idiots

people, no one is more eager for spring than moi. but i think you're pushing it just a tad, perhaps out of hope, perhaps because some of your higher functioning circuits have frozen.

so let me help you out. it is too cold to wear shorts if:

• you wear your knee-length down coat over them.
  
• you stop during your jog to make a snowball.
  
• you live anywhere in minnesota.

there. go put on some long underwear and wait it out, just like the rest of us.

weirdos

it's saturday morning, so my people are glued to the tv, of course.

are they watching clifford the big red dog? sesame street? curious george?

of course not. they're watching cooking shows again. today they're learning how to make lemon-herb chicken, roasted tomatoes, and cream cheese brownies.

weirdos.

(the pear and red wine sorbet was really delicious, though.)

and a postscript on sunday:  today, thing one watched the pbs pledge drive. now that's a testament to the power of the glowing box.

and now, another haiku

hacking, yakking coughs,

icky, sticky, thicky phlegm.

i am sick of sick.

and a-one, and a-two

even a classic can stand updating some time, right? (remember how well that new coke thing went?) so here are some of the old standard songs, revised for modern mamas and their kidlets:

• what kind of fool am i...to let my kids paint in the house?
  
• don't be cruel...or you're going on time out.
  
• it's now or never...so get in that bathtub.
  
• when fools rush in...they smack their heads on the door frame.
  
• fly me to the moon...or florida.
  
• at last...mr. rogers is on.
  
• ain't misbehavin'...right this second. but wait.
  
• i enjoy being a girl...and showing everyone proof.
  
• singin' in the rain...without a coat, hat, boots or umbrella.
  
• a boy named sue...no, he just has long hair.
  
• he was really sayin' somethin'...but i couldn't hear daddy over the sound of you two fighting.
  
• she's a lady...and yes, i can see that she's fat. shhh!
  

how is this even possible?

i am the only person i know who can gain weight during a stomach bug.

perhaps because the only energy i have expended during the past two days has been in the playing of approximately 5,427 games of go fish, old maid, and crazy eights.

shutting down

ah, march. that time of year when my brain and my body completely disintegrate.

not only do i lose my tiny little mind after nearly half a year of winter, but my carcass shows the strain. dry, bloody nose. finger tips that are cracking open and bleeding. feet that are beyond disgusting.

and now, thing one and i have both come down with some sort of bug that bestows killer headaches, fever, and intestinal...episodes. oh, and she's barfing.

so i've shut the machinery down as best i can, as least as far as our digestive tracts go:  we're both on the saltines-jello-flat sprite meal plan. 

march:  coming in like a lion, as usual. a lion that has eviscerated me and is now feasting on my entrails.

and now, a haiku

hail ibuprofen!

soother of fiery children.

ibu, i love you.

in today's medical news

Study says: Moderate alcohol consumption increases cancer risk.

I say: Moderate alcohol consumption reduces filicide risk.

wake up - dinner's ready!

it's 10 a.m., and dinner is cooking. tonight i'm debuting easy pork ragu, because any recipe that starts with the word easy is a recipe for me.

indifferent is probably the kindest term that can be applied to my cooking, and this fit the bill:  brown meat, then dump in a crock pot with some other stuff and fuhgeddabodit. i'm loving me some crock pot these days, having recently rediscovered the hand-me-down one i got years ago from a friend (hint for carbon-dating:  it's harvest gold).

maybe this pork thingie will be tasty, maybe not. all i know is i'll be able to put it in front of my people and call my part done.

kwizine at its finest.

why do you hate the baby? installment no. 317

took things one and two to a kids' event today. one of the girls there was named...precious.

and her brother's name? gift.

precious and gift. 

why do you hate the babies?

the boob tube, with a light raspberry vinaigrette

we finally got television at our house last month, after living here for a year and a half. no cable, but we do get the regular broadcast channels. 

the girls are fascinated.

thing one barely remembers "live tv," and thing two has no memory of it at all and is very put out that we can't pause it so she can go potty. when the handsome man first fired the tv up a few weeks ago, he turned on pbs. it was antiques road show, and the girls were mesmerized and wouldn't let him change the channel.

today, he went to put on a bob the builder dvd for them, but before he could the girls saw some cooking show on pbs and again were suctioned to the screen. i believe they're learning how to make a lamb stew with wilted spinach and a red wine and pear sorbet right now.

you know you're in minnesota when

you look around at the kids in your preschooler's music class and realize that there are:

• 3 brunets
  
• 1 redhead
  
• and 10 blonds. and of them, 4 are towheads.

ba-dum-bum psssh.

(and yes, people here really do sound like the extras in fargo. oh, yah.)

my husband wants one of these

Sony Releases New Stupid Piece Of Shit That Doesn't Fucking Work

the slashers

that's the cool marketing term i want applied to me and all my friends who are stay-at-home-moms/freelance whatevers. mommy-slash-writer. mommy-slash-counselor. mommy-slash-consultant. mommy-slash-tutor. mommy-slash-caterer.

the slashers. i bet we could get some really cool t-shirts made up.

no braids, no dolls

when she eventually goes completely loopy, my friend peggy has one simple request for her caretakers:  "please don't put braids in my hair or dolls in my arms."

i think i'd better pin those instructions to my own shirt right now.

the other day, i received a check for my freelance work. i only bill once a month, so, while it was not a huge some of money, neither was it insubstantial. i endorsed it while i was doing my usual lakshmi impression:  paying bills-helping with spelling-making snacks-helping string beads-sorting mail-folding laundry-answering the phone-helping people pee.

