Wednesday, December 28, 2011

Positive thoughts

Barely any time to wallow in the Christmas hangover, what with the giant travel day on Friday. I momentarily thought (wished) that I packed our passports in the bag I sent to be put on the cargo pallet, but soon found them in the giant pile of Stuff That Is Never Going To Fit In My Carry-On Bag.

Once I allowed myself to say out loud that I'm kind of scared of this trip, I felt a lot less scared. Letting stuff out of your head to dissipate into the universe usually does feel good. Plus, I asked for a sign and had a dream that was really just sort of a vision of two airplane seats, one big and one little, both glowing green. As in green light, as in "go." Now if I die in some sort of gruesome explosion and they never recover any bodies because we're all 10 miles deep at the bottom of the Pacific, you will know once and for all that all that hooey is a bunch of crap.

Friday, December 23, 2011

Spoiler Alert

My life has turned into such an episode of Lost lately, that I don't even know if I want to get on my Trans-Pacific flight in a week. Although I'm not sure if it matters seeing as I might actually be dead already. Here is the part where, if you didn't watch Lost, you think I have completely lost my mind.

But. Okay. First, we have the whole thing where my high school sweetheart came and sat down in the chair next to me the other day at the salon, out of nowhere. Well, not exactly out of nowhere, because just two weeks ago I had facebook stalked him (oh, shut up. You know you facebook stalk people from your past, too). But I had just done it for the first time and thought how nice it would be to see him and talk and then BLAM there he was, dropped in my lap. Only it wasn't nice and it sucked and I am still all worked up about it.

Exhibit B: I was signed up for a spin class that I decided to ditch, but when I went through the online system to cancel myself out of it, I was already marked absent. It was still two hours before the class was to start. Okay, well, sure, that could just be some sort of clerical error. But!

Exhibit C: A couple of months ago, I found out that my husband's first roommate when he moved to the Seattle area's mom is one of my mom's close friends from high school, and that I in fact went to their house and played with said roommate when we were kids. This probably sounds less weird before you know that our mothers grew up in a little town in the Bay Area called San Lorenzo, and moved to the Seattle area later in life. And it's not like Jeff is just some random guy Mo used to live with, they are good friends. I've known him for years and we just figured this out.

And, Exhibit D: When I recounted the above-mentioned horror story of running into my ex to my girlfriends at our Christmas lunch yesterday, and told them the name of his restaurant, my girlfriend Jamie about dropped her fork. "My dad's been bugging me to go there," she said, "because it's his best friend from high school's son's restaurant."

Say it with me now. What. The. Eff.

So, am I just crazy and making a big deal out of random coincidence? Or does it seem to anyone else like I'm about to walk into a church and find out it's my own funeral. Or whatever the hell it was that happened, that finale aired a long time ago. And kind of sucked.

Tuesday, December 20, 2011

But he wasn't in a shitty band

So, in the great baby-having poll we have three votes for a solid three year gap between siblings from people with one kid or less, and a vote for closer spacing from one person with multiple children. Interesting. I will take some time to evaluate the data before I go doing anything crazy. But I must say I am leaning toward the three year plan. Mostly because I'm selfish and hedonistic. I like the idea of having one more free summer, during which my parents will happily take Marlo for overnights and I can run around pretending I am young and carefree again. Of course that means that I will be stuck in Newborn Land two summers from now, but that is two summers from now Tori's problem. Besides, if the world ends a year from now, I'd be pretty pissed about spending the last months of my life knocked up.

I've got the TV on for background noise, and Jane Fonda just pulled some sort of flash mob on Anderson Cooper. Anderson just kind of stood there going, "wow. okay." I thought it was sort of off-putting for a moment, until I realized that is probably exactly the reaction I would have if Jane Fonda tried to impress me with a flash mob three years after flash mobs were interesting. Poor Jane Fonda and her pitiful attempt at relevance. I do hope to rock leggings and over-the-knee boots when I'm 74, however.

Speaking of awkwardness, I was getting my hair did today, when all of a sudden my high school boyfriend was sitting in the chair next to me. I have not seen him in, oh, fifteen years? It was horrible. I don't know why it had to be so bad. He was my Jordan Catalano. He even kind of had the hair.

Monday, December 19, 2011

To baby or not to baby

I went to a Christmas party last night, and made sure my champagne glass was never empty for more than a nanosecond. Which means I found myself wide awake at 5:30 in the morning, suffering heartburn and playing with the pregnancy app on my phone. It is just about to be 2012, and assuming that the Mayans were just out of room on their calendar and we are going to live to see 2013, it's time to start thinking about the dreaded Second Baby.

To say "dreaded" is to be a tad dramatic. Of course I want a new little baby every time I see one, or hear one squeak, or see my 18 month-old daughter try to get the attention of eight year old boys all night long at said Christmas party (for instance). She's growing up fast and will be screaming at me and slamming doors in my face before I know it.

I've been looking at all of my pictures of her lately and, while totally missing that tiny baby she used to be, I've also been reminded of how much my life used to SUCK when she was new. The random crying jags. The breastfeeding every three hours all through the night. The milk coming in and flowing unbidden all over the couch. Hanging out topless with super engorged breasts. Being fat and wearing maternity clothes well-post-partum and/or never getting dressed. The gigantic production of leaving the house. The lack of independent play ability. Carrying that effing car seat everywhere.

I love that kid and I have loved her every step of the way, but I'm gonna go out on a limb and say that the infant stage is not something that I enjoy. Sure, they are cute and snuggly. But they are also tiny little leeches that suck every ounce of your life force for their own benefit. I'm not real excited to go there again. But they say it's easier the second time, right? Right?

So I'm torn. I can wait to space them three years and buy myself a mostly independent, non-pregnant summer now, but be stuck with a brand new baby next summer and have six years to wait before both my kids are over three. OR I can be pregnant this summer and have them more like 30 months apart. Opinions? I'd love to hear them.

Wednesday, December 7, 2011

The no monster rears its ugly head

Well, I guess I had a good run. It took eighteen months, a week, and two days, but Marlo has figured out how to say "no." I had been holding out hope that maybe she'd be the first toddler in the history of man to skip the "no" phase, but that looks pretty foolish now.

It all started with her doing something she wasn't supposed to - like taking the chapstick out of my nightstand drawer. She would bring it to me and say "oooooooo" while shaking her head. Then she figured out how to make the "n" sound and started randomly shrieking "noooo!" about nothing in particular. Now I can barely make a move without being chastised. As I type she is wandering around the living room, shaking her head and kind of humming "nonononono" to herself. I can't wait for the first time we're out in public and she does her best ladies' self defense class impression.

In other news, I got into a giant fight with my mother yesterday. I suppose it would be passive aggressive of me to keep Marlo awake all afternoon before dropping her off to spend the night with her, huh.

Tuesday, November 29, 2011

I promise I don't waste *that* much

You know what makes me feel like a repressed 50's housewife? The fact that I wait until my husband is at work to sneak the vegetables we're never going to eat into the compost bin. Well, that and pre-treating the ring around the collar on his dress shirts. I die a little bit inside every time I do that.

But back to the food wasting. It's not like he would be angry with me. It's not like I don't have carte blanche to do whatever the eff I want around here. It's just that if the hubs sees me trying to throw away some turnips that have already languished in the crisper for a month, he tells me not to throw them away, he'll eat them. He will then proceed to attempt some nastiness like scrambled eggs and turnips, and I end up throwing out the remaining (majority) liquified turnips two weeks later. It's better my way, starving children in China or no.

Part of the problem is, no matter how much I actually enjoy eating kale or swiss chard, they are not exactly my "go-to" vegetables. Like any other good American, my staples are frozen peas and corn. Maybe green beans. MAYBE. Spinach? Even that is getting a little fancy. I grew up with frozen spinach served mostly in a hollowed out sourdough loaf as spinach dip. Oh and salad. We also had a lot of salad. And we have a lot of salad now in my Family, v. 2.0.

We also have about ten thousand apples in the fridge, because nobody really wants pears or persimmons or whatever else the CSA tries to pass off as acceptable fruits. So I always default to apples, but never actually eat them. Any time I do, I think "my, what a lovely little snack an apple makes," but then the next time I'm hungry I go right back to the M&Ms. Old habits. You know.

Monday, November 28, 2011

The big door busting bust

Gather 'round children and you shall hear, of the one time I tried to go door busting and then decided it wasn't worth it and went home and went to bed.

So my sister and I were sitting around after Thanksgiving dinner,  looking at the Black Friday ads and generally avoiding doing the dishes. I was flipping through the Toys R Us ad when suddenly I was overwhelmed with the urge to go bust some doors. It seemed like the perfect plan. A victimless crime. It was nine - the store was already open! The store was only 5 minutes from my parents' house! They had at least two big ticket items I wanted to get on sale for 75% off! My judgment obviously impaired by wine, I thought that we would just saunter on in, make our purchases, and return home in a timely fashion.

Umm, no. We pulled up to the strip mall. The first thing we noticed was that the parking lot at the Petsmart next door seemed awfully full. We wondered aloud at what sort of door busters sale they were having on pet food, and continued down the block to the Toys R Us. Complete. Mayhem. They had a bouncer at the door. The line went out the door, around the corner AND THEN back around the block. All I could think looking at it was who needs stuff this bad? It was out of control. We circled through the lot and retreated home.

I feel a very strange mix of feelings whenever I think about this experience. I feel at once ashamed at my naivete, amused by the absurdity of the scene, and disappointed that I didn't actually get to door bust. But overall, I think this experience will hold me. I don't actually need to get in that fray. Maybe it will be a new tradition, like driving around Christmas eve looking at Christmas lights. On Thanksgiving night after dinner, we can drive around the strip malls and look at all the batshit crazy people.

