shamu the goldfish

Status

2012-02-12T17:20:00.001-05:00

It's been awhile.

I turned 35. Seriously, I feel like we're talking about someone else. I know I sound like an a-hole to anyone older, and to you I say -- you didn't like turning 35 either. And I won't like turning 40 either. So there. A good friend's twenty-something sister just moved to our neighborhood. Single, childless, and eating up this city. Sigh. I found myself saying things like "Oh, enjoy. You are so young. You can do anything you want." When I was that age, I thought the people saying that just were just old debbie downers that didn't understand how to have fun anymore -- bless their hearts. Hadn't they heard of babysitters? Losers! Sigh. Remember when brunch really could be your first meal of the day?

I managed to celebrate well -- Broadway, a 2-pint hangover (yup that's all it took), and a momofuku crack pie.

What else is new?

I'm very upset we haven't had a big winter snow yet. Very upset. WHERE IS IT.

I now drink 2 coffees a day. Essential. And judging by the Starbucks giftcards that have come my way, my love/need for regular latte fueling must be evident. If you love me, this is how to show me.

I too often greet 4 am immobilized between 2 little humans, one eating and the other pulling the hair. At least I'm spooning with someone. Because Brett's on the couch. Yes this breaks at least three parenting / safety / little-miss-perfect-mommy rules, but ask me if I give a bleep. Much worse things will happen if I can't sleep. I really hope D isn't learning from what comes out of my mouth at this hour.

Ravi is charming us all away. I eat his chubb every second I can. He eats like a beast and weighs almost as much as his big sister at 1 year. Thankfully he appears to adore her, else I'd fear for her getting slugged as much as she's in his face. Current pastimes are gurgling, spitting bubbles, and banging. Oh, and the smiles. He couldn't be happier. I wonder what he's so happy about. Probably is thinking about food like his mother.

Every third word out of D's mouth is "silly". She's so into parenting I fear she'll want a baby at 16. When she has been away, she interviews me for a report. Did Ravi smile while I was gone? How many times? What did you do to make him smile? Did you say "What's so funny?", or "Who's the big guy?", or "Boogety boo?" (these are her phrases to make him laugh). Did he laugh? Why not? OK. Did he poo? What color?

Here they are.

They adore each other. She lives to make him smile. On the rare occasion she's not giving him attention, he stares at her with the saddest face and bangs his toy. Watching these times between them melts us daily. I want to birth a gaggle so they can do that.

But sleep is awesome, so never mind.

I don't know how monks do it

2012-01-14T10:00:00.005-05:00

Last week, many got something for which they'd at some point wished. Especially my 3rd grade teacher. And mother. And husband. Etc.

After getting over what seemed like just another bug that the germ-spraying kids had cursed me with, I woke up Sunday morning with the finale. SILENCE. No voice, whatsoever. None. Me! I could not TALK! I have so much to SAY!

The silence lasted two days, followed by two more almost near silence. I'm shocked my head didn't explode. I talked to Brett by typing, same at work, and otherwise just shut up and made faces.

Any time left alone with D nearly brought me to tears or punches. A voice is not optional when parenting. And I definitely won't be making any bets on myself in games of charades.

I now sound like a raspy four pack-a-day smoker. But I can talk, and as of last night, I've already earned "You know, I miss the laryngitis" from Brett. Good.

The boar leg

2012-01-05T08:12:00.007-05:00

A nearly 7 pound boar leg, draped in bacon, slow roasted, and drizzled with a gravy of its drippings. Yes, please.

I give props to my brother-in-law, the man behind the reason I have to explain to guests why there is a donkey foot on our window sill. The man behind the fact that I have a mini panic attack every time I open my top kitchen drawer (HOLY $$$$ - A MOUSE! EW! EW! Stop and breathe. It’s just that old kangaroo testicle bottle opener again). The animal parts aficionado topped himself in celebration of Ravi’s birth (best baby gift ever) with a wild Texan boar leg.

This thing has been in our freezer, hard as a cinder block, for 4 months. And every time it jutted out and slapped me in the arm, I wanted to punch it. But that would have hurt. It was time to eat it.

D said, "I want to hold it like a baby."

Yes, that blood grosses me out. So did the boar HAIRS that we picked off it. But that's what comes with eating animals. The farm's instructions said "Place bacon strips across the leg if desired." OK, if you say so.

(Those carrots were pretty pointless.)

We shared with others, but here you have one happy man with the final bites.

Goodbye tree.

2012-01-02T23:10:00.016-05:00

The elevators today were sprinkled with everyone's dry needles, remnants of the trees that filled our apartments with that special Christmas smell, now on their way to be reincarnated as mulch if they're lucky. I miss ours already -- so wide and bushy and fragrant this year, with a new recycled sari-ball garland and a way-too-teeny Chinese paper star top (a certain ding dong door wasted the crafting efforts).

I don't much like how January kicks off with the holiday take-down, but it has to. And in doing so, it cements the fact that January has arrived -- a new beginning. And I'm just not cool with that yet. I thought I was a cheerleader who looks at it with bright eyes and big plans. But instead we have Debbie Downer, not ready for the fresh start for lack of closure on those back of head naggers.

Where will we live?

Should we be finding a church or something?

I should probably start volunteering again.

Why am I still using teflon pans even though I'm scared of them?

Do more kegels!

Did we donate enough money this year?

Call your mother more.

What is going to be the running schedule?

Read this and that and this book to become proper parent.

Become a good role model.

Think about career.

I'll just leave those there and look away.

But every last one of us has those lists and January's just another month. I think my Debbie Downerdom is actually deep-rooted defiance for time passing at all.

Time freezes when I stare into Ravi's eyes and he coos at me like we're the only ones in the world. And when D is down on the floor trying so hard to make him laugh, and he just adores her. Or when she's completely lost in her make-believe teacher world, acting out whatever classroom drama she can conjure. Such wonderful moments I want to immortalize but can't bear looking away to get any digital device and even if I did, I don't want it between me and them.

January is the ultimate reminder of how fast we're all hurtling through time. And I totally sound like an ass, I know. Spoiled and on about nothing (very spoiled; wait till I write about our New Year's Day boar leg). That's what happens when you're so cozy and blessed. There's just nothing else to complain about. Except that I'd like to sleep please. I guess 2015 is looking pretty good about now.

I could sit and stare at our tree for hours, wine in hand, lost in the lights and sparkle. There's just something magical about them and all the days that they're here. So it's only natural that seeing them move on brings the sadness. Everyone knows the best things don't last forever. If they did, we wouldn't love them so much.

Happy 2012 to you

2012-01-01T01:11:00.008-05:00

I remember our 1st New Year's in New York. Out-of-town friends, ordered-in Chinese, open-bar at Bowlmor, freezing walk back to our block, and bright ideas like "it's 3:30 am...let's go to THIS bar!" At some wee hour, we attempted Napoleon Dynamite while eating Cheeto's and crashed together on the floor leaving the bedroom unused. Lack of curtains forced us up before noon and we tried ordering McDonald's for delivery only to be told they required a local phone number (what?). So we called back and made one up. And the quarter-pounders with cheese arrived, as miraculously as just about any food does in this city, right to our 5th floor walk-up door. No pants required.

Look at us then, in the only picture of us I'd want seen.

And here's the view seven years later, when we don't remember to be in the pictures anyway. A truly Rockin' NYE with Dick. WATCH ME CHUG THIS MILK HANDS FREE...WOO HOO, THE PARTY IS ON!!! Thankfully there was something different in my cup.

Three 3-year olds peppered the post-midnight hour (10pm sleepover bedtime fail) with "Mommy, I have boogers", "She has stinky feet", "No I don't, I took a bath yesterday", and much belligerence.

Maybe one day we'll shift the party up 28 blocks and watch the ball drop. But probably not.

We're happy as can be and wish you all the same. Boogers or without, may 2012 be the best year yet for everyone in our lives.

Happy New Year!

holiday baking successes

2011-12-29T21:50:00.005-05:00

The annual holiday chili cheese biscuits got a tasty upgrade this year -- a little crater of raspberry jam. It's a sweet and savory party in your mouth! Do it! It might have been my mother-in-law's idea, but if not, I claim it as mine and it means I am a jamorama GENIUS.

I think if you eat about 20, it'll count as a serving of fruit. With the calcium from the cheese, it's like a health food. To help Santa get his vitamins, we threw one in to balance hydrogenating him with Pillsbury.

And on that note, I say thank you to Kimberly Snyder (raw food diet lady for famous skinnies) for allowing me to now classify pecan pie as health food with her Raw Pecan Love Pie recipe. Good eatin'. I got her recipe from Us Weekly (shut up you read it too) and it's a bit different than the link. Here's what we ate:

Crust: 2 cups walnuts, 2 cups pitted dates, 1 cup unsweetened coconut flakes

Filling: 1/2 cup unrefined coconut oil, 1 cup raisins, 1 tsp vanilla, 1/3 cup maple syrup, 1 tsp sea salt, 1 cup raw pecans (soaked).

Mix crust items in food processor and press into bottom and sides of pan. Blend filling items in food processor till smooth and put in the crust, topping with more pecans. Set in freezer at least 5 hours.

Family portrait

2011-12-20T23:28:00.003-05:00

D brought home her Christmas present to us. Excuse me, HOLIDAY present (as she repeatedly corrected). She inisted we open it ASAP. After all, it is the first day of Hanukah. She does love singing the dradle song.

My favorite part is how Brett is frowning. Must be cold without his pants.
Ravi's hair really does look like that.
She gave me hair (thanks girl), although she's recently informed me I have none.
Our heights are pretty spot-on.

This one's a treasure for always.

3 months

2011-12-12T23:04:00.000-05:00

Well, 3 1/2. Parents not on time with the picture taking with child #2. Sorry buddy.

12 lbs, 4 oz.
24 inches; On the path to be a short man.
And a bald one, based on genes...so he should enjoy that pouf while he can.
Smiles and gurgles till you can't stand it anymore.
I am his favorite person and will enjoy that while I can.

ding dong the door is dead

2011-12-08T16:13:00.005-05:00

It fell off.

I put it back up.

It fell off.

Brett put it out of it's misery.

D wants to know where it went.

IT IS DEAD TO ME, D. THAT'S WHERE IT WENT.

Let me know if you'd like a giant piece of green felt. Or else it may be reincarnated as little disposable cloths to wipe a 3 month old's sharty poop.

ding dong

2011-12-05T22:59:00.016-05:00

Last week we walked out to see a neighbor had decorated their door like a shiny gold gift for Christmas. Like your 1st grade teacher did.

Gasp. "Momma -- Look it. Looook. It's beautiful. Look at that." Gasp.

Every time. So I caved and asked if she wanted to decorate our door. Yes of course. Immediately. Now? Today? Thank you good neighbor for your inspiration (need sarcasm font). But I like crafts so I ducked through the midtown holiday tourists (why do they all have giant suitcases) to go to the fabric street for supplies.

At this point, you are thinking "why don't you just go to one of the SEVEN dollar stores in spitting distance to buy some cheap shiny wrapping paper? or door paper, because you know they sell that too." (no, I don't know. and I am stupid.)

So I spent an unnecessary amount of time looking for "tasteful" fabric under $45/yard, finally accepting the door would be tacky (as well it should be. it is a Christmas door. tacky by nature. sorry if I am offending your Christmas door.).

FIFTEEN DOLLARS OF FELT. (What?)

Off to buy ribbon. I found the perfect roll of blinding Christmas red with essence of Santa-fur for $2. But I ran out of cash on the fifteen-dollar-felt-spun-from-gold, and New York is still learning to take credit cards.

FIVE DOLLARS ON RIBBON AND ATM FEE. ATM fee greater than ribbon. (What?)

Oh, but my daughter will be so happy.

On Sunday a beaming D was ready to decorate her door. How cool was mommy now? Ten minutes into measuring (which she needed her sunglasses to do), she said she wanted to stop helping because "this is taking too long". I spent more unnecessary time cutting crooked lines. As did the guy at the fabric store, so you can see where this door cover is going. You know what comes straight with no cutting? DOLLAR STORE DOOR COVER.

You know when you are wrapping a present and find the paper is too short so you have to use two pieces and it looks like a cat did it? Yeah, that happened too. And there was a lot of masking tape. A lot.

And THEN. The reveal.

She told me she didn't like it. WHAT. THE. WHAT. "I like the OTHER door. That one. Let's go look at THAT one."

NO. Get back here and enjoy YOUR OWN DOOR. I realize she's three. And this is a minor teensy weensy example of the rejection in future years. But I had fury. Girl ASKED for this door cover. Needs to learn some APPRECIATION. Brett had to calm me down.

The masking tape kept coming off, exposing my cutting and measuring shortfalls. More fury.

AND NOW FOUR DOLLARS ON VELCRO.

After explaining my hard felt-cutting labor and asking her the same question fourteen times (expecting a different answer and still getting "no"), I was determined to win. I hung a snowman off the bow. I faked that I thought the door was fabulous. I pouted and whined. Somehow it finally put my door on equal footing.