the next morning, after i dropped thing one off at school with the requisite boots, snow pants, hat, and show-and-tell item, i got ready to head to the bank. "i should just make sure that check is in my wallet," i thought.

the check was not in my wallet. 

the check was also not in:

• my backpack
  
• any pockets of any of my pants
  
• any pockets of any of my coats
  
• the recycling (which i sorted)
  
• the trash (which i went through with rubber gloves)
  
• the tax documents i had been collecting for our accountant
  
• miscellaneous papers to be filed
  
• miscellaneous papers to be shredded
  
• stuff that had already been shredded
  
• our office desk drawers
  
• my husband's dresser drawers
  
• my armoire
  
• the wet clothes sitting in the washing machine
  
• the dry clothes sitting in the dryer

finally, after tossing the house for nearly an hour, i called the handsome man for help. "you gave me the phone bill this morning to mail," he said. "should i open the envelope and look in there?" 

yes, i said, you should. 

and lo, there was the check i'd written for the phone company ($30), and a little extra ($800) i'd thrown in by mistake.

i've reminded the handsome man:  no braids, no dolls.

p.s. and you just know the phone company would have cashed it.

the new official perimenopausal theme song (according to me)

dr. jenkyll and mrs. wyde

here's the most interesting thing about "the change of life" so far:  the personality rupture created by the upheaval of hormones. i don't need no stinkin' potion to mutate from good to evil; it happens (semi) regularly all by itself as i ride the waves of womanlynesshood.

viz:

dr. jenkyll:  "i got up at 6 a.m. and exercised, then ate many vegetables today!"

mrs. wyde:  "cheese tortellini!"

dr. jenkyll:  "i'm going to take more care of my appearance - perfume, mascara, cute necklace."

mrs. wyde:  "oh shit, it's 3 p.m. - i guess i'd better shower."

dr. jenkyll:  "i made my family a tasty, nutritious meal and plated it beautifully."

mrs. wyde:  "hot dog for breakfast? sure kid, whatever."

answer: five

question:  what is the number of games of candyland a grown woman can play before she begins to entertain felonious thoughts?

don't forget your booties 'cause it's cold out there

you know it's going to be a long winter when you wake up and realize you were dreaming about asking your doctor to up your dosage of antidepressants.

uncle

it's official:  i give up.

another double-digit-below-zero day. another day spent gazing blankly at the frozen wasteland out my window. 

we didn't get out of bed until 9.

we had gummy bears and tings (think cheetos without the cheese) for breakfast.

my living room is now a blanket fort.

we're all still in our jammies and have no plans for getting dressed (yesterday it finally happened at 5 pm, but only because we had to go to a school open house).

the beds are unmade.

baskets of unfolded laundry are sitting around.

mary poppins is playing (again).

and i'm trolling the internet, looking for blogs of people who are crabbier than me (fortunately, there are plenty – thank you all).

in one word, why i don't have a dog in minnesota

poopsicles

sometimes, it does pay to get involved

hey minnesotans, did you know you can make a donation to your favorite political party or state-level candidate and get your money back?

it's minnesota law:  individuals can contribute up to $50 a year, and married couples up to $100 a year, and be reimbursed through the political contribution refund program. 

when you give to the democratic party (or the evil empire) or a candidate, you'll get a receipt. send the receipt in with this form any time; you don't have to wait until you file your taxes.

et voilà! you really can get something – like a little piece of democracy – for nothing.

murphy's law

– noun 

the facetious proposition that if something can go wrong, it will.

example:  when the handsome man takes the girls to the hardware store, who gets licked IN THE EYE by the owner's friendly doggie?  not the handsome man. not thing one. no, it would of course be thing two, miss allergy 2009. so now her eye is red, puffy and watery, she's all stuffed up, and  it took me and the handsome man working together to hold her down so we could rinse out the eye.

and the best part? right now, they're on their way BACK to the hardware store because the handsome man left the 20 cent plastic wedges that precipitated this whole chain of events on the counter.

grapefruit: the poodles of the citrus world

my kids eat like supermodels. some days all they want is cucumbers, tomatoes or grapefruit.

grapefruit, i've discovered, are high-maintenance little pissers. cut in half. take the curved knife and free each half from its peel. cut each stoooopid section out of its pithy confines. dump sections into a bowl, then wrestle out those that don't want to make the journey. 

it takes longer to prep a grapefruit than it does to eat it. too much fluffing and buffing and coaxing.

the q&a session will now begin

i think thing two will take 8 a.m. classes in college, because her thirst for knowledge is greatest first thing in the morning, before caffeine has rendered me capable of speech. 

here is an excerpt from this morning's pre-dawn barrage of questions:

• what's inside your neck?
  
• when will i be 16?
  
• why don't we wear bathrobes to bed?
  
• is there enough ice cream left for me to have an ice cream cone?
• where is my ankle bone?
  

a sure sign of the end times

cnn's new year's eve broadcast live from times square with anderson cooper and kathy griffin.

i have never been so glad not to have tv.

okay, okay

here is some documentation of the hirsute hullabaloo. 

see if you can guess which is before and which is after.

it's beginning to look a lot like boot camp

it's beginning to look a lot like christmas

ev'rywhere you go

take a look at the five and ten glistening once again

with candy canes and silver lanes aglow

"mommy, i need a towel."

