too easy.

But the summer faded and MamaSteph took some time off so I was back to positive framing and specific behavioral phrase and all the other bs that we use in our house.
This Friday, however, we returned.

Back to the library with now, Ann Taylor sweater sets, Dansko clogs, baby carriers and lined Crocs. Back to singing about the library (she has a whole song about the library...can you imagine?), Doogie and Finn (her puppies, and of course they have an older brother named Angus) and her stuffed animals (featured in the pics) Cozy and Cinnamon. It was back to rhyming about the alphabet and the Muffin Man (he lives on Drory Lane-O), and those five funny monkeys.

I'm pretty sure my kids like her. They both rocked side to side and my oldest showcased shy grins that said "That is MamaSteph! Right in front of me!", but I have to wonder: am I there for them? Or me?

Yes, I said "Sweet Chariot"....

2008-10-22T14:06:00.006-04:00

Someone is coming to drive my car home tonight. Her car, actually. She bought in Monday night, the same night we brought home our new (friggin' sweet!) ride. It's funny, because although I've bitched and moaned a fair bit about this car, the truth is that it was the best car I've ever owned.

Perhaps it was because I bought it on my own, after a nasty split from my first love. Maybe it was because it marked a whole new beginning for me, and that I was finally in the driver's seat in every way and didn't need to worry about towing around an extra 165 pounds of dead weight.

It also helped me pursue the makeup bit in that it could store a director's chair and 4 bags of makeup. It got me to Florida safely, caravaning behind my stepdad who had come to rescue me. It was great on gas. It was fun to drive. It was power everything.

It was mine.

Seven years later my life is so different. Husband, children, home, hearth. The car has been like a reliable old friend, one who would show up at any hour if I needed her. We took our first child home in that car, the ride a mother never forgets. She's shuttled us around on long Sunday drives with coffee stops and sippy cups and baby bottles and potty breaks. She's taken a beating with stains of every nature and a few bumps here and there.

So yes, she's a car. And out with the old and in with the new, right?

I guess so.

Adieu, sweet chariot. Thanks for the ride.

Loving This

2008-10-20T07:43:00.000-04:00

UM.

2008-10-04T17:13:00.003-04:00

Susan Powter has posted my video (below) to HER blog.

I know.

Me and Susan P

2008-10-03T23:22:00.007-04:00

You probably should read the previous post if you haven't been here in a few days. Major happs.

That said, this could be one of the most horrifyingly funny and embarassing things ever. Just because. I think you'll understand.

Disclaimer: overuse of the words 'apparently' and 'SP!' was completely out of my control. I was high on the power of the Powter.

ps, Jared/Mower slide is completely out of order. It's supposed to be at the end of the video, but you'll notice that the music of the mower blesses the entire video.

Houston, We Have A Stalker

2008-10-02T21:25:00.004-04:00

Most of you know that I read Susan Powter's blog. Obsessively. She's kinda crazy, too. Extreme. Intense. Self-indulgent.

But there is something about the blog that I just can't resist. It's all her craziness mixed up with good solid information about whole foods, or perhaps it's her nonstop makeup smudging. I don't know. I find her funny and irreverent. But not funny, belly laugh funny. I find her funny because I watch a ridiculous vlog and then can't wait to send it to my friends so they can laugh with me.

But, I'm getting away from the gestalt of this blog, today.

She called me. At home. On my phone. And we talked. (We=she talked. I listened and peppered in some stupid crap when I felt like I should have been participating).

And I videotaped it. My phone call with Crazy Susan Powter. So stay tuned.

(Dude, come on. I need to edit so I don't look like a complete asshat). But, I guess once you blog about a colonoscopy, a Susan Powter phone conference is child's play.

I Am A Culinary Shit-Show

2008-09-24T18:48:00.009-04:00

I am the queen of self-deprecation. Self titled, yes, but I know myself pretty well. I'll beat you to the punch if there is something that you can rank on me for. Bad haircut? I'll say that I'm just recovering from a Flock of Seagulls moment. Booger in my nose? I'll say I'm packing away some extra protein for later. Food on my shirt? Same deal, just prepping for a snack. By the way, it's kinda impossible to find a shirt in my repetoire that does NOT have some sort of food item on it. This is why I like black.

It goes back a long way, actually. I was told by my biology teacher during a dissection that surgery would probably not be my profession. I'm a jump-in and start cutting and let's see what the hell happens, kinda girl. I used to make sundaes at Ben and Jerry's (like a meth addict running the meth clinic folks, not a good idea) and my boss watched me make one once. I was a flurry of scoop, whipped cream and toppings. There was shit everywhere. Really. There wasn't a dry inch on that counter. But, a beautiful sundae it was! He pulled me aside later and said this:

"Jen. You're a friggin' hurricane out there."

It's true.

I've been on a culinary mission lately too. Mix together my mom-role, my desire to create new and fun gluten free dishes, and my mission to force vegetables down our collective gullets and you've got a recipe for one messy friggin' kitchen. We took the kids to Haymarket in Boston last week and I fell in love with the romance of it. Lush and ripe fruits, hearty, earthy vegetables and surly folks hawking their wares lulled me into an altered state. Sure! I want two big bunches of asparagus even though I can only choke down about two stalks at a go. YES! I want a bag of baby spinach that can feed 4 families with (and will get narsty and funky in 3 days). Absosmurfly I want 12 red onions that I'll toss in January when they're green and not so fun on a Greek salad. OF COURSE I want a carton of figs. Carton. Of figs. Like, from a newton, kind of fig.

I've never eaten a fig that wasn't part of a newton. Have you? I did think about it.

-I'll make something magnificent and fabulous and goat chees-ey. No. I had an experience milking goats years ago and I kinda want to vomit when I smell it. Hands. On Teets. Dirty Goats. You feel me.

-I'll make something with pancetta (an excuse to eat bacon and sound fancy). No. I am not Giada and I don't have cute boobs like her with cute shirts and a show on Food Network. I don't even know if I'm saying pancetta right.

-I'll delight the culinary palates of my household with my OWN version of a Fig Newton.

Yes, yes, that was it. I'll make my own fig newtons! Screw Keebler! Screw TollHouse!

For reals: this is how I think.

To even up the ante I decided I would go all tree-huggery and make it a gluten free fig newton! Jesus! I'm brilliant.

Well, this is what it looked like after the gloves came off (literally and figuratively). Please notice the child-size dough roller. Really. It's from a kid's play cooking kit. It's for 3 year olds. I don't think Giada has one of those.

Suffice to say that at one point, I may have said, "Fudge it!" (but I didn't say that). My 'dough' was not sticking to my cutting board and my gluten-free flour wasn't doing the trick. So there it then was, plopped together like a big ol' hurricane sundae.

For the record, I made some kick-ass fig muffins and cookies. And check my banging apple crisp!

Oh Crap.

2008-09-05T12:14:00.008-04:00

Now listen. You really have to have a sense of humor about this, pretty pretty please. Please don't worry that I have body dismorphic disorder. Or think that I'm judging any one else's hind-quarters. Because I really only care about mine.

But I had a horrifying experience the other day, jogging my jog (read: not really jogging at all. It could actually even be considered a hearty walk with a few skips thrown in now and then. An amble, if you will). I had on my Land's End Skorts. Have we talked about these? They are fantastical and comfy and wonderful and forgiving, all in one lycra-infused package of short-dom. They are, howevs, a bit small. Well can you blame me? The next size up were really way too big. So, do I go with a bit tighter or falling off me? Anyway.

I'm doing the jogging thing and I jog (humor me) past a teenage 'help our cheerleading squad!' car wash on the main drag of my town, so naturally I up my pace and pretend as if I do this ALL the time and I'm just prepping for my next 10K run. I start to slow my pace down when I get out of eyesight, and it just happens to be when I'm going by a dealership of some sort. With all windows. That I can see myself in.

No here's some key information before you jump all over me. I was the type of girl who, 30 pounds heavier, didn't really have a problem with cellulite. I was heavy, yes. But I exercised (what the hell, right? unfair, unfair, I call unfair) and was told by a few women that I looked better in a bathing suit than in clothing. I'm not sure what kind of compliment that is (if it's even a compliment) but I was not used to any sort of rippling or puckerage.

The baby-boom came and went and other than my SFAP (stomach from another planet, full zip code and demographical information available at your request) which was created not only from said beautiful baby but my friends, cheese and peanut butter.

Anyway, so I'm running past the window. And I see it. It's horrifying.

It's CIA.

Cellulite In Action.

I was actually tempted to stop running and start rubbing it like crazy, trying to see if that was really what I was looking at. But it was. And although it made me keep up my pace even when the car-washers had packed up and gone, it didn't stop me from a bowl of ice cream later that night.

And some cheese.

And some peanut butter.

Back on the Scene, Like a Sex Machine

2008-09-05T08:12:00.013-04:00

Well, sort of. Not really. But I'm definitely back on the scene.

I'm back to work. Work that I get PAID for. In cash money. Don't get me wrong, I love the payment for my other full time work; kisses, giggles and tickle time. But cash works too....

So I'm thrust again into the working world. I forget during my 16 month full time stay at home gig that the logistics are what can be so harrowing. Backpacks for the girls, filled with appropriate changes of clothes, diapers, wipes and hats. Clothing laid out for the next day. That matches (sorry honey). Lunch for oldest with Celiac, snacks too....juice cups filled with desired juice to water ratio, reminder notes for Dad to completely cover the girls with copious amounts of sunscreen and oh...my stuff, too. Thankfully I don't do the drop off duty, Daddy has picked up that role and relishes his time with the girls in the morning to make them super-special-Daddy-breakfasts.

But me? I get to go....to the gym. The gym! A real gym! A gym withOUT the gym daycare lady hunting me down to report that one or both of my girls has: pooped her drawers, threw up, not been able to stop crying and has therefore thrown up, or is simply just NOT interested in letting mom work out for more than 14 minutes. (They would enter the cardio room and all the moms {not just me!} would duck and hide. Seriously. You could see moms all around just tuck their chins down and start to pray...'not me, please don't come for me...').

So, you can see the lusciousness in a gym experience all for myself. IPOD on, tunes a-blasty blast....(ps, have you listened to The Who's Eminence Front lately? Good Lord) and not having to worry about anything. OK, maybe I think for a minute about putting the weights back on the shelf or wiping down my machine.

Or how my posterior looks when I realize I'm stretching in front of a huge wall-sized mirror. (But not really).

I get shower time and dress (and makeup!) time without worrying about the toddler putting her toothbrush in the potty. Or the other toddler trying to 'reorganize' Daddy's shaving kit. I get to wear grown up nice work clothes. The only misstep was when I mistakenly used my mini-Febreze travel bottle for hair spray the other day. My hair didn't stay, but man was I ever fresh.

And you know, unless you've been home for a portion of time, you forget how this really feels. Most of the time when I was working I couldn't wait to get home, take off fancy mcbusiness wear and put on my comfies. I've been in comfies now for 16 months, and I needed me some Ann Taylor, stat.