She now makes fair statements each time we enter the hall way. "I like that door. And I like this one too."

She better.

You know what doesn't cost TWENTY FOUR DOLLARS and all my time and crafting pride? The dollar store door cover I saw TONIGHT when hunting for masking tape. Masking tape that I RAN OUT OF of on this project. YES I AM CAPS YELLING A LOT. WHY DIDN'T I GET THE DOLLAR STORE DOOR COVER. WHERE WAS IT 3 DAYS AGO. Seeing it tonight brought the fury back. My life is HARD with these first-world problems. Bah humbug. It's cool. Sorrows drowned in moose munch and wine.

At least the snowman ornament was free. And this keeps it off my tree. The full, fragrant Douglas fir tree I am procrastinating putting lights on by writing this. Seriously, the apartment smells delicious. Maybe I shouldn't cook for a month so we don't dilute it.

Happy December :-).

budding Dorothy Hamill

2011-12-05T22:45:00.006-05:00

We have an ice skating rink in our neighborhood for the winter. It's like we live in a resort!

So of course the whole Below family got ice skates for an early xmas! Then we'll all hold hands and skate in matching sweaters! Except Ravi. His coordination on ice is poor.

Brett's running for homecoming king of D's heart and picked her up early from school for her first spin. And then McDonald's. WITHOUT ME. Didn't even bring me fries.

She busted it. Cried. And wanted to bust it again.

"Daddy, don't hold me so I can fall...I want to fall, OK?"

"Now I will wait here while you skate. I want to watch you fall daddy."

Bring it winter!

Dear Ravi

2011-11-29T15:22:00.005-05:00

Dear Ravi Sanjay,

I know Sanjay is not your name, but we call you that. I'll tell you why later. You'll think we're weirdos. But not as weird as Sanjay Gupta himself will think we are when we move to his neighborhood in Atlanta. We found a house we love. We're not really moving. But this house is awesome. We don't know what we're doing. Your dad is now distracted with his new idea of moving to San Diego. I think he just wants a quick way to get to Tijuana. Just kidding, he's not that kind of guy. Or is he. I'm way off topic here.

I went back to work yesterday. I missed you all day. We've been inseparable for a year if you count the belly time. You're too little for daycare. But so it goes.

How I have loved watching you daily. Watching those eyebrows and eyelashes come in a little bit every day. Watching you sleep. Napping with you. Even though most of maternity leave was a string of sleep-deprived zombie days and questionable body odor, I only remember the good part because my hormones make me love it.

You are the sweetest boy. I guess all babies are. But you're the sweetest. I think you're going to be a sensitive one. A cuddler. At least it seems so, and I hope so. You snort like a pig and meow like a cat.

And how incredibly happy you are. You wake up smiling. It's probably because you love your mother so much. That's what I'll tell myself. You started smiling early, even at 3 weeks. Or you were seriously gassy. Your sister loves it when you fart. At 6 weeks when you unleashed the big ones (smiles, not farts), I thought I would explode. You smile and giggle and coo so much that your sister can't get her clothes on in the morning because she's so busy wrapped up in every little thing you do. She will interrupt my conversation with 10 "excuse me's" just to say "he smiled again." Talk about enjoying every moment -- there's someone who does it for real.

She loves you like you wouldn't believe. You have two mommies. Three if you count your dad, who would breastfeed if he could. She hangs on your every movement. Makes sure you have what you need. Wants everyone around her to "look at her baby." The other day she looked at me and said, "Mama. Sanjay is just so beautiful. He is. I love him." You couldn't ask for a more caring big sis. Remember that when she screams at you for messing up her stuff or ogling her friends. I know that's coming.

Also, you are very handsome. Please be nice to the girls.

You rolled over today! What a stud you are.

I love you so much I can't put it into words, so I won't. Just know it's so much. So so so much I can't take it.

Love,

Mom

picture face

2011-11-19T00:10:00.002-05:00

I took this picture for a thank you note to our babysitter who made that pink beret and blanket for our offspring. Just in case you're wondering what that is on D's head.

This is her current picture face. This year's school picture should be pretty different from the last.

Yes, we have trees in New York

2011-11-15T13:11:00.002-05:00

Fall's my favorite, all the more special through the awestruck eyes of a 3-year old getting it for the first time. Every day, "look the leaves mommy! look at the colors! look at that one! look at it falling ... it hit me - hahahahaha! that branch doesn't have any leaves!" Love it.

Every day, but only before the 4:30pm darkness. Boo on that.

little fingers

2011-11-07T23:58:00.001-05:00

If only that index finger was up his nose, they'd all be in use.

marathon sunday

2011-11-06T19:06:00.009-05:00

Congrats to Brett, who ran his 2nd NYC marathon. Billy Ray kept him company once again. Maybe in 2013 when I (maybe) run it again, I'll go as Miley and we can be creepy and hold hands.

We went to Brooklyn to watch, and before heading to the street D searched for him on TV and thought he was the Kenyan lady in front. I hope she never gets lost in the mall.

Outside, we sadly missed him in the horde. Instead, D just poked Geoff in the eyes with her sign while we tried to find him. A quickie Time Warner sign because I suck and didn't make a real one.

Anyway, go Brett!

Halloween

2011-11-03T11:18:00.007-05:00

A good one with many moments I wish got on video. Mental note to do that more. Pictures will have to suffice and my hopefully my memory will hold on to the sound.

Lots of pictures (too many) here.

Guilted out of my three-year-long ignorance for the "wear X-color day" school ritual (they tied a blue ribbon on D last month for blue day -- the mark for all to see that YOUR LAZY MOTHER DOESN'T CARE IF YOU LEARN COLORS), I kicked off the weekend by finally abiding with orange (for which I had to find and buy an orange shirt, thank you very much -- parenthood is HARD). She was proud though.

We finally beat Florida, and Brett inadvertently taught our child how to throw her verbal fury at the television. Her ramblings at the TV were a comical jumble of his. Although my favorite was when she calmly said, "Daddy, the bulldog is not working."

Halloween carnival (yellow leaves happily shining for the cowgirl the day after Snowtober).

Cowgirl and chubby skeleton.

Halloween parade at school, followed by D's first venture door-to-door and her tiny voice (yup, actually wasn't loud) filled with wonder saying trick or treat and thank you and "mama, look at this one." Reliving childhood at Halloween goes in the plus column for having kids.

Every night, she bequeaths us a piece of candy if we finish our dinner.

Snowtober email finds

2011-10-29T13:21:00.009-05:00

More like slushnasty-tober. Spending a whole day indoors, we previewed our winter and I can't wait for spring. I occupied D a good bit with these paints, which we LOVE. No mess.

And then I cleaned my email and found some favorite pictures, as well as enough groupons to mean we should get eating.

Below cousins last September. How cute is the hand-holding.

Family last May, all cleaned up.

Family pics in August, last time as 3. It was hot.

I like this one, minus all the chins. One of the things I love about D is that she says "I want to hold you" instead of asking to be carried. Makes it harder to say no. Some people say three is too old to be carried, but I beg to differ. Soon enough, she probably won't even let us. (Can someone please turn down the sap coming out of here?)

two months

2011-10-27T22:01:00.001-05:00

Happy birthday

2011-10-27T10:02:00.008-05:00

My dad would have been 64 today. These days, I mostly wish he could enjoy his grandchildren and struggle with the unfairness that it's impossible and selfishly mourn that I can't see him do it (or have him as an on-call pediatrician to humor all my freak-outs -- I won't lie).

My niece Mira is a ridiculously adorable mini-me of my sister. He'd eat her up. Dilan is a little me. He would have gotten his two girls (good and bad) all over again. As much as he whined about being surrounded by too much estrogen, you'd find him strolling Macy's for new clothes, purely content, as if shopping was his happy place. But equally happy watching 10 hours of football, he wanted a boy too. When I was pregnant with D and we were unknowingly saying our goodbyes, he unabashedly stated his gender preference. Well, eventually a boy came along and we now ache that he's not here to teach him that home decor is just as important as football.

Oh dear dad, what you're missing.

Your namesake Dilan is three and a half, a doting big sister, and a daily crack-up. Her determination, creativity, and graciousness put me on the floor. Her teachers say gigglebox, chatterbox, drama queen -- I'm sure that all sounds familiar.

When not at school, she pretends she is, disciplining and praising students through center time, reading, songs, potty, naps, and whatever else. If you could only hear her laugh and pretend and be silly. She makes up elaborate stories to go with her books and narrates to fake students with passion, inflection, and serious volume. She still says a lot of things wrong, and while a good parent would probably correct her, I won't. I enjoy it. Like seegergot (forgot), pomputer (computer), I don't think so (I don't know), whobout (what about) and random spanglish. Those innocently botched words in that sweet little-girl pitch will be gone on their own, leaving us only with the memory and some Flip videos we've yet to upload.

She sings sings sings. And just sits and listens to her CDs, like you. My Country Tis of Thee is her favorite song to hear. She's a horrible dancer, bouncing around flirting with head injury. I don't know how this happened. She plays doctor and uses one of the old stethoscopes you brought home for us.

She knows and understands a lot more than we give her credit for. She also knows and understands a lot less than we give her credit for. And those two facts are what make three-year-olds so delightful yet killer. That's why I lose my temper and then cry about it (probably standard for next 18 years). I'm sure you'd have my reading pile full of parenting and discipline brochures from your office. She's just three and a half, which we need to keep in mind. She teaches us patience like no other and makes our hearts happy like no other. She'll never be three and a half again. I miss it already.

And little Ravi, my squishy little pig. He's a fat chunk of love who we call Sanjay half the time. You would eat him up. He's two months old and gives away his smiles. Only post-partum hormones can make a mix of armpit and sour milk smell so delicious.

Like D, he's a grunting, hair-pulling, thumb-sucking high-maintenance snuggler. I want him to stay exactly the same (but sleep please), yet can't wait to see his babyness unfold. I'm so happy and sad at each passing moment. Like you, he seems to have taken a liking to elephants. The ones on his bouncy chair bring out the coos and flailing legs like nothing else.

At 2 months, he gurgles and squeals away. He's 12 lbs 4 oz and 22 inches -- will soon be bigger than D. I'm sure you'd be maintaining your own growth charts in some stack of table cluttering folders at home.

And Mira -- we don't get to see this doll that much, but she's a happy, smiley, compassionate, fashion-loving, snack-loving sweetie. When you catch her in the middle of something, she has a this look of concern, innocence, eagerness, confusion, and adoration all balled up into one that melts you.

You would entertain them all with your overused jokes, like calling them the wrong name (which I've been using, and yes, kids do crack-up). You would learn to use Skype to see them (or have mom do it for you). I wish I could see what else.

I can't wait to see them all get older together. Who they'll be, what they'll do together, how they'll be their own part of the family. But really, I can wait. They can take their time. Precious time. If only we all had more.

Haircut

2011-10-21T21:52:00.012-05:00

I decided to cut my hair off and donate it for a cancer wig.

Long and thick from all those pregnant hormones, I won't lie -- I had me some very beautiful hair. But what the hormones giveth, they taketh way. As the traumatic post-prego shedfest looms, inviting a dead black squirrel into my bathroom trash and its squirrel babies to the bathtub drain, I figure let's cut the trauma in half and redirect the hair to a wig for a lady in need.

BEFORE (doesn't my hand look huge?)

SNIP.

15 INCHES. FIFTEEN. (only needed 8-10. more on that in a moment.)

AFTER (planned. cute!)

AFTER (actual. neck stubble!)

In the hair lady's words, "it just needs to settle". It's short. Very short. Shave-your-neck short. Who is going to keep up the neck-shaving? This is for men. Jeez.

I showed her Ginnifer Goodwin. I only needed 8. Somehow I got 15 and have a man-in-back-lady-in-front reverse mullet a la Kate Gosselin. Minus the spikes thank you very much. Hair lady's guilt sent me home with some free hair product and the offer to touch it up after "it settles".

Somehow at 34 years old I have not learned the rule to not chop your hair the day before something fancy. Like the husband's reunion at the Waldorf where you're already relying on a girdle and strong seams. Stupid girl I am.

It's not terrible. I will trust the hair lady and "let it settle". It will grow. I need some femininity. I am going to start wearing lots of red lip gloss. Maybe D will finally stop pulling my hair.

But look. At least these locks go to a lady with bigger concerns. Concerns that remind me how trivial and temporary this all really is. I certainly hope I can at least embrace that attitude (because right now I just want that wig for myself).

Halftime

2011-10-12T22:13:00.018-05:00

Maternity leave's half gone. This depresses me.

The first one was a huge disappointment. I was all "What? 3 months of free time? City discoveries, craft projects, lazy lunches, oh my! All with a cute baby friend to tag-along! Me time! Those whining moms with no time to shower just can't organize their time as well as me! Here I come!"

Yeah.

This time, well aware that a whole day can pass without getting the other half of your shirt back on, my expectations aren't much beyond watching the View (50% failure rate, losing to unanticipated open-mouth snoring). I have a list of things to do, and sometimes things get crossed off. Those are big moments. Yesterday's wins? Sorting through google search results for "control top leggings" and making a purchase. And buying Spanx. Two garments I am putting my faith in.