"why? honey, i'm up to my elbows in meatloaf mix here, and WHERE ARE YOUR BANGS?!"

"josie cut them."

it's beginning to look a lot like christmas

toys in every store

but the prettiest sight to see is the holly that will be

on your own front door

"JOSIE! GET OUT HERE! WHY DID YOU CUT KEELY'S HAIR?!"

{blink}

{blink}

"i dunno."

it's beginning to look a lot like christmas

ev'rywhere you go

there's a tree in the grand hotel, one in the park as well

the sturdy kind that doesn't mind the snow

"AHHHH! there's hair all over the bathroom! it looks like someone detonated a pomeranian in here! and are these daddy's NAIL SCISSORS?!"

a pair of hopalong boots and a pistol that shoots 

is the wish of barney and ben

dolls that will talk and will go for a walk

is the hope of janice and jen

"hello, kids' hair? are you open christmas eve day? thank god. my 5-year-old just cut my 3-year-old's hair. the bangs are GONE, and the sides are decidedly asymmetrical – sort of a 1980s, vidal sassoon, 'say-lon' kind of thing. 10 a.m.? thank you so much."

and mom and dad can hardly wait for school to start again...

aloha

thanks to itunes, my kids know a huge range of christmas music. i had kind of assumed that the favorite would be something traditional and climatically suited to minnesota, like jingle bells or frosty the snowman, or even baby, it's cold outside.

but no. when thing two crawled into bed with us this -14 morning (that's temperature, folks, not wind chill), here's what she was singing:

mele kalikimaka is the thiiiing to say

on a bright, hawaiian christmas daaaaay.

that's the island greeting that we send to you

from the land where palm trees swaaaay.

here we know that christmas will be green and briiiiight,

the sun to shine by day and all the stars at niiiiight.

mele kalikimake is hawaii's way

to say 'merry christmas' to yoooooou.

science fact for the day

the human head can hold thoughts or phlegm, but not both.

or maybe that's just my head.

nice try

thing two:  "mommy, can i have a bomb pop?"

me:  "not at 10 a.m. in the morning, you can't."

thing two:  "can i have one after lunch?"

me:  "maybe. we'll see."

{pause}

{pause}

thing two:  "mommy, can i have some lunch?"

moo

totally not my business to suggest what holiday gifts folks might like to give.

but.

if you're casting about for ideas, here's one:  heifer international. it's a non-profit dedicated to ending hunger and poverty by providing livestock, plants and education in sustainable agriculture to people around the world. recipients subsequently give an animal to a neighbor, multiplying the impact of the program ("and so on and so on and so on").

we gave flocks of chicks to the preschool teachers who care for our little chick, and our parents are all receiving shares of the joy to the world collection:  sheep, goats, llamas and a heifer.

and – proving that my mother and i do indeed have one brain, as my brother once remarked – my mom made a donation to heifer in my family's name at the same time i was making one in hers. scary.

do you hear what i hear?

*sniffle*

*cough*

*[swear word]*

predictably, my stocking is going to be filled with kleenex and motrin this year. thing one debuted the death cold in our house, then handed the baton off to thing two, who is in the throes. and a few hours ago, i began to feel the soreness creeping through my throat and head.

now, if someone just lands in the er or urgent care, it'll be a good ol' family xmas. i think it's my turn this year, and i am trying:  i walked INTO THE DOORFRAME of my ob/gyn's office the other day, ricocheting my skull off the metal. apparently the girls come by it honestly.

mommies say the darndest things

oops. must remember that small children have supersonic hearing akin to dogs and bats.

i recently toured the elementary school that thing one will attend next fall, and afterward i wrote thank you notes to the teachers and principal (my mama raised me right). 

recounting this story later, i told the handsome man that i had sent off my butt-snorkeling blandishments. and now, predictably, josie delights in saying "butt-snorkeling."

welcome to the glue factory

most of my kids' clothes, toys and gear are hand-me-downs. not because i'm an eco-conscious earth mama, but because i'm a stay-at-home drain on the economy, and when someone offers something free i say yes.

i try to hand the stuff off again when we're done with it, but apparently my children secrete some sort of invisible destructo-juice because they just destroy stuff. seemingly pristine clothes that have already been through one, two or more kids by the time they reach us are instantly and irreparably stained. toys crack and disintegrate. books give a soft sighing sound and gentle shed their pages.

this weekend, when the handsome man had the girls safely out of the house, i held the annual post-birthdays, pre-christmas purge of the outgrown and outmoded. besides the stuff that was donatable and went to arc, i also threw away bags of stuff that was on life-support, including a shattered barbie camping van (dammit).

my house:  where toys come to die.

how cold is it? it's so cold that...

you know you're a minnesotan when this is the weather forecast you hear delivered in a cheery voice:

"well, it could be worse!"

spa day

just got back from having a crown put on my tooth, followed by a boob grope at my ob/gyn.

that's about as close as i get to a facial and a massage anymore. cleansing breath!

the workers' comp for all those the elves must be murder

here's a holiday-specific injury:  thing two just got her finger stuck in a jingle bell.

have a holly jolly nervous breakdown

i'm one of those obnoxious people who love the holidays (christmas carols! ornaments! cocoa!), but i know this season brings many folks low.

so no matter how bad it gets in the next month, you can console yourself by reading the following story, which was relayed to my brother-in-law several christmases ago by one of his friends. i've removed the names to protect the poor unfortunate souls (and cleaned up the grammar and punctuation a bit because i just can't help myself), but that's it – the rest is all exactly as it was told:

so the kid's first christmas has been not much short of a train wreck for me.