Monday, November 21, 2011

And Alexis is the interesting one

I wish I had more interesting things to share with you, but basically I've got working out and eating and taking care of the kid. Any of that sound fascinating? No? Okay then.

I appreciate the fact that Patricia Arquette never fixed her teeth, but then again I find that her teeth are all that I think about when I see her. I'm sure a cursory google search would inform me all about her teeth and the stand she took or did not take by not going for the caps, but really I feel like I've spent too much time thinking about Patricia Arquette today already. Rosanna didn't fix her snaggle tooth either, and she got at least two songs written about her. That's all I think about when I hear "In Your Eyes" on the radio - what a slut Rosanna Arquette must have been in the eighties. Which is really too bad, for such a pretty song.

So there you have it - I spend a disproportionate amount of time thinking about the Arquette sisters. The end.

Monday, November 14, 2011

Indulge me if you will

I went to the gym this morning. WAIT. Before you go clicking on to what you hope will be a more interesting blog, hear me out. It was kind of a big deal for me, because it was a new gym, a new class (spin), and a new leaving Marlo in childcare. Spoiler alert: I got through half my class before they had to page me.

Here's the thing about me. I am absolutely terrible about getting outside of my comfort zone. I hate going into new situations where I don't know where I am or what I'm doing. I know that some people live for that shit, but I am not one of them. Yet. Maybe I can learn. But so far, not so good, seeing as I just came across an essay from high school in which I described how much I hate going into situations where I don't know where I am or what I'm doing.

So it was kind of a big deal for me to get in the car, drive to a place I had never been before, get Marlo checked in with some lady, run around the building looking for my classroom (which was unfortunately located in the basement with the men's locker room), introduce myself to the teacher and get on the bike and ride. For those keeping score, that means the unknowns included 4 destinations, one stressful mom/baby situation and one stressful new girl of questionable cardiovascular fitness situation.

It turned out I really needn't have worried about the spin class itself. I think I was the youngest person in there by at least 15 years, judging by the Bachman-Turner Overdrive and the fact that one lady asked the instructor to please turn down the music because that electric guitar was just killing her ears. One lady said "ooh, look! I'm doing 450 rpms!" Not exactly an advanced cycling group.

What I should have worried more about was poor Marlo, who I pretty much unceremoniously dumped in the daycare because I was running late- and what is worse than being new but also late? Nothing. Except maybe, I don't know, traumatizing your poor baby for life. I'm going to try and rectify the situation by taking her in there for little baby step visits, and hopefully I'll be able to get through an entire class eventually.

But, credit where credit is due - I did something that I've been wanting to do for the past two weeks (since we joined the gym) but hadn't had the courage to do. I overcame my weird head trip. Yeay me.

Sunday, November 13, 2011

to be continued.

You probably noticed that I couldn't help myself and messed with the blog template again. What can I say, I exert control upon my universe any which way I can.

I have more to say about the mom thing eventually. I want to tell you all about the Herbfarm and how I am restructuring the household budget in order to be able to eat there again soon. I want to talk about how every time my husband wears this one 5k t-shirt it makes me feel like a failure because he ran it on  whim out drinking one night (it was a midnight run) and I don't think I could up and run a 5k if I had a gun to my head.

But right now the baby wants grapes. She always wants grapes. I was putting her in her car seat the other day and noticed her hair was in her eyes. I asked her if she wanted me to go get her a clip.

"Yes." she said. "And grapes."

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

What if believing is the difference

A few weeks ago, I decided to rededicate myself to the whole "stay at home mom" concept. I decided it had gone on long enough, all the angst and anxiety over whether I was fulfilled or if I was throwing away my life or whatever. Basically I decided rather than having one foot out the door all the time, I was going to be the best damn stay at home mom I could be. And I think it's working, at least as far as my own level of contentedness is concerned.

What I realized I needed to do was to focus on the "mom" part. This may sound really stupid and obvious to you, but I think it's really hard to see sometimes when you're in the throes of it. I am not staying at home with Marlo so that I can get the laundry done or the internet surfed. I'm here to help her learn how to be a person. Hopefully a good one.

What this has meant in practice is that I have had to try and reconcile with my old nemesis, patience. I am horribly impatient. I have exploded in rages of blind fury over such minutiae as the speed with which my husband fills his tacos. Guess how pleasant that extreme lack of patience makes day to day life with an almost 18 month-old? But since my rededication, I have worked at being better. I have tried to enjoy helping Marlo learn to walk down the stairs - rather than think oh my god hurry UP - I repeat this mantra to myself: what do I have better to do? Yeah, maybe I'm heading downstairs to get the laundry, but helping Marlo learn to walk down the stairs is actually my job, now, isn't it?

I don't mean this as some pious report from on high about how I am a better mother than you are. I'm just sayin' - I found the first 17 months of being a stay at home mom to be more of a challenge, more detrimental to my self esteem than I thought it would be. Over the past couple of weeks I've flipped the script. I rock with Marlo at naptime, her little head on my shoulder, still smelling like peanut butter and jelly from lunch. And I think to myself how grateful I am, how amazingly fortunate I am that I am the one who gets to be there in that moment with her, every day. At first I was only telling myself - but it didn't take long for me to believe it.

Monday, November 7, 2011

But at least it's not raining

I kinda hate this new "daylight savings time ending so late" thing, because it just dumps you into extreme early darkness. It's very abrupt all the way up here in practically Canada. Like, it's four in the afternoon and I need to start turning on lights. Oh well, six more weeks of darkness and it will start to get lighter again. Just trying to channel my inner Pollyanna!

Actually, eight weeks from now and yours truly will be in full blown summer. Take that, Northern Hemisphere inhabitants! I'm spending most of January 2012 in New Zealand - which should be one of the best months out of the entire year to not be in Seattle. The only downside to this trip, as far as I can see, is that I have to fly with Marlo all by myself. I know people who have done it, and I know it can be done, but two 15 hour flights (there and back) without my husband there to have the teeny bathroom poopy diaper changes pawned upon sounds just slightly more fun than staying home alone with her for three weeks. I actually read a blog that recommended getting the kid slightly constipated before the flight. I think I may follow that advice.

Thursday, November 3, 2011

As if my life weren't poo-centric enough

So Marlo has become obsessed with the potty lately, which is both very exciting and very not. She's had a potty book for a while that she has now pulled in to heavy rotation. We just bought her an actual potty chair the other day during a harrowing trip to Toys R Us. She's been sitting on it, fully clothed, reading books or watching TV.* I wondered if maybe I shouldn't let her sit on the potty in the middle of the living room, but then I thought, hey, how often do you get to sit on a toilet without having to miss (pause) the action in your favorite TV shows? Right now, it appears Elmo is taking a turn on the potty, while Elmo's World plays on the screen. What a narcissist.

If potty training wasn't such (alleged) ass pain, I would be ready to be in the throes of it. What I am more ready for is the burning of my entire cloth diaper stash, and two blissful years of disposable diapers. Lately the diapers have been way harshing my mellow, what with the three teething poops a day and all. And also there's the whole part where Marlo is old enough to have an opinion about everything, including diaper changes. Her opinions tend to be quite strong on the subject, and mostly negative.

Now she's eating her snack on the potty. I should probably stop this. Although I am getting more and more convinced she just thinks it's a nifty plastic throne. I was thinking the other day how much I wished I lived in olden times, where I would have a chamber maid to come in my room in the morning, throw back the shades,  wake me gently and hand me my pot - you know, eliminating that long walk to the bathroom. Then I realized that chamber maids DO still exist, and I am one of them. There's no justice.

* I mean, not watching TV. Ha ha, she's only 17 months old, why would I be letting her watch TV? More nervous laughter, ha ha ha.

Monday, October 31, 2011

Speaking of bacon

Not the leftovers, just what there was

My sister came over for brunch on Saturday, promising to bring doughnuts. I figured the least I could do was make sure there was some sort of protein there, and bought some Hempler's all-natural uncured bacon.

"Some" is the correct word in this case, because my $9.99 purchase yielded me nine slices. I cooked the whole thing and the three of us each got three pieces - minus whatever we shared with Marlo. It was delicious and all, but at a dollar-eleven a slice? That seems a little steep, no?

You can see that I burned some. The whole starting in a cold pan thing never works well for me. I would always rather cook bacon in the microwave, wrapped up in half a forest's worth of paper towels, but my husband sighs witheringly and says with great reluctance how he "prefers" bacon fried in a pan - which is why I "prefer" to have bacon in restaurants. But it all worked out. When I saw my sister with burned slices on her plate I told her to take the unburned ones, because Mo and I had already sneaked a few of the perfectly cooked ones. She looked at me like I was crazy and said "I like burned bacon," like that is something that all normal people feel.

Thursday, October 27, 2011

We also had deep fried bacon

You know, I'm no trendspotter, but I think that salted caramel has jumped the shark. That doesn't mean that I don't love it, oh no it does not. But I'm realizing that it is everywhere, and in increasingly shitty iterations. It's definitely a dessert buzz word that those crafty restaurant folk realize will get people to fork over an extra fifteen bucks at the end of a meal. Maybe they'll do it for the same reason that my husband and I did recently, in an attempt to salvage an underwhelming and overpriced meal. John Howie, I'm looking at you. Or maybe it's just because salted caramel is guaranteed to be at least as delicious as an Oreo, and could potentially be, like, fifteen thousand times better. And if you disagree with me on that point, well, I'm not sure you and I were ever that good of friends.

So even though I'm kind of sick of hearing myself talk about it, I made salted caramel chocolate pretzel bark last weekend. It was good. Damn good. But it was sort of like how I imagine heroin is - I felt awesome eating it until I felt sick, and then I felt sick until I ate it again. It is definitely meant for small doses. And I think it counts as a small dose to crush it and blend it into some vanilla ice cream.