Despite re-adjusted expectations for maternity leave, I feel incompetent at managing.

Up a lot at night, I nap with him in the morning (at times involuntarily) and can't get out of the house before 3pm. This is unreasonable. If D is home, I wake up from "just closing my eyes" to discover things like 50 stickers on my shirt or the sound of something breaking. Were I a stay at home mom with two kids, I'd only function on a Red Bull IV drip. Plus vodka. Kudos, ladies. WHEN DO YOU SLEEP. I'm a wimp.

I miss adults but don't go to any mommy group -- it's just one more thing to do, and I'm not likable enough right now to make new friends.

Adult voices are instead those of View ladies, Wendy Williams and Nate Berkus. I love me some Wendy. I wish she was my neighbor. And the Chew people. But Mario Batali, your pony tail creeps me out. Too thin. Time to snip.

Going outside is the highlight of the day second to a latte. Fresh air, compliments on your baby, and more adult voices from the good meddling public.

- "Shouldn't he have a boo-boo?" (took a few rounds to realize she meant pacifier. I'll give YOU a boo boo.)

- "You should cover his hands, it's really cold; trust me, I have a baby too." (and I bet your baby is HOT.)

- "Don't pick him up, you'll spoil him." (that is my intention.)

- "I think he's hungry." (yes, can you buy him a blueberry muffin? or cranberry if they have it. thanks.)

- "You need to fix his head; his neck will get messed up." (I want to punch you.)

I have nothing else to say now and realize I haven't said anything of substance or made a point.

And in saying that, I realize it's pretty much what a day at home with a baby is like. But don't read that as a full negative. You munch your baby's face, giggle at his farts, watch him get to know the world, and it's all OK. And that's why maternity leave being half-over is depressing.

like clockwork

2011-10-06T10:50:00.001-05:00

A good friend once told me that God makes babies smile right around 6 weeks, because that's when we'd otherwise kill them. R had flashed a few here and there before, but yesterday he unleashed this.

And not a moment too soon, based on his nighttime antics.

Ravi and Teddy the Aardvark

2011-09-30T23:00:00.001-05:00

His one month picture. Big sister named the aardvark "Teddy", so there it is. I tried to name it Gupta but Brett informed me that's reserved for our 3rd child. Uh huh.

He's 10+ pounds and has so many neck rolls we have to clean the lint out.

How it is

2011-09-29T18:42:00.015-05:00

It's been awhile since I've written. There hasn't been the urge -- moody, tired, voracious baby attached to my boob, fits of rage at the number of snaps on baby sleepers (zippers, clothing makers, ZIPPERS), visitors, etc. But a lot has happened this month, and I at least want to remember the special bits of D's hilarity and sweetness (purposely omitting the 3-year-old-belligerence, worth forgetting), R's squeaky newness, and just becoming four.

I'd be lying without adding that I also want to record this state of mind to quash any future dreams of a 3rd child fueled by a ticking clock or the deliciousness of someone else's newborn. Because HELL NO. Another C-section followed by being physically useless, sleep deprivation, crying, and hanging skin? Never. Last night I considered peeing my pants just to avoid waking up the baby on top of me that I spent hours getting to sleep. He woke up regardless, shortly before I let loose.

For the last three weeks, we've had parents here and Brett has been home. I told him he could quit his job because he worked for a bunch of toxic narcissists. He did, I went into labor the next day, and he stayed home for four weeks before starting a new job. He's very happy. And therefore I am happy.

I've been spoiled by the help and am living a rude awakening this week. My hair may have an animal living in it. I've had the same clothes on for 3 days (maybe I should have peed my pants to force a change). It's Groundhog Day. How stay-at-home-moms do it with a newborn plus other child(ren) is beyond me. I can't even get D to daycare on time and it's around the corner. And I send her to daycare while on leave, so yes, I'm a princess (don't judge me -- if I have to pay for it, I am going to use it). I do feel incompetent.

Daycare does make your child a little petrie dish of yuck, and she shares the love. What happens when your little fomite gives your two-week-old a fever? You win a 5-day, 4-night all inclusive (minus shower) stay at the hospital with a battery of tests, unlimited obnoxious IV machine beeping, and free diapers. Woo hoo! It was miserable, but there were no real problems. We are thankful and fortunate all is fine.

I used to have a special relationship with D, and its few weeks on hold has made me feel disconnected. I can tell she notices and am trying to spend time with just her, but it's not easy and makes me sad.

How are the kids? (ooh, plural)

She -

1. When we're not having a negotiation of some sort (when she's fifteen I'm just staying drunk), she's been a hands-on big sister and mother's assistant. She's so loving and nurturing, I'm humbled. She's a better person than me. The other day she looked at me and Ravi and said, "Mama, he loves you. He really loves you." Melt.

2. She stopped in the middle of the street to "do her stretches" and said to the juice lady, "Does this have alcohol in it? Because I love alcohol."

3. An excrement analyst, she requires to see Ravi's poo so she can provide her opinion on it and evaluates her own with equal gusto. "I have to poo. Let's see what it will look like." It's been a sand castle, the letter K, a snake, an elephant, a hot dog, and more. She feels especially accomplished when she clogs the toilet. Girl's got ambition.

4. She insists on being a breastfeeding assistant by taking my nursing pad so she can place it back onto me and sometimes makes pretend tacos with it while she waits. If time, she's sure to nurse her own babies. On pumping, she said "If I had to do that, I'd cry." She also called me a cow.

5. She only calls her brother Sanjay. She lives to hold him, give him his bottle, and see him in general. She makes up songs for him. They're going to be a sweet pair.

He -

1. Charms us with his newborn ways. Like how they shoot out all their limbs when they hear a sound. And get all sweaty when they eat. And their milk comas. And keep their little outstretched hands by their faces. And ball up on you like fetuses. And stretch and yawn and grunt. And smile and suckle in their sleep. I love newborns minus the neediness.

2. Needs to be held all the time. And eat.

3. Has a chubby cheek smushy face that I eat constantly. He's even cute when he cries (mama bias), so sometimes I just let him wail. It's not that mean.

4. Smiles. Snuggles. Sounds like a billy goat.

5. Apparently looks like a girl. We'll just call it man pretty.

Both of them make me so happy. But this is a lot of work. Going back to work scares the crap out of me. Surely I'll feel better later, because I would have them all over again. While this exhaustion makes time seem still, it really goes so fast. I'll miss it.

First week as four

2011-08-31T22:38:00.002-05:00

If you compare how many pictures were taken of D's first week and R's, second child clearly gets the minimum. But at least I won't have to sort through so many three years from now when I finally make his baby book.

First week of pictures is here.

Somehow we left the hospital without having taken one of us together, so here we are for the first time as four, because D needs a family picture for her new class tomorrow.

Little brother is a week old, has a voracious appetite, started those cute gas smiles in his sleep, and makes you want to have twenty more babies. Big sister continues to amaze me with her nurturing ways.

Pride

2011-08-30T20:47:00.005-05:00

Today, a beaming D fed her little brother his first bottle. Look at that smile.

Her teachers tell me they've never in their experience seen a kid so excited and engaged to have a sibling. I took little bro to daycare for the end-of-year party yesterday, and she showed him off like a proud parent, making sure every person met him and ooohed-aaahed enough -- "Come look at my baby!" Top of lungs.

Even though she still has the typical new sibling act-ups, I think the most jealous person in this house is actually me. For the first time, I deal with her preferring daddy over me. He's now hands-down the fun and favored. I'm the sidelined milk factory that can't pick her up for a month. It's a bummer that will pass. Till then, I drown my sorrows in sniffing this delicious newborn.

The essence of my practice

2011-08-29T16:46:00.004-05:00

I strived to maintain my center and honor myself with yoga practice throughout my body's most recent journey as a vessel of human life. That is pretentious yoga-speak for -- I did some yoga while pregnant to keep my pee muscles from failing me too much in the future. And also to burn some calories so I could eat more Ben and Jerry's.

I do love yoga, but doing this DVD over and over can only be tolerated by focused meditation on what sandwich will be eaten next. Peppered with phrases like "life-giving oxygen for growing baby" and "yoga is very much like giving birth and being a mother", I wondered if it was supposed to be one of those laughing yoga things. But you know it's serious stuff when the the yogis are a white lady who has renamed herself "Shiva" and two unitard-wearing friends who make gentle love to the camera with their eyes while gyrating their pregnant "vessels". They look like teletubbies. And I still did the DVD a million times, because, yes, it does make your body feel nice.

On this, Brianna shared this article. It's hilarious. Don't be drinking anything when you read the part about chive crotch.

And now, on to the post-natal DVD. I wonder if a prerequisite is having eaten my placenta.

He's here

2011-08-28T23:35:00.008-05:00

Tomorrow morning, our new baby boy was scheduled to join us in the world. I never liked the planned nature of it all, and he must have known. If not, I might have gotten that haircut in and not look like this.

After contracting every night for a week, last Tuesday night they came on strong and by the time I got on the monitor they were 3 minutes apart. So, it was go-time. And I got out of a stupid-busy day at work on Wednesday. Score.

We introduce little Ravi, who we called "she" and "Dilan" for the first 3 days by accident. Still do.

August 24th, 4:12 am

7 lbs, 10 oz. 20 inches.

He's really cute. And super strong. Cries like a tortured pig. He impressed the hospital staff with the distance of his projectile poop already.

D is adjusting. She's obsessed, and so happy. She's also normal, and has thus informed me that she doesn't like me. She also refuses to use any name but Sanjay and schooled him today that "That's not good. We do not pee on people. No thank you."

We got home from the hospital just in time to hunker down for the hurricane, which thankfully didn't turn into what was predicted here. We're back in the world of sour trash, sharts, and forgetting what we were doing. And C-section recovery blows.

We are so very fortunate. He's perfect. And he has the best big sister.

(He keeps his hands up by his ears a lot like that -- a coping mechanism that should serve him well in a house with this sister and mother.)

Some videos -- They are all longish, so be warned. The last one is the cutest in our opinion.

D while waiting to meet him - http://youtu.be/OnpQ1xVeSJE

Bro and sis meet - http://youtu.be/eBVixO04Mwo

And meet some more - http://youtu.be/FCQ_MwKnLoQ

It can be done

2011-08-22T18:11:00.003-05:00

Some laughed when I said my walk-in closet would transform into D's room. Oh ye of little imagination. We got an armoir off Craiglist, dumped some clothes, and the closet became history.

Feast your eyes on this little girl's haven, which just Friday night fit her and 3 friends for some on-the-bed giggling and book reading. Lovely, no?

Brett wants me to tell you that he built those book ledges. So give him a pat on the back and maybe I'll forgive him for calling me a fire hazard.

The age when it's OK to have boys in your bed.

(Note to DFACS -- We leave the door open. It's fine.)

Bubbles and colored prophylactics

2011-08-21T19:33:00.003-05:00

I've acquired more kitchen gadgets. But so worth it. (swear I'm done now)

1. An awesome friend heard my wants, and gifted us the SodaStream. Thank goodness, because I wouldn't have bought it myself. And it's the BEST thing ever. If you drink seltzer, you need this. It's better for the environment and there is always a burpalicious beverage available in the house.

2. Popsicle molds (above, lending the kitchen a kinky look while drying out). I tried without molds. Molds are just better. We suck down yogurt pops daily, and D thinks it's ice cream. She'll one day rant away on being fed lies about yogurt being ice cream and zucchini-wheat muffins being cupcakes.

Mr. T

2011-08-20T00:19:00.000-05:00

I love it when D gets into her jewelry, because it's all or nothing.

Something else to do with Trader Joe's pie crust

2011-08-18T19:29:00.010-05:00

I don't think it's really understood how I feel about Trader Joe's pie crust. It is SO FREAKING DELICIOUS there aren't words. And super fattening. But whatever.

I'm not adventurous enough to do anything but make quiche with it. I had a bad experience making apple pie and now have a pie-making-fear that just means I will drop $47 on a momofuku crack pie (didn't know how much it cost till I got to the register, but it was sheer heaven on my tongue).

Anyway, now that I've made the following, I abandon the standard quiche, it's oven exploding tendencies and long cooking time. It's a quiche without the eggs. Because I might have started making a quiche and then got lazy. Although I can't say "I'm making quiche" anymore, which sounded kind of special. Instead, I introduce a new dinner regular, "Heavenly Store Bought Pie Crust with Vegetables and Maybe Meat Filling":

1. Thaw a Trader Joe's pie crust and spread 3/4 of it along the bottom and sides of a casserole dish.

2. Fill it with filling, like sauteed vegetables and sausage. This time I did 3/4 lb turkey sausage, two peppers, half an onion, and a zucchini, tossed with 4 oz cheddar. It's what I had.

3. Roll out the other 1/4 of the crust and make a top.

4. Bake at 375 till it looks done (30 min or so).

The awakening that will soon come

2011-08-16T20:12:00.009-05:00

This is whiny.