it all started on the 21st when my mom flew in to "help with the baby." we picked up indian food for k, which she would then not eat for fear of upsetting the breast feeding process. we think the rice pudding had something in it that poisoned mom, as she spent the next two days violently ill. and i mean violently – the poor woman was out of control at every possible end – and i spent much of my time cleaning up after her and caring for her.

of course, little q started showing signs of dehydration and possible illness, so then i had to disinfect a significant portion of the house to keep the fears of a new mother contained. that was just before my mom accidentally flooded the master bathroom toilet at 4 a.m. and used our good towels to contain the spillage. k later told me i probably shouldn't have used pine sol to mop up the wood floors in the bedroom, but i guess i'll deal with the long-term stripping/damaging effects later.

mom finally started to feel better on the 25th, when the rest of my family arrived by car. because we had lost all of our last-minute shopping time, we agreed to postpone christmas by a day. 

problem is, when we woke up on the 26th, the dog was having seizures. she then died just before noon on the 26th (but not before i had killed a day cleaning and boiling five chickens for her as part of a post-stroke diet). this prompted an emergency search for a crematory that could take our animal on a holiday. needless to say, everyone lost their appetite for cooked meat that day.

okay. so by the morning of the 27th, i'm thinking the smoke has cleared. even though my house is now a wreck from having guests, things should get better now, right? so that's just about the time my bumper gets torn off in a parking lot where i'm doing my belated last-minute shopping. no note, of course. 

we opened presents, but decided to wait on the south texas-style fried turkey i've been so excited to prepare. fortunately, the meal went well (no fires), except for the fact that my brother was passing up the shiner bock to finish up my orval, even after being informed of the expense. that's a trappist-monk, bottle-conditioned ale from a monastery founded in the 1100s, fermented three times with three different malts and two types of hops and wild yeast, buddy! you put that in a balloon glass and drink slowly!

by the 30th, folks were showing unmistakable signs of family fatigue, so my brother and i went to austin for some live music. unfortunately, it turns out that the austin live-music scene is quiet on new year's eve eve – guess all the bands are sleeping for the all-nighter to come.

so austin was a bust, but not before tempers flared while he and i exchanged a few words over who was a "cruise director." the point is, my patience had run out. i had nothing left to spare, and after he left the next day, i made a tactical error:  i criticized his expectations (and therefore his maturity) to mom...a very poor audience choice. naturally, she defended her parenting to tears, which was not what i meant to attack. spent the rest of the day clearing that one up.

so you would think that whatever could happen has happened? not yet. sunday afternoon, mom has a tremendous headache from ear to ear. wakes up monday morning with a tooth that now has a slightly bluish tint. so we spend hours on the phone trying to decide on a response to this new problem and find an open dentist. 

by mid-afternoon, we found a dentist who would see her and possibly prescribe some antibiotics to tide her over until she gets back home to her dentist. next thing we know, he is recommending an immediate root canal. yes, a root canal. while on "vacation."

most of the swelling has gone down, and mom should be off the 4x dose (800 mg) of ibuprofen by the time she boards the plane tomorrow. k and i have recovered most of the house; q is responding well to her dietary changes. and i just can't WAIT until next christmas.

so how were your holidays?

k

thanks mom!

after reading about how i'm a dick, my mom reminded me of some other phrases she had in her parental arsenal. i'm looking forward to telling my kids:

• "stop crying or i'll give you something to cry about."
  
• "i'm not your friend, i'm your mother."
  
• "i hope you get one just like you." (must be said with gritted teeth and slitty eyes.)
  

this is a dictatorship, and i'm the dick

some of the most satisfying phrases of motherhood:

• "no."
  
• "because i said so."
  
• "i'm not asking you, i'm telling you."
  
• "did that sound like a question?"
  
• "i said, 'no'."
  
• "not later – now!"
• "what part of 'no' wasn't clear?"
  
• "no, and don't ask me again!"
  

why i studied art history in college

the handsome man accompanied thing one to a birthday party yesterday at a nearby nature center. the kids and parents went on a nature walk led by an eager 20-something naturalist who imparted all sorts of fun facts, including this one:

when winter approaches, certain turtles swim down to the bottoms of their lakes and burrow into the muck. how do they breathe, you ask? they take in the oxygen that's in the water through membranes in their gums and rectums.

at this point, i must once again thank the university of michigan for letting me pass through its halls unencumbered by any real science credits (or math!). hail, hail.

recipe for maaaaadness

profanity pizza

submitted by thing two, age 3

feeds 4. or 3, if someone refuses.

1. help mommy make pizza dough from scratch, so there are no allergens in it
   
2. help mommy roll out the pizza dough
   
3. help mommy spread organic tomato sauce on the dough
   
4. help mommy sprinkle soy cheese on a portion of the dough
   
5. watch mommy sprinkle regular cheese on the rest, carefully avoiding the soy cheese section
   
6. just as mommy prepares to put the pizza in the oven ask, "can i have oatmeal?"
   

extra credit points if, when the oatmeal is ready, you tell mommy you're too busy playing to eat it.

csi: the faerie queen

there are teeny, tiny mites of glitter, spangles, sequins and unknown twinkly bits over every surface. it looks like someone murdered tinkerbell in my living room.

crap creep

every time i turn around, there's more crud in this house.

cripes.

best diet aid ever?