The next salted caramel dessert I want to try to make? Salted caramel apple pie. Or maybe salted caramel pumpkin cheesecake, which I saw demonstrated on local tv last weekend. Or maybe I'll just read all the blogs from 2009 talking about such recipes and call it a day.

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

On Mac and Cheese, storebought and otherwise

It looks like I'm going to have to retool my fitness regimen, because my kid has decided that she loves quiche. But it's not as simple as that, naturally. She loves quiche off of my plate. Which means to keep her eating quiche, I need to be eating quiche. Not the worst problem to have, but a high-calorie one.

Yes, the girl who recoils in disgust when presented with macaroni and cheese has been eating entire slices of swiss chard, leek and romano cheese quiche. She also housed some eggplant parmesan last night at dinner. Maybe it's just that I have been offending her palate with my pedestrian offerings.

Speaking of macaroni and cheese, I have been reading (and loving to read) this book by Jennifer Reese, one of my favorite writers on the internet. I first discovered her blog because of an article she had in Slate about making bagels - the printout is still in my recipe file, unattempted. But I've always enjoyed and trusted her opinion on what I should and shouldn't bother to make...which is why I felt guilty when I picked up a box of frozen Beecher's "World's Best" Mac and Cheese for dinner the other night. The thing is, A) it really is the best mac and cheese ever; and B) I don't know if I could have bought the amount of Beecher's Flagship that I would have needed to make it at home for less than I paid for the frozen entree. It was "on sale" for $8.99,  Beecher's Flagship goes for 20 bucks a pound. I think I done Tipsy proud.

Saturday, October 22, 2011

On a rocking horse at times

What I wish, what I've always wished (for the past 20 years), is that I had Eddie Vedder's voice. Sure it would be weird coming out of my body, but it seems like the perfect vehicle for exorcising everything you need to exorcise.

Pearl Jam Twenty is awesome. Watch it.

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

Someday, it won't be funny anymore

Have you seen Oprah's Life Class yet? Oprah knows her way around a defamation lawsuit, so I'm not saying that Oprah's trying to start a cult. But. I think Oprah may be trying to start a cult. I just want you to promise you will send the deprogrammer to kidnap me if I start talking too much crazy Oprah talk.

Speaking of crazy Oprah talk, Facebook has been all about the inspirational messages lately, right? It seems like everyone has one for me. My favorite thing anyone has said all week was when one of my friends said, "it's like when my mom first got email." I should have just stolen that and said that it was mine but apparently Oprah has me gone soft.

Anyway, I guess I should be less cynical and just appreciate the positive energy or something. I should definitely be less cynical. Yesterday  I was out strolling with the baby when I saw a poster for a lost Yorkie. I thought to myself that there was no way that Yorkie was picked up by a little girl and taken home - unless that little girl also went by the alias of "Uncle Sam" and had an eight foot wingspan, or maybe "Rocky" and wore a cute little burglar mask. Wouldn't you know that a quarter mile later, I came across a sign for a found Yorkie. And, yes, I did my good deed and called to make sure they knew about one another, thank you very much.

Monday, October 10, 2011

I need to watch more MTV

It was my birthday on Thursday, and I have celebrated by doing and liking more old lady stuff. For instance, there was quite a flurry of activity on my facebook page when I called attention to myself for liking clothing items from Coldwater Creek and Talbot's. I also threatened to kill myself over it, and my facebook "friends" pretty much just offered suggestions on how to carry that out.

Now to further the theme I am starting a quilting project. Never mind the fact that I can barely sew and I haven't operated a sewing machine in probably 15 years. A quilt, at least, is a big flat thing, it's not like I'm trying to sew myself a wedding dress or a pair of pants or whatever. Although it IS my dream to be able to make all my own clothes. At least while I'm watching an episode of Project Runway.

Anyway, this project is enough of a way-over-my-head endeavor that it should keep me out of trouble for a while. Either that or it will cause me to become immediately frustrated and I will lose interest within the week. I'll let you know the over/under and where to place your bets.

Tuesday, October 4, 2011

If I never saw another Elmo's World, it would be too soon

Hi neglected blog! How many of my posts this year start out this way, anyway.

So I've been all participating in my sister's wedding followed directly by spending a week with my in-laws and drinking boxed wine to cope, so you might accurately assume  I haven't started any of my crazy diet experiments. I did however learn the perfect way to prevent anybody from taking the third seat in our row on a Southwest flight. It goes as follows:

  1. Feed baby a banana during boarding, so that she gets good and sticky
  2. Periodically withhold banana as to elicit shrieks of displeasure from said baby
  3. If possible, a phlegmy cough or two
And blam! A free seat for baby on your cross country flight!

In other news, Marlo is totally obsessed with Sesame Street. The other day she managed to get it playing off the TiVo all by her own self. This has me convinced that TV is not rotting her brain, but in fact making her even more of a genius. I am especially proud of the fact that while she does love Elmo, she is also a big fan of Cookie Monster and Grover. She appreciates the classics. She calls Grover "Ca-Ca," which I didn't know the first time she ran through the house pointing and screaming "Ca-Ca! Ca-Ca!" I was really confused.

I just saw the Dixie Chicks singing "Sing a Song" on an old episode. They tried to make the short stumpy one look less short and stumpy by making her stand on a stool or something behind the Muppeteers. Let's just say it didn't work.

Monday, September 19, 2011

in the name of science

I'm thinking of starting a rather ambitious little lifestyle project.

After spending a weekend talking to people about their various dietary limitations, mostly self-imposed, and reading this blog post this morning, I am thinking about taking several different 10 day diet challenges back to back. Like, 10 days meat free, then 10 dairy free, then 10 gluten get the point. I just want to have spent some time on each of these programs so that I know when to roll my eyes and when to nod knowingly.

But I have so many unknowns at this point. Like, is 10 days enough? Would seven be enough? Lots of the "Go (insert food product here) Free!" websites seem to suggest 10 day trials. Ten days sounds like a lot if things are going poorly. And to truly judge the results, would I have to take some down time in between trials? I don't want to be getting into the delicious holiday season with a bunch of stupid self-inflicted restrictions on me. Winter is for eating and storing blubber in case of nuclear holocaust, period.

And what about overcompensating for missing certain foods with eating other foods? What if I were to miss cheese so much that I made up for it by drinking a fifth of whiskey every night? I mean, that would probably interfere with my results.

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

That explains it

Whoa. I just tried the new blogger interface and my mind is blown. How long has this been an option?

Of course, I just read that blogger is a dead/dying website because nobody gives a crap about blogs anymore. Nobody wants to read them and nobody wants to write them. That's what the, um, BLOG post I was reading said, anyways.

I do love twitter and all, but I love it for being the perfect medium for funny little snarky comments. I have severe twitter performance anxiety, because so much depends on those 140 characters. You have to get it right. Plus, I feel like I need like 3 different aliases, so that I can tweet to a target audience. I've got plenty of funny sports commentary to make while watching sporting events, but that's going to bore the shit out of people not watching the same game. For instance.

I'm kind of scared of becoming too involved with twitter, too. It was bad enough back in the day when your facebook status had to start "Tori is" and half my thoughts throughout the day started that way. Of course I mostly think in snarky comments anyway, so it probably wouldn't make that big of a difference. 

Monday, September 12, 2011

I have not been compensated for this endorsement

Warning! Self-indulgent workout results post ahead.

Yesterday was day 15 of the 30 day shred. It was actually about 20 calendar days into it, since I lost three days to the stomach flu and added in my two days of stroller boot camp last week.

The results are pretty impressive, unless you are a scale person. I haven't lost any weight. But I have more muscle in my ass than I've ever had, so I'm guessing that's why. What I have lost is inches, two and a half of them from my waist. I've lost an inch from both my bust and my bra band, which probably means I could size down a cup size. That would be fine by me, a career big B/small C girl who's been in double D and beyond land ever since getting knocked up.

It's a nice feeling to sweat every day. No really, it is. And I love that the workouts are short, so even if I don't really feel like doing it, I know that in half an hour it will all be behind me. Plus, I've lost all these inches without thinking twice about what I'm eating. For me, that's totally the point of working out - eating more. I have no fitness goals, only cake eating goals. But speaking of fitness, I can totally do real push-ups now. No girly knee push-ups for me.

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

I'll name drop the hell out of this one

Did I tell you about how I got an email telling me to click here to win a chance to meet Oprah, so I did? That doesn't even sound like me, but it's true. I guess now I'm the sort of person who tries to win a trip to meet Oprah.

It's not exactly like I'm trying to win, though. I mean, it's pretty hard to call it trying when all that was involved was volunteering my email address, for what is sure to be sale to the next 14 highest bidders who want to sell me maxi pads and dish soap or whatever.

Really, my thought process was basically something along the lines of this: if Oprah wants to buy me a plane ticket and put me up in a hotel, feed me three meals a day and shake my hand, who am I to say no to that? It would be sort of like turning down a free trip to meet Santa or Elvis or something. Why not do it, just to have an anecdote for one of those awkward moments when you're asked to share something interesting about yourself, and your mind goes completely blank?

Of course there was this one time in high school when I turned down meeting William Shatner, but I still think that was the right call on that one. Have you seen Shatner's Raw Nerve? It's like the most awkward horrible train wreck you could ever imagine. I kind of love it.

Monday, September 5, 2011

who doesn't love to talk about barf

So I was just sitting around watching the clock, wondering if it was appropriate to go to bed at quarter after eight, when I realized - I should write a blog post! That should get me past the nine o'clock mark.