I'm large*, contracting** but not in labor, and nauseous. My feet are almost too fat for flip flops. I think I snore while awake***. Even though there are 2 years worth of clothes waiting for Sanjay (thank you hand-me-downs!), it is still lost on me that he will come. I still refer to him as IT. Another tiny human. With a penis. A boy. Who kicks really hard. A human boy. We'll have two little humans. People do it all the time. So why do my eyes bug out? Buck up girl -- stop taking your life so seriously.

In analyzing the panic, the truth became plain. Brett does a lot of parenting. He does more than me. Maybe it only feels that way because I unintentionally harbor old-fashioned mama stereotypes. But he still does a ton. I like to hide it so no one knows what a slacker I am. He doesn't even travel for work.

I've been able to half-ass my way through three years thanks to my manny, and #2 means the jig is up. This charade is over. There will be one for each of us. I'll have to be a real parent. The two-kid mommies at the playground tell me it's OVER. Hopefully they're wrong. Please be wrong.

And to the comment "Woman -- if you're going to choose to have more kids, own your choices and stop complaining," I say -- sure, you're right.

But I don't care. I am well aware that the new little human will make us laugh and smile just as much as the D I gush about. I'm also well aware of the cursing and time suck he'll bring. Just being honest. Oh, but it's worth it.

*Brett -- "Jeez, get out of my way, you're like a fire hazard." You have my permission punch him next time you see him.

**And when this happens, D tells me to calm down and take a deep breath, and then demonstrates the deep breathing like a pretentious yoga instructor. Who needs a doula when you have this.

***D, as we were having the 5-more-minutes-morning-snuggles -- "Mama. Don't snore. OK? Don't snore."

August is here

2011-08-07T22:20:00.005-05:00

D: I think someone's coming to visit me today. I think someone's coming.

K: Well, it might be Sanjay.

D: Yes, I think so.

K: No, I'm not ready for that.

D: But, I am. I'm ready.

K: He's not coming. I'm not ready.

D: But, I AM mama. I want to see him. I want him to come out.

Aw, well. August is here. It's hot and sticky and I am thankful for the icemaker. All the predictable feelings are here too.

What if D hates me?

What if Sanjay hates me?

What if I don't like Sanjay?

What if he's as feisty on the outside as he is on the inside?

What if I can't take care of two kids?

What if life becomes all about kids?

What to do when D becomes a jealous devil?

What if I never have time for crap again?

What if I become a horrible monster mom?

How do you raise a boy?

How do you change a boy's diaper?

Why do people with two kids give you that smug "oh, you'll see" look. Stop it. Yes, I will see.

Worst, what if he won't snuggle?

All will work out, and we'll be blessed to have him here. But that doesn't mean it's not freaky.

I reluctantly scheduled the dreaded but unavoidable c-section for August 29th. I don't like scheduling a birth date. But no matter, because I know he's coming early. Doctor felt his head on Thursday. And that's when my eyes popped out of my head and I came home and ordered some diapers.

35 weeks

2011-07-31T23:14:00.002-05:00

Here I am...

starving but full
fat
itchy
exhausted but restless
hot
hot
hot
out of breath
sausage-toed
unable to sit like a lady

But, I have a full time nanny in waiting...

and an at-home physician, who calls herself Dr. Ikanoh and gives me regular sonograms complete with lotion (note baby still attached, but on her back).

Last week (after nursing her baby), she tried to put her sippy cup into my shirt so I would have food for Sanjay. So generous, my little sharer.

a $40 lesson

2011-07-31T18:36:00.001-05:00

"I am not sharing popcorn with mama. Just with Pa. Because mama -- she's not hungry." (Look at that greedy face. Whatever girl. Fork it over. She did.)

D's first time at the movies. Winnie the Pooh. Aw, how precious.

She wasn't ready. We wanted to put her in that hole with Pooh hiding from the Baksun, but it wasn't possible. We'll stick to Madagascar and Nemo at home for a few more months. Or go with a muzzle and straightjacket, but movies are no fun without popcorn.

Big ambitions

2011-07-27T22:48:00.004-05:00

D, helping me with laundry, grabs my bra.

D: Mama, can I wear that?

Me: Sure (anything to occupy)

D: Oh, thank you. Pause. Because you have to share that with me. Because I gonna have boobies.

Me: What? What are you talking about?

D: Yeah, I gonna have BIG boobies, so you have to share that with me.

Check, check, and check

2011-07-25T10:32:00.003-05:00

I've had trouble getting to bed, so hopefully that at least means things are getting knocked off the psycho nester list. They are! I am a rock star.

1. Finished the Harry Potters. I had stopped mid #4 when they started hogging too much purse space. But they're all read now, and I spent yesterday afternoon washing down too much popcorn with frozen coke. Neville dropped his baby fat, and after some dental work is apparently quite wilfy (<-- highly recommend clicking on that on that link.)

2. Made D's baby book. Whaaattt? Some things take three years. Poring over pics made me miss her babyhood so. I mean look at this little stinker. The key to getting it done? Giving up on perfection and shoving it into My Publisher. And a coupon. Here is my proud creation.

3. After 9 months, finally emptied the Canadian coins from my wallet. Shocking how much time this saves from picking through unusable quarters at the store.

Now, onto making a "who's going to watch D if I go into labor" plan. Because this boy feels like he's going bust his way out any day.

What I've been drinking

2011-07-24T13:14:00.007-05:00

Not margaritas dammit, at least for a few more weeks.

I have jumped on the green smoothie bandwagon. While you won't find celery juice and parsley in my cup (double yak), blending kale or chard into frozen fruit has proven tasty and easily forces the extra greens.

What I've had so far (with best guesses on measurements):

1.5 cups kale or chard (I do 3 cups at a time and save for later)

1 cup frozen fruit (been using strawberries, mango, pineapple)

Water

1. Chop up the greens and food-process with a mix of OJ and water (enough to be liquidy).

2. Blend somewhat thawed fruit with 1/2 cup water.

3. Add greens mixture and blend some more.

4. Drink (and chew a little).

5. Brush teeth if you plan on smiling. Those green bits stick around.

You can do step 1 in the blender and then add the fruit. I use an immersion blender so have to process the greens separately first to get them smoother. If anyone has tips on getting them so smooth that you can skip Step 5, let me know!

Next attempt will be green popsicles to trick my child.

Weaning back to reality

2011-07-17T21:27:00.004-05:00

DSC_6503, a photo by kajal77 on Flickr.

D is back from a week of summer camp at the grandparents, which means this morning...

Tap tap tap, on my head.

-(Ignore)

Tap tap tap, harder.

-(Ignore)

Tap tap tap, with passion.

-(Ignore)

Switch to daddy, who lets her in the bed, followed by "Mommy? Mommy. Mommy."

-Hi.

"Grandma pwayed with me all day long. So you need to get up now pwease. Come on, let's go pway now."

-Grumble grumble.

Then we got her some ice cream and fish for her aquarium. Why let the spoiling stop.

At least my baby's name won't be the same as yours

2011-07-14T18:42:00.010-05:00

When people ask what names we are thinking of, I mostly skirt the topic. Mainly I don't want to hear narrow-minded snots and their "ew, really?"

That said...

Sanjay is on the table (background here). Not Sanjay Gupta (dear lord). But Sanjay. Among other names, but an option. Probably won't happen. But it's there. And it's FINE.

I don't tell people, because their comments hurt my feelings. Of course we will not have a full-on Sanjay Gupta (right Brett? right?). But if I mention just Sanjay, you wouldn't believe the people who still make a face. You know, you look ugly when you make that face. And you are boring. Be nice. Your unsolicited opinion is offensive to a) Dr. Sanjay Gupta, b) anyone else with that first name*, c) the unborn boy in this belly who, if his internal antics are any indication, will drop kick you if you make fun of his name, d) me, who may drop kick you as well, and e) Brett, the one who came up with the name, and will seriously drop kick you. He's big.

*There are well over a billion Indians and I bet each of them has a loved one named Sanjay. We will run you over.

So, there it is. Watch your mouth.

D and the barber

2011-07-11T21:54:00.003-05:00

I just found these pictures tucked away in a folder on the computer -- her first haircut (January). She needed one, but what really prompted the trip was, "Mommy, can I have a haircut?" So, naturally, we bribed her with it. When the time came, she was all too thrilled, ready to put her boots on and get there.

Then Miss Rosario put it up in a clip and gave her a sucker, and proceeded to ask me things about layering and bangs in Spanish that I did not understand. Fortunately this misunderstanding did not end in a bowl cut or mullet.

I went for a bob, a little shorter in the back to emphasize the curls. I want this haircut myself but am deathly afraid of mom hair.

Summer fun

2011-07-10T23:30:00.005-05:00

D's at summer camp for a week at the grandparents...how cute are the cousins?

And I am husband and child free for a week. Single! I even took off my wedding ring. Well, it's really because my fingers are too fat. Today I enjoyed prime Brighton Beach people watching (and sun, and beach trash). Such as this man who dutifully carried his wife's purse. And wore her hat. With his bottom half in Sunday-best. And, while unseen here, has a tattoo of a topless woman on his arm.

31 weeks

2011-07-01T23:05:00.004-05:00

I've gained as much weight as D weighs. I'm hungry. And I'm off to Hotlanta Sweatfest Part II for my last trip before parking it back up here till Sanjay comes. I had to go for work and added a couple days to get away from the nesting obsessions in this apartment and visit dear friends in town from far away.

The boarding pass just printed with the extended weather forecast. 94, 95, 95, blah, blah, ick. The cankles are coming.

The sock trend continues

2011-06-30T22:23:00.007-05:00

Late June is a fine time to begin wearing socks with your sandals. Seems she's gunning for an invite to the senior center.

The fashion opinions don't stop at footwear. The other day I wore black pants and a black shirt to work, the most reliable color at 30 weeks. I looked quite slim and sharp if I say so myself.

D: You going to work in your PJs?
Me: These are my clothes.
D: They're PJs.
Me: They're nice work clothes.
D: They're all black.
Me: That is the point.
D: You're wearing PJs.
Me: Have a good day. Bye.

Lobsters and other things

2011-06-30T21:25:00.007-05:00

DSC_6032, a photo by kajal77 on Flickr.

An expiring Jetblue credit + the desire to chow on some fresh lobster rolls = Portland, Maine -- a very pretty and delicious town. For the ladies, there are an unreal number of awesome, well-priced, well-organized vintage clothing stores. Brett was thankful my current body kept me mostly out.

We stumbled onto a lobster festival (complete with eating contest that started minutes upon our arrival -- winner cracked and ate eight in ten minutes), rode on the mail-delivery boat to surrounding unbridged islands, ate mucho lobster, and saw two movies at a theater that charged $6. Cruelly (but good for a trip back), this place has Allagash White on tap most everywhere. And I love some Allagash White.

If you ever go...

1. Portland Lobster Company -- Voted best lobster roll in Portland in 2010 and 2011. Did not disappoint.

2. Paciorino -- Best pasta EVER. We could eat here every day.

3. Mailboat run.

4. Brett really likes trains and enjoyed the narrow gauge railroad museum. We bought a handmade train whistle there for D, which she loves to blow at 7am.

5. Eastern promenade park -- great for running and biking, although for me it was just focused on walking through it quickly enough to find a place to pee.

Pictures here.

And thank you, thank you to my mom for keeping D while we were gone. She taught her how to gargle and drink all her milk. She also left me with TWO containers of cut-up mango. You know how I feel about that.

Two delicious things

2011-06-22T21:18:00.002-05:00

1. Crispy artichokes.

A topping for your burger at 67 Burger. Truly perfect. Salty, crispy, and...a vegetable (2 points!). Seriously, I can't tell you how delicious this makes your burger. I could just eat a sandwich made of these. And pepperjack.

2. Chocolate covered potato chip clusters.

Key ingredient in Ben and Jerry's Late Night Snack. Thank you Jimmy Fallon. Really, I love you.

Look of the week

2011-06-21T22:48:00.000-05:00

"Mama I want to wear my socks because my feet are cold."

Ok.

"Mama I want to wear my sandals too."

Together?

"Yes."

Ok.

Upon checking herself in the mirror, "Ooh, mama, I'm too pretty today."

Yes, my dear. You are.

My expert advice

2011-06-14T22:49:00.009-05:00

At Amy's baby shower (baby boy is coming home soon from the hospital - triple yay), Brianna forced us all to give our best parenting advice on video. She warned me ahead of time twice, maybe knowing how I will ramble senselessly if I have no plan and also that I have a bad track record for brunch at Amy's*. Still, I had no plan.

Here's what I said when the camera came. And I happen to like it. So, any new parents, behold my expertise. It's advice I should take myself.

1. None of us know what we're doing. Even the people who give you advice and act like they know it all don't know what they're doing. Something to keep in mind and be OK with.