a face full of novocaine. i can't feel my tongue, and my skin feel exactly like my old baby tender love doll.

looks like i picked the wrong week to quit sniffing glue

remember in the movie airplane! when the stressed-out air traffic controller goes back to all his vices? substitute "batshit mental insane-o small children" for "airliner out of control" and "molasses coffee cake and cosmos" for "smoking and amphetamines" and you've got a pretty accurate idea of how my week has been. i resorted to trolling the interwebs for stories of child abuse just to make sure there are worse parents out there than me...

apples to oranges

what do you get when your 3-year-old is acting insane, your 5-year-old is egging her on, and you're out of cosmo ingredients?

you get a new drink recipe:

the apples to oranges

• juice from one clementine (when you're out of limes)
  
• apple cider (when you're out of cranberry juice)
  
• triple sec
  
• vodka, and plenty of it
  

shake over ice and hit it.

(the handsome man initially wanted to call it the clapmo, but decided that sounded like what you get if you drink too many of them.)

k-k-k-keely and the jets

i didn't realize i'd given birth to elton john until this week, when thing two picked out her own new glasses.

"it's finally snowing"

amazing how different that phrase sounds from the mouth of a 5-year-old than from the mouth of a 43-year-old. things one and two are already outside, fully suited up, pre-breakfast, loving winter. 

god bless. and stay outside.

will my aarp card arrive next week?

in today's mail, i got a catalog i've never seen before called acacia. as i flipped through it, i realized this is an old lady catalog, which is apparently the demographic i've slid into. thank goodness i now know where to get my hot flash pajamas and nightgown (page 20) or my solutions camisoles (page 21) with built-in bra ("shelf bras are fine up to a certain age, but after that, we want real support.").

not that kind of support, thanks.

as an aside, i looked up acacia in the dictionary. it's a "gnarled, thorny" tree and also "a bag filled with dust as a memento of mortality." which is exactly how getting this catalog made me feel.

terrorist fist bump, everyone

we did it.

oh my frickin' god, we did it.

my so-clichéd life

before having kids, i remember reading "funny" stories about little nippers and their shenanigans and thinking, "ha ha. sounds completely made up for a laugh, but ha ha anyway."

but as in so much with parenthood, the joke is real, and it's on me.

the set-up:

today, thing one and i had a "big girl" date. we shopped. we lunched. she got to pick out coloring books, paints, crayons and a stuffed kitty for her birthday. we bought a game for her friend's upcoming birthday, and – what the hell – one for ourselves, too. i picked up some holiday books for my little cherubs. when we got home, we played bingo, painted, ate halloween candy. i was the über-mommy; she was delightful. the teller at the bank, who gave thing one a sucker, said, "i've never seen such a cute, well-behaved child!"

the punch line:

late afternoon, i finally began tending to household stuff while thing one settled in to the sound of music. or so i thought. instead, i later discovered, she had taken markers and crayons to the playroom walls (raw, porous, unfinished, VERY absorbent wood), fireplace (porous brick), and floor. her defense? the rationale for these crimes against building materials? "i dunno."

ha ha.

that's 25.2 miles - good enough

the handsome man, like many other (wonderful, dear, lovely) men i've heard about, is known to do things aaaalmost all the way. like the room we finished off in the old house...except for the baseboards (i finally got them as a belated mother's day pressie). like the way he used to faithfully sweep his apartment kitchen...then leave the little pile o' dirt and cat hair sitting in the corner. and like the way he, again this morning, emptied and reloaded the dishwasher (thanks, honey!)...but left the clean pots, pans and bowls sitting on the counter and stove for the cuisine elf to put away. why? why?

unrelated note:  as an addendum to the homemade political lawn signs appreciation, here's the best one i saw today:

undead for obama

now there's a constituency i would have thought for sure the republicans have locked up.

when you care enough to hammer the very best into your grass

as we near the end of campaign season, the bumper lawn sign crop in minneapolis continues to proliferate. my favorites are the homemade ones, like this sampling seen on today's trip to swimming lessons:

pro-woman, anti-palin

no war

no empire

no occupation

avoid trauma, vote obama

and the one that best sums up my feelings:

ENOUGH!

another sure sign of aging

i have more will to stay on the treadmill if i'm listening to npr podcasts than to bouncy music.

all together now:  geeeeeek.

the hills are alive with the sound of child protective services

thing two has joined thing one in her obsession with the sound of music. not only do they sing along, they also randomly spout lines of dialogue – in the kitchen, at the grocery store, on the playground. which would probably be a lot cuter if thing two hadn't chosen this line to deliver with great verve:

"soaking myself in champagne!"

over and over and over.

things my children have argued about recently

• who gets the measuring cup with the rubber base when we make cocoa and who gets the plain measuring cup (note:  these are only the prep cups, not the ones they actually drink from)
  
• which color of jell-o we will make after the next time we make jell-o
  
• the correct way to wear underpants on one's head
  

the back page is always the best page

remember the glamour magazine dos and don'ts? of course you do. (unless maybe you're over 70. or a guy.) flipping immediately to the back page was always the most fun part of getting the 'zine – it was such sweet relief to see other females who had made worse fashion faux pas than oneself.

i was reminded of the dos and don'ts when i walked around the lake this morning, so let's bring on the snark:

do

• get out and enjoy the stellar fall weather. bring the kids, bring the pets, or saddle up on your old schwinn like the becardiganed gentleman who looked to be about 100 (good on you, sir).

don't

• jog in a t-shirt with "just do it" emblazoned across your chest if said chest is huge, extra springy, and threatening both you and random passersby with a potential black eye.
• push your pooch around in a stroller. repeat after me:  it's a dog. and if it's too tiny and trembly to make it around the lake on its little toothpick legs, leave it at home. or kill it.
  
