Bah, humbug.

I'm not usually a grump, but I really don't like the New Year holiday. Actually, I like the holiday, I love the idea of new beginnings. But I hate the media's repetitious Year In Review articles - you can't turn a page without seeing that creepy mug shot of Michael Jackson - and the endless, rehashed blathering about New Year's resolutions. Not that I don't make resolutions, I do. But the media turn a very personal decision into a Hallmark holiday, going as far as telling us, ad nauseum exactly which resolutions to make: diet, exercise, give up smoking, be less stressed. Then they bombard us with ads for fast food, soft drinks, television programs, cigarettes and cell phones.

My personal year in review shows 2003 to have been a quiet one, to be expected with a newish baby. My son was Baptized early in the year, and we were blessed to have relatives from across the state, and my dear cousin from across the country, celebrate with us. My daughter started preschool; my son completed his first year. We took a week's vacation to San Francisco. Mostly, the year was marked by events not on the calendar, the mortar of our daily lives: playdates and shopping trips, laundry and meals, sleep and school and work and play.

Of the two resolutions made last year, I kept one, returning to my pre-pregnancy weight. Alas, the first Great American Novel written entirely during naptimes did not get written. I got a few paragraphs into this or that and got nothing completed, in fact I got so little accomplished it is more honest to say I got nothing started. This year, I am lowering the bar - not to take the easy way out, necessarily, but to set a more realistic goal - and resolve to submit at least one freelance article to a major magazine. I have begun sending for writers' guidelines. There, I've said it, it is in print, being Googled at any moment into indelible history.

Goin' South

Remember that South ... something or other diet I used to prattle on about? Nah, we haven't abandoned it completely. But some bad habits have crept in over the holidays and we are planning on going back to Phase 1 - the hardcore, no-fruit, no-bread, no-wine, no-fun phase - for a week or two. I suppose tomorrow would be a good time to start, being the time of new beginnings and all. Besides, all the Christmas chocolate is gone.

The worst part of South Beach Diet's Phase 1 for me is the V-8 juice. I learned that you are wise to eat everything South Beach entitles you to eat, to avoid being hungry (and therefore being tempted to cheat) and also to keep up your electrolyte balance, which can quickly go South (pun intended) when eating severely low-carb. So, I drink the recommended glass of V-8 juice every morning, even though I have to gag it down. I have found that the spicy variety, cut with some lemon juice and then heated is the most palatable for me.

I found a South Beach Diet blog archive that I liked; it looks like the blogger has recently quit blogging, or at least quit the informational format, but the archives are worth reading if you are a Beachie or a wannabe.

The Christmas Tamales

In the days Before Children, I worked as a lawyer; my husband did too, and still does. Eleven-hour days both members of a working couple meant we had little time for much else, including cleaning the house. We had a housecleaner once a week, a woman originally from Mexico, about my age, with young children of her own. When I left my career, I bid a reluctant farewell to the luxuries of the double-income no-kids life, including a sad adios to Maricela and her valued services as our housecleaner. But we stayed in touch - I gladly referred her to friends, and would run into her from time to time in our small town, sometimes as both our families combed yard sales for the best bargains.

Last week, Christmas Eve, there was a knock on our door. Maricela was there with a Tupperware bin with our name on it. She hurriedly dropped it in my husband's hands, wished us a Merry Christmas, and rushed back to her idling car, no doubt to make more deliveries. We peered inside, and found a tidy row of sepia corn husks and a delicious, unfamiliar aroma. Home made tamales. We heated them for dinner a few days later, we of European descent having no idea even how to reheat them. Twenty minutes in a 350 oven, and walking into our kitchen, you would have thought you walked into Mexico itself. They emerged steaming, releasing the mingling aromas of chiles, corn, and melt-in your mouth shredded chicken. We fought over the last one; even the baby asked for more.

I called Maricela tonight to thank her, and asked if she thought I would be able to make them if she gave me the recipe. She knows I am all thumbs in the kitchen, and the microwave is my friend. Housecleaners know everything. Not meaning to be impolite, she hesitated. "Um ... Jen? They are, you know, kind of hard?" I laughed. "You need to buy the masa, do you know where to buy that? Then you steam the corn ..." She paused, searching for the word "husks". I provided it, and she continued. "Then you steam the husks, and you need to make the chile, and the chicken, and roll it, you know?" "Then they need to go in a steam pot for about 2 hours... when you make tamales, you want to make a lot." She paused again. I realized, in her mind, she thought she had just given me the recipe.

I told her I would probably wait until next Christmas.

Surrounded by gift cards, shiny-papered presents with department-store bows and gift receipts carefully taped to the lids, the best gift of the year is behind me now, in a scrubbed Tupperware container waiting to be returned to its owner, perhaps to be refilled in another year.