Where have I been, anyway. Oh yeah. Last weekend it was the crippling sickness. I started feeling just a little nauseous at bedtime Friday before last, and by 1:45 or so I was playing Sophie's Toilet Choice. This lovely little scene repeated itself hourly until the sun came up, and I managed to not die of dehydration before Marlo got up and Mo could run to the store to get me Sprite and Popsicles.  All day Saturday I just lay there comatose, alternating between fever and chills. I ate four oyster crackers and a piece of toast. Then around 5:30 pm Mo came crawling (literally) into the bedroom and said he didn't feel so good. So the both of us crawled to the kitchen, managed to put some sort of food in front of Marlo, and put her to bed shortly after six. Then we both got back in our bed and stayed there until morning. Thank God that Marlo didn't object to being parked in her crib so early. I really have no idea what we would have done if she had refused to go to bed. I think she would have had to stay in there crying.

Sunday I made great strides - I got out of bed and onto the couch. Mo never actually got all the way sick, and was feeling okay-ish, but Marlo still spent the majority of her day watching Sesame Street and/or Project Runway. I think Sunday I managed two pieces of toast and maybe even some chicken noodle soup by dinner.

The worst part about it (besides the uncontrollable wretching) was that I lost three days of my Shred. I wasn't strong enough to work out again until Tuesday, and although I basically ate four pieces of bread all weekend I don't think the stomach flu makes for a reliable diet plan.  Tomorrow I step it up another level, though, and start a six week mom and baby bootcamp class. When I called to sign up and spoke to the instructor, she seemed super nice. Until after I gave her my credit card info. Then she started laughing like a maniac and promising she was going to kick my ass. I'm half parts exaggerating/half scared shitless.

Thursday, August 25, 2011

Someday I will be a grown up, but not today

Well, you'll be glad to know that I have completed the first three days of the Shred, and I'm only about three years behind every other mom with a blog in writing about it. I must say that my Google search for before and after pictures left me a little disappointed, but I wrote that off as other peoples' failures and not the ineffectiveness of the program. Naturally.

The whole workout thing is part of the general sort of "back to school" attempt at re-perfectionist-ing I end up cooking up about this time every year. I am very good at setting myself up for failure by attempting to implement several major lifestyle changes all at once. My plans for this September include getting Marlo on one nap, getting myself out of bed and dressed first thing in the morning like a grown up, having a family dinner on the table by 6:30 ever night, and the aforementioned daily workout. Yesterday, Marlo took two naps and wandered around in her pajama top and diaper all day. I got dressed myself somewhere around the four o'clock hour. We have a long way to go.

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

Introducing...Working Out

So I'm trying this revolutionary thing you probably haven't heard about. It's called "reacting to a stressful day by working out." Crazy, right? This approach is meant to replace my prior approach, called "bendy straw in a bottle of white wine." I'll let you know how it works. It's a pretty new idea that nobody else has ever thought up before, and I'm pretty excited about it.

Preliminary results are good. By that I mean I tried it last night and it seemed to work all right. Considering that Marlo was a nasty little (cute! love of my life!) beast who only took one hour-and-a-half long nap all day and almost got thrown in her crib straight from her bath - no jammies, no diaper, no nothing - I'd say it was a miracle that not one alcoholic beverage was consumed.

Stress relief is not my sole motivation. It suddenly dawned on me that my sister's wedding is less than a month away, and if I am serious about wanting to not feel like a schlub in my cute little maid of honor dress, I better get crackalackin'.  So no problem, I'll just do the Jillian Michaels 30 Day Shred in 27 days.

Tuesday, August 9, 2011

This sort of thing is why the empire is collapsing around us

Blah blah boring blah. There, does that count as a blog post?

Lately I've just not been in the mood. I have had a traveling husband and a lot of one-on-one kid time, and while you might think that would be a boon to my catalog of subject matter, it was really more of a boon to the malt liquor industry. Not really. But sort of.

Want to talk about my private lady business? Oh good, me too. I had the monthly visitor something fierce, so bad that I felt a lot like that lady raccoon I saw get raped in the street in front of my house a few months back. At least I sounded a lot like her, with all the hissing and spitting and whatnot. It was so bad that my husband - Mister Just Say No, never took a drug stronger than Motrin himself - suggested I might want to see if I could get a prescription for some medical marijuana. I think it says a lot that he would prefer me completely useless, eating Doritos and watching Cheech and Chong or whatever.

Actually what he would really prefer me is knocked up again, which is just absolute crazy talk. For at least another four to six months.

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

On sleep

I am really beginning to daydream about the day that Marlo's sleep habits are no longer any of my concern. I wonder what I used to even think about with all this brain space that is now used to calculate naps and bedtimes and wake up times for another person.

Since she was old enough to have a bedtime and wasn't just on the infant sleep-eat-poop-repeat cycle, her bedtime has been seven. And she has always been ready for it and gone down happily anywhere from 6:50 to 7:20. But lately, we've been pushing it, and putting her to bed anywhere from 7:30 to 8:30. Huh, funny, but lately she's been an out of sorts trainwreck who refuses to nap, I wonder if the two could possibly be related. Last night I put her down at 6:50 and never heard a peep from her. She slept like a brick through my check-in at 11:30, and didn't wake up until eight. 

Life is amazing and wonderful when she sleeps until eight. At least that's what I thought at eight this morning when she woke me up.  It seems like it has the potential to be really great when she's ready to drop the morning nap. But as of right now, she still mostly needs it. And personally I don't know why any stay at home mom in her right mind would actually exert energy to try and get rid of that nap sooner. She's a girl who loves to sleep and I should shut up and enjoy it before I am cursed with a never-sleeper the next time.

Monday, July 25, 2011

Rainy afternoon food network musings

Not that you asked, but I have absolutely no desire to be Giada De Laurentiis's friend. Any time I've ever seen her do a show about having a party it looks super uncomfortable to me. Maybe it has something to do about how she's always getting in everybody's face demanding that they agree with her about how delicious her food is. It's very needy. Also, the awkward thing I just saw with her taking a turn in the DJ booth was very hard to watch. I can't imagine having to see it in person and pretend I was okay with it.

I figured out my Curtis Stone thing from awhile back. He looks like Ryan Gosling in drag. THAT is what it is.

Speaking of (TV) chefs, let's talk about this whole Meatless Monday thing for a minute. Do leftovers count? I don't think they do. I think if you are eating meat leftovers on Monday, you have not broken the sacrament. But then I'm a firm believer in the spirit over the letter.

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

With apologies to my reader(s)

It is my personal opinion that it blows that moms don't get sick days. I mean, I'm not very sick. Not sick enough that I would stay home from a "real job," but still. Why do I got to get up and deal with somebody else's day when I don't even feel like getting up to deal with my own?

I have the kind of annoying head congestion where when it's through with giving me sinus pain, it's draining slowly down the back of my throat, feeling somewhat akin to what I imagine it would feel like if somebody was playing that game where you can't let the marble drop with all the little plastic skewers using your throat as the plastic cylinder.  Sore throats are maybe my least favorite symptom, because they interfere with so many useful life activities (i.e., talking, eating).

Well crap - this has turned into a bunch of self indulgent horse shit, hasn't it? Anyway, I wish I had something better to post, but since I don't I'm going for quantity over quality.

It is my fervent hope that someday chocolate chip cookies will be deemed the cure for the common cold.

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Ketchup: the breakfast of champions

I decided to forgo the green smoothie this morning in favor of leftover fatty omelet and potatoes from Sunday morning. I did this under the rationale that I didn't want the (relatively) expensive restaurant food go to waste; in reality, I did it because fatty omelet > spinach and banana smoothie. By, oh, say a million and a half.

I ate the leftovers despite the fact that they contain both meat AND cheese, which are the two things most wrong with the world according to this report released yesterday by the Environmental Working Group. Yesterday I was all depressed about it, how I had to face facts and quit eating the cheese, even if cheese IS the most delicious thing ever invented by man. Obviously my fleeting pleasure over a plate of nachos is not worth the lives of thousands of cute little polar bear cubs, right? But then I remembered that this guy exists, and he is a fantastic example of American Can-Do Ingenuity, and he is going to save cheese for us. He is to be exalted on high, if you ask me.

Friday, July 15, 2011

Scared Straight

If I were going to give a speech to teenagers, in an effort to convince them that they should not get knocked up just to get on "16 and Pregnant," I would be sure to include something along these lines:

Being a mother means that you will at some point find yourself sitting on a toilet, in moderate to severe intestinal distress, reading some inane, rhyme-y board book (that you have already read ten THOUSAND times), out loud and in your most cheerful, sing-song voice. You will do this because you will have no other options. This is what your life will have come to be.

Friday, July 8, 2011

Next: This super cool new dance called the Macarena

Did you know that wheat grass is the miracle cure for everything? I was not aware until I decided that I had better start drinking some sort of smoothie for breakfast, because I don't ever eat breakfast or fruit. Then I learned that even better than a regular smoothie is a GREEN smoothie. And what's greener than wheat grass? Nothing. It smells precisely like green and tastes like it, too. I bought a big tub of it in powder form off of Amazon. Because you know it's good for you if it's expensive!

This discovery has afforded me such luxuries as eating cheddar and sour cream ruffles coated in ranch dip for lunch. Since one tablespoon of wheat grass powder gives me, like, eight days worth of vegetables, I see no reason why not.

Remember in - maybe it was the 90's, when juice bars starting popping up, and douchebags started drinking wheat grass shots and proclaiming themselves the epitome of healthy lifestyle? Yeah, I'm finally catching up on that trend.

Sunday, July 3, 2011

I hope she doesn't come after me next

I spent like 45 minutes this morning reading up on the whole feud between that one chick and Dooce. That is time I will never get back, especially since Marlo slept over at Gangee and Pop-Pop's and I was free to luxuriate. Seems like a waste, but really it's exactly the sort of thing one is apt to do when one is free from the burden of monitoring the personal hygiene, caloric intake and gross motor development of another for a few hours.