• wear your lifetime fitness personal trainer/aerobics instructor work outfit to walk around the lake. you're fit. we get it. now fuck off.
  
• wear spandex pants so low-slung that i can see your hip bones and possibly a pube or two. i don't care how fine you are (and yes, pink-shirt girl, you are fiiiiine), those pants look good on precisely no one. No. One.
  

they are preschoolers, hear them roar

at thing one's preschool today, they talked about what they want to do when they grow up. of the five girls in the class, two want to be "struction" workers, one wants to be a firefighter, one wants to be a doctor, and one wants to be a "computer person like daddy" (that would be thing one). 

different shit, same day

• first moments of the day, eyes not even fully open, sans glasses – wiping up pee in, on, around and in front of the potty and its environs. (note to mothers of boys:  you are not in this alone! girls have bad aim, too.)
  
• post-breakfast – picking up smallish turd off the bathroom rug, now being washed (rug, not turd).
  
• lunch – returning from preschool and rushing to the potty, thing one rushes back to inform me it's stopped up. plunging ensues, followed by rinsing plunger in bleach water and trying to autoclave hands.

it's hard being as glamorous as me.

postscript, 7:35 pm – and we just rounded out the day with someone whizzing on one of the good chairs. not one of cheap plastic chairs from ikea. no, the nice upholstered chair from room and board. is it any wonder i had rice krispies and red wine for dinner? no, it is not.

it's always a dad

heard in the aisles at target, addressed to a squalling, squabbling small boy and smaller girl:

"can you two get me that big bottle of olive oil?"

i have a feeling that shopping trip ended badly.

rich inner lives

my children have made up a game that involves:

• 2 laundry baskets
  
• the pillows from the handsome man's and my bed
  
• their blankies
• cords from their lacing cards
  
• numerous lite brite pegs
  
• my good spatulas
  
• many tiny pieces of paper
  
• and all of the hairbrushes in the house
  

i do not understand this game. i do not care. if they're happy (read: busy without fighting), i'm happy.

hey, it's a living language

another new word coined by my offspring:

ge•ro•cious [guh-ROH-shuhs] 

– adjective

1. something both gross and ferocious
   
2. ferociously outsized in its grossness
   

as in, "wow, that's a gerociously big poo!" and it was.

related forms:

ge•ro•cious•ly, adverb

ge•ro•cious•ness, noun

funny how your perspective changes

i bet that christina crawford was a right little a**hole and poor joan got a bad wrap.

i don't know which is scarier

that while flipping through radio stations, i stopped on one playing pat benatar's "hit me with your best shot," or that when the song ended, i discovered i was listing to lite fm.

it's official:  i am old.

for those who have not reproduced

following is a list of activities, events and items that supposedly generate lovely, sugar-coated parent-and-child moments of bonding and snuggy-wuggums.

DO NOT BE FOOLED.

in reality, they annoy, enrage, exhaust, induce migraines, and lead to astonishingly frequent consumption of alcohol and chocolate. avoid them at all costs.

herewith, the top 10 reasons for renewing your birth control prescription today:

10. parades

9. christmas cookie decorating

8. pinatas

7. halloween

6. candyland

5. any disney movie

4. paints

3. nail polish (even the so-called fast-drying kind)

2. the sound of music

and number 1 with a bullet (i wish)... balloons

oh, how i hates the balloons.

mount olympus, extreme northwestern division

after not cooking anything really, well, good for the last three years in deference to food-allergy baby, today i made a batch of chocolate chip cookies (after purchasing some outrageously expensive vegan pretenders at whole foods yesterday for aforementioned baby).

and OH MY GOD. 

butter! 

butter and sugar and eggs and more sugar and more butter!

i was never one of those eat-the-raw-cookie-dough types, and what the hell was my problem? raw cookie dough is the food of the gods.

******

and a post script:

who eats HALF a fresh, warm chocolate chip cookie and throws away the rest? my kid, that's who. at least, my ob claimed she was my kid. i think a dna test is in order...

an open letter

to the dour, 60ish woman at last weekend's wiener dog races dressed all in baggy, drab brown clothes who leaned over during her pet trick segment to reveal her NEON PINK, PURPLE AND WHITE THONG underwear:

aiiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! 

my eyes, lord, my eyes. i could have happily gone my whole life without seeing that, lady.

(and yes, i said wiener dog races. hurdles. sprints. and my favorite event, the sofa jump.)

um...howdy, neighbor

here's a disturbing item to see lying next to your neighbor's garbage can:  the empty packaging for a "soft-grip machete."

and now, time for a refreshing (meno)pause

ok, so i seem to have gone straight from breast feeding to hot flashes. (ah, the joys of being a "mature" mother, aka decrepit crone.) i got some books from the library, the first one of which, called ripe, basically sucks. here is the sole bit of useful advice i gleaned from it:

"if in doubt, smile, stand up straight, suck in your gut, and try to look like you've just had great sex."

there. now you don't have to read the book.

a venerable family tradition lives on

thing one has discovered a new-for-her delicacy, something beloved by her mama, gramma and great-gramma before her:  peanut butter and mustard sandwiches.

