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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.