I will summarize my learnings thusly: I get why Dooce is pissed, but she seems a little extra pissed. Like barometer pointing slightly toward "unhinged." The other chick just seems like a mean bitch. I think the whole thing is a little bit acting out high school all over again - Dooce feels all nerdy and picked on and the other one is just an insecure mean girl and really, why am I still thinking about this again? Geez.

I saw an old friend from high school last night, and when he asked me what I'm doing these days I said staying home with the baby all-apologetic like. I need to quit that.

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

I didn't even eat anything weird before bed

I just remembered the craziest dream! And it's related to my post from yesterday.

I dreamed I had to go to court. I was going to represent some dude in a custody hearing. Somehow I knew him and he was in some sort of position of authority/was an old friend of my dad's or something.

This was a case where two couples were friends and one of the husbands slept with the wrong wife. Oops! But even worse, the cheater husband (my client) and his wife had kids, whereas the other couple did not. I was expected to present a case that would prove the mother was not suited for custody and basically help these mean nasty cheaters complete the coup of this woman's family. There was some other detail, too, that escapes me now, that made the whole situation even more despicable.

In my dream I went to the courthouse in jeans and a tank top. I was going to ruin this woman's life and I knew it. I knew that I had to do it and that I didn't want to. I knew that I had to put on a suit. But I lent all my suits to my girlfriends with jobs! (That part is true.) Luckily I found the one suit I kept (also true) in the closet in the back of the courtroom. I spent a lot of time looking for the right shoes. Everybody watched me put them on. I stood in this courtroom and cried. I felt nothing but wrong, hate, and yuck. Everything about this is wrong. I hate this. This is wrong for me.

I did what I was (presumably) being paid to do and it was over. The egomaniac cheater husband was thrilled. My parents were thrilled. I was miserable. I took off my suit and got naked in the parking lot. Everybody freaked out. Why are you naked in the parking lot!?!?!

The End.

Weird, right? A sign from God -slash- my deep subconscious self? Hard to say. All I know is I feel better about the whole go to work/stay at home rift than I have in a week.

Monday, June 27, 2011

It's like wishing summer vacation would end

One of my besties is going back to work after four years staying at home with the kids. "Going back to work" is kind of a euphemism in this case, for "getting the eff out of Dodge." She is so ready to re-enter the rat race that she was touring the daycare centers before she even got the interviews.

All of this fills me with a sort of weird self-loathing- envy- anxiety- insecurity- stew that has led to much wringing of the hands and drinking of the alcoholic beverages. It's another example of how I don't measure up. She has passed the judgment that staying at home sucks and the right thing to do is work outside the home, so therefore I am wrong and stupid.

For a couple of days I thought about how I could make it happen. I thought about where I could go and what I could do. I thought about how good it would feel to sit at a desk and answer emails about BUSINESS, and go to meetings and wear pencil skirts and heels.

Then I remembered all that shit sucks.

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

All growsed up

I sometimes forget that Marlo is destined to be a grown-up, and as such can be expected to progress forward in physical and/or mental capabilities. Or to put it another way, I sometimes forget she's not a dog.

So you will have to forgive me for how overly excited I am that she just learned I just figured out that she can walk herself from the car to the front door, or vice versa! What a mind blowing, liberating development this is.  This means no more running to the door with bags of groceries while she screams in her car seat! I'm telling you, it's the little things like this that make life so wonderful. Today she even made it all the way up the stairs by herself.

I guess it just hadn't occurred to me in any meaningful way that she was actually going to grow up - and now all of a sudden she walks places and understands English and helps me sort coupons. When I say "do you want a snack pouch?" she runs to the cupboard where we keep the snack pouches and picks one out for me to open. It blows my mind. I can only imagine what it will be like when she learns to do math problems.

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

In which I perv on pregnant ladies

If you read my blog back in the days it was the baby pork chop blog, you know that my favorite part about being pregnant was the free-for-all on food. It was the first time in my adult life where it was okay to eat whatever, whenever and not worry a lick about the consequences. And so I put on 41 pounds with glee. I was actually proud of each and every weigh-in.

But yesterday at one of our save mommy's sanity  mommy and me activities, I noticed one of the other moms was pregnant. And like, way pregnant. Like, how have I not noticed this before pregnant. I hadn't noticed because she is a very stereotypical size 00 Japanese woman, but with a watermelon stuck under her shirt. Everywhere else - same old tiny! She still has a waist and everything. It is totally unreal and she probably wonders what sort of pervy psycho I am because I kept checking her out.

Honestly, I had the thought "I want to weigh three pounds and be pregnant." What if the next time I am all super healthy lady and eat whole grains and dark leafy vegetables and work out the whole time? What if instead of free for all I try to eat responsibly, like the pregnant law librarian I used to pity when I saw her eating fruit and drinking tiny cartons of milk?

Since body image during pregnancy was the theme yesterday,  I came home and (during Marlo's naptime of course) watched the Very Special episode of 16 and Pregnant with Kayla the anorexic girl. I can't even mock her for her poor decisions, seeing as the poor thing is sick and getting absolutely no support, but I really wanted to shake her. Which goes to show why I don't do social work.

Tuesday, June 14, 2011

I bet you didn't realize you were in the presence of such sheer genius

Did you know they changed the scoring on the SAT? That's why that teenager laughed at you when you humblebragged your score. Now there is a writing section and the score is out of 2400 instead of 1600. I took the SAT II writing test back when it was optional and aced it, thank you very much. Got a 770. That's not a humblebrag, that's just a real brag.* It's not quite "I was head cheerleader back in the day," but it's all I got.

My poor blog is so neglected, and probably completely unsatisfactory to all (six and counting) readers. Not enough baby for some, not enough world view for others. Still again not enough tales of mommy shenanigans to make insecure moms feel better/drunkard moms feel enabled.

I have to find a new shtick, something that will force me to blog every day. Now that it has become quite obvious to me that I cannot eat as though I am still pregnant fifty-five weeks after giving birth, maybe I could blog about the carrot sticks and plain tuna I am eating for lunch. Boy, won't that be fun for everybody?

Speaking of diets, do you know that in the course of an hour yesterday I found SCIENTIFIC EVIDENCE all over the internet that each and every kind of food will eventually cause you to die horribly of cancer and/or old age? Yes, it turns out no matter what you eat you will eventually die, and there is nothing you can do to control this. Scares the shit out of people, apparently.

*I feel like I may have stolen this line from a certain someone.  Or perhaps I'm crazy. I  am sorry if I am a plagarist instead of a genius.

Wednesday, June 1, 2011

On eating habits, hers and mine

Maybe there's something to that whole "put it out there in the Universe and it will happen" thing. Since I posted about wanting to get Marlo weaned, she's gone from four to five feedings a day to two. Currently, she is nursing only upon waking and at bedtime, without too much complaint. We only dropped the last midday feeding last week, and it's still a little rough getting her past that three pm snack craving. But she has turned the corner on cow's milk, giving it her resounding seal of approval, so I've been offering her some milk in a sippy cup when she gives me the urgent milk hands during the day. Banana flavored Baby Mum-Mums (aka Chinese Melamine Biscuits) are also key.

So Marlo is one now and walking and talking(ish). She had a fabulous birthday party complete with cupcakes and a taco bar. In a related story, I have eaten tacos nearly exclusively over the past five days. You would think that I would be sick of tacos by now, but you would be totally wrong. It makes me even more confident in my hypothesis that I could eat that entire 12 pack of tacos that Taco Bell keeps pushing on me, if only I hadn't given up Taco Bell two years ago.

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

Domestic goddess, I ain't

You were probably thinking that I have been way too busy playing with my new chickens to post, but you were totally wrong. I do have at least a shred of common sense, but mostly a new-found phobia of commitment to the life and upkeep of other living beings. I am taking baby steps, seeing if I can actually get some herbs planted and cared for before I get myself into domesticated fowl. Plus, I have to go see Paul McCartney in Vegas in two weeks, so I should probably not get chickens before that.

In other news, it's Marlo's first birthday on Friday, so I have been busy procrastinating about getting anything done for her party. We're having a taco bar and I need to draw up a tablescape, but I hate that word so much that all I do is sit around thinking about how much I hate Sandra Lee and her booze-fueled attempts to convince Americans to go to Tuesday Morning and buy a closet full of crap for decorating the kitchen each season.

Which reminds me of how much I love Tina Fey, for the cameo by Ina Garten in the 30 Rock finale in which she mentioned that Jeffrey was away. Oh Tina, thank God I can count on you to make that joke. And bonus points for Ina Garten turning out to maybe be a good sport. She may move up a spot on my "most tolerable food network hosts" list. The field isn't too competitive.

Thursday, May 19, 2011


My neighbor has chickens.

If you need me, I will be at the feed store buying myself some CHICKENS.

They're illegal in my neighborhood, but you know - strength in numbers.

And now we have a real good excuse to shoot the racoons we caught fornicating in the cul-de-sac. We have to protect our neighborhood livestock.

I am thisclose to getting my goat lawnmower - I can feel it!

Wednesday, May 18, 2011

Next up, Vegas

Well, we're back now from our first true unsupported family trip, all intact.

I'm happy to report that it is possible to take a four day trip with an 11 month old, even if it involves a flight, a three hour drive, and a wedding at a winery. We kept Marlo up past her bedtime for three nights in a row, didn't bathe her once, and fed her almost exclusively from Happy Baby pouches, and she seems no worse for wear. In fact, she came home with an expanded vocabulary and capable of taking steps unassisted. I think the change of scenery was fun for her. Good for her, even.

It was definitely good for Mama. It felt almost like some sort of final exam before her first birthday. We knew she would do all right on the two hour flight, but what about the three hour drive? No sweat. What about the wedding? How long would she last? Why, she let daddy stay until almost 9 before he had to get out of there with her. Even the thing I was most anxious about, taking her wine tasting, turned out to be no biggie. I was really worried that I would be That Lush Who Brought The Baby, but even if somebody was thinking that, I didn't notice. I was having too much fun and getting too many compliments on my beautiful and well behaved child.