2. Keep booze in the house.

3. Don't be afraid to accept help if offered**.

*First time, I walked out of the bathroom with my dress tucked into my underwear. Full cheeks out. When a nice man tried to point it out to me from across the room, I thought he was complimenting my dress and I said "thank you" with a smile, swishing my skirt a bit with pride. So then he came to tell me in my ear. Oh. Second time, I squeezed someone's boob as part of telling a story about something on the topic. But I had no idea I did it till later, at which point I had to email her to ask her if I really did that and apologize. Thankfully she didn't remember either. Or at least spared me the embarrassment. This third time, I held it together. But we haven't seen the video yet, in which I may just have a giant booger or unnecessarily dropped the f-bomb.

**Warning to anyone who offers me help this time around, particularly in the form of food you leave behind. I will take it. So be serious. And I like fruit that you have already cut-up for me. Such as mango and pineapple. I hate cutting mangoes.

Sanjay versus the Bra

2011-06-14T20:35:00.009-05:00

The underwire has bitten the dust. I do not appreciate this, as I am a girl who appreciates a structured undergarment.

Sanjay 1 -- Bra 0.

And he's currently working on a plan to take out the nursing and sports bras. Little dude, do you not realize there aren't options after that? Well, there's the shelf tank, but no one wants to see that. I look like a total weirdo at work stretching to make room for both you and the bra. Cozy up and get out of my chest. Or just pick one end. You can't take out the bras AND make me pee my pants. It's like I'm 90 already -- unmanaged boobs and bladder, and full of complaints.

I went to the doctor today. She brought up scheduling the c-section and the panic began. I've been in denial. I don't want a c-section. We left it at "let me think about it some more." The truth is there isn't much to think about. I'm just stubborn.

And it's time to start going every two weeks. More panic. It's coming. #2. I have to stop writing this or I will start crying. I just learned of a friend expecting #5. People do this all the time. (How does Michelle Duggar find time to do that hair? Not that I like her hair. But you know it requires some bathroom time. How?)

Seriously, could I be more annoying? Why do people who get pregnant on purpose panic about the choices they've made? Because they just do. Let me.

Hotlanta Sweatfest 2011

2011-06-08T21:53:00.005-05:00

It's going to be 100 degrees tomorrow. Literally. If this is a preview of summer, my water will break and I won't even know it since my pants will be perma-wet with sweat. I will also dress inappropriately and don't care.

The last nine days in Atlanta were an even earlier preview of what summer will feel like in a fatsuit. Seriously, that place is hot. HOT. My mom's A/C broke. Our condo's attic door fell off and poor Brett had to fix it. I packed full panel maternity jeans. HOT.

I spent our trip drinking water and peeing and waiting for moments to just walk around in underwear.

And taking too many kiddie pictures (it's like I see no adults).

And eating ice cream -- one of the South's charms is Mayfield, and if you haven't tried Extreme Moose Tracks, you're missing a sweet part of life.

Thanks to grandparent babysitters, I saw 3 movies and got a pedicure so thorough I fell asleep. I'm big enough to hear myself snore now but not care. And I dumped the rest of D's clothes. I am so severely addicted to purging this apartment, when City Opera comes here tomorrow to pick up seven (SEVEN) bags, I'll only be on a mission to gather enough for another donation. Brett says I've got problems. I say the real problem is that we've got stuff in this apartment like 5 bottles of insect repellent and a gifted kangaroo testicle bottle opener. Yes, a kangaroo testicle bottle opener (thanks brother-in-law.)

Rhinotillexomania

2011-05-31T18:19:00.005-05:00

Now that's a great word, huh? I learned it on the internet after googling "Why do kids eat their boogers?" It means you've got a nose-picking problem.

There's no equally fun word for eating the boogies, but some doctor in Austria does apparently tout its health benefits. Others call it a psychiatric disorder. Either way, it's classic kid grossness (per the internet, motivated by the simple ability to do so or even the salty flavor). And D's in the zone. I tried prying one out of her mouth at the airport after seeing it stuck to her front tooth. She fought me to keep it.

Slow your judgment; your kid does it too. That said, she did start early.

Quiche, that may or may not set your oven on fire

2011-05-30T13:06:00.004-05:00

If I end up sending a recipe to more than a few people upon request, I'll go ahead and pat myself on the back that it's very delicious...like this quiche.

It's different every time depending on what I want / can put in it, but here's a rough go. To bake, put on a foil-lined pan. This is because my quiches seem to erupt from time to time, once setting my oven on fire as brunch guests arrived. I don't know what I'm doing wrong. Maybe you can tell me.

- 1 trader joe's frozen pie crust (this is important. It may be the sole reason this recipe is requested.)

- 6 eggs

- 1 cup milk

- 2-3 cups of some "filling" -- a mix of veggies and cooked meat (most of the time, sausage)*

- 1 cup of shredded cheese that goes with the above filling

- 1 tsp salt

- pepper, chili powder, and nutmeg to taste

1. Prep pie crust per the box, rolling it out to fit your casserole dish.

2. Whisk eggs with milk and spices.

3. Stir in the filling and cheese.

4. Pour into crust and cook for 30-45 minutes at 400.

5. Stick a fork in to check it. Check often, in case of eruption.

*Like:

- Italian turkey sausage, spinach, artichokes, Italian mixed cheese

- Breakfast sausage, broccoli, cheddar

- Bacon, mixed peppers, pepper jack

Let the disappointment begin

2011-05-23T22:14:00.006-05:00

Don't underestimate a three-year-old's ability to tell you that you suck.

Here we are, last Wednesday after daycare. Passionate and furious, it went something like this.

-D: “I'm too* mad at you." (arms folded)

-Me: "Why?"

-D: "I not have my show and share at school. And all my friends have their show and share. And I don’t have my show and share because you seegergot**. I’m too mad at you, mama. You not listening.”

-Me: “What about Pa? He takes you in the morning. He should have given it to you. Aren’t you mad at him?”

-D: “No***. I’m mad at Kajee. You seegergot. I need my show and share.”

-Me: “I don’t drop you off. Pa forgot, not me.”

-D: “No. You. I'm too mad. Not OK Kajee. No thank you.”

*She says “too” instead of “so”. Oh, the drama.

**How she says “forgot”.

***And so it begins. Pa can do no wrong. Despite my efforts to blame him.

Oh, girl. Just wait till the day you have to take fresh baked cookies to school. You’ll be really mad at me then. Or when you realize I can't sew.

So, today I called the school and made them go ask the teacher what show and share was this week so I could make a calendar reminder. Otherwise, you only find out verbally at Tuesday evening pick-up (which we miss per our schedule), like it's the secret password to an underground rave. God forbid they use a webpage or a piece of paper stuck to the wall. Let's just all whisper it to each other.

Purple iris

2011-05-22T22:27:00.003-05:00

...the exact shade of girliness we ended up on.

My closet now looks like an easter egg, thanks to D's color preference for her new room. But she's excited, and that's what matters.

The transformation and related purge has begun. The dust it raised meant a lot of sneezing, hence the mascara-marked-under-eye-circles. But here I am in the last days of trimester 2, still enjoying post-haircut-flat-iron-sexy-hair (Day 4, by the way, and it's been raining. The new hair lady is good!).

An obscene amount of stuff has left and will be leaving this apartment soon. And I won't miss a stitch.

Caving to the gadgets

2011-05-17T22:26:00.005-05:00

I try hard not to have a lot of stuff (exception for shoe and necklace weakness) and get a high from purging things from this apartment. That said, I finally gave into two long-wanted, long-pondered kitchen appliances and am a changed woman.

#1: Slow cooker.

It takes up as much room as a newborn baby and weighs twice as much. That is prime real estate in this small kitchen, but it will make such deliciousness with such little effort. Deliciousness is good. Effort is bad. So far, the winning recipe (thanks Amy) is this one for pulled pork, which then goes happily into tacos. Brett fell in love with me all over again.

- Pork butt (3 lbs?)

- 1 big jar of pepperoncinis, including the juice.

- Put both together into the cooker for 8 hours on low. Add some vinegar if you need more liquid.

- Break it up and eat it in tacos. Mmmmm.

#2: Immersion blender.

Yes, it does the same thing as a blender. But it takes 30 seconds to use and clean. Which means I can have a PBJ shake or mango lassi EVERY day. And that is happiness.

PBJ shake -- frozen strawberries, ripe banana, peanut butter, and milk.

Mango lassi - plain yogurt, frozen mango.

Easy, peasy. And now the real blender's at Brett's office for him to make margaritas there. Seriously.

This gadget success has me inches from giving into the third and final one: Sodastream. Selzter all the time with zero bottle-carrying and bottle-waste? A dream. This one requires dedicated counter space at a time in life where some will become re-committed to a rack of baby bottle and breast pump bits. So we'll see. But I want. I want.

a list to re-read

2011-05-10T22:25:00.005-05:00

I love this list. Much seems common sense, but I could use some reminding.

#2 is a perfect inner-voice to help my nesting-driven apartment purging.

I want #3 and 33 to be me.

#5 is why if you ask me when we're moving to Atlanta, there is no answer. Who needs plans?

#13 is hard to swallow, but I bet much happiness comes from accepting it.

More people should keep #34 in mind.

I don't like the truth in #18.

But it's a great list.

Happy Mother's Day

2011-05-08T21:56:00.005-05:00

Tulips, brunch, pedicure, phone calls, and sun.

And Pop Tarts were on sale -- it was a sign.

We missed our moms but we'll see them soon.

Happy day to all!

Toddlerness

2011-05-04T21:27:00.007-05:00

When our photo instructor suggested I do my project around having a toddler, I played nice and told her it was a good idea while secretly rolling my eyes at how cliche it was to go the mommy route.

But it turns out that's what I had time for. It also lit up the details of D's world in a way I appreciate differently. And here we are at mommy cliche.

Here's the final cut of six from the many attempts. I plan to hang them in her new purple bedroom, which will hopefully soon be created from my closet, which will hopefully soon be emptied into some Ikea contraption, which will hopefully soon find its way in here. Maybe I should hang a giant picture of a window in there too.

And in honor of these toddler memories, my fave recent quote:

"I did poo in the potty today en la escuela!!! It goes spa-lash. And looks like a snake. A brown snake. I did it, pa!"

(just once, but at least it was fun.)

22 weeks, etc.

2011-04-28T22:16:00.002-05:00

There's been too much about D here; I had to write about myself for a minute. Would you believe I can't remember when I last washed my hair? Well, probably. But it's even longer than you think thanks to my new Bumble and Bumble hair powder. A must try if you hate washing hair as much as me.

Also...

I heart Tina Fey's prayer for her child.

Those of you with two girls -- according to this article (although as a sister, I can vouch the 2nd paragraph is crapola till you're 20), you will be the happiest parents of them all. Mom, this means you should be thrilled. I'll have to settle for 2nd happiest. And if I ever accidentally conceive a third, apparently life will plummet to pure doom.

D's first annual* birthday interview

2011-04-28T21:44:00.003-05:00

*Until she decides this is lame. Clarifications in italics.

AGE 3.

What is your favorite color?

Um, purple.

What is your favorite food?

Vegetables.

What kind?

Corn and peas. (preferably still frozen and eaten out of the bag)

Really...vegetables? Anything else?

Mac and cheese pasta. And ice. (not ice cream, just ice)

What is your favorite drink?

Soda. (I swear she hardly has it...don't judge)

Who are your favorite friends?

Casey. (A lie. I mean she's sweet and all, but they don't even hang out and she barely talks about her. She does love her 8-year-old brother though and totally freaked when seeing him on the playground after months of winter. Hmm. Oh.)

What do you want to do tomorrow?

Go to the gym. And eat chwips. (Another lie. She hates the gym. She does call chips "chwips".)

What are you cooking in your kitchen?

Mac and cheese pasta for Pa. Handerburger for Kajee. And chicken for me. THAT chicken.

What is your favorite toy?

Balloons.

What do you want to do today?

My hat, coloring book, and listen to music.

What is Sanjay doing today?

Crying. He has a boo boo. He's upside down.

What is Baby Sam doing today?

Talking.

What is Mason doing today?

He's upside down too. He's too funny.

What is Baby Mira doing?

Walking

Do you want to live in NYC with your friends X, Y, and Z or in Atlanta with your cousins?

I want to live with Mason and Sam and Mira. (Point taken. But the answer was different last time).

What does mama do?

Yoga.

What does Pa do?

Stretching. And he's at work.

What is your favorite song?

(She then sings this unknown tune that she gets into all the time, which ends with "just like that" and jazz hands. After that, it was ABC.)

Which are your favorite shoes?

Red.

What is your favorite thing at school?

The train.

Why did you go to time out today?

Not listening.

And?

I climbed on the table.

Why?

Not listening.

When are you going to poo in the potty?

I am going to go in the big potty and it's going to go SPLASH!

But when?

I am going to get two candies!

But when?

I want to go in the diaper.

But when in the potty?

NO.

What do you want to do now?

I want to do a puzzle. Together. Now. Come on, now. Together. Kajee, NOW.

END OF INTERVIEW.

Birthday

2011-04-24T22:14:00.005-05:00

D's 3rd Birthday, a set on Flickr.

She continues singing happy birthday to herself and all her friends. But like a middle-aged lady, she won't admit it really came, each day, saying her birthday's "tomorrow". We agreed she'd start dropping deuces in the potty at 3. She doesn't want that time to come. It's OK girl, I hate the demands of aging too.