So I get all purdied up with business shoes and concealer and I talk to grownups. All day! I talk about work stuff, home stuff, just....stuff. Stuff that comes from a part of my brain that was ready for the match strike again, ready to talk the talk and (with business shoes) walk the walk. So it's only part time. But it's my part time. And as soon as I walk out the door, the Mommy hat is on again and I'm humming Pop Goes the Weasel, anxious to get home to my girlies and get on my comfies.

Lie To Me. I Promise, I'll Believe (that these pants are too big and I need a smaller size)

2008-08-22T13:55:00.000-04:00

As many of you know, I'm headed back to 'work' (like I haven't been working, right?) and I started this week. So there have been many things to juggle: daycare, logistics of dropoff and pickup, wardrobe issues (maternity t-shirts stained with many DNA samples are apparently not appropriate for work, I guess?), and the concept of a professional work environment. These are just the more obvious issues, but these changes have all hit AT ONCE. Not only am I thrust back into the work world, I haven't really had any time to prepare or adjust.

We've had houseguests for a few weeks now, and it's been the most wonderful part of our summer. I loves me a full house. The kids woke up without anyone (extra) here and didn't quite know what to do with themselves. They were stuck with just me. All that said, it's been a nonstop ride, and I hadn't had time to ease myself into it.

SO. Work consisted of three days this week and I started it off with one pair of shorts that fit and one pair of (very stained) capri pants. I knew that I had to shop, and fast. Target was not going to cut it this time (and I had checked the store and it was still tank top summertime fun) and I knew that bargain shopping for 5 hours wasn't going to happen either. I am a clearance-rack girl. I'll spend the time. I'll put in the effort to try on random pieces, then find other random pieces to go with them. I'll pride myself in spending $78 for 5 items.

Those days are gone, baby, gone.

I decided, after rummaging around a very discombobulated chain store with clothes strewn everywhere, that perhaps I should try something a bit more upscale. Don't get me wrong, I found a few cute pieces (read: crazy-ass clearance rack shopping) but I was growing tired from the hunt and the 19 year old salesgirl was totally giving me the stink-eye. Later at the checkout it was revealed that she was like, totally pissed because she worked a double and he's like totally asked her too many times and no one else will friggin' take the double shift so she's stuck picking up after everyone and doing the work that they should have done the day before and she hasn't even had time for a break and that is all I will write because we were all 19 once and famous for journalling our shit in front of strangers.

So. Like a moth to a flame, Ann Taylor and her friend Talbots, beckoned me forth. Yes, Ann Taylor. Yes, I will pay $28 for a camisole so my boobies aren't so obvious at school. Yes, Talbots, I will try most earnestly to not chuckle at a $168 handbag the size of my ankle in your clearance bin. Aside: the clearance racks at these stores are not even in the same league as the discount chains. They are where you can find either ridiculous steals or ridiculous excuses for clearance prices. Sorry, $70 for a pair of stretchy brown work pants on the clearance rack? I'd be mad, but you wrap up all my shit in that pretty paper and put a cute sticker on it to keep it all ensemble. Oh, and the vanity sizing, Ann Taylor Loft? I'm down. I know you're a bunch of big fat liars, but I'm down. And I'll put it all on the credit card, thankyouverymuch.

The salespeople really know their stuff. They can smell pokes like me as soon as I walk in. They know I'm desperate. They know I'm time-starved. They know I'll pay to get in, get served, and get the hell out. And they are right. It hit me, as I was leaving with a bag of tissue-wrapped goodies, that THIS was why people spent more at stores like this. It was easier. It was fun. And I was treated like a princess. "Can I get you another size?" "Would you like to try that in another color?" "Would you like me to watch the children while you go and get some alone time?"

Or, no, sorry, wrong fantasy.

It was a bit of a dreamy experience. It made the rest of the workweek all the more relaxed. Although I didn't wear my new digs this week (the new clothes are hanging in the closet like a shiny trophy though), I did feel ready for at least some of this change.

And I wore a really long shirt with my capris.

I'm Really Trying to Get It

2008-08-15T13:32:00.000-04:00

This John Edwards thing has got me really puzzled.

One part of me really understands that every relationship, every marriage, is a complex web that is woven over time. The foundation you build, the habits you create, the words that you use....it's as personal as it gets. And really, who am I to question what happens in someone else's home? The privacy of someone else's kitchen table, when secrets are revealed and foundations crack and hope seeps out like a leaking faucet that no one can repair.

The truth for me, is that I know good people can do really horrible things. Good people with good hearts and good souls and all the best intentions sometimes really screw up, and sometimes with horrific consequences. The Edwards family is different from many families in that they have a public life, and therefore public highs and public lows. Can you imagine what this family is going through right now? If your father cheated on your mother and you knew about it, you had the choice to tell a friend, a neighbor, an aunt. Everyone knows their very personal business. Everyone knows that Daddy had a dalliance with some woman and it's plastered across every media outlet you can name. Everyone knows that he did it when your mother was going through chemotherapy.

Can you imagine John Edwards' pain? Can you imagine how he felt watching his vibrant wife, full of love and spirit, start to drift away before his eyes? Did he feel powerless? Was he so surrounded by the thoughts of her being taken from him that he just had to find some way to feel good again?

Did he just want to be around someone with full red cheeks and vigor and life?

Perhaps the pallor of cancer was too much for him to bear. Perhaps he's always been an adulterer. Perhaps he had the audacity to think that he wouldn't get caught.

I'm trying, you see...to really make this make sense in my mind. These are people who buried their first child together. Who raised a family together. Who built businesses and campaigns and still managed to stay happy and connected. It seems. How can this happen? How did this foundation crack? How did he do this?

There is a part of me, down under some layers, that just hates this guy. How dare he. Did he think the public was that stupid? He lied, over and over again. Did that make it better for her? For the kids? How does he explain it to them? Remember when she was diagnosed? Remember how he came back on the campaign trail because he publicly said that Elizabeth wanted him to? She didn't want him to abandon his dream? Did you kind of think he sucked a little then?

I did.

Good for you. Forge ahead. Leave your wife for weeks at a time. And while you're at it, sleep with some woman. A woman who you'll later say, brazenly, that you don't love. Is that supposed to be a relief for your wife? Your best friend? Your rock?

And now there is Elizabeth. A woman struggling to stay healthy. To stay bright and positive for her children who are watching their world slip away. To remind them that their father loves them very much, no matter what. Can you imagine having to tell your children how wonderful their father is after this? But I bet she does. She will keep her head low, I bet. She'll take care of those kids and hope that when the dust settles, she can start to rebuild her life, her foundation...perhaps next time with new bricks and mortar.

Update from the Menstrual Blogger

2008-08-13T16:22:00.001-04:00

Yes, thank you. I'm okay. Sometimes I just rant in my head and I decided to do it on 'paper' this morning. Except it was very G-rated (in my head it isn't).

I like to hear the sound of water! Notsomuch when I realize it's a tenant in our backyard, rinsing out her animal crate. She was rinsing it for a reason.

I love good food! I don't like spending what seems to be a double-digit percentage of my day picking up scraps of it off my floor. Oh! The delight she has in tossing it on the floor! Ha-HA to you Mommy! Remember when you let me cry a bit this morning? What goes around comes around. Oh, and you missed some pear. Right there. Nope, right THERE. Next to the dehydrated macaroni you missed from last night, jackasssss.

I like other kids! I don't like sitting in a crowded doctor's office full of them. Nasty little varmits. Don't touch me, don't touch my children. But I'm glad your mom brought her magazine. I wouldn't want to interrupt her 'me-time'.

I love fresh laundry! I just don't like it when I forget I've washed it and I now have a washer-full of stinky foot.

Good Night!

What?

2008-08-13T08:41:00.000-04:00

Today, I would like no tips. No suggestions. No demands, no requests. I would like to eat a meal without cottage cheese landing on my toe. I would like to drink coffee and put it down wherever the hell I'd like. I'd like to not imagine the worst, today.

I would love a nice hearty walk in silence. I would like to play my ipod at full blast without worrying that I'll miss a simmering toddler-brawl, or a sippy cup hitting the asphalt.

I would love to not feel pissy.

I would like to not be so moved by so many things. I would like China to publicly apologize for replacing the real singer in their opening ceremonies with someone prettier.

I would like to not care so much about things like that.

I would like to prepare my children for an outing without a full body wrestling match. I would like to change a diaper without having to use the restraint strap and various gadgets to keep someone from becoming apoplectic.

I would like to not have the pediatrician on speed dial, today.

I would like to be light and funny and carefree.

I would like to enjoy the sunshine and have it change me from the inside out.

Fence Me In

2008-08-05T07:07:00.000-04:00

A mild but pesky anxiety disorder has been averted for the time being, thanks to this fence. It ain't fancy, and it ain't permanent, but it's mine.

We have a beautiful yard, really. Almost an acre of grass (the lush factor is dependent on the rain and when hubby has last mowed it) and a few fun hillish spots for Sam to run down at full throttle. Often I am with the babies one at a time, depending on nap schedules. The truth is that my trips outside with the both of them, pre-fence, have been terrifying.

I'm a worrywart. I know this. You know this. It's not going to change, really, yet it will ebb and flow with intensity over time. I will be less anxious when they 'know better' but I will always know that they won't really 'know better' until they are my age, and I know that I don't even know what I don't know. Are you with me?

All that said, there have been a few scary moments while I've double-babied it outside for playtime. Like, the baby wants to put pieces of broken glass in her mouth (thank you, previous owners, for shooting bottles in your backyard....saaaweeeet! May I suggest Arkansas?) while the toddler runs for the road. Yeah, like the main road we live on. The one with the traffic and the speeding teenagers who are texting and scrolling their ipod for a new playlist and drinking an iced coffee all at the same time. And let's not forget the 18 wheelers who use my road to avoid the highway. Anyway, you get the picture. I've had to sprint (really, sprint! like volleyball all over again but without the taut thighs and pimpled chin) to get her. It was too much.

I made the plea a few weeks ago to my husband for something makeshifty. Not the real deal, that's major bucks we don't have right now. But something, anything really, to fence my babies in. Let's play without Mom needing a prescription. Let's play without Mom picturing horrible things in the middle of the night. Let's play with a Mom who is chillaxed. It wasn't a hard sell, as he bears witness often to my ebbing and flowing, and I didn't really have to sell him anyway. Within two weeks, it was finished, thanks to Papi and Dad and an afternoon of low humidity and a promise of Cornhole.

Tagnanimous

2008-07-23T06:51:00.000-04:00

See, 'tagging' is fun because it's groovy to learn new things about people you already know. Dontcha think?

My friend Diane gave me this, but in truth her friend Michelle did as well as my buddy from Florida, Carolyn.

1. Ten Years Ago....In 1998 -

I had just started my teaching career in Boston and was beginning my Masters Degree program. I was living in South Boston and really enjoying being 23 and having very few responsibilities. I jogged around Castle Island or rollerbladed with my buddy Heather. We went out for beers (Cider Jacks, please!) and plates of nachos at the Boston Beer Garden and talked about cute boys and which night club had the best music. Aaah, youth.