(before you say that, try one. seriously.)

and since you're reading blogs, try sarah palin's. 

my faith in humanity is restored

on the way home from the paint store, i ended up behind a big ol' slow-moving cadillac. doing seven miles under the speed limit. with a world war two license plate and a little wizened driver wearing a hat. 

and here's what his bumper sticker said:

obama '08

obamazen.com

well, god bless, sir.

just a typical afternoon at home

yep, nothing unusual here.

donna reed i ain't

here's what i had to offer the handsome man for dinner tonight:

• plain noodles
  
• "pasta salad" from an old family recipe consisting of pasta, chicken, thawed frozen peas, and mayo (and i upgraded from the original miracle whip)
  
• 3/4 of a tomato
  
• and a gently used piece of pizza
  

eureka

i have discovered the secret to potty training.

and it isn't a timer or m&ms or a portable potty.

it's an ipod and the new york times crossword and the figs of paradise martini at cafe maude, where the handsome man shipped me off to this evening. no one spoke to me for AN HOUR. it was glorious.

now off to do the pee pee-poo poo laundry.

love is...

accepting a handful of partially masticated gum.

(anyone can cozy up to a warm puppy.)

insanity is hereditary

you get it from potty training your children.

f*** me.

we have a winner

the mystery vegetable is...kohlrabi! (which wikipedia called sputniky, too.)

many thanks to my half-german friend who grew up eating her mutter's version (it's big in germany). she not only identified them but fixed them for lunch during a play date at my house today. here's how:

• peel and slice into french fry-size pieces
• steam/simmer in a little butter, olive oil and broth until fork tender (about 20-30 minutes)
• you can add minced parsley for looks when you serve, if you have it, which of course i do not

dee-licious. although cheetos would have been good, too.

help me out here

what are these?

they came in our farm share this morning. i have no idea if i should eat them or launch them into space orbit (kind of a sputnik-y vibe, no?). extra credit points if you can tell me how to prepare them...

big girl undies!

oh, the thrill of it all.

noooooo!

thing one:  "mommy, is that a bunch of cardinals in the tree across the street?"

me:  "where?"

thing one:  "there, in the top of that tree – see all that red?"

me:  (squint, study)  "those aren't cardinals – those are LEAVES THAT HAVE CHANGED COLOR! AHHHHHHH!"

such a pretty fascia

out on my walk this morning i passed a house in the neighborhood that's for sale. it's been listed for a while, so to help they've hung an extra sign on it that says:

i'm gorgeous inside!

aww. poor thing. it is kind of boxy and plain, but still. i wanted to write "and i have a great personality, too!" on the sign. maybe i'll swing by with a sharpie marker later today...

moo

i just received my new land's end bathing suit in the mail (unhorrible! and it actually creates the illusion of a bust!), and i noticed the tracking i.d. on it:  cow-2748.

cow. bathing suit. that is just all kinds of wrong.

it's braaaaaaat

oh god. remember the pat character on saturday night live? whiny, nasally, off-the-charts irritating?

yeah, that's what my baby has turned into. every request, every protest, every everything is a looong, draaawn-out whiiiiiiiine.

it's a good thing she's cute, or i'd leave her on somebody's doooorsteeeep and ruuuuuuuuun.

fungus or feebs?

i was chatting with another food allergy mama today, comparing theories on why so many kids (e.g., mine, hers) can't eat the stuff we all ate as kids.

she mentioned the notion that we keep potential allergens out of our kids' diets for too long compared to folks in other cultures, thus inadvertently setting our munchkins up for allergies.

i mentioned several wildly different ideas i've heard over the years:  

• the foods we eat aren't pure any more (wheat in vegetable soup, milk in bread, soy in everything)
  
• we've hand-sanitized ourselves so clean that our immune systems are turning on pb&j in lieu of germs
  
• foods have been genetically altered, which has f***ed us up
  
• peanuts, especially imported ones, might have some sort of fungus similar to the ergot – known as st. anthony's fire – that infested rye in the middle ages and sickened huge numbers of people
  

and then i threw out a little something i've come up with in my musing on this subjects:  we've breed a nation of feebs.

think about it:  we've lifted the forces of natural selection so that, instead of the strong surviving, pretty much everyone is surviving. 

case in point? moi. without the benefit of strong eyeglasses, midol and zoloft, i would have been lion lunch on the savanna. when i reproduced, i needed c-sections to get the kid out and then formula when she couldn't breast feed. 

homo erectus didn't have level 3 nicu's. ma ingalls didn't go to a high-risk pregnancy clinic, nor did her friend mrs. boast have access to in vitro, which is why she and her husband tried to get laura to trade her baby for one of their horses. (i may have read all the little house books over and over.)

we are so freaking lucky that we have so many ways to fend off death and disease, to create and extend life. but is the flip side that we're watering down our genes a little bit? or bending them into new forms that leave us vulnerable to new ills?

better than sea monkeys

mix giant influx of plants from master gardener friend (black-eyed susans, day lilies, salvia, evening primrose, and several lovely unpronounceables) with water, et voilà:  insta-garden! 

stuff is already blooming, and so far, i have not murdered anything. (always unintentional, but still – i think plants can smell fear.)

oh, and apparently not only do rabbits find alpine strawberries delicious, they also favor something that's called nigella. or was called nigella.

land ('s end) ho!

ladies, if you need a swimsuit (and it is only need that drives us to this fate, never just a desire to go out for a humiliating evening under the florescent lights), get thee to land's end.

last night at the local outlet, called an inlet (ha. cute. not.), i super scored by finding a suit that:

• fits
  
• is comfortable
  
• looks unhorrible
  
• and cost THIRTY DOLLARS (originally $86!)
  

and if you order from the catalog while in the store:  no shipping charges, and returns can be returned at the store free, too. so another cheap, black, hopefully acceptable suit is winging its way to me as i write.