Her party of six kids and their parents cozied into our Plan-B-if-it-rains-ALL -FREAKING-DAY apartment proved small space is no big deal and we had a blast. As the last kids left at 6:30, the sun finally came out.

And I learned that one can screw up boxed cupcakes. Thank goodness Duane Reade sells it for late-night do-overs. And M&Ms make everything better. While I truly suck at baking (except zucchini muffins), I can make a superbad tutu. She fluffed around, used it as a napkin, and generally rocked it.

Hydrogenate me

2011-04-20T23:08:00.003-05:00

In keeping D's birthday low-key and meal-less, I vowed to at least make this the year I stop outsourcing to the latest hip bakery and introduce (er, create) Kajal the baking goddess.

I polled my excellent baker friends on their go-to recipes, ready to get tooled up, bake away, and receive gushing compliments over the perfect moistness and buttery, yet light, taste.

Then I got the emails back. One email included the sentence "if you follow the steps closely, it will turn out great", followed by instructions about not ruining the consistency, doing things for a specified number of minutes, and dividing things into thirds. Practice required. More than once.

NOPE.

Duncan Hines, it will be. The ingredients on the box make me twitch, but whatever's in there tastes damn good and I can't risk my pretend-baking reputation on some Whole Foods variety.

Have you read the ingredients in Betty Crocker's icing? Don't. It is not food.

But the box and the can are tried and true. People will gobble them up. Especially when I put all those M&M's on top.

Happy 3, Dr. D

2011-04-19T22:59:00.007-05:00

I can't believe you are three. And I'll say a version of that sentence every year till I am too old to remember your age.

I looked at you today, thinking how much I couldn't believe your new number...but I realized it fits. You are a kid, not a toddler. You act like one and talk like one. You're tall (by my standards). You're smarter (ahem, more manipulative) than we give you credit for.

Today, we played doctor five times. Eight, if you include with your dad. I hit the birthday present nail on the head this year (non-plastic doctor set, which gets a plug because it's Earth month).

You say "I don't think so" instead of "I don't know."
- me: "What is her name?"
- you: "I don't think so."

You say "found" instead of "find".
- "Swiper took it. We have to found it. Help me found it."

You make plans.
- "I'm going to sleep for three more minutes. Then I'm going to pee in the potty. Then I'm going to eat raisin bread."
- "First I check a little bit of email. Then we read eleven books. Then it's naptime."

You are obsessed with raisin bread.
You request eleven books specifically.
You sing all day. You tell us not to sing and say that only you can sing. You always want to to go Trader Joes.
You are bossy.
You make grocery lists and call it "coloring food."

You are so gracious, and melt me when coming out with a genuine "thank you, it's too special".
You nurture naturally -- your dolls, your mother, and your fetus brother (who evidently tells you he's hungry all the time).

You say you are too sick. In the same breath you say you want to go to the playground.
You explained that you want to hold mama's hair in the car and when it's naptime. You still cannot explain why. You know I only wash it like twice a week right?

You like talking about poo.

You do things I can't put into words.

Suddenly all your "yeah's" have turned into serious "yes's" with the best lisp ever.

When it's your birthday, I feel like it's mine too.
I love you.

this tea tastes like crap

2011-04-18T00:17:00.003-05:00

"this tea tastes like crap", a photo by kajal77 on Flickr.

I just love how baby Sam and what's-her-name were posed at tea-time.

I also love taking pictures. I hate taking pictures when I have no ideas.

For this photo class, we have a project.

It's supposed to follow a theme, and I could use some critiques. And I could use a theme and some ideas please. So far, the pictures are falling into "my daughter's stuff around here" or "something fashionish". Blah.

Here they are so far. I cheated and used pictures taken before this week. Cheating will be necessary.

Another thumbsucker

2011-04-14T22:47:00.004-05:00

Here he is, all over that thumb at 20 weeks. Please don't remind me that means we're halfway there. Too soon.

I want to go in there

2011-04-12T22:21:00.011-05:00

People ask me if Dilan knows there's a baby coming.

Duh, YES -- she's baby crazy. I hear about it all the time. Not only does she call him by his fantasy name, Sanjay Gupta, she reads to him, kisses him, and tells me to be careful (e.g. after she smacks me in the belly). When I take a shower, she asks if he got clean. When I eat, she asks if he's hungry. If he kicks, she says "no thank you -- go to time out." I'm just his vessel.

But the best?

I walked in on her whimpering to herself, holding her sock monkey -- "I want to go inside. I want to go inside." Imagine THE most pathetic, quiet, sad, sad, sad whine :-(.

Me: We are inside.

D: I want to go in there (touches my belly).

Me: Why?

D: I want to play with him.

Me: You can't go inside. If you go there anyway, you can't watch Dora, or play with so-and-so, or talk on the phone.

D: I want to go in there (the crying begins).

Me: Well, sometimes I wish you could go back in, but you can't. It's more fun out here anyway, and he'll come out soon.

She grew quite upset and started ramming her head into my belly, crying, trying to pry open my belly button with her fingers. (PS - this is rather unpleasant.)

And I was cracking up. But she was crying and trying and so, so sad.

She gave up but still asks to go in there. And I love her for it.

18 weeks

2011-04-10T02:07:00.006-05:00

I took this of myself while setting up the camera to do something else for my class. Hence the expression. And that experiment didn't work out anyway. Yes, I know it's out of focus.

It's also heavily cropped, since it was already no-pants-o-clock around here. You're welcome for that.

My toilet partner

2011-04-08T22:06:00.009-05:00

I caught some bug this week that left me so dehydrated from yakking I had to get up to the hospital for an IV (and tests, which all came back fine - stop worrying mom). I haven't changed clothes in 3 days but am happy to report I am back to eating real food and am totally fine.

Anyway the highlight of all this was D's mothering. The first vomit, she freaked out crying. But thereafter, she busted into the bathroom to help, patted me on the back saying "just a little bit more mama, it's OK", and helped clean up with toilet paper. Later she'd check with such concern "you need to go sick in the potty?", ready to assist.

I don't know where she learned such care, but when your real mama's far away, it's nice to have D. Seriously the cutest.

Her future girlfriends will appreciate her on those 21st birthdays and such. And it's nice to know that following any bad nights with a bottle of wine, I'll have a nurse.

Email

2011-04-06T20:36:00.003-05:00

D likes to come to my computer while I'm working and ask to press certain letters or write an email. Today, this is what she wrote (I tell her how to spell of course). It's not earth shattering. I'm just amused by #5 on the list who still seems to be a member of our family. I also like how I'm #2. Suck it, Pa (at least for today).

Dilan

Kajee

Sanjay

Cat in the tunnel

Mason

Uncle Brian

Aunt Caron

End. Attention span averted.

7

2011-04-04T10:05:00.008-05:00

Yesterday was our 7 year anniversary, and I happen to really love the number 7. It's the year of gifting wool or copper. We contemplated buying matching sweaters, but the stores have replaced woolies with beach wear we can't use till July.

On our wedding day, I broke a full length mirror. And I am superstitious. While life has treated us mostly well, I'm pleased to be out of the woods.

We still have no wedding album. I guess this is my annual reminder to harass our photographer.

Life is definitely wonderful now, but I'd be lying if I didn't say I longed for the carefree days of our honeymoon. Look at us. Morning beer, where the morning maybe didn't begin till at least 10.

I think Brett still wears that t-shirt.

Her idea of fun today

2011-04-01T19:52:00.002-05:00

Into my pie hole

2011-03-31T20:46:00.006-05:00

I've had some yumminess lately you should try. I also can't stop eating, which is why 1-4 were within the last week.

Northern Spy -- I had the polenta and baked eggs. I didn't want my food to end and was giddy for the leftovers. For the walk home, I took a couple caramels (the beer-pretzel version was on Time Out's top 100 things they ate in 2010, but the dark chocolate sea salt won for me.)
Vandaag - The menu didn't woo me there, but this place was written up everywhere I looked. So, it had to be tasted and proved uniquely delicious. Go with a few people so you can share stuff. For brunch/lunch, you must try the hot lightening (bacon/potatoes/syrup), duck confit sandwich, mushroom-hazelnut terrine sandwich, and cream biscuit.
Luke's Lobster -- 5 words: Lobster. Roll. Delivery. Good butter.
Stephen Colbert's Americone Dream -- I did it for charity. It felt good. Really, really good.
Brinkley's -- I really don't even know if this place is good overall, but their lobster rolls have avocado and bacon and come with chips they make themselves, hot and fresh out of the fryer. In case you don't know, I like me some lobster rolls.
Crack pie -- I'm sure this is delicious at Momofuku, but the version I had was Brianna's homemade, which she generously fed me on Pi Day. Ridiculously good, and thank you LA times for publishing the recipe so Brianna can make it again. I'll be at Momofuku buying my own soon enough, because you know I'm not making that. Also, if you don't celebrate Pi day with pie, you should start. Pie eating in the name of math!
Cafe Habana -- Best corn on the cob and cuban sandwich ever. Ever.
1534 - For booze (very interesting and non girlie cocktails), across from Cafe Habana while you're waiting 4.5 years for your table.

That sinking feeling

2011-03-28T21:50:00.012-05:00

When I find myself bummed or stressed all of a sudden, I try to make a point to stop and focus on it, asking what just happened that made me feel this way?

Commonly, it's a work email with way too much writing, a problem, or something that requires urgent attention but isn't urgent. Sometimes it's finding out about something super cool someone else is doing, and I'm jealous. Or being reminded of the world and its many problems. Or remembering something very important I forgot, and now there is no time.

Once figured out, I address it by making some type of decision (even if it's to ignore it). Then, I feel loads better. It really works. Thanks Oprah.

Today, I had that feeling. My heart was sinking. Something had killed my buzz. I stopped and examined.

Turned out it was that I just had finished my sandwich. I thought there would be some left, but I ate it all. Could that really be the source of my anguish? Yes. And there were no Terra chips left either.

Sandwiches are toying with my emotions. And that, my friends, is how hungry I am.

Oops

2011-03-24T15:41:00.010-05:00

You don't have to take a test to begin caring for a little human. And while they're quite resilient, surviving after the Teen-Mom-Ambers of the world, I have frequent panic attacks in my head just imagining what could happen at those what-if moments, like when she's inches from the kitchen knife and you picture her flinging it, or when she's running next to the curb and you picture her split-second decision to leap in front of the garbage truck.

We've all (surely it's not just me) had our share of mishaps -- my worst so far being when I looked away for ONE SECOND and she touched the elevator door, getting her fingers stuck in the folds. The door would not budge. She was screaming. I was about to pee my pants. A man came by and helped yank her out, her fingers went from purple to normal within an hour, and all ended well.

Today I locked myself out of the apartment with her inside, with no phone or shoes (not my fault -- maintenance people this morning switched our door to lock behind itself). Thankfully I got help within 15 minutes. But the uncertainty in between and hearing her little voice plead "help me" and "mama open the door with your keys" was not fun. Sorry D, but your mama's not 85 yet and doesn't wear a key lanyard. And if you'd stop dropping such offensive deuces in your diaper, I wouldn't have to step outside to the trash chute.

I've yet to screw up a million more. Hopefully strangers will continue to be around to save the day. And who said New Yorkers weren't nice?

Stuff I like right now

2011-03-20T21:12:00.006-05:00

1. Exercise TV on demand. This is free with lots of 10 minute work-outs that I hope will perform miracles for pregnant thighs. D does yoga with me (or rides horsey on my back while I try).

2. City Opera will come pick up your donations (if you live in NY). From your apartment. For free. Let the purging continue (since this place is like one of those magically blessed pots of soup that just fills itself up when emptied).

3. Sister Wives. Am addicted.

4. Eating a handful of almonds with an equal number of M&Ms, putting one of each into your mouth at a time.

5. How spring means scarves can be for fun and not function.

6. Cute spring super-short shorts and how I have a great excuse not to wear them.

7. How this book will change my life if I stop procrastinating doing what it says.

8. Fun way to volunteer with kids on your own time. My 10 year old pen-pal loves to make snow forts and has some interesting characters in her doll house.

9. Pie.

10. Using ice cream as an excuse to take my vitamin "with food", since I without fail procrastinate its pet-food-flavor till just before bed, when eating another real meal isn't possible.

The cat in the tunnel has a tail

2011-03-17T18:30:00.006-05:00

We took D to the first ultrasound at 6 weeks -- there was no daycare. Not ready to explain Sanjay, we just let her think what she wanted. Mommy's going to the doctor to get another band-aid.

As soon as she saw the screen -- "It's a CAT! In a TUNNEL! Looook Pa, it's a cat in a tunnel! LOOK!" Such excitement. Pause. "Does he have a tail?"

Duh, cats have tails. But to her, tails are penises, and that was the important question. Not that she had the insight to know she was asking the gender of a baby. It was a cat in a tunnel. Still when we go to the doctor, she insists.

Anyway, Sanjay has a tail. I spotted the tail and its surrounding jewels before the technician even asked if we wanted to know. Good thing one of us wanted to.