OH, and then I went and fudged it up by deciding to move in with my sponge boyfriend. Doh!

2. Five Things On Today's 'To - Do' List:

-Decide if I'm going to playgroup or not (will it rain? will I get lost again?)

-Plan and execute 3 meals. And clean up after them. Good Lord, I need an assistant.

-Go to the library, exchange books.

-Walk.

-Go through bins of clothing for our new niece who's visiting! Oh. And clean the floors. And go through the 42 magazines I have and kid myself by snipping out new recipes that I'll (never) try. And hang the laundry. And check Perez Hilton. I think that's more than 5.

3. Food I Enjoy:

-my homemade macaroni and cheese. Listen, I know only children are supposedly (or supposebly or supposively) really proud (read: obnoxious) about their achievements but this is really fantastic. Like, cheesy but crispy and crunchy on the top good. Like, please portion it out for me because I can't be trusted to not eat the tray good.

-an organic pear

-Jared's BBQ ribs.

-mom's lemon chicken with capers

-Samantha's gluten free brownies. They have chunks of chocolate in them. And they're like $34 a box, so they have to be good right?

4. Things I Would Do If I Were A Millionaire...

-Pay off mortgage

-Make sure the girls have money for college and wedding receptions

-hook our families UP and take a huge family vacation

-new cars, new pool

-buy more real estate/invest

5. Places I Have Lived...

-Cape Cod

-Florida

-South Boston

Mr. Bojangles...

2008-07-16T14:32:00.000-04:00

We went to our favorite pizza joint last night...just the two of us! Babysitter, check. Happy and well-fed children with clean teeth, check. House picked up enough to not be embarassing, check.

We were in for a long wait, (and subsequently a visit to another spot but that's another story) but there was plenty to talk about. I think it would have been better having a chat with my hubby at the bar with a cold beer versus with my back up against the lotto machine (which was all lit up and subsequently very warm to stand against,) but the beer would come later.

In walks an old co-worker of mine from when I taught in Boston. I remembered him being very nice, a good guy. Single dad, not really on the prowl but probably really wanted to find a woman kind of guy. A bit dim, though. If I'm being honest.

So, in he walks. I picture myself going up to him (I picture things in my head like this sometimes before I do something, which in some cases like this one, is a really good idea) and introducing myself. I would say 'Hey! Did you teach at the Renaissance School downtown? Yeah, yeah. I worked with you in 1998, I think. Yes, yes. How are you? I remember you had a son, how's he doing? Oh yeah, I live in town, I'm here with my husband. (It wasn't going to be one sided but you know, to abbreviate it for you). Honey, meet so and so.'

So and so. I couldn't think of his name. I didn't want to struggle through that, and moreso I wasn't sure if I was interested in a quasi-reunion. I'm on date night. I missed chatting with my husband and I needed his attention as I was going to drop the suggestion that we needed a fence. So, I was focused. And I'm watching him and telling Jared about him and

oh.

oh.

He shook his parts a little. You know, the little leg thing that guys do to separate their man parts from their inner thigh that they think is totally inconspicuous and something we don't notice. And it's okay, really. I mean, it's 85 degrees out and his balls are sticking to his legs, I get it. But, it's when he went in with the hand jiggle for the 'Mr. Bojangles' , I started to think....perhaps I don't want to shake that hand. Maybe it's better if I just stand over here and watch the Red Sox All Star game.

He gets some popcorn. Greasy hands. (Yes, this is me. A bit OCD, but I have to think about this stuff. I don't want his popcorn-machine greasies on my hands.) Oooh, piece of a kernel stuck between some teeth. Fingers to pick it out. Sucking on fingers to get grease off. Perhaps I'm really all set with an awkward reu-

oh.

oh!

The hand has lifted the shirt to scratch the belly. It's not good. It's not good. Not at all. Pas du tout. Picture Matthew McConaughey lifting his shirt to scratch his belly and that think of something exactly the opposite of that. Oh dear. I now definitely do not want said reunion, nor do I want that hand touching mine. He walks to the other side of the bar. Leg move, again. My husband chimes in, "Was he always Joey Badda-badleg?" or something like that which has me in stitches. He, fellow-man, has picked up on the side-leg ball-release.

Now listen. I know that it's not a big deal. I know people pick their teeth and lick their fingers and scratch their bare bellies and adjust their private parts and it's fine. But I am, at some level, Jenny-Judger. Just pick your parts and your popcorn and your belly lint off at home. Really.

Where is that beer? My back is sweating against this lotto machine and I think Joe Bag O'Treats just figured out who I was.

Old Navy and their Crotchery

2008-07-10T15:45:00.000-04:00

Dude. I can't even begin to tell you about my search for a pair of shorts this summer. It's painstakingly long and probably pretty boring for you unless you too share my long-crotched 'heavy about the leg' issue. It's three fold: I don't like to show my girly parts (read: this), I like for shorts to be breezy (as they are shorts for chrissake, I have capris already but it's July and there is sweat running down my leg), and I want to breathe normally when wearing them (read: not this).

If I'm being honest (and I like to do that), I'll look back and see that this short battle is not a new one entirely. Even as a heavier lass, I had the same issues with shorts. I even wore men's shorts (back in my Friendly Peanut Butter Cup Sundae all the time with Meghan but totally unfair that she wasn't fat Days) to deal with these issues. The truth? I'm cool with my situation. And by situation, I mean how my body looks. I am not trying to cut out favorite summer ice cream treats, I'm not abstaining from a cold beer on a hot day because of the 130 calories, I'm not even stressing about the size on my pants. I'm cool. BUT, I want to wear a good pair of shorts without people being able to read my horoscope, if you know what I mean.

Jen, we see from the pull on your crotch that you are a Sagittarius. You like moderate walks on the beach followed by a slushie. You enjoy scrapbooking but only when you do it about once a month. You are musically inclined, but you haven't really picked up your $500 (!!!!!) guitar since you bought your first home. You want to forget the year 2001, for the most part. You are fierce with a makeup brush. You are hairy about the chin area, but you make up for it with good teeth.

Etc.

So, I go on the search. The search actually is spread out (unfortch) over 4 separate shopping visits. The first three obviously unsuccessful, almost involving tears and maybe one frantic phone call to a friend (unfairly unfat Meghan) about why Old Navy makes shorts for people who have a two inch long crotch area. Or, crotchery. The search did include a Steven Tyler sighting at the Apple Store at Derby Streets. He was there with his girlfriend who tongued him mid-store so that everyone knew that his 85 pound bag of botoxed bones was HERS and she wasn't sharing. For the record, don't feel too bad for him because I was a meanie. He'll be okay. And he has 1456 gagillion dollars so I'm sure he'd be cool with it. Anyway, it seems that on the Old Navy assembly line, the women's shorts got mixed up with the junior's shorts...or even the children's shorts. I don't know. I can conjecture though that they did not try these shorts (and when I say these, I mean all. of. them.) on any woman that had given birth or had even really been able to give birth if you feel me.

Finally, after 5 stores and probably (honest!) 50 pairs of shorts. I found them. And bless their little hearts, they come in vanity sizes. That's right: when you know deep in your crotch that you are NOT that size, but the shorts fit? So, I fell for it. Docker's favorite fit denim shorts in a totally fun little size, you are the summer staple. I heart you and don't even care that you are lying through your denimy stretch teeth so that I'll buy more of you.

4th of July!

2008-07-08T21:50:00.000-04:00

Really?

2008-06-24T13:41:00.000-04:00

So, there are advertisements now on my blog for people who need colonoscopies! See bottom of page.

Discuss.

Dropping Some NYC*

2008-06-22T09:41:00.000-04:00

Yes! I made it to NYC for my first girls weekend in a long, long time! I went to visit with Kathryn and meet Anna, Mana's new baby girl. First on the docket, after a 4 hour trip on the Bolt Bus (and a bit of carsickness, good gracious Jen, take a Dramamine) it was red wine and goat cheese time on Kathyrn's roofdeck. Kathryn and I had decided to take a Cupcake Tour of NYC, complete with four bakeries. The fancy legs on the left are from the Cupcake Cafe, but we'll get to that later.

Saturday started off with a metro ride and some sunshine walking to the West Village, where we went to our first stop, Billys Cafe.

I'm not sure if it was because this was our first stop (there is something about your first) but these cupcakes were the real deal. I'm a yellow-cake with vanilla frosting kind of cupcaker, but KT likes her some chocolate cake. This was good eating. I did not, however, enjoy the conversation at the nearby table, with incessant talking of exercise and how to burn more calories. Good Lord, I'm eating a cupcake. I wouldn't notice until the next day (um...we went back for more cupcakes) that the girl behind the counter may have needed an entire box of Midol or perhaps just a wack on the head. You work in a happy place, dingdong. Eat some frosting.

This was the world-famous Magnolia's, made so by a Sex and the City episode. The line was ridiculously long and kind of bodyguarded by an employee who let people in with specific instructions of where to stand and go and pay and get drinks. I forgot all of it promptly because of 1) the silly heat 2) the silly amount of people in the silly-small store 3) the zen-like trance I was put in seeing a display window full of cupcakes to choose from and 4) looking around for SJP or Matthew Broderick (it's their neighborhood!). The frosting for me was a winner, super-thick but not too buttery. Kathryn's was good, but the chocolate frosting got really thin really fast.

Of course there was a Veggie VW van there.

We were then hit by a colossal rain storm and ended up standing on a stoop with Fisher Stevens.

He looked a little rough and he said the F word a lot. Good shoes though. So, thankfully I could check the box next to 'Celebrity Sighting' on my to-do list for my NYC trip. We were soaked. My shoes needed the rest of the trip to dry on Kathryn's windowsill. Kathryn, also know as Sad Eyes Laughing in all photos. Not to be confused with Teeth All Showing.

We then hit the Cupcake Cafe (dancing cupcake legs) which boasted the best chocolate cake overall, but the frosting was a big miss. Think cold butter. Think pretty flowers made out of cold butter.

We then made the trek to the border of Chinatown to How Sweet It Is who had just catered George Clooney's birthday with their delicious layer cake. There was a window couch here, and we took advantage of it. We sipped some French Press coffee, chatted with the overzealous pastry student (okay, okay...your bosses are 'like totally dedicated to their craft!' can you just make sure you get me the cupcake with the MOST frosting?), and um...ordered cupcakes for letter. And a meringue cookie large enough to feed 4. Or just one drunk person. But anyway.

Um. These cupcakes. They were filled with things. I can't even really talk about it.

Kathryn and I got our hair did and went to a lovely French Bistro, Picnic. Big ups to Kathryn for planning out our wonderbar eating excursions, she knows her cuisine. (Word).

ps, of COURSE I'm putting a picture of us looking cutesy. Didn't you see the other ones? Redemption was necessary.

There was calimari with chorizo and cilantro, there was endive salad with blue cheese. There were diver scallops and pollock filets and black rice. I don't even know why it's black or if it's better for you (note: I was on a cupcake tour so....) but it was yummy good. And wine. There was some of that, too. Good red stuff.