All in all, a great success. So successful, actually, that we spent the drive back to the airport Monday talking about when to have the next baby. It was totally depressing.

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

On Weaning

Dear Marlo,

Let me start by saying I love you more than you can possibly imagine. Your happiness is of the utmost importance to me.

Unfortunately, one of the things that brings you much joy is, frankly, not any fun at all for me anymore. I don't think it ever fell under the category of "fun," actually, but it used to at least be slightly more fulfilling to me personally and important to our bond.

I'm talking about the breast feeding. I'm ready to be done. But alas, you don't even seem close. I feel so guilty trying to trick you out of it. But you will be a year old in two weeks. A year (a whole year!) I've been doing this for you. All for you. And I'm ready for our relationship to change. I'm longing for a day where you will snuggle up to me for a cuddle, and not suddenly be reminded of the fact that there is food underneath my shirt, tearing at me like a wolverine. I'm ready for our relationship to be more about fun and cuddles than all-you-can-eat buffet.

It feels a little selfish, because it is at least a little bit about wanting my body back. I have a layer of fat around my middle that is not going to go away so long as I have another little being dependent on me for sustenance (if at all). I would also like to be able to wear a real bra again. I try and tell myself that it's important for you to grow and learn to be satiated with food, but then that just seems like fooling myself. I don't want you to be rushed. But I kinda want to rush you. I don't want to be nursing you when you are two. I don't care what the WHO says.

And it's not all selfishness - part of the reason I want you weaned is so that we can eventually give you a little brother or sister. I want my body to myself for six months before we do this all over again. Trust me, I'm not going to have another baby because I want to go through this whole First Year thing again so badly. I am perfectly content to have had perfect little you. I would be happy having you and you only - but I want you to have at least one sibling. You need a sister. You need someone you can call and talk to about how crazy I am.

I love you. Let's work on this together. It might be kind of rough in spots, but I think we'll both come out the other end just fine.


Monday, May 9, 2011

Reflections on a year

It being Mother's Day and all, I did some looking back and reflecting and whatnot. I was looking at the last year in pictures, and here are a few of the observations I made.

In my parents' kitchen,  May 2010

Observation number one: Holy shit, I was huge! This is me about two weeks before Marlo was born. Keep in mind that I was wearing a 34F bra at this point, which should give you some perspective as to how large that bump was. Plus, my face was totally fat. At the time I had no idea. I thought I was looking pretty good. I did not realize that I could be mistaken for the broad side of a barn. That's a very kind mental trompe l'oeil - thanks, Mother Nature!

Her first night home, I believe
Observation number two: Marlo was so tiny! How was she ever this small? I remember thinking she was huge, at the time. Funny that I thought I wasn't that big and that she was bigger. Looking at this tiny baby in pictures makes me want a real life tiny baby.

Observation number three: I had a picture of Marlo sleeping up against my breasts, but at the last second I decided that putting it on the internet was asking for trouble. Had I been willing to subject myself to pervs, you would have seen that my baby's head was absolutely DWARFED by my rack. It looked like twin Death Stars and she was the Millenium Falcon. Hey Moms, remember that day when your milk came in and your boobs ached and spouted milk everywhere and were upgraded from "cantaloupe" to "watermelon?" Good times.

Face is still fat
Observation number four: We had a wedding to go to when Marlo was eight weeks old. It was the first night we left Marlo home with Gangee and Pop Pop. People kept saying they couldn't believe I had given birth only eight weeks ago. I think they were just being polite. Again with those hooters! I am glad they are getting back to the realm of reasonableness.

We have about the same amount of hair

Observation number five: I am glad that my hair has started to grow back in. I think this picture, from Marlo's four month birthday, is at about the worst point of hair loss.

Tuesday, May 3, 2011

Weighing in on world affairs

I'm growing weary of all you dirty hippies complaining about the death of Osama bin Laden. You know what? That guy would have cut your head right off your smelly hippie neck if he had even the slightest chance. You would have been all "hey, Osama, can we talk? I think we can sett-" and then you would have been running around like the proverbial chicken. He hated you. He wanted you dead. He didn't care if you were nice (for an American), or if you voted for Nader in the 2000 election. He just wanted you flippin' dead, so some nice men risked their lives and killed him before he got the chance. The End.

Of course, I understand that what you are really saying in your heart of hearts is "I wish 9/11 had never happened." Of course. So do I. But I'll give you three guesses who didn't wish that. Hint: three words, rhymes with Bosama bin Bladen.

On a serious note, I think there is a very slight yet hugely important difference between celebrating the death of the man and celebrating the accomplishment that was tracking him down and ultimately killing him. I am not celebrating his death, but I am proud of the accomplishment. He wasn't killed in retribution, but because he posed a serious threat - to your safety and to mine, to your mom and to your baby.  If you fear that we are in danger now as a result of his death, you are delusional. We were in danger no matter what.

Saturday, April 30, 2011

In which I fantasize about telling Portland to suck it

You guys, somebody get a thermometer - I think I'm sick! I have become bored with Teen Mom 2 and I'm surfing garden supply websites! What is going on?

I am months, even years behind in my gardening. I have no idea how to do anything related to plants. My father spent his childhood as the live-in landscaper and hates everything to do with a backyard, except for maybe sitting on a deck with a cocktail or riding a small mowing tractor over acreage in a cowboy hat. As a result, he starting paying a gardener as soon as he could afford one and has never looked back. Thus, my little sister and I were saved ever learning anything about dirt, plants, weeds, and whatnot. I think it was my responsibility to water the houseplants once, and I think everything died.

Yet still I dream of my farm life. I am lucky to have cool neighbors, even though we live in very Burby 'burbs. There is a school in our neighborhood that is up for renovation, and a few of my neighbors are petitioning the city to swap properties with the school district and turn it into a park instead, a park with a community garden! It won't happen, but how cool is it that they even want it to happen? What if there could be a community chicken coop, or a community What if we could have a little farm and be featured in national publications as the Just So Of The Moment-est Neighborhood Ever!?

If it happened, I'd drive down to Portland just to flip them all off and tell 'em to suck it.

Friday, April 29, 2011

I swear I'm not a stalker

In my ongoing attempts to Be Exactly Like Dooce, I had an ultrasound on my left ovary yesterday. It had recently popped, so may have been the source of the pain I had been having, but has no current cyst/tumor/fetal twin arm growing out the side of it to explain anything conclusively. So we wait and see if I still have said pains and go from there. I have my own suspicions about the cause, but superstition requires I not say anything yet. And no, I'm not pregnant.

I have been writing about myself an awful lot on here, and not so much about the baby. Marlo is eleven months old now, and currently in that sort of Baby Frankenstein phase where she staggers a little on her feet and says DAH! pointing with her whole arm, and then falls down. She spent some time this morning waving at the Royal Couple on the balcony of Buckingham Palace, which was almost unbearably cute.

Speaking of the Royal Wedding, was anybody else looking at Pippa and wondering if Prince Harry has been tappin' that, or is that just me?

PREDICTION: Billions of babies named Pippa this year.

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Quoth the Tori, "nevermore"

I'm sure you probably guessed it, but that stuffed crust pizza was a huge mistake. I swear I could feel my kidneys shuddering as I tried to digest the stuff. The advertising is just so damn persistent! And really the catalyst was being in the airport. I saw a guy eating a personal pan pizza from the airport terminal pizza hut and I was hooked. And he even threw half of it in the garbage! I was incensed. I thought about retrieving it but that would be disgusting. About .5% more disgusting than eating one fresh.

It is funny, though, how you feel like garbage and you crave garbage. Why can't I be smart enough to crave kale and spinach and stuff when I'm stressed? Is it Darwinism in action? The weaker, more susceptible to stress among us eat garbage and die? Probably. Oh wait, I forgot, evolution doesn't exist. It's because the snake gave Eve the apple so therefore you should resist all health food.

Oprah has some new thing to make you look 20 years younger. That would mean I would look 12. I think I'll pass.

Saturday, April 23, 2011

Possibly not helping my mental condition

I caught myself in the mirror and realized I look about four months pregnant. So I did what any reasonable person would do and ordered a large stuffed crust pizza from the Pizza Slut.

I am also drinking a beer. You know, fighting fire with fire.

Friday, April 22, 2011

Something about lemonade, I think

The other day I was sitting on a chaise lounge, thinking about this horrible cloud of depression that feels like it is literally shrouding my brain. I was thinking about calling the doctor. I was thinking that maybe it might be time to take the pills, for once. I was wondering how much I should say to the doctor if I did call her, where the line was between conveying the seriousness of my symptoms and getting myself put on some sort of 72 hour hold.

 I was sitting there, thinking all of this, when all of a sudden I was shat upon. A bird flew over and shat a big berry shit all over me. All over my towel. All over my cover up. All over my magazine. It was breathtaking. I sat there, stunned, immobilized, trying to figure out what the hell that was supposed to mean. Here I am, thinking about the disaster that has become of my mental health, and I just got crapped on.

What else could I do? I laughed. See Brooke Shields? Tom Cruise was right! Who needs meds when you can just laugh when something disgusting happens at a comically well-timed moment?

I'll be okay. Don't worry about me. But you may hear more from me on the matter.

Friday, April 15, 2011

Sexualizing the non-sexual

Do you watch that show, "America's Next Great Restaurant?" I do, although I'm not sure why. I TiVo it and watch it while I am eating my lunch. Then I can fast forward through most of it and just watch the vaguely interesting parts. It's your basic filler tv, where you don't really care too much what's happening, you just want something to zone out on so you can stuff your face in peace.