See Brett? My family does not have "boy-sperm-killing-uteruses". He started texting within 5 seconds. I started crying within 10, after he brought up Dilip finally got what he wanted (after an unbroken chain of girls).

Super relieved to not have him on my case about further family expansion, I do mourn a bit that D won't have a sister. And her cutie patootie girl clothes won't grace my second-born. But it's good. Bring on the frogs and snails and puppy-dogs' tails.

Geschlecht

2011-03-14T23:34:00.000-05:00

German for gender. I once tried writing something clever for my friend marrying a German, and using the internet to translate, used this word to mean sex, as in sexy-time. It doesn't work. Anyway, now I know what it means.

Gender.

We might learn Sanjay's tomorrow.

I never found out with Dilan, claiming I wanted the special surprise at the end, blah blah blah. In retrospect, the truth is I didn't want to let a baby into my life yet and finding out the gender made it real. I don't want to know now either but organizing clothes and appeasing Brett win out.

He begged last time, dying to find out so that he could (if it was a girl and the end of the world) "mentally prepare himself and have time to weave a basket to float her down the river". And now look at him, making Dora references and asking me when I'm going to start painting D's toenails, because maybe she'll like it. Last week he proudly put her hair in a ponytail.

Still, the man's been itching for a boy so bad I'm truly afraid of what tomorrow may bring. If Sanjay's a girl, he'll force me to discuss more babies or behead me for not producing a son.

But it means D would have a SISTER. And sisters are the best (minus ages 8 through 20). There's absolutely nothing like it.

And if Sanjay's a boy, I will birth Brett's desired heir and send proud papa off for the snips.

Such different fates -- happy and a wee bit sad either way.

I hope the doctor can't tell. (Cross those legs Sanjay. Cross 'em good.)

A bit about D

2011-03-13T22:04:00.007-05:00

While Brett was in Savannah trying to give people concussions but actually hurting his knee because he's old (annual attempt-to-relive-youth rugby tournament), D and I stuck it out up here for a girls weekend. I probably should have painted her toenails and braided her hair, but there wasn't time with all the Cat in the Hat (current repeat read). Get a glass of water before you start this book.

Among our girl-time weekend adventures...

- We went to her first play (Emperor's New Clothes, where she commanded "Dance!" when the actors stopped for dialogue).

- She did her most giant slide to date.

- I attempted lunching with her by myself at a sushi place (thank you droid).

- Visited her new baby friend Benjamin, which I'm sure you can understand was the highlight of her week.

Her habits these days...

-Calls people honey.

-Feeds my belly button with a bottle, because Sanjay's always crying. Sometimes it's because she hit him.

-Puts lotion on me if I scratch my leg.

-Calls herself Dr. Below.

-Sings with pride. Serious pride.

-Scares me with her sass.

-Loves puzzles.

-Often looks puzzled.

-Eats frozen vegetables. Preferably still frozen.

-Spouts some hilarity, but mostly sticks to "no", "no it's not", "you do it", "I don't want that", and "oh, yeah yeah yeah."

-Could not be more obsessed with babies. Her high pitched cooing voice is worse than an old Indian lady (I'm allowed to say that).

-Enjoys arguing.

-Still must pull my hair while sucking thumb. I should probably worry soon (thanks to you smug-perfect-parent-snots who point that out; please mind your own business), but I don't care right now.

- Values her yoga time.

- Has nightmares and sleeps in our bed.

- Bosses around her classmates (the invisible ones at home too). They call her the 3rd teacher.

- Likes to clean my nose for me.

She also has a Sanjay in her own belly, whilst parenting Baby Sam and the rest of the brood. It's a busy life she leads.

Sanjay's about the size of a clementine or something

2011-03-09T20:57:00.018-05:00

I'm pregnant. I'm sure that's a shocker. Due September 1st.

I've been useless, buried in a hell of stink and nausea since December. I mean, this city reeks. I've been disgustingly inactive (besides crying) and a carb-ivore. Amazing there are no futon bedsores. I made it through winter without one new boot purchase! (It's still March.) I miss brunch.

But the light is here and I feel good. Maybe spring will come soon so I can bare my pregnant mush thighs.

15 weeks! We're excited -- typical panic will set in later. Of course any glow is hidden by the bumps on my face and any happiness I could project is overshadowed by Brett's excitement over his son coming. Until he finds out it's a girl.

We're calling it Sanjay Gupta for now. May as well get it out of Brett's system while possible. Before we find out it's a girl. He's got D all into it, who baby talks her baby brother "Sanjay Gupta Below" and feeds him a bottle through my belly button. It's exciting, because unlike her, he'll have a tail. Until she finds out it's a girl.

Here's Sanjay at 10 weeks.

And here I am now.

If you are judging my belly, please note I am vertically challenged and it's the second one. This uterus began popping out before I could even take a test. Must've been ready to go. Or it's the bread.

Jamaica

2011-03-05T10:27:00.012-05:00

Ate a lot of plantains.

Best thing eaten: salftfish fritters.

Enjoyed mango daiquris.

Still, realized I've completed sad conversion into NY food snob.

Ran for first time since Thanksgiving.

Climbed a waterfall.

D and I got tans.

Brett obliged me by wearing sunscreen.

He also found a wedding band that he decided to keep ("because it fit him so well and it makes up for losing his on the beach in Florida"), and now we are all going to hell.

D's still saying "Jamaica'n me crazy."

Didn't take a lot of pictures.

Made sand castles (aka a bunch of cup shaped sand piles).

Tried to leave D at kiddie daycare. Failure.

Watched best Jamaican commercial ever during Oscars. I'm sure this crap was in my mango daiquris.

Let D pour beach water on us, cup by cup as we baked on the sand. Luxurious.

Let her rub us down with sunscreen.

She's a good slave.

Despite it's convenience, she refused to pee in the pool or ocean. Here's her panic upon realizing she has nowhere to do it.

Gave our travel companions Brianna and G 14 reasons to have a child and 14 reasons not to.

Pina colada ville

2011-02-23T16:03:00.001-05:00

I don't do resorts.

But not a day too soon, we will jet to Jamaica to an all-inclusive for 5 days with D and two of our dink friends who have no idea what type of birth control this trip will be.

Resorts just aren't my thing. I get bored. Too much production. Not enough exploration. But right now -- it's the BEST IDEA EVER AND I CANNOT WAIT TO EAT A BUFFET OF PLANTAINS THAT I WILL NOT PAY FOR OR SPEND MORE THAN 3 SECONDS SEEKING OUT.

No planning, except a couple hours on the internet with Brianna (where she taught me proper analysis techniques of Trip Advisor photos and naively made the risky decision to set next to us on the plane).

Sun.

Pina colada.

Free child-care. (HELL YES, and little risk of misunderstood breastfeeding services.)

No planning.

Beach.

No planning.

Sun.

Yay.

PS - Thanks for your emails to make me feel better after my potty rant. It's nice to know your kids aren't trained in 2 days easy peasy like the people I apparently listen to too much. We'll stick to peeing in the pool this week.

Potty schmotty

2011-02-19T15:14:00.018-05:00

I'm reaching my limit here.

Spare me your tips of M&M's, taking away TV, planting her in front of the TV, jellybeans, sticker charts, cheering, musical toilets, character panties, pretending I don't care, pushing it, not pushing it, promised gifts, the forced weekend no-diaper method, starting early, potty books, potty videos, letting her go with me, sending her with other kids, putting a diaper in the potty, cutting hole in the diaper, big-girl-talk, motivational pep talks, blah, blah, blah, POO. Minus the musical toilet, it's ALL BEEN DONE. I tried to appeal to her today by crying myself.

D is a urine holder with serious fear of letting it flow. By the time we graduate to poo she'll be 12. This is my expert diagnosis after reviewing articles left to me by my dad from pediatric journals.

Is all this pee holding bad for her? Um, yes, there can be infections, etc. What to do. Although, I'd kill for that bladder control.

The internet only assures me that lots of other kids are in the same boat. Unfortunately there's no magic remedy except patience -- leaving me even more impatient.

It goes like this:

wake up
put on panties
hold it till naptime diaper and then pee enough to make it almost fall apart
wake up
put on panties
hold it till nighttime diaper
stink up bedroom beyond breathability with poo to celebrate arrival of nighttime diaper
change diaper in bed and light matches (Brett's job.)
repeat

Occasionally, between steps 6 and 7 she can't hold the pee and does the dance until we keep her on the toilet long enough to let out a trickle. And even more occasionally (as in, 5 times ever), she'll pee it all out. This is only accompanied by lots of crying, telling me its scary, thumb-sucking, and demanding to hold my hair. Seriously my heart does break when she cries and tells me she's scared. And then I snuggle her on the pot while feeling like a torture master scarring her for life. We all celebrate when she lets loose (and she's so adorably thrilled), but the next time is still equally traumatic.

"Don't push it," some say. "Don't give into the diaper," others say. I'd like to just drop her off in India and let my aunt train her. I'd like to just scare the pee out of her. I tried tickling it out. Fail.

Look, I just don't want to be that lady that has the last child trained or lets it go till kindergarten. I feel like it makes me a failure. I know it's not true. But I can't help it.

I also don't want to be that lady that calls Soho Parenting and pays them to train her child (not doing).

Or that lady that talks about it all the time.

And I don't want to be that lady that obsesses over it.

But here I am.

Aging later

2011-01-31T00:51:00.007-05:00

It was my birthday today. 34. The mid-thirties, officially.

It's too cold outside, so I'm moving my birthday to March 30. I'm sure by then I'll come up with something super fun to do.

I should really go to bed, since I have a 6am flight. But I can't sleep because I took a 3 hour nap today.

Remember when you were a youngster and that show Thirtysomething was on, about old people? I Netflixed it this summer. That stuff is for real. Minus the horrendous outfits, I feel like I'm watching my life. Unless it was today, and you'd just add back in the horrendous outfit.

I hate birthdays. I look forward to that age where I'm proud to get older and embrace what happens with the passage of that merciless jerk Father Time. Till then, boo. Yes, I know I'm still young. I just have deep fear for what's to come. My mom tells me my knees will be ruined. And these white springies on my head aren't getting any fewer.

After 31, I actually started forgetting how old I was and had to calculate based on my birth year and the current year. And sometimes I'm wrong because of math. I was 32 for two years. So 34 seems a shocker.

But since Facebook shoots me many an email of birthday wishes (after it tells everyone to send me said messages), I do feel a little warm and fuzzy.

Anyway, I'm not 34 yet. See you March 30th.

Now that we can understand her

2011-01-29T20:39:00.002-05:00

After a long time of her teachers advising me of her indecipherable babble (as if I am to whip out flash cards or something), our child's tongue untwisted a couple months ago and she doesn't shut up. "Oh, she talked a lot," is the daily answer when I ask her teachers about her day. Um hmm.

Well I know how she feels. She just has so much to say, bless her heart. Among the favorites lately...

"I'm funny."

"It's not funny." ~ if I smile when she's trying to be serious, as in seriously performing Wheels on the Bus with her tambourine.

"No it's NOT." ~ to too many things.

"I'm a boy. I have a tail. Pa, you have a tail? Ya. I no have a tail. I a girl. Kajee, does he have a tail? Does Mason have a tail? Does Uncle Brian have a tail?" ~ and so on. every day. We'll let her call it that till she learns otherwise.

"I not a nina, I a mujer."

"OK Miss Mona." ~ to me, with sass, when I ask her to do something. Miss Mona's her teacher. I guess smart-ass-ness develops early in this family.

"I'm a kangaroo."

"No thank you (insert schoolmate name). You go to time out."

"...you guys." ~ the southern background isn't coming through.

"Swiper took it." ~ when we can't find something.

Experiment

2011-01-23T15:18:00.000-05:00

I've decided, related to my 2011 low-expectations-of-self plan, that I'm not cooking for a month. Too tired. And I don't care.

So far, this has resulted in a dearth of food in the house, a daily deli grilled cheese at lunch (white bread and American, oops), and Sunday pancake brinner from the diner. Thankfully toddlers love frozen vegetables, PB&J, chicken nuggets, yogurt, and fruit. And Brett can subsist on chips and salsa.

I know many people who don't cook and manage to feed themselves, so we'll figure this out soon enough.

Till then, at least I've renewed my annual resolution of taking vitamins.

the perfect snow

2011-01-21T07:50:00.003-05:00

Starts when you're sleeping and greets you with a blanketed winter wonderland.

Keeps falling through morning with flakes big and fluffy making you wish the morning walk to the subway was a few blocks longer.

Makes you giddy.

Is 3 to 5 inches -- enough to cover the city stink without making you bust your ass.

Makes you want to skip work and roll around in it.

Wind-free, so it piles up nice and high on fences.

Moves when you blow on it.

Lickably delicious.

Is the reason you put up with northeastern winters.

Makes you so, so giddy! Weee!

I check email first.

2011-01-04T23:50:00.004-05:00

D's response to me twice over the last two days when being asked to do something. Because the emails on her plastic pink "pomputer" are urgent.