Another highlight of the trip came later (after brunch in the West Village at the Paris Commune)
when I saw my forever friend Mana and met her new beautiful baby girl, Anna. Scott and Mana are proud and doting parents, and big brother Alex is already worrying about her when she cries.

Of course this isn't everything, but the trip was amazing in every way. Celebrating new life, old friendships, and a city so electric that it was hard for me to really sleep when I came home. I'll go again. If not New York...Paris maybe?

ps, thank you Jared. This was just what I needed.

*this is a reference to one bad-ass Blues Traveler song. Don't get any funny ideas. The only thing I 'do' is coffee. And cupcakes. And wine. Whatever.

I had a colonoscopy

2008-06-12T16:32:00.000-04:00

So, the truth is that many of you know that already. It was a few months ago and I've er...healed from it. I'm actually suggesting a few tips for those of you have not yet gotten the tube up your bum.

Tip 1: if you have the opportunity to pick your gastroenterologist (say that three times fast with a tube up your bum), may I suggest choosing an ugly woman or just a regular looking woman. Shoot, Cindy Crawford would have been alright with me. In my case, I ended up with a rather attractive GI guy. The meeting in his office was great! He was cute and funny and I felt confident that I had chosen a great doctor. Until he mentioned me needing a colonoscopy. That he was going to er...facilitate. With a tube in my bum.

Tip 2: Try not to say this in said office visit, "Um. So who does the colonoscopy? You? Oh." If you do say this, watch the horror and wide-eyed look. They see right through it.

Tip 3: When purchasing items for a prep, don't buy them from the asshole guy at Target who wouldnt' know a good colonoscopy joke if it wacked him in the face.

Tip 4: Also, when preparing for your 'prep', perhaps do NOT suggest to your hubby that he pick that evening for his night out with the boys. Although you may try and be the cool wife (see aforementioned post about vain efforts to be cool and laid back), maybe now's the time to make sure hubby is home to watch the kids as you do suicide sprints to the loo.

Tip 5: Seriously, rub your bum with vaseline. Seriously, just do it.

Tip 6: Enjoy the good natured pokes (I can't help myself with the bum-puns, sorry) from your husband about your bum tubing. You'll get the last laugh when he gets the two finger hiya doin' from his physician and walks funny for two days.

Tip 7: TRY and be cool about your kinda crush on your doctor. For example, when the nurses ask you why you are receiving a colonoscopy say this: "Well, Dr. SoandSo is just starting to treat me, and he wants to rule out anything serious."

Tip 8: TRY when being asked above question to not say, "Well he's been servicing me for two days so he wants to check everything out." Servicing me? Dear Lord.

Tip 9: Make the attempt to be cool when the doctor enters the room and starts to tube your bum.

Tip 10: Jokes are OK. Maybe not this joke: "I really hope you have some better hobbies."

Or this: "How much extra for a clean hose?"

(To his credit, my doc reported that he wasn't sure that my insurance covered clean tubes and that if I really wanted one I had to get there first thing in the morning). Damn! Cute AND funny.

Tip 11: Feel free to watch the flatscreen monitor that is documenting your procedure and marvel at the technology. But. Remember that you will be high as a kite. And therefore more apt to say "Wow...is that the inside of my bum?!" at KIND OF a loud volume.

Spoiled...

2008-06-03T12:46:00.000-04:00

Hey...real quick. Maybe it was the sun on her at the playground? Maybe something viral? Did the pineapple not mix well with the eggs for breakfast? Oh! Or perhaps it was....naaah...do you think? The fresh lemonade from Whole Foods (the kind that needs to be refrigerated) that was placed, unopened in the pantry. For three weeks. That she drank.

My Mother of the Year Award will fit nicely on the mantle, no?

Slice?

2008-06-03T07:18:00.000-04:00

You know when all signs are pointing you in a direction and you just ignore them? And, when looking back you think, "Oh...perhaps I should have paid attention?"

Yesterday was a day like most others, filled with playtime and lunchtime and some fun romps around the backyard, looking for anthills and fuzzy dandelions. I decided to have my hubby meet us down at the local park at 5pm, so I could get in a walk and the kids could get their swing and slide fix. It was going well and we soon discovered that our 13 month old loves her some climbing and is quite deft at it. She started rubbing her eyes after about 35 minutes so we decided that it was time to go and eat that yummy supper I had made (lentil soup, which IS good, by the way). She was getting tired and snuggled me a little bit (this would be the first sign that I ignored), but I figured it was indeed close to her bedtime, so we packed the girls in the car and headed off.

We decided (forgetting that first sign?) that maybe we would do an impromptu (this is never a good idea, really) trip to the local pizza place for their yummy bogo pizzas and a turkey tip salad. And beer. Because of our oldests' Celiac Disease, we stopped home quickly to gather up yummies for her and the baby. In the driveway, our two year old chucked her sippy cup at Jared's head (this would be the second sign that we, like two jackasses intent on beer and pizza, ignored).

Okay, off we go. Bag of food in hand, we were feeling good...we can do this right? This is an okay idea, right? Sure, sure. We're laid back, we can hang. We can be spontaneous! Cool parents are spontaneous. We're cool. (Note: not really. We're in this case, buffoons). "Oh crap. I totally should have called John and Diane, remember we were going to go down with them? It's 6:15, it's probably too late because this is John's early night home, I bet they've already eaten." I did say this, and felt a bit guilty that we didn't call them, but really, they are lucky we didn't.

We were a bit worried that 6:30 was a bit too late to be venturing out with the kids and on the bogo pizza night, to boot. (3rd sign, dingdongs!) Our waitress (sweet sweet woman!) assured us that table number whatever would be going soon, they had just cashed out. Super, we were in luck, as the place was starting to fill up (think: high school kids looking forward to the end of school, working folks like us, parents with kids, and college kids off for the summer). The cashed-out table was now asking for a pot of coffee! Crap! (sign number 4, ladies and gentleman). We could wait, right? Yeah, we were cool. Spontaneous. Laaaaid back.

Kids needed to walk. Didn't like being held. Oldest was infatuated with golf video game some kids were playing. Youngest was not, she needed to do her drunken 'I'm a new walker!' walk and she did. Getting crabby as time ticked onward (#5). We actually were smart enough (cool and laid back, too!) to order before we even sat down, to expedite the process that was now starting to crumble before our eyes.

My cool, laid back efforts were being a bit thwarted by my desire to tell table whatever to drink their hot F#$%g coffee already. It's 6:45, don't you need to go to sleep? No, no, no....be cool. It's cool. I'm cool. Breathe. Please seat us soon for the love of God or our toddlers will take this establishment down and take all of us with it.

They did. Phew. Carrots and peanut butter for oldest. She is psyched and completely entertained. Bullet dodged. Baby doesn't really want anything, it seems. All set with her bottle of milk (6) and seems to only want plain, simple, Cheerios. (You know when you don't feel well and all you want is plain toast? Yep. It's coming, but I didn't pay it no mind #7). Food arrives! Sweeet! And beer! Niiiiice!

And then.

Pro.

Ject.

Ile.

It was, as some say, on like Donkey Kong. On the table. On her. On me. On the floor. On the napkins. Oh dear lord. I didn't really react, I just waited for the tsunami to end. The 11th grader looked over at our table, horrified, and quickly looked away. (You are welcome, parents of 11th grade boy....you are welcome for the organic birth control....)

Really? It's everywhere. My poor little girl is now starting to say "Mommy mommy mommy" and thankfully my waitress (really, so sweet) is already helping me clean up and has taken off my daughter's completely soaked sweater and placed it in a brown paper bag. She can tell I'm horrified and is telling me a story of her own (her kid barfed on her last week at dinner and it was in her hair...she wins!). She is assuring me that no one has noticied (because I'm of course, secretly worried that I've completely grossed out the entire place and everyone's evening is ruined) and really, no one did (save the not-so-horny-anymore teenaged boy).

My husband, Jared and Samantha, are clearly moved by the incident as they are still eating with wild abandon. Now, I normally would quell my...er...inclination to comment here as it's kind of a sticky (punny!) situation and there is no need to get pissy in the middle of puky. BUT, I couldn't help myself. There is puke all over me. There is a waitress running around taking care of our daughter's sweater and handing me clean towels, and my husband is chomping (chomping!) away at his buffalo chicken pizza, dipped in blue cheese dressing.

So, I commented. He acted. It was, despite the drama, all good.

A warm tubby and fresh pajamas and all was fine. Oh, and the baby took a bath, too.

Myspace

2008-05-27T11:11:00.000-04:00

We're in a myspace age, aren't we? I actually had a page that I was using to advertise my makeup business, but it didn't fly. I barely signed on to the account, and it seemed that the wedding clients were finding me on their own. I find it interesting though, this need we have for our own 'space'. I remember my mother talking about this space she needed. She wanted a room built...built! as an addition onto our Cape Cod home that would be just hers. I didn't get it. What's the big deal? Why can't she just go in her room and shut the door? Why did she need her own separate room? I didn't even understand why she fought to have her own desk, much less her own square footage. She had said that she needed a place that was just hers. Her stuff, her chair, her books. Her lamp. Her sunshine window.

Her space.

I remember too seeing that episode of the Cosby Show where Claire Huxtable has a room built, just for her. Her rugs and her curtains and a lock on the door. Dr. Huxtable spoke of how great it would be, their new room. No kids to bug us! No phones to answer! Just time for the two of us! Do you remember how she looked at him and....clarified, that it was her room? I do. I didn't really get it, but I kinda got it. Oh! This was the room my mother dreamt of. Other mommies need one too. Even Claire Huxtable!

Two babies and 18 years later, I need my space too. It seems that wherever I go, two babies follow. It seems that wherever I run off too, someone is underfoot, asking for juice or peekaboo show or if I knew where the checkbook was. So, although we won't be expanding the living room or rennovating part of the basement (a girl can dream!), I can create some space for myself. Namely, a hook and eye lock that keeps the bathroom secured. That's right. I lock myself in the potty for some Jenny Alone Time. No, not when I'm home with the kids, but when my hubby is home and on duty, I get to go and lock myself away for a moment. Without a family in the bathroom with me all at once, without having to restock my 'beauty' accoutrement or admonish a toddler for sticking her finger in my hair paste, without having to hold a child on my lap while the other one hangs on my leg while I sit on my throne. Just 10 minutes. Maybe even 5, of locked up solitude.

So for some it's a website or study or a chair at Starbucks. For right now, it's a $1.79 lock from Home Depot, and it's worth every penny.

Sweet!

2008-05-06T14:27:00.000-04:00

In one of those moments when I'm just not thinking straight, I decide this morning to take my two little slices of pie shopping with me. Not shopping for them, shopping for me. It's funny now just writing it, what in the same hill was I thinking? I wasn't, clearly, but it makes for good fodder now.

Mistakes, not necessarily in chronological order:

1) not feeding kids twice what they normally eat to potentially ward off need (and subsequent asking and re-asking and re-asking) for snacks while doing said shopping.

2) not drinking more coffee and/or using recreational drugs to make shopping trip less chaotic.