So basically the whole gist of the show is that Bobby Flay, the Chipotle guy, Curtis Stone and Token Woman are going to invest in someone's new restaurant concept. The most interesting parts so far have been how Chipotle guy doesn't go five minutes without reminding everybody he founded Chipotle, and also how he got rid of the contestant who had a plan for a new fast-casual wok restaurant, which just so happens to be his new concept which is just now hitting test markets. If I were the wok lady, I would be pissed about that. But yeah, that's barely intrigue and it is the high water mark of intrigue on this show.

The other interesting part is deciding whether or not I would actually want to have relations with Curtis Stone. Sometimes I think yes. Other times, I think he looks sort of like he's in drag, like a guy in drag dressed up like a dude, if that makes sense. Or more precisely, like he showed up on set without realizing he forgot to take his drag show make up off from last night. His lips and eyes are just a little too pretty for my taste. But, if push came to shove, I'm sure I could suffer through it.

Then there's Bobby Flay. I've always had a bit of a secret dirty-boy crush on him. OH don't pretend like you've never had a crush on someone you also think is just dirty and gross. But how do you get dirty grosser than Bobby Flay? He's a ginger AND his voice is annoying.

It's the cockiness. When someone who looks a fool like that is so arrogant, you have to believe it's because he's packing some serious heat. I bet if you and a girlfriend met Curtis and Bobby in a bar, you would think you totally won by hooking up with Curtis. But then the next day when you shared your conquest stories, you'd totally be wishing you had got Bobby instead. I bet a bazillion dollars on it.

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Enough class for wine, still handle Patron

Were you afraid that the thugs got me? Maybe a little bit? Just say yes. Aww, I appreciate your concern.

I wish I had time to stay and chat, but since I now live this life that I would not recognize as my own if I was just dropped down into it, I have to be skedaddling. What with the 7:30am muffin baking and the never-ending laundry and the dog who needs his rabies shot and the late morning toddler music classes and what not.

But when I get a moment I will tell you all about it. Promise! And it will all be hysterically funny and super interesting! Not promise.

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Just me and my Israeli secret service buddies, hanging out

I realize that my previous post may be interpreted as some sort of brag list, i.e., listen to all the cool electronics you can come steal from my house. That was not the intent. Rather, it was a self-deprecating joke about how I am so awesome at motherhood that Marlo thinks the things most worth having are the electronics I am always staring at over her head. You get it now, right. Good.

I have been slightly paranoid about the whole coming-to-my-house-and-stealing-things thing lately. Like I was explaining to the credit card guy how my husband was going to be out of the country and they could expect some charges from the UK or Germany and don't get all agitated and freeze my account, okay?! when I suddenly got real paranoid. There was a voice inside my head screaming HANG UP!! TELL HIM JUST KIDDING AND HANG UP!! IT'S A TRAP!! As though the guy in the call center in South Dakota (that's where he said he was, anyway) was going to hang up and call his network of Thugs and arrange to have someone come murder me in my sleep. Unlikely, right? But still, made me totally nervous. Like this is the exact wrong thing to do, call up some guy and identify myself as Home Alone on these specific dates. All to save the embarrassment of having my credit card rejected at the grocery store.

Good thing I have a dog who is not afraid to cut a bitch.

Sunday, April 3, 2011

Stick your granola where the sun don't shine

Here is a list of Marlo's favorite things, which should once and for all prove my superior motherhood:
  1. My iPhone
  2. The TiVo remote
  3. The house phone
  4. My laptop
  5. Mo's laptop
In other words, she knows what all the important stuff is in the house.

Wednesday, March 30, 2011

Joe Camel's big comeback starts today

Hey, good news everybody! Butter is good for you!

Seriously, in case you haven't heard - and I'm sure you haven't because you are a slave to The Machine and all - saturated fat is good for you. It keeps you from being sick and helps curb cravings. You should drink whole milk, not skim milk, because the fat in the milk keeps the lactose from spiking your blood sugar. Who knew? Well, I did. And now you do. You're welcome.

What's funny about this is that I just joked the other night that by the time Marlo is a teenager, they probably will have decided that cigarettes are good for you. We all had a hearty laugh over that one. But now I'm feeling 95% confident that it will actually happen. So I guess what I'm saying is, smoke 'em if you got 'em.

Monday, March 28, 2011

Random thoughts on random music superstars

For some inexplicable reason, and without my requesting it, my brain has recalled about 50% of that Garth Brooks song "The River." At least I think that's what it's called. I'm not sure because I am not and have never been a Garth Brooks fan, which makes the fact that this song is suddenly running through my head even more of a psychological anomaly. Ironic, I think, that a guy who wrote a song all about not giving up on your dreams would give up on the whole alter-ego concept because of a failure to lose enough weight to look like a rock star. Or maybe it was that his dream wasn't really to be a creepy weird goth dude.

Well, I think that's plenty about Garth Brooks. Seriously. On a related note, I'm not sure how Lady Gaga can claim that Born This Way isn't a complete rip-off of Express Yourself, seeing as how I get Express Yourself stuck in my head all day every time I hear the Gaga song. But maybe that's because I'm a cranky old lady and Lady Gaga was two when Madonna was in the cone boobs and pinstripes phase.

It's okay, Gaga, I ain't mad atcha. Express Yourself is maybe one of my favorite songs and videos of ever.  I liked Madonna a whole lot better before she decided it was better to look like a freak than an old lady. I'm kind of embarrassed to look at her these days.

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

Birthday party cheesecake jelly beans BOOM

Here is an insight into my personality:

I have been thinking about Marlo's first birthday party for, oh, probably six weeks now. I wouldn't go so far as to say planning, because that to me indicates there is some sort of notebook or checklist involved. I rarely if ever go that far with anything. I am more of what a nice person trying to build up my self esteem would call "free-spirited," or what a detractor might call "flaky." At any rate, I have been looking up cupcakes decorated to look like owls, trying to decide if I want an owl piƱata, figuring out who is going to be offended by which additions to the guest list, et cetera, since she was like eight months old.

But. Then. Today I got an email from one distribution list or another with the subject line "43 Weeks: Plan the Best First Birthday!" and I totally balked. How outrageous that with nine weeks to go they want me thinking about her birthday party! How dare they put that pressure on me to make it The Best. What do these people want from mothers, anyway? Don't we do enough? Now we have to throw a party to demonstrate our undying love and affection and if we don't do it well enough, well then throw all that nurturing and, what's it called - the keeping the baby ALIVE - out the window?

Anyway. Just a peek inside the old noggin for ya.

Sunday, March 20, 2011

Cell block six, or as I call it, "the living room"

Our home now has that cozy "jail cell" feeling we were trying for, what with the baby gates finally getting installed.

The classiest part is the plastic we had to zip-tie to the banister, what with it's mid-century foot between the spindles aesthetic. No wait, the classiest part is the cardboard box we wedged in the four inch gap between the floor and the bottom rail. The funniest part is the fact that the cats don't seem to understand the concept of clear plastic and keep trying to get through the banister.

The bestest part is how I can lock myself and the baby in the kitchen and lock the dog out, or vice versa. It's going to help me regain some of my much needed personal space, since it is at such a premium lately.

Case in point: Marlo spent fifteen minutes marching in place on my foot and pulling on my pant leg yesterday. She didn't want my attention, she was just playing. She likes to have a foot in constant contact with my body. Someday I will miss it, they tell me.

Thursday, March 17, 2011

When Irish eyes are smilin'

Happy St. Patrick's Day! As someone who has now lived over 1500 days with a very rare, very Irish last name, I feel like I get to claim this holiday for my own.

And my baby! My baby is a little Irish lass, after all.

I got my hair dyed a very Irish sort of red yesterday to celebrate. Don't worry, I'm not a ginger. And we put some of that leak detecting dye in the toilets, so they are festively green after urine is introduced.

All that's left to do is drink some Guinness. Why there is no Bailey's in my coffee I can't account. Oh yeah, I'm not one of those total alcoholic-type stay at home moms.

Funny, I can specifically remember last St. Patrick's Day, and that Marlo was kicking me HARD all day. Funny that she used to live in my belly. She wouldn't fit so good now. She didn't fit so good then. I need to go see one of them Chinese doctors and get a couple inches added to my torso for the next one.

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

I'd hate to be the fat one

I'm trying to keep an open mind...but those Sister Wives creep me out.

Or maybe it's that a grown man named Kody creeps me out.

I don't think it's the polygamy, prima facie. I think it's them.

Developing story. More at 11.

Sunday, March 13, 2011

The return of an old friend

I kind of hesitate to write about this out on the open internet (I wrote "interweb" the first time because I invented that term, but since everybody uses it now, I decided it is lame). I hesitate to write about it using even cute, cliched or clever euphemisms. I mean, after all, I have no idea who reads this blog. I probably have at least one stalker who reads it, and god knows he or she could be some crazy pervert who will totally get off on this information.

So let's put it this gentle way: I have received confirmation that I am indeed eligible for another pregnancy.

I was a little glad to, um,  get the news, actually. The only alternative diagnosis was that I was going bat shit crazy. I forgot what it was like to be a member of the fertile population, what with the mood swings. The anxiety. The stuffing of the mouth with as much sugar as possible. The adverse reaction to alcohol (see last weekend's hangover). The difficulty concentrating. The vague feelings of discomfort - slash - possible imminent death. I only started to connect the dots yesterday afternoon, and then lo and behold - by bedtime it all made perfect sense.

So what's the first thing a previously believed to be bat shit crazy woman who now knows she's just fertile again does? Why, naturally, check the online due date calculator to find out when the baby would be born if she went ahead and got knocked up again, of course!

December 17th. If you were wondering.