2011

2011-01-02T22:55:00.004-05:00

I started 2010 vowing to work less, set more boundaries, say no more, lower my expectations of myself, and the like. Exhale and go slower. Not obsess. Keep it simple.

I did well for a while.

Then I failed miserably. Went totally opposite and am exhausted. Turns out changing who you are isn't that easy.

So, here's to trying again. It turns out Miss D and my man have a lot of fun to offer.

Happy New Year :-)

Tiny Christmas

2010-12-28T16:53:00.012-05:00

She learned that at daycare.

I love my family and friends, really I do, and it's no secret how much I treasure the big Cleaver Christmas. But as travel heavy a year it was at work, I could think of nothing more desirable than to give the suitcases a rest and let it be the three of us for the first time.

Five reasons our solo Christmas was perfect.

1. Ham from Bacynsky's. Brett said it's the best he ever had. The loaf of white bread for left-over sandwiches was sadly depleted last night.

2. Monkey Bread*. Sweet, hot, gooey, and definitely a new Christmas morning tradition.

3. D's Christmas tutu outfit, 2010 edition. It's getting a little sparse, but you can't help feeling festive with a girl in a tutu. If I could pull it off, I'd go there.

4. A two-year-old and piles of wrapping paper**. Christmas with a two-year-old in general. (More pictures here.)

5. Getting snowed in by a blizzard. Watching snow pile is the ultimate happiness.

*Thank you to my sister's mother-in-law Lynn for the recipe, below. No thank you for the calories.

**A combination of my granola and procrastinating nature resulted in a dearth of wrapping paper in the house, leaving us with the New York Post from the building recycling. Newspaper seemed charming, until I realized how much effort it took to avoid central placement of sex scandals, gun issues, and ads for manboob reduction complete with before/after photos. However, I did allow the manboobs onto one of D's gifts to commemorate this summer when she learned the word boobies and loudly, proudly pointed them out on a shirtless man playing tennis outside. When she walked past him the 2nd time, he had covered up to be spared her excitement.

Monkey Bread (As this recipe will feed an army, I divided it by four. But here's the whole thing.)

4 cans of biscuits

1 cup packed brown sugar

1.5 sticks of butter

1/2 cup white sugar

2 tablespoons cinnamon

1/2 cup walnuts or pecans

1/2 cup raisins

Cut the biscuits into quarters. Put the white sugar and cinnamon in a plastic bag. Four at a time, toss the quarters in the bag to coat. Arrange them a layer at a time in a pan (use a bundt if you're doing the full amount) with the nuts and raisins in between. You can do this part night before.

Melt brown sugar and butter over medium heat and boil for a minute. Pour it over the biscuits. Bake 30-40 minutes at 350 degrees.

If you're feeling like a bad girl, whip up some cream cheese icing to spread on top when it's done. I did. It's worth it.

Backpack, backpack

2010-12-26T15:11:00.011-05:00

For Christmas, we decided to buy D a backpack. She's been sporting one of ours in the house, looking like a turtle, knocking over cups and chairs in the process. But she does it (with map and all) to be her beloved Dora. So it's time for her own. Besides, she needs to vacate my valuable purse space and start toting her own crap.

I had my eye on this one for months. I mean, how cute is that. The feminine yet not Barbie color combination, the round scalloped eyes that are kind of cross-eyed, the leaf zipper pull!. A-DOR-A-BLE. I want to be 3 years old so I can have it.

Her buzzkiller daddy insisted we give her a choice between this and squeaky little Miss Vamanos. No way! She'd pick one I hate for sure. I'm paying; it's my gift and my decision. Besides, this would be my last chance to impart my own taste before she insists every item be emblazoned with glittery magical princesses that leave you wondering if there are colors besides pink and purple.

I put the owl in my shopping cart.

I found this video she recorded of herself on the flip, documenting her Dora PJs.

I showed her pictures of the beloved blue owl and Dora options.

She bounced on Dora despite my opposing sales tactics.

I removed the owl from the shopping cart.

I put the owl back in the shopping cart.

And then we bought this one off eBay from some lady who probably now has the owl instead. Yeesh.

I fell in like a bad souffle, although mainly as a bunny hugging environmentalist, justifying it's better to buy one heinous backpack now than one perfect plus the inevitable heinous later. It's what she wants. But I can't stand it.

Anyway this isn't really about a backpack. It's about my control issues and the admission that I need to settle down. Yes, children are individuals with their own tastes and should be nurtured and encouraged to make their own decisions, blah blah blah parents of the year. But what to do when those decisions are bubble-gum pink and lime green with sparkles. What if someone thinks that is my taste when I'm seen with her? (Ridiculous and shallow fear, but at least I'm honest.)

I'm getting over it and saving it for the bigger battles to be won over whale tails and tattoos.

And I plan to bribe her with this little backpack. So here, I still win.

Cheers

2010-12-23T19:24:00.008-05:00

My dad liked to write the date and occasion on corks popped at special times. He'd have to be the one to write it, which would take him about five minutes as he carefully decided his font and letter placement and admired his work before proudly gifting it over. I just came across this one from our first Christmas in NY while rearranging my kitchen knickknacks.

Both our parents visited and the six of us crammed into our 400 square foot 5th floor walk-up for garishly decorated cookies and holiday beverages, including this bottle of champagne.

After five years of schlepping South for Christmas, we're again spending it in NYC. Things are much different now, but I still have my cork. Here's to a bowl of many more.

It's the thought that counts

2010-12-22T00:50:00.008-05:00

Do you know what I LOVE? Giving presents. Inexpensive, thoughtful ones that don't create more junk in the universe. Stuff for people who don't really need anything. Ones that aren't buying for the sake of buying and maybe incorporate some light crafting. I'm pretty good at the gifting, if I do say so myself. I give awesome gifts when the occasion calls, and I give even more awesome gifts in my head (since forgetfulness and procrastination win out). It's one of my few top talents (although this is still just my opinion, and "what to do with the stupid crap Kajal gave me" could very well be a popular topic of conversation at my funeral).

I love gifting so much I have long wanted to write a book about it. Since that's quite a task and very impractical, I decided to write about it online instead and saved a blog url for it. And since that's also extra work, I decided to just write about it here. We'll see.

My fake book is called "It's the thought that counts." It has me on the cover jumping out of a gift box :-). One day I'll come up with a less predictable title. What about "Gift ideas for cheapos who still want to appear thoughtful"?

I hope you like my ideas. I know I do.

Bah...

2010-12-19T22:31:00.008-05:00

I sure do like all these Christmas cards on our wall. You people have some cute babies, but I have no idea what you look like anymore. If it's anything like me, you have some more gray, including the ones that shoot out like mattress springs and make you two inches taller, and you're wondering if you should get some Clearasil if they even still sell that. However, I do have a good haircut and lovely new Nars blush that makes me look fresh.

We both have writers block, no printer ink (which he insists on replacing online instead of instore), and no sense of the fact it's December 20th. Also Brett's way occupied with his dvr'd Bridalplasty. I voted to skip the card ritual, but he insists on tradition which will yield some sort of compromise that goes out on Valentine's Day, as in 2008.

The current state of pre-Christmas affairs:

No stockings.
No homemade tree skirt.
No CARD.
No child's picture with Santa. She'd probably give him the stink eye anyway.
No decent wrapping supplies.
No success with the potty (please, Santa?)
No real baking.
No snow. Where is it? Come on! Even the southerners can make snowballs.

Let me just own it. None of the above will happen. And that is fine.

The tree is so very pretty though.

My fraser fir

2010-12-10T11:45:00.008-05:00

In my adult life, I've never had a Christmas tree over 2 feet tall (as long as you don't count the in-laws' Cleaver tree forest). Charlie Brown has left this town. After convincing Brett we truly do not have time to trek upstate to cut down our own (talking him down only means we'll have to do it next year and mark his entry into Clark Griswold-hood), we visited our nearest tree-man and sauntered home with a seven foot fragrant find, a special moment with snow flurries and all.

I love it. It doesn't have any ornaments yet, due to my haphazardly strung and mismatched lights Brett insists on redoing. Baby steps. My tree theme is yarn and sparkle, although neither are in place and barely purchased. Brett insists on popcorn stringing and tinsel. Baby steps.

This year, we're staying home for the holidays. Hence, the big tree. Exhale and smile. No trip South; no running around. The action's all here in the cozy apartment, likely incomplete with stockings and trim, but I don't care. I got a tree! Bring on the holidays!

(With no plan currently in place for gift buying and card writing, we'll see how long the enthusiasm lasts before turning into late nights of panic.)

School's for suckers.

2010-12-04T12:34:00.003-05:00

D's 2nd school photo. You know the photographer took several. And this won the place of most presentable to the parents. Girl's got a mind of her own.

That's a lot of attidude for only 24 pounds. Her infant friends could take her down for sure.

I am dying to know what was swirling around in that tautly slicked down pigtail head of hers (the style donned by all, courtesy of the staff).

"This book is lame. And this background does not complement my complexion."

"My mom never remembers show-and-share day. I hate her."

"What is the square root of 1342?"

"Why would anyone in their right mind want to use a toilet when you can go anywhere/anytime in a diaper? These fools are crazy. I mean, I'm dropping a deuce right now and knocking out the school picture. A model for efficiency, I say. "

Sorry

2010-11-30T20:48:00.005-05:00

I, and most women it seems, spew a constant stream of apologies in the workplace. Men seem to lack the overapology gene, as it is of no use to beings who do no wrong. For the rest of us, it's -- Sorry I'm 14 seconds late. Sorry I made that suggestion. Sorry I asked the question. Sorry to ask anything at all. Sorry I don't understand. Sorry I require you to do your job. Sorry I'm so hungry I will bite your head off if you don't let me eat this cracker. Sorry I bit your head off. Sorry I forgot. Sorry I didn't call you back before you even left me a message. Sorry I can't do fast math in my head. Sorry I have to pee. Sorry for my sexist observation.

Maybe we're just wired for guilt to prepare us for motherhood.

I've apparently instilled such frequent apologizing in my child that she made up a song about it. Seriously, she MADE UP A SONG ABOUT BEING SORRY and breaks into it on a whim. Because apparently I make her feel sorry for even breathing. At first I felt like a horrible dictator mother. But lets be real -- this is totally her fault. I mean, stop plucking at my mole little girl. And screaming like a two-year-old is not very becoming, even when you're two. And where did you learn to roll your eyes like that? (Don't answer that one.)

One of these days I'll get it on video. Till then...

So-rree, ma-maaa
Sor-ree, ma-maaa
Sorry mama
S-
S-
Sorry.
(Repeat repeatedly. With a lisp.)

Very cute. She better not be mocking me.

Mo staches

2010-11-23T20:46:00.001-05:00

One's legit and the other for charity. Although let's be real; the charity's an excuse.

Brett has progressed further through puberty, sprouting more in the first two weeks as he did in the entire month of Movember two years ago. Maybe one day he'll achieve full manstache like his dad and stop creeping out the moms at the playground.

In case you'd like to throw some cash to the stache for prostate cancer -- here you go.

Machu Picchu

2010-11-21T21:21:00.011-05:00

Hiking the Inca trail was one of the inumerable items on my before-thirty-but-still-not-done-so-hopefully-before-40-list, and I am thrilled to report it's done and I did not go rolling down any mountains or ingest a stomach parasite.

Being in so-called marathon shape proved worthless against the altitude and an intensified fear of heights. I spent four days bringing up the rear of our seven-person group, alternating between the climbing hell of burning lungs ready to explode out of my chest and knee-busting descent at old lady pace for fear of tumbling to an untimely death. The panting slow girl, accompanied by a very patient husband and waited on by a group who likely suspected I had lead in my pockets.

Porters lugging kitchens and our camping gear allowed us a princessy camping experience, complete with boiled water service and better meals than I'd serve at a dinner party if I were to ever have one. You feel like an ass when they carry five times your load donning plastic sandals with some straw stuck in to manage slippage. I only feel better knowing that at least we give them a job, and it must be somewhat bearable if they can muster knocking back that chicha (corn beer) along the way.

That said, it was truly amazing. Beautiful, bigger-than-your-eyes-can-see, fresh, disconnected, green, up-and-down, sunny, rainy, quiet, fun, relaxing, muscle-killing, remote, and breathtaking (although literally).

And at the end, in the middle of nowhere on a mountain peeking through a pile of clouds, sits Machu Picchu. What a lovely and difficult location these Incas chose. Were I not such a bunny hugger, I'd totally advocate for escalators and waterslides.

Other highlights --

1. The many inappropriate jokes invited by Brett's creepy Movember mustache, now immortalized in our pictures.

2. How the tall Aussie-Korean dude in our group, apparently a double for a much-lusted-after Asian telenovela star, got surprise attacked by swooning tweeny Peruvians and their cameras. These girls had no shame, throwing out "I love you!", begging for solo una foto mas.

3. When the train steward put stewarding on hold and performed his other duty of staging and modeling in a train-car alpaca sweater fashion show. You had to be there.

4. Eating. These guys know their soup.

5. Any excuse not to wash my hair for four days.

Pictures are here.