3) forgetting about wanting to lose the last of the baby weight BEFORE I went shopping for bathing suits. In ridiculously flourescent frigging lighting. For ridiculously expensive swimwear.

4) bending down in abovementioned dressing room to pick up snacks for children on floor....

5) being 99.7% naked while doing so

6) giving baby girl a bottle to drink when she was clearly in a mood to throw shit

7) remembering, as I considered purchasing not ONE but TWO swimsuits that $117.00 plus $117.00 equals a bag full of crazy.

8) not giving children laxative products so that poops would happen BEFORE we left the house. Or, just not while doing shopping. In expensivey-boutiquey place. Think Pretty Woman scene with those bitchy salespeople.

9) They were very nice salespeople I was just trying to make a point.

You Know You Want To

2008-05-05T15:06:00.000-04:00

Can you describe a love or a lost love in 6 words? Smith magazine thinks you can.

K to the T

2008-04-28T16:45:00.000-04:00

A good friend is one who sings with your baby. A great friend is one who folds your clothes (including your hubby's underpants). A fantastic friend is someone who does BOTH at the SAME TIME.

Gloves On

2008-04-28T12:32:00.000-04:00

"YOU VS. the SWIMSUIT!"

"Keep your eye on the prize. Go out and buy the swimsuit you want to wear. Hang it in your kitchen. Think of it as your opponent."

This is the new Special K promotion for their protein waters, cereal, and meal-replacement bars.

It made me a little pissy.

First of all, I think putting my swimsuit in my kitchen is kind of weird.

"Please pass the mayo...it's right behind the tankini."

Secondly, doesn't this contribute to all the bullshit body-hating stuff we do? Aren't we trying to work against it? It's even funnier to see the ad in a magazine that touts itself for being all about healthy women with healthy body images. That said, I'm all about dropping a few pounds if it's healthy. I'm all about psyching myself up for summer and feeling good about myself in a bathing suit. I want my girls to realize, too, that a healthy body is important. How would I explain my bathing suit in the kitchen to my kiddos?

"Well honey, I'm at war with my bathing suit. It's my opponent. I want to kick it's ass. So, I hang it here above the slivered almonds to remind myself that FAT IS BAD and that size 6 is GOOD. Here is your dinner. Don't eat too much now!"

What do you think?

You May As Well

2008-04-27T19:19:00.000-04:00

Me: Hi peanut. It’s fun taking tubbies with Mom isn’t it?

Sam: Yah. I like a pee in the tubby.

M: Well, I’d like it if you didn’t pee in the tubby. But if you need to you can.

S: Yah. I like a pineapple.

M: Really? Me too. I like mine with some chocolate sauce. How about you?

S: I like a chocolate brownie. I eat a brownie in tubbie.

M: THAT sounds pretty fun. That way we could eat and get clean right away. Maybe next time okay?

S: Yah. I want a cup.

M: Here you go, can you dump some water on Mommy? I’m getting kind of chilly.

S: Issa chilly in heeyah.

M: Oh, can you not put that bottle near your private parts? That’s not healthy.

S: Yah. I hold a bottle.

M: Yep, that’s your shampoo bottle, it makes your hair nice and shiny.

S: I pee on the bottle.

M: Well, we can pee when we get out of the tubby.

S: Mommy get out?

M: Oh. Would you like me to get out?

S: Yah. I a swim in a tubby by self.

M: Okay. Mommy will get out so you can swim.

S: Sammy swimming. Sammy pee in the tubby. Nice and warm and cozy.

Too

2008-04-24T15:02:00.000-04:00

Sometimes, I'm just too much. Sometimes, I feel like if I could just curtail THAT part of me, that too much part of me, things would be fine. I would be more likable. I would be more admired. I could be funny without trying too hard. Too desperate. Too eager. Too much.

Maybe some of you will read this and say..."You? Nooooo." I doubt it though. I think I know that you know what I know which is that I am sometimes, just too damn much.

It's funny when I think about it though, because although 20% wants to work on it, the other 80% doesn't much care about changing because I've been at this for 33 years and I seem to be doing okay. That said, it still occurs to me, often enough to share it, that I need to sit the hell down and close it sometimes. Leave a little mystery Jennifer. It's cool to do that. Me? Not so cool. Share and share it all, and then repeat said sharedness later to a friend that says, "Yeah, you mentioned that."

Is it part of being an only child? Probably. Like me! Like me! Think I'm funny and great....! See? I'll convince you. Let me tell you a funny. Let me show you a cool picture. Let me demonstrate how caring and considerate I am. Let me dance for you like the monkey that I am. Dance, monkey dance!

Oh....did I say too much?

Up On An Airplane

2008-04-11T20:03:00.001-04:00

I was on an airplane last week when I visited my folks in Florida. This time, though, I went with the girls. No husband. No right-hand man. No co-parent. Yes, my folks were helpful, but it was just different, you know? Anyway, so I'm on my way down south and I'm geared up with:

-DVD player with 3 videos (names provided by my two year old: Peekaboo Show, Circle Show, Milo Otis Show)

-IPOD with kid playlist including any and all nursery rhymes. By the way, some of these are the most hideous things ever written. What about Wee Willie Winkie? Running all over town...in his nightgown...wondering if your kids are in their beds? That would get you jail time now. I digress.

-Gluten-free snacks aplenty

-Three bottles of formula for the baby

-Some grub for me (read: whatever the kids don't eat)

-Beverages for toddler. I will not drink her leftovers. LOTS of backwash.

-And, all my crap (itinerary, birth certificates, cell phone, lip gloss, hair ties, gum, etc)

My friend had outfitted me with this super duper 5 point restraint addendum to the seat belt. It worked well but really ticked Sam off. She was kind of shellacked to the seat. Anyhoo, I thought I had prepped myself well for the 7:20 am flight by curtailing beverages so as to avoid the whole bathroom scenario. How would I be able to go? Who would I bring? Who would I leave? It was a bit of a conundrum and it made me a bit anxious, so I just didn't drink anything that morning. But, my pea-sized bladder prevailed and at some point, I had to go.

Don't think I don't realize that many of my posts are about pee and poop. It's how I roll lately, can't help it.

So, I engage one of the lovely flight attendants who happily sits with my super-duper strapped in toddler, and off I go to the mini-lavatory clearly built with an eight year old's body type in mind. I am holding my one year old...thinking...how am I to make this work? Put her on the floor? Narsty narsty no. Hold her while I go? Nope. My ass will be in full-hover mode. No touchy touchy. How about I hold her while I hover? Impossible. BUT, what about the sink. Yes, yes. It's like a mini baby-seat, really. It's probably what the engineers had in mind when they build this chamber-like chamber pot.

Here's how it lays out. Mom is hovering with thighs that haven't seen a squat in...er...about 3 years. Daugher partially in sink. Mom uses head as leverage to hold baby in said sink while she finishes up, thinking..."Please don't remember this."

All in all, the flight down was relatively painless. The flight home is another story.

Scrub a Dub Dub

2008-03-27T07:54:00.000-04:00

My girl Kathryn turned me on to Paula's Choice products a long time ago and I've been using ever since. I don't use her stuff exclusively because I have other tried and true faves too, but some of her stuff is stellar.

If you find that you are always looking for a good exfoliating scrub but think that perhaps using Swiss Ives Apricot scrub (this includes ground walnut shells, by the way!) isn't the best route for you, you could be interested in Paula's line of exfoliating lotions.

What? Lotions? Yep. See, they have alpha and beta hydroxy acids, and they exfoliate your skin without a) burning the bejesus out of your face and b) burning the bejesus out of your face. There is a difference between the alpha and the beta (are we talking exboyfriend's personality profiles or scrubs here?) and it's important to know which is the best type for you. Paula goes into detail on her website as to which works for you, but basically it's a difference between AHA (alpha hydroxy acids) which are glycolic acidsand BHA (beta hydroxy acids) which are salicylic acids. If you're interested, definitely check out the link above (note: some folks are uber sensitive to these). I swear by the BHA 2% lotion. Keeps my skin smooth, which is good because skin that is bumpy AND hairy, not so much.

Sproutings

2008-03-24T14:44:00.000-04:00

I may swear a bit. I have made the discovery that I have facial hair. Not peach-fuzzy blonde softness that sweeps across my skin like a teenager's tanned and lovely tummy. No, not that. I have hair first of all, on my fucking FACE. Like, Magnum P.I. mustache facial hair. Like, "Wow, I only notice it because you mentioned it" bullshit facial hair. It's right under my eye. My EYE! Who has almost-eye-hair, other than cavemen? Apparently dames like me, who after pumping out two chillens in two years, has faced the hormonal onslaught. On my face. I found a 2 inch hair under my chin on Saturday night before date-night with the hubby. Nothing says sexy like shaving next to your loved one at the sink. Can you pass me the Mach-3 honey?

I've always had to groom the brows which have grown almost Frida-like across my face. Rectangular-shaped brows I can manage. But when said eyebrow hair grows all the way up to my REAL hairline, I have to stop the show. Send in the clowns, and ask them to bring plenty of Nair with them.

In high school I rocked the Jolen often. That little teal, 3-D square box was found many a time on my bathroom sink. Like a chemists bunsen burner, it was ready to burn the shit out of my face. Not hair removal, you see...but hair bleaching. And, for those who haven't had the opportunity to work with Jolene, it's a cream, mixed with a vial of bleach granules that makes for a nifty mask to put upon your hairy area. It also included a square mixing platform and a spatula that could also be used in a dollhouse if your dolls made batches of delicious bleachcakes. . I often left it on too long as I am: 1) easily distracted 2) unorganized with matter of beauty of the quest therein 3) interested in a cookie, hold on and 4) I think I know better than the directions. Seven minutes? Naaah, Eleven would be much better. It will make the hair even LIGHTER, I bet! Sandra McSmarty pants often showed up with a red bozo-like mustache that stole the attention of her man-stache.

"Jen, did you burn yourself? Seriously, that looks sensitive, try some butter."

So here I am again, back in a shituation which requires: 1) Money I don't have to do laser Star Wars beam-like zapping treatments on my face 2) Time in the bathroom to ponder at new follicular growth, pluck it, shave it (no!), or wonder if the Nair bottle really means it when it says "DON'T USE THIS ON YOUR FACE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD."

As for right now, I think I'll suck it up and get myself a wax job. On my upper lip. And brow up to the hairline. And perhaps my chin.

Or, like my hubby suggested, we can grow matching goatees.

Kiss

2008-03-05T16:13:00.000-05:00

You know that song, Copperline, by James Taylor? It's always been one of my favorites. It's about a time in a boy's life when things were simple and sweet. A time when you could go exploring for hours and come back with skinned knees and dirty fingernails and great stories to tell. A time when kissing someone for the first time stops your world in it's tracks. I played this song so much that the boy I used to babysit used to scream 'Jenny's song!' when he heard it with his mother.