Saturday, March 12, 2011

An Open Letter to Japan

Dear Japan,

I drafted a post about your awful mess, and how it is affecting my personal philosophy, but I think it might be a little soon and a little raw for me to say anything that might sound glib. So I'm shelving it for a few days.

Needless to say, as stupid as that is to say before saying something, I am rooting for you, Japan. The image of the person on the rooftop, waving the two pink umbrellas at the rescue helicopter is to me the perfect representation of everything I love about you. I plan on bringing some money to your economy someday in the future, once you get all cleaned up and feel ready for visitors. And perhaps invent some sort of tsunami-prevention wall device. If anybody can do it, it's you. Look at what you did for toilets, after all!

So much for not sounding glib. But really. If I ever prayed for anything other than my own interests, I would be praying for you.

I'm sorry. I guess I just can't help myself. I do love you. My world would be a much worse place without all that you bring to the table. Especially Pocky sticks. And your game shows.



Tuesday, March 8, 2011

Cookie Monster got a raw deal

Feeding Marlo is a lot more complicated and less fun than I thought it would be. It's been an eye opening experience, for sure. All of a sudden I realize how weird it is to eat a bunch of crap food! How do we expect to live without nutrients in our diets?

I mean, I think I eat better than most of America. I don't, for instance, consider french fries to be a vegetable. But then again, my coffee is loaded with vanilla syrup. There are both Oreo cookies and M&Ms in my cupboard. But also Swiss Chard in the crisper. My bread is sourdough but my rice is brown. I have two fast food restaurants I eat from occasionally, but never McDonald's. You get the idea.

Actually, speaking of McDonald's, do you know I had my first McDonald's cheeseburger when I was 22 years old? That's something my parents did right. I don't think my parents ever took me there, I think the only time I had it as a child was at other kids' birthday parties. I remember going to Burger King once. We did go by Wendy's after school a fair amount for a Frosty, but it was still a treat, not dinner. Every once in a while, my mom would get a craving for fried chicken and we'd go to KFC. Point being, fast food was always a sometimes food.

But then, my parents also let me and my sister eat cookies for breakfast on weekends. Which is why I'm not freaking out too much about letting Marlo have sugar. I know plenty of kids who aren't allowed any sugar and they suck. Kidding! I mean, I don't see a huge difference in behavior, weight, fitness or intelligence between the kids I know who are allowed sugar and those who are not.

For now, I'm still sweatin' it. I am reading quaint and outdated passages in Super Baby Food advising that I will be able to find organic milk for my baby at the natural foods store. I am trying to cram as many vegetables as possible into the applesauce that is her true preference. But I'm telling you, I have a new understanding of those women who breastfeed their eight year-olds.

Monday, March 7, 2011

for your consideration, mom of the year committee

Let me tell you how darn inconvenient it is to have a baby who can move, y'all! Just this morning I sat down with my coffee and barely got to read any of my email before she went and pulled Husband's laptop right off the side table (where he had left it well within her reach, I might add).


Then she went careening off to the vicinity of the stairs. There's no gate there yet. We're a little behind on the whole "babyproofing" thing. We were going to go get a gate yesterday, but Husband was all mad at me for being hungover and my punishment was that I was not allowed to go to Babies R Us. Or rather, he was at full annoyance capacity already and couldn't take Babies R Us on top of everything else.

I would like to state for the record that the worst of my hangover crimes was that I curled up on the couch and watched three episodes of Top Chef AFTER feeding the baby breakfast and making a quiche for ours. And serving my husband his coffee. But whatever. I'm not bitter about it or anything.

The gate is the last piece of the puzzle, and then I think the living room will be relatively safe. I've already got the foamy stuff on the hearth, plug covers and all that jazz. I did just remember that there is a low drawer full of matches that I should probably go ahead and empty. But other than that, once I have the gate I should be able to get back to ignoring my baby like I did when she sat in one place all the time. And that's really the point, isn't it?

Thursday, March 3, 2011

It's like a subscription that auto-renews

I have something to say that might have you questioning my sanity. But I'm going to say it anyway and then try and explain myself out of it.

I just now realized that Marlo is going to be more than a year old someday. Like I just realized she is going to turn 13 months. And then 14 months. And then 15 months. You get the idea. Despite the fact that we've been discussing 529 accounts and talking about how old we want Marlo to be when she gets a sibling, I just now managed to think of her as a more-than-one-year-old.

Not really the first time this has happened, either. I had no concept of her ever being older than six months old, back in the days where she was just a pooping, spitting-up blob. Babies who were six months old sat up and played and crawled and made word sounds. Funny that I didn't think she was a blob back then. But now that she's a cruising, crawling, social butterfly of a little menace, I realize how totally boring she was. By comparison! Not at the time.

The Menace in action
So I guess what I'm saying is that I get the abstract concept that Marlo is going to grow up and be a real person...but the concrete reality hits me in the face incrementally. I am going to have a toddler in less than three months. Holy Christ. Didn't I just have that baby? 

And no, this navel gazing was not one of my great post ideas. You're welcome.

Monday, February 28, 2011

Enough about the Oscars already

Well, we're back now from a week with my parents. I would have blogged about it at the time, but what with the house only protected by a pair of cats I thought it best not to advertise our absence.

The trip was pretty okay, plenty of Gangee and Pop Pop time for Marlo. Unfortunately there was also plenty of silent judging and failure to honor wishes done by a certain person who shall remain nameless. But I did get to go back to bed until nine or so most mornings, so I guess I should shut my mouth and quit complaining. And it couldn't have been all bad, since we're probably going back for another week in April.

I had lots of good ideas while I was away, so hopefully I will be filling this space with hilarity and witticisms soon. If I can remember any of my ideas, that is.

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Rudimentary mommyblogging, Feb edition

It's been a while since I mentioned anything about the baby. I guess because this blog is more of an escape from her rather than a baby journal or place to brag about how I'm such an awesome mom, wife,  and housekeeper.

BUT. Some of you actually care about her more than you care about my views on the world. Shocking, yes, but true. So let me tell you a little about Miss Marlo and what she's been up to lately.

Basically, she's gone from a baby you can just set and forget to a baby who will follow you everywhere, crying and leaving a snail trail of snot behind her. She moves now, but she looks like a cripple because she wants to get on her feet rather than crawl on her knees like a normal baby. So she does this sort of hopping, dragging one leg thing that looks for all the world like she just got shot on the beach at Normandy and she's trying to drag herself behind a dune for cover.

She also learned how to sit up on her own, which means you can no longer put her down in her crib and walk away. Being able to sit up means being able to pull up to stand, and she is on her feet in no time. She spends most of her "nap time" now cruising around her crib, experimenting with throwing her pacifier through the slats, and screaming.

Oh yeah, and she also finally cut her first tooth. And then the second one within 24 hours. This tooth cutting happened not 24 hours from the first time she crawled, which happened about 48 hours from the first time she sat up on her own. The first week of February was big for this little girl.

Her last ride in her infant car seat, last Saturday

Thursday, February 10, 2011

Googling "Jim Henson"

Just to put a cherry on top of my week, I think I caught the skeevy Apple store guy's skeevy cold. I am so over being sick! I haven't been 100% since Thanksgiving.

I would say I've lost my will to live, but that would be melodramatic and completely the opposite of true. I've recently heard another one of those totally tragic stories about a woman dying young that reminds you that you should be totally and completely grateful for every second of life that you get.

I think I must be at about the apex of my susceptibility to those stories - being in my early thirties with a young child and whatnot. When you're 17 you're not really affected because you are young and invincible and it will never happen to you. When you're 50 you've probably heard a bunch of those stories, and some of your friends and acquaintances have probably died tragically already. But when you are a young mother you feel intensely vulnerable to tragedy and so hearing about one shakes you to your core. That's my hypothesis, anyway.

So that's my deep thought for the day. Now back to treating my illness with M&Ms and Bravo. Poor Marlo also has a runny nose. I am treating her illness with frequent trips to her crib so that I might implement my own treatment more effectively. Mom of the year!

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Remind me to learn how to make cheese

I just ate an entirely unreasonably sized portion of spaghetti and meat sauce with cheese on top. It is justified, I reckon,  because Marlo is now in constant motion (physics!) and still dependent on me for 90% of her calories. I can't keep my pants up anymore.

All false humility aside,  my binge reminded me of a few points I want to make on that whole vegan thing I brought up the other day. Number one: I have nothing against veganism. Something against some vegans, yes, the condescending PETA-joiner kind, but that's beside the point. I think if you want to subsist on plants and plants alone, good for you. I couldn't do it. Nor do I want to.

I could probably be a vegetarian. I think that if I were forced with the choice to either go veg or raise and, um, harvest? my own meat, I would be unable to do it. I'm creeped out by eating plants I grow myself. (Fun fact: I'm kind of scared of plants. They creep me out that they are alive and breathing and whatever but completely silent. The way that they will move toward you and those vines that will grab you if you're not careful - yikes! But anyway.) Yes, I'm kind of sicked out by eating my own plants, so you can imagine how I would feel about eating livestock. That I actually saw, you know, alive.

But eggs, cheese? Not a problem for me. In fact I could never give up cheese, it is far to dear to me. So if everything goes to shit and we have to start raising all our own food, you can bet on me to be your friendly neighborhood cheese maker. I will probably barter you some for a steak, you heartless murderer.

Number two point: I get that the Veganist lady was trying to ease that family into it, what with the seven hundred dollars worth of fake meat. But I still think that is stupid. It is not going to solve any of our increasingly urgent problems to get America to "ease into" a diet that would be good for the planet via a diet based mainly on soybeans and corn. Oh wait. Ha ha. Based directly on soybeans and corn. I mean, I guess it cuts out the middle man of the cow, but we'll still die a slow painful death as the synthetic fertilizers deplete all the oxygen in our water systems and Earth turns in to Mars.

Have a nice day!