(oh, and if you are a size 4 or a size 18, you have a choice of pretty much every product land's end makes. those of us in between need to hunt and peck. and premedicate.)

call child protective services

here's a conversation i'm glad no one else overheard:

2-year-old:  "i don't like rum."

4-year-old:  "you don't like rum?! rum is what mommy and daddy have in dark and stormies! you've had sips of those."

2-year-old:  "oh."

4-year-old:  "i love rum."

with a tune in my heart

i may have caved on refined sugar and thomas the tank engine dvds, but i've held firm on allowing noxious children's "music" to seep into our lives. driving in the car with two children under age 5 is bad enough; driving with them while listening to "i'm a little teapot" would make me commit a felony.

so it warmed my mother's heart today when my kids requested music by semisonic. here are other favorites:

• lily allen
  
• herbie hancock
  
• digable planets
  
• the ramones
• frankie goes to hollywood (hey, i never said my musical tastes were good; i just said no children's music)

sartorial selections

i used to pick out my clothes based on a number of factors:  did the colors look good on me? were the pants a flattering cut? did the outfit create the vaguest illusion of a waist for my hershey bar-shaped body?

here is the sole criterion for today's clothing choices:  what don't i care if my kid barfs on. again.

things my children have argued about today

• what months their imaginary company, lampy, takes off for summer vacation
  
• the middle names of their new stuffed kitties
  
• how many limes each could put in the bag at target
  

and now one of those limes is going right in my cocktail...

mommy's night out

thanks to my cousin casey for making up this recipe (and for making me one).

mommy's night out:

• pear vodka
  
• pomegranate juice
  
• fresca (ah, fresca)

proportions are fluid (ha ha), depending on how mommy's day has been.

oh happy day

thing two has learned how to swing by herself. 

i remember when thing one reached this particular milestone:  how proud i was of her, how splendid i thought she was.

now my overwhelming thought is, "good – now i can finally sit on my butt instead of pushing that damn swing."

button up your overcoat

when the wind is free,

take good care of yourself,

you belong to me.

today was one of those quintessential minnesota summer days:  high 80's, pristine blue sky, feathery breeze. i took things one and two to goggle at the city's gorgeous rose garden, then swung by a playground, and then hit the beach at the lake nearest our house (about 5 minutes away; when it's not frozen here, minneapolis is actually quite nice).

the water was absolutely clear – we could see every sand ripple on the bottom all the way out to the edge of the swimming area. a finger-sized fish took to us and swam in tight circles around and around and around our bodies. the girls dribbled handfuls of wet sand through their fingers.

eat an apple every day,

get to bed by three,

oh take good care of yourself,

you belong to me.

a dozen or so yards from us was another mom with two little kids, twins about a year and a half old. they were also playing in the sand and the water. only these kids didn't feel the squish between their toes or the splash on their legs, because they were wearing long-sleeved, full-torso, full-pant swim suits. WITH FEET. like this. like a sleep suit for the water. and the lawrence of arabia sun hats, to boot. like this, only they wrapped even more around the sides.

wear your flannel underwear

when you climb a tree,

take good care of yourself,

you belong to me.

now. i freely admit that i am one of the bigger freaks about safety when it comes to my kids. examples are legion, so trust me on this – i'm more neurotic than the average bear. and far be it for me to criticize another's parenting "style" (and this was a style, not because of any medical/skin condition, as the friendly, self-described nervous first-time mom volunteered). 

but COME ON. i mean, i've joked about wrapping my kids in bubble wrap, but i haven't actually DONE it. especially at the beach, fer crying out loud! why even bother bringing the poor little tykes there, when the only parts of them exposed to the glorious elements were their tiny mitts (ah! hand cancer! ahhhh!). what a horrible tease for a little boy and girl (at least that's my best guess, based on the colors of the cutest little hazmat suits in the world).

note to self:  don't so protect own children from the world that i completely keep them from experiencing the world.

keep away from bootleg hooch

when you're on a spree,

oh take good care of yourself,

you belong to me.

the great chefs of the world

probably don't have to contend with their diners falling out of trees during meal preparation.

things my children have argued about today

• the colors of the imaginary signs in our kitchen that say "clean the wood" and "don't clean the wood"
  
• whether nana, who works at their imaginary company named lampy, is the big sister of lala, who also works at lampy (and yes, lampy makes lamps)
  
• who is 2-1/2 and who is 4-1/2 (a reprise of an old standard)
  

kitchen science

here's a fun experiment anyone can try at home!

• take one unopened gallon of milk that has been lingering in your house since before vacation
  
• open it and observe cream-like substance on top
  
• decide to recap milk and shake it to mix cream-like substance into the milk
  
• reopen and discover that fermenting, vaguely blue cheese-smelling former milk is pressurized and will explode all over you, your clothing, your appliances, and your floor!
  

it's the bitch of the day

with the bitch of the day:

apparently, july 11 was declared "bikini day at pershing pool" without my knowledge. who ARE these women who can suit up so skimpily after having kids and still look good?! haaaate them.

runway, milan, 2023

thank god she got daddy's legs.