I used some of the lyrics on the front cover of my first wedding album. I had married a sweetheart and this song reminded me of him and of us. The words, 'First Kiss, Ever I Took' was gold-embossed on the front of the black leather-bound book. It was my most sentimental time. As that marriage evolved into a sad tale, that innocent part of me started to harden up and I began to scoff at those kinds of lyrics. I remember hearing the opening note of the song on the radio and flipping the switch so fast I surprised myself. What had happened to me had happened to many of us, but this was my only love and I was a young, naive girl. I had married him. He had made a fool of me and I was convinced that the entire world knew it. I was angry that he took that innocence from me, and I couldn't even enjoy simple things like love songs or trips to Provincetown or baby showers without hating him.

So, time goes by as it has a way of doing, and my life moved on and up. That hardness is still there, but it's way down deep, underneath my layers of motherhood and marriage and friendship. I was watching television on Sunday night and saw that PBS was showcasing Mr. Taylor himself. I made a mental note to go back and check it out after I watched some of the 'Big Give' show. I forgot about it until I was channel-cruising at 10:30pm or so and I saw him. Darn it! I had missed most of it.

But, as fate would have it...I heard the opening note of my song. My Copperline. And it was a sweet as I had first remembered it. I sang every word, tears in my eyes. I thought of how good my life was, with my best guy's body next to me, keeping me warm. I smiled the most when I heard my favorite line...'First kiss, ever I took, like a page from a romance book. They sky opened and the earth shook, down on Copperline.'

Update 2

2008-02-21T08:08:00.000-05:00

Yes, it was delicious. And good for me.

But I think avoiding whole groups of food is starting to piss me off a bit.

Blink

2008-02-20T15:23:00.000-05:00

It's my daughter's second birthday today. Two tiny, whole, long and unbelievably fast years. Two years of late nights and early mornings and worries in my heart and head that I never thought I'd experience. My two happiest years, hands-down. The most abundantly full years of my life, overflowing with raw emotion and joy that only her birth has brought me.

I check on my babies every night, just because. I like to watch them sleep and hear them exhale with that soft little moan that only babies do. Last night I went in and the birthday-girl to-be woke up, sat up immediately. When this happens, she always says 'Tuckener-in', which loosely translated means, 'please lay me down on my pillow, give me my binky, tuck my blanket in and THEN you can leave'.

But she said something different last night, for the first time. She said, 'rocka-baby', which she has said on occasion, but never when I've gone in to check on them.

So I did. I picked her up, my little-big girl, and I rocked her like a baby. She turned toward me and fell asleep right away. And her face was just as sweet as it was two years ago, when I met her for the first time and felt a lump in my heart that hasn't gone away since.

I cried then, too....like I did when she was born. And I whispered in her ear, in vain:

"Please, not so fast...."

One week down

2008-02-19T14:20:00.000-05:00

Well, it's been a little over one week officially on my bad-ass diet. It's not perfect, but I'm amazed that I'm still interested in it and that I haven't completely thrown in the towel.

After 7 days, I was down 4.5 pounds. Yes, I know. It's water weight and thank you. But who cares? It feels great and so do I. My new-found penchance for black coffee is probably the most interesting part. I don't know that I actually tasted the coffee before. Don't get me wrong, not reaching for the cream in the morning does not come naturally to me, but it's getting easier and easier.

It's funny. I've had a few 'cheats' in the week, namely buttered popcorn, a few sugar free fudgicles, and two small glasses of wine. Last night I actually had dinner in a restaurant with bread, wine, and some mashed potatoes (clearly not part of the plan!). When I have these little 'cheats', my body reacts almost immediately.

In the name of stinky farts.

(It's my blog after all, right?)

I kinda like the experimental part, that I can see right away how my body responds to certain foods. It's even more interesting since my daughter was diagnosed with Celiac Disease because it's more proof that diet has a profound affect on your tummy. At least mine, anyway.

I miss my yogurts and my daily chocolate, but it's not overwhelming. I'm eating more fish and tried some sauteed broccolini the other day. Don't get me wrong, I'm a nacho and beer kinda girl, but this 'back to nature' thing is working for me.

Powder And Paint...

2008-02-13T21:19:00.000-05:00

...Make a Girl What She Ain't.

But it's fun still, right? So, many of you know I have a little side-business as a freelance makeup artist. I've picked it back up in the last 3 years and I've been pretty busy in the summer months. I decided to start highlighting certain products that I really dig (or some that I just don't understand at all).

Here is the first one and it's called Neutrogena Moisture Shine Tinted Lip Balm. I really need something on my lips at all times, or I get comments like:

-Are you feeling alright?

-Have you tried B12? I hear it helps with energy.

-You look tired.

Etc, etc. So I like this product because it's NOT lipstick. It's not sticky and it's not deep in color. It's a nice light lip balm that happens to have a kiss of color. I really like 'Fresh' as a shade when I want something pinky, and 'Clean' when I want something that is more bronzy, without being brown.

I also like them because they are really moisturizing and they have an SPF of 20. I actually ran out of mine in Florida last week and actually burned my lips. I'm sensitive, you know.

So check them out, and they are pretty well-priced at about $7.00 per tube.

And lastly, I have used mine almost daily since I bought in August 2006 and it JUST ran out. Bang for yer buck.

another update, appreciated by all in my house.

2008-02-13T21:17:00.000-05:00

My gas is gone.

Just sayin.

Update 1

2008-02-13T12:52:00.000-05:00

Feeling better than I would have imagined.

Not hungry. For real. Sometimes I hear people talk about their brand new diet and it's clear that they are in the 'honeymoon phase' where they feel full and wonderful and don't want ANY frosting out of their fridge. And I'm always annoyed by them. Annoyed that they're so naive and kind of deliciously waiting for them to get bored and pissy and just eat the damn frosting already.

That's not nice of me.

But I'm there right now, dammit! I feel good. We went out for two for one pizzas last night and my turkey tip salad suited me just fine, thankyouverymuch.

So. As for now, day 4, we're good.

DeTizOx

2008-02-09T18:11:00.000-05:00

We just returned from a ridiculously good time in Florida (or, as my little peanut says...'Flo-di-da') spent with my father, mother and stepfather. They don't live together, just to clarify ;-). Time on the beach, time by the pool, and of course some of the best times, around the kitchen table. What is it about the kitchen table? It seems to bring out the best stories in everyone, or at least the best exaggerated tales. Breaking bread and yukking it up, two of my favorite things to do.

We had amazing meals: ribs, wings, a cornucopia of naughty bites at a SuperBowl Party including mozzarella sticks and a triple threat dessert made of marshmallow, fudge and brownie. We were treated to Mom's homecooking including chicken and veggies, brown rice and Dairy Queen. And of course my hubby and I snuck away for a night where we got to know Mr. Corona and nachos. And a burger. And the Waffle House. Oh and an ice cream cone and a margarita (not a good combo, fyi).

So, it's time. Time to detox. Purge. Cleanse. Remove. Eliminate. You get it. And it's not a calorie slash so please don't email me about making sure I get enough nutrients. It's just the cutting of the crap. The cuttage. And it's funny, because if you think about it, there really is a LOT of crap to cut. I thought that my diet was really healthy, and for the most part, it is (with the exception of the above paragraph, you know). But sometimes, you get a little loose, a little lazy, a little careless. So I'm on day two of the purge. It's actually from Health magazine and it's balanced eating without any processed food, dairy, soy or grains. There are proteins, vegetables and fruits at every meal, and snacks of nuts/seeds/nut butters and fruit.

Here's how it's going:

-One day one, I had a f$#%^ headache that didn't end. It really didn't end until today (day 2).

-I was surprised that I am not hungry at all. In fact, it's kind of hard to keep up with the snacks.

-The nuts and seeds are very satisfying and keep me fuller, longer.

-I'm not sure if the above is true or if I'm just going crazy because of the lack of chocolate.

I'll keep you posted on my progress. If I find myself face-first in the BJ's bag of chocolate chips by the end of the week, you'll know I'm officially off the wagon.

fine

2008-01-31T14:57:00.000-05:00

It happened last Monday.

I woke up, and I was fine.

Pardon the drama, but I haven't been myself since my uterus went on a Magical Mystery Tour in May of 2005. It took a detour with a second beautiful baby, and between nursing hormones, back pain and a complete life and career adjustment, it seems to be settled back nicely in the two-car garage next to the badminton set and the beach chairs. Fine.

For some of you who read this, you could be nodding your head. Or maybe even more spiritedly saying, 'Girl....mmmm.' Who knows. Some of you don't know what I'm talking about yet, and either you will in the (very) near future, or you won't. But I know what I know and I am starting to see clearly now. I feel like a hothouse flower opening up after a really long drought and thank goodness. I was starting to be....not fine.

Years, literally, of not sleeping had started to take it's toll. I was in auto-pilot and although appreciative of my blessings (trite, but whatever!), I was in a fog. Half-mast, 50%, walking through the sludge of the day. Needing caffeine. Needing chocolate. Needing sleep. Needing that 10 minutes of pelting hot water in the shower with no interruptions and no one asking me where a bottle was. If I didn't get those basic needs met, I was on the verge of tears. Verge of a fight. Verge of yelling at my 23 month old because clearly she didn't appreciate that her spoon with peanut butter remnants CANNOT be near her sister. Didn't she understand that?

SO. I woke up with the babies. I wasn't mad about not getting 10 (friggin'!) minutes to myself. I was okay with the morning poopy diapers and the big one screaming so much that the little one started to bawl. It was no big deal that I was going potty with an audience. Formula bottle dripping...whatever! It was all good. All okay.

I celebrated my newfound fine-ness (holler!) with a delicious meal that I actually PLANNED before 4:55pm when I usually hear my husband's train whistle and think, 'Oh shit! Is anything thawed out?'. It was a broccoli salad, by the way, with roasted herbed potato-fries and a vegetable-bacon frittata. It wasn't haute-cuisine, but it was good. Really fine, actually.

Tagged....Scattegories

2008-01-31T08:58:00.000-05:00

SCATTERGORIES
Its harder than it looks! Use the 1st letter of your name to answer each of the following... they have to be real places, names, things...nothing made up! Try to use different answers if the person in front of you had the same 1st initial. You CAN'T use your name for the boy/girl name question.

What is your name ~ Jennifer
4 Letter Word ~ Jump
Vehicle ~ Jeep (my first car)
Boy Name ~ Jack
Girl Name ~ Jillian
Occupation ~ Jester
What you wear ~ Jodphurs
Celebrity ~ JLO
Food ~ Jello
Something found in a bathroom ~ Jean Nate (not really, but what else do I have?)
Reason for Being Late ~ Just couldn't get it together
Character ~Jasmin (isn't that Disney? Not there yet, kids are too young)
Something you Shout ~ Just a second!
Animal ~ Jaguar
Body part ~ jugular (thank you Kel and Mom, in that order ;-)
Word to describe you ~ jovial

Oh.

2008-01-20T08:55:00.000-05:00

Katie. Katie Katie Katie. It's funny I guess, what happens to someone when they marry Tom Cruise. And become a Scientologist. And hang with Posh Spice. And have a baby and get married (which apparently is the new trend with celebrities). So much has changed for our little Joey from Dawson's Creek.

And I even have to ask myself, 'Why does this even matter to you?'. I will admit that I frequent Perez and Tmz. I do, I do. I know, it's brainless fodder. But it doesn't keep me up at night the way CNN does.

But suddenly, Katie Holmes has become the most boring person on earth. Have you seen the footage of her lately? It's really hard to watch. Here, take a peek of her on Letterman. Or, even drier than that, her Good Morning America interview. One big, frigging yawn. It begs the question....what happened to her?

So many will jump on the brainwash/Tom/Scientology bandwagon and I get that, to a degree. And although we have very little in common (her kind of broke and my kind of broke ain't the same, youknowwhatI'msayin?), I have secretly been afraid of the same kind of thing happening.

Becoming uninteresting.

It's scary just writing it. Can you imagine? Can you imagine going on Letterman and saying virtually, nothing? Although it would be a novelty for someone like you or I, I can imagine going into a scenario like that with my funniest material. My best stuff. You wanna talk about kids? I'm going to tell you about how my little one gets happy feet after she (as my husband puts it) drops a deuce. I'm going to talk about how, mid-cereal crunching, my toddler says, 'I eat a cereeeyo. I eat a cereeyo a milk. Boys a peeeeni. Girls a a giiiina.' Yes, I would toss them under the bus for a laugh with David Letterman. I would laugh about my husband calling his hairy back the 'Wings of Man'. I would talk about stretch marks and suddenly flat boobies after nursing. You know I would. I would go there, in a second. Why? Because I'm a whore for laughs first of all, but because I have INTERESTING things to say. What would you say?

I don't think you would say what Katie said. I don't think you'd need a paramedic after the interview to check for a pulse. I don't think you'd walk out after that sit-down with Diane Sawyer and be pleased about it. You'd be pissed at yourself for being so GD lukewarm. Tepid.

So, has she lost herself? I don't know. I really don't care, actually. It just made me think of my own life. My own stories. I had an ex once who complained about a new woman in his life. He said something remarkably cruel about her.

'She's not even interesting.'

Ouch. Now, I wasn't a perfect partner. But I sure as hell kept things interesting. Not a boring moment that I can recall. So, maybe KH is just going through it. Maybe she's tired of being under a microscope and having constant scrutiny over her life, her marriage, her child....maybe she cringes at the thought of some broad like me thinking I have the right to write about her. Maybe she's just so confident in her life that she doesn't CARE anymore. She's good. She's happy. She's hit that point in her life where everyone else's opinions simply don't even register with her.

Maybe.

Addendum to Ad-Nauseum

2008-01-09T22:02:00.000-05:00

A few weeks ago I was chatting with a friend about the idea of signing on for a month for a pre-packaged weight loss system (like the commercials that are running constantly right now). You know, order your food online, they deliver it, you eat it, you're skinny. Voila.

So she tells me that she and her hubby did it for one month, to take a few pounds off without having to think about it. Now, they're foodies, so I was surprised. She tells me how the food arrived and it was narsty narsty narsty. Apparently they tried a bit of it, were disgusted, and decided to call it a wash and go back to eating real food. Well, they didn't pack the food away, nor did they toss it. They left for a day trip. The dog got into the food.

They came back home to a shitfest.

ALL over the house. Their poor dog was horrified and embarassed. And that night, after hours of bleach and rubber gloves and fits of gags and laughter, the dog had a final, painful outburst. On their bed.

A package.

Of oatmeal.

(It's not the right thing to do, and it's not the tasty way to do it!)

ad-nauseum

2008-01-03T14:26:00.000-05:00

Like we didn't know that New Year's was for making people less fat, we can turn on our televisions and be bombarded with commercials for new diet plans. Have you noticed? We watched some tv on the Bravo network on New Year's Day and it was amazing. Every single commercial was either for a pre-packaged food diet plan or an online weightloss program. Of course it's appropo, it's resolution time. How many years I made resolutions to drop elbees, I don't know. But it was too many. Why didn't I resolve to learn, once and for all, to play the guitar? I've stopped and started that too many damn times to count. What about resolving to learn a new language? A cool-cooking technique?

How about resolving not to resolve?

I did this a few years ago. It's been so friggin liberating, I can't begin to tell you. No more angst about my legs rubbing together. No more drama over my decision to put real milk or skim in my coffee (and just for the record....skim milk in your coffee? Jesus, what's the point? Just add some more water). No more bashing myself by February 1st because I hadn't lost 10 pounds in January like I had resolved to. Nope, none of that...just another day to shuffle around with my kiddos and be in the moment, with crushed crayons on the floor, leftovers in the fridge, and a mug of coffee in my hand. And maybe some cream for my chafed legs. ;-)

WhoopAss

2008-01-02T15:21:00.001-05:00

There's nothing like ringing in the New Year with a self-imposed ass-whooping. As some of you know, I've had some back pain lately, which resulted in an MRI, which resulted in a visit to a pain clinic for a nerve-block shot of cortisone. It kicked in a few days ago, and I've had to resist the urge to go for a jog, knowing the damage is still there, but the pain (hurrah!) isn't.

So, in I go for a weekly chiropractic visit to stay proactive and to move forward with the healing process. It's a great adjustment. I feel great. I step outside, in my new shoes (you read about them in my ABFAB blog) and my heel gets stuck as I proceed down the steps. Concrete steps, naturally. There are five in all, for those of you who like numbers. I cleared four of them. Right to the ground. Thumpity thump thump thump. Broke my fall with my left knee, right shoulder and two palms (you read that right, I'm like GUMBY, especially after a crack at the chiro's!). Didn't even get up. A man saw me and was sweet and understood my mixture of pain and embarassment...he helped me up and gave me a gentle pat on the arm.

So, thank goodness for pain shots. Although I'm feeling my fall, it's not like it could be. The worst part, other than the scrape of my new shoes? I think I sprained my armpit.

Happy New Year! Pay attention on the stairs, jackass!

Frumptastic!

2007-12-31T07:57:00.000-05:00

I think it happens to all women at some point, particularly if they've gotten into some kind of lifestyle rut:

-a long term relationship (you know, the kind where you stop going out and start ordering pizzas and going to Blockbuster and you kid yourself because you're just SO comfortable being with him on your couch in sweats),

-working long hours and being so exhausted that the idea of putting on makeup is unattractive because you know that about 12 hours later, you'll just need to take it off again,

-you're a newlywed and you've gotten your bling and your thing and quite frankly, it's time to put the darn fishing pole away

-you're a mom and you've been home for awhile. THIS would be me.

We spend many holidays with my husband's family at their farm in New Hampshire. It's a place like no other....beautiful views of Mt. Chocura, a 13 acre apple orchard, farm animals to delight kids of all ages, amazing home-cooked food and the crispest air you've ever breathed. It's a place where you can leave your hair down, literally and figuratively. I don't pack a hairdryer, I don't pack my makeup....just my floss, toothbrush and maybe some moisturizer to slap on as I'm getting myself ready for the day.

When I was working, it was wonderful to get comfy in my sweats, pull up a ponytail, and take a break from the beautification drudgery of my Monday through Friday gig. Now, though, I've been home for almost 8 months. No more daily makeup. No hair styling. No matching my outfit. In the first few post-partum months, it was a coup to change out of flannel pajama bottoms and into maternity sweat pants before 1pm. I always took my showers (10 minutes minimum with water hot enough to potentially burn skin...that's how I like 'em!), brushed my teeth and wore my moisturizer (I'm now listening to my mother's sage skin advice, I've never seen a blemish on that woman's face), but other than that, there was no fancifying my look.

So, up in New Hampshire this past holiday, I was surrounded by family. One of the women there is a mom also and her son is about 3. Her hair was done.....her makeup looked great. She had a cute outfit and fun furry boots. She looked fantastic.

I took a look at myself in the mirror before we sat down to eat. Maternity sweatpants, with stains. Maternity t-shirt, with stains (appropriately placed too in the one area-ok, two areas, you really want stains, hair in a 1994 hair comby-clip, no makeup, Sasquatch brows. And the Pièce de résistance.....the non-skid socks from the hospital that I got when I had my second baby.

I knew I was in trouble. I had slipped. I realized that I had become. Frumpy. Frumpilicious. Olli Olli Oxen Frump. On a gadda da Frumpa. Frumpelievable.

I'm trying my best to turn this sinking ship around. I had a quick and dirty plucking session. I have filed my nails. I've banished my maternity wear to my workout wear-drawer, and thanks to a gift from my Dad...I've gone shopping. I didn't go crazy because I'm hoping to be down another size in the next few months, but I did get some fun stuff. Wanna see?

My first choice could still be deemed Frumpulous, but they're NOT. I swear. Yes, they're clogs, but they're save your black clogs. Look good with black or brown clogs. And some beautiful cashmere-blend sweaters from my favorite store. Oh, and two things for the kids.

So, it was all about a Mommy Makeover when I went shopping this weekend. Feel-good Mommy. Look-good Mommy. I'm going to take off my long sleeve gray t-shirt and kittycat pajama bottoms before 12 noon, Mommy.

So, thank you to CHRIS...my pretty Mommy inspiration. I'm turning down the ponytail holder and going for the cool headband. I'm throwing on some concealer just for the hell of it. I'm choosing my fun new shoes over my tattered slippers. And, although I'd love to dive in with facials and maybe a pedicure every few months, I'll hang here for a bit in the stratosphere between Frumpy and Fabulous.

Patrol

2007-12-03T21:11:00.000-05:00

Warning: this may gross you out.

I hear that all parents have an experience like the one I had today. The moment when we're installing a carseat in our minivan, wiping rice cereal off of a ceiling, or attempting to negotiate with a toddler and it hits us: we're parents, and our carefree life is gone. Forever.

Necessary disclaimer: I love my life and husband and children and wouldn't change any bit of it.

Today was promising in that I was going to actually cross things off of my 'to-do' list. Tidy bathroom, check. Organize coupons, check. Wrap most of Christmas gifts, check. After one baby went down for a nap, my toddler roused herself out of a solid two and a half hour snooze and I went in to assess the situation and ready her for lunch.

The smell hit me before I could open the door.

Aaah, yes. The nap-crap. Nothing like pooping in your sleep, I guess. Everything just...relaxes. So, in I go. I notice a suspect bulge in her sleeper (a brand spanking new one, of course!) and the reality of what had occured hit me like a brick.

'Good afternoon, Peanut. Did you....um....take your diaper off?'

Nods affirmatively.

'Oh....okay. Let's see how we....okay.'

'Poop!'

'Yes, honey. Poop. You sure did. Wow, it's actually in the foot of your sleeper. Wow. Wow!'

'Wow!'

I ponder: do I just drop her in the tub or attempt to remove offending material on changing table first? I decide to take her to the changing table to assess the damage.

There is a lot of damage. Hard to look at damage. Can't breathe through my nose damage. How the hell am I supposed to make a dent in this, damage. I think I just saw a raisin, damage.

After the initial cleanup efforts, I take said toddler into the tub. It ain't pretty in here, either. I suddenly foresee some Comet scrub and elbow grease in my very near future. Aforementioned toddler is pissed about having to stand in the shower, and especially dislikes my 'Silkwood-esque' scrubbing of her torso. Amidst my showering of praise, 'You are doing SUCH a good job while Mommy cleans you, good girl being so patient' I realize that I'll need to eventually pick up and clean the sleeper that I tossed immediatley into the toilet (yes! that WAS my best option).

And so that is when I had my moment; I'm really not in Kansas anymore and there MAY be shit on my elbow.

In truth, the whole operation probably only lasted 20 minutes. The memories, however, will last a lifetime. And later, when loading the dryer with the twice-washed garments, I saw it.

A raisin.

Back

2007-11-30T20:27:00.000-05:00

I have this thing where I don't want to sound like a broken record, or a hypochondriac...or both. So I try and not talk about it when I'm in pain, physically. But I haven't been able to hold back lately, it's just too hard and it just hurts too damn much. I've been inflicted what millions of people suffer through, at varying intensitites, every single day. I have a bad friggin' back.

It's the little things, really. Sitting on the can. Laughing. Picking up one the kiddos. Sneezing makes me almost cry. Rolling over in bed? Knives. Sitting. Sitting! I can't even sit. A three hour drive to New Hampshire had me sweating bullets until I rememberd that I had some Percocet left over from the c-section...hollah! Back pain? What back pain? Who's waving at me from the woods and why does he have on a green Dr. Seuss hat and how come I feel like kind of throwing up?

So, after 5 weeks of chiropractic adjustments and an MRI scheduled for next week, I'm actually feeling better. But the worst part of all of it was the fear. Am I going to feel like this forever? Is this my life from now on? Will my only form of exercise be walking? Will I be able to use my beautiful new elliptical machine gathering dust in my living room? Will I be one of 'those people'? You know, the one who is known for her back pain. Will it be what I talk about because the pain is such a part of my life that it feels weird not to? Will I purposely avoid talking about it because I don't want to bore people but secretly wish people knew really REALLY how much it fucked up my life?

So, I'm trying to chill out a little bit. I'm trying to relax and remember to take inventory of how healthy I really am. To appreciate how good and strong and able I am. To remember that I've had two children in two years and that my body is amazing. To be aware of it more often instead of lashing out all the time about my no good back and my extra baby weight and my hormonal acne and all the other crap that I complain about (at least to myself). Maybe that's why my body sends me these messages. Knock it off, appreciate what you have. You have a lot more than others do. Go take a walk.

And be grateful.

Hair

2007-11-05T14:06:00.000-05:00

I know. Hair? What the hell. It just so happens to be a thing in my life right now. Hair. Gobs and gobs of it. In my shower drain. On every piece of flooring in my home. On all of my clothing. In my toddler's fingertips as she holds it up to me and says...'ditty'. In my infants mouth. In every broom pan I sweep into, there it is. I'm really not sure if it's hormonal or the normal changing of the follicle or whatever, but it's really starting to get annoying. I realized just yesterday, that hair has always been a real pain in the neck.

It's true. I have 'good hair' in the sense that it's thick and there is lots and lots of it (all thanks to genetics), and I've had some great hair cuts in my lifetime. But I don't know if I've had a really fair relationship with hair; I always seems a bit pissed about it. A bad cut, a spot of dry scalp, the way it falls out of my ponytail when I'm starting to exercise, so much that I really must stop and re-pony. The bang or no-bang discussion, or when banging, a snip too short which makes me look like I'm 8, or the quasi-bang, when you SPECIFICALLY ask for no-bangs (i.e., don't frigging touch them please) and they end up getting trimmed to JUST the length where they aren't really bangs, but they won't fit in the ponytail. This of course results in ridiculous overuse of the hair clip, whether it's the cute kind with the little butterfly or the Goody brown ones that held your head together on prom night.

I have a hairdresser whom I 'love' in that she's done my hair for years. She KNOWS my hair, you know? She knows to tread lightly on the bangs and that I need some help in the body department (i.e., I need layers and lots of thinning out). BUT, each and every time I get a snip, I go home aggravated. And I stay aggravated for about 3 days until I get over myself, over my hair, and back on to things that really matter (but I dare you to find a woman who says that the bang/no bang decision is one to be taken lightly). My husband is perpetually perplexed.

"Why don't you go to someone else? You always seem to not like your hair."

"Well, I could....but Margaret totally knows my hair. And she gives me a great deal." (this I toss out to end the conversation because he's a penurious fellow).

"I know but it just seems that you never like your hair when you come home. I mean I think it looks great, but maybe it's time to find a new stylist." Note: he did NOT, would not, would not EVER use the term stylist. I'm adding this as my own embellishment because I fear the word 'haircutter' would kill the overall gestalt of the conversation.

And here is where it gets funny.

"I know, but I just feel kind of bad, you know, going to someone else."

YES! It's the truth. I don't want to cheat on Margaret. I don't want her to see me in 6 months and realize that I've been with someone else. She'll know, too. They always know!

"You have some new layers in here. I thought we were just growing it out..."

"Um...yeah. I, um...got a trim. Because I was in New Hampshire. And it was really shaggy and it was in my face and everything." And the haircutters came out of the deep dark woods, threw a black sheet over my head and clipped me against my will. I'm not sure why I needed to toss New Hampshire in the mix, but maybe she won't be as hurt then. When I really got it cut in the next town over.

"Huh."
And then you know what comes next.
"Wow, they really did a number on your hair."
Dammit! It's bad enough that you feel like crap for cheating, now they have to rub it in your face that your hair is now a hot mess and that really, they'll need to do some serious 'reshaping' to save it.

And so it goes. After you apologize and baaaah like a sheep for 20 minutes, it's all back to normal. No, sorry...after you apologize, baaah like a sheep and spend $42 on a guilt purchase of a new shampoo and conditioner, it's all back to normal.

After a few days, when your hair starts to feel like it's yours again, you fall back into the routine. You figure out how to work with it, what to put in it, and most importantly, where the ponytail sits. Just right.

WORK

2007-10-04T13:27:00.000-04:00

Work has taken on a whole new meaning for me lately. I've made the transition, you see, between working in the workplace to working IN the home. I love that phrase, 'I work in the home' versus 'I work outside the home'.

I'm not sure which frustrated woman started this, but if I could thank her I would. I remember hearing this phrase a lifetime ago, and I must admit I probably chuckled a little bit. 'Oh here we go, this woman doesn't want ANYONE to dare think she's not working hard so she has to use that friggin' phrase. God forbid someone doesn't give her credit for changing diapers and washing dishes.'

I'm really sorry. I was 23. I couldn't help it.

So, I have a whole new appreciation for the phrase now. Because it IS work. Lordy lordy, is it ever. I've never multi-tasked like this. I've never balanced and managed quite like this. And I've never been so friggin' tired. Ever. My husband, bless his heart, knows how hard it is. Or at least he pretends to know. He even says, 'I have it easy, going to work everyday. It's like a vacation compared to what you do here all day long.' See? So smart. I don't even care if he's buttering me up. I don't even care if he's saying to ensure that he'll get some lovin' now and again. I really don't. I just like hearing it.

I actually thought about my OLD workday, as a school teacher. Rigorous, absolutely. Days included working in classrooms, small group instruction, departmental meetings, team meetings, administrative meetings, after school meetings, writing education plans, collaboration with other teachers, lunch duty, cafeteria duty, bus duty, parent meetings, and progress report writing. I'm forgetting many things, I'm sure, but that's ballpark. It was work, but it was fun! I got to work with great children and great adults, and my day was peppered with many laughs and many opportunities to go potty on my own, have a snack when I wanted, and strolls down the hall to think about my next step, my next meeting, my after-school plans.

Here's how it went today: 2:30 am, nurse the baby, bottle feed to top her off. 5:30 am, ditto. 8:30 (I know, it seems super late but I'll take sleep in pretty much any form these days) the whole house is awake, and diaper duty starts. Breakfast prepared for toddler with finicky desires and Celiac Disease (started out as gluten free cocoa krispies with soy milk, quickly de-escalated to a Hebrew National hotdog and sauteed potatoes and broccoli from the night before), I eat (shovel) and baby gets her favorite boob/bottle combo. Pack small diaper bag for 'Mother Goose is on the Loose' story hour, planning for toddler snacks, bottles for infant, water for me. Manage hungry toddler through aforementioned story hour (especially when she has full-bodied tantrum because I dare put her snack away so she can bang on the drum, or wave the scarf or pretend to be a monkey), manage further another child who is obsessed with the buckle of my youngest daughter's seat, apologize to other mothers because I have snacks and they don't and their kids want some, and then pile children back into car. And that's all before 11:30. I'll stop there. You get the picture.

Don't misunderstand; it's the best job I've ever had. Highest job satisfaction rate I can imagine. Bonus hugs aplenty. And then perks I could never have envisioned before, like riding back from a story hour and seeing that my two girls are looking at each other and smiling, the oldest one reaching over to her baby sister.

So yes, I miss the hustle and bustle of work life, and the different identity it gave me. But this? I wouldn't miss this for the world, and I'm lucky I don't have to.

Torque

2007-09-27T16:21:00.000-04:00

Many of you know my family spent some time at Children's last week while our daughter was being evaluated. She was diagnosed, thankfully, with Celiac Disease, an intolerance to gluten. With a proper gluten-free diet, her intestines will heal and she will lead a normal life. We are beyond grateful that a diet change is the only course of action we need. We know how lucky we are, especially after spending even a few moments in the lobby.

I went for a follow-up visit this week, to see a nutritionist. I rolled into the parking lot 20 minutes early, knowing that with stroller set-up and pedestrian walking greens, I would be to my appointment right on time. I have a double stroller, natch, because I have two small children. I love this stroller, if you can love a stroller. Check it out here. Well, upon set-up, I realized that with all of my walks with the girls, the top part of the handle had come unscrewed. The screw was there, and I knew that a few quick twists with one of those thingy dingy Phillips head would do the trick. Would I have that in the car? Yes, I would. Why? Because my stepfather Frank, makes it a point to scare the hell out of us and force us into having an emergency kit. I have to admit, we've laughed a few times at the Rubbermaid tub in my trunk, filled with flares, spark plugs, anti-freeze, oil, a poncho (you know, in case it's wet or you have to pee on a boat) and yes, a small tool kit.

I knew I had no chance hefting around a 23 pound toddler and a growing infant in her car seat WITH a diaper bag (filled to the brim with two sets of diaper sizes, clothing 'just in case' and 97 snacks for my fussy and now gluten-free toddler) and my purse. I was a few minutes late due to my last minute stroller-project, but I was thrilled I didn't have to reschedule.

This reminded me of my driver's ed days. Frank was always even keeled and even toned in our driving time together. "Regulate your speed." "Turn on your high beams." "Turn off your high beams." "Jen, turn off your high beams." and on and on. He likened driving a standard to having the proper amount of, you guessed it, torque. (I'm still not sure to this day what it means.) So, despite my eye-rolling (not me!), huffing and puffing, and arguing about your 'good intentions', I know I'll eat a little crow on this one, and I don't mind a bit.

Does crow have gluten?