Merry Christmess

Yeah, I'm still here. Trying to wade through the piles of crumpled wrapping paper, ribbon, boxes, toys, clothes, books and other assorted gifts. My children are in here somewhere.

And they were Googled here

OK, who's the wise guy who got Googled here searching for "do the babysitter"? This ain't that kind of site. As for the person searching for a plush Gila monster, I dunno, but I think you need one of these.

Decided to join along with Friday Five

1. List your five favorite beverages: Water, Propel, milk, coffee, red wine

2. List your five favorite websites: www.ebay.com, www.thisoldtoy.com, and my fave blogs over there on the right

List your five favorite snack foods: Candy bars (almost any), cheese and crackers, Doritos (though haven't had them in years), Lays Sour Cream & Onion, peanut butter anything.

4. List your five favorite board and/or card games: Yahtzee, Dominoes, Scrabble, Candy Land, Gin

5. List your five favorite computer and/or game system games: The Sims, Sim City, Centipede, does anyone remember Tempest?, Sim Tower

Gee, this is original

Somebody always does this. Poor guy, people for rent usually get bids.

Gee, didn't even blog yesterday and can't come up with anything today except an administrative announcement that I'll be away from my blog for probably a week. I'm having surgery Tuesday, nothing major, but enough to keep me out of it for a while and on some fun loopy drugs. I look forward to catching up with everybody's blogs when I'm back in action. See you soon.

Mommy, why is Santa looking at his boy parts?

I love animals, and was vegetarian for nearly a third of my life. But my friend PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals) caught me between my animal-rights-self and my mother-self by posting this one on a billboard.

I wouldn't want to explain this to my daughter.
More here.

More Darndest Things

Coming from from a daytime Christmas party at a friend's house, and although it's before lunch, I sneak a piece of fudge from the goodie bag meant for my daughter.
Daughter: Hey, what are you eating?
Me: :::mouth full::: You caught me.
Daughter: Can I have some caughtme?

Mas de Dora

OK, you have to know Dora the Explorer to get this one. Overheard my 3-year old talking to her sitter as I was getting ready to leave:
Daughter: I know Spanish, want to hear some?
Sitter: Sure.
Daughter: ABRE!
Sitter: Very good, do you know any more?
Daughter: Yes. SWIPER, NO SWIPING!

Who's been naughty and nice

I've done a lot of my Christmas shopping online this year. Anyone who has tried to shop in brick-and-mortars pushing a stroller with an antsy 1 year old and a 3 year old racing here and there like a Chinese dragon would understand this. So far, the retailer on the top of my list is englishteastore.com. My mother's side of the family is so big, we draw a name in a gift exchange so we don't have to buy presents for umpteen aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews and cousins. I drew my uncle, who married his way into this crazy family after moving here from England. He is a big candy freak, and so I got the idea to buy him $35 (the designated gift exchange limit) in British sweets. englishteastore.com had a huge variety at amazingly reasonable costs, I got a huge box for my money that I know my uncle will love. I received an immediate email acknowledgement of my order, and a second email when my order had shipped just a day later. A class act all around.

Getting a lump of coal from Santa Jen this year (and no clickable link) is Fossil.com. I ordered a sun hat and credit-card wallet a week ago from that site and got no confirming email. I was unable to check my order status on their site. Having a funny feeling, I picked up the phone this morning (a horror for an internet addict like me, having to talk to a real person!) and found that the hat order had been cancelled as out of stock. Though, as of this moment, it STILL shows as available on their website. So they shipped only the credit card holder, without notifying me. To make it worse, they "accidentally" shipped to me at the billing address despite their acknowledgment that I had indicated a separate ship-to address in Florida. After a good 20 minutes on the phone with 3 different customer service reps, they are refunding my shipping cost of $2.95. I won't spend it all in one place.

Do you know the way to San Jose?

La la la la, la la ... Ok, that has very little to do with this post, but such a nifty tune. I recently added Nedstat counters to my page in place of the quirky and not-so-helpful Sitemeter. (Thanks to no milk for the link.) So now I get to see all the wonderful ways people lost in cyberspace stumble upon my little virtual abode. Someone wanted to know "Where can I buy Cat in the Hat sleepers for toddlers" and got my rant about all the overmerchandising connected with that flop of a film. Another soul was Googled here by my post marvelling at the availability of Auburn Tigers-emblazoned kitchen trash bags on eBay. He or she was looking for Auburn Tigers wrapping paper, but gifts wrapped in trash bags sound kind of cutting edge. Yesterday someone was looking for details on "Pats camping trip". Eh? I didn't go, but hope it was a good time.

In case you were wondering...

A little rubbing alcohol on a cotton ball removes permanent marker from a baby's head. Don't ask me how I know.

Updated info on AuctionStealer

I see that AuctionStealer has updated its terms of service since I posted last. FREE users now get 3 Snipe Points per week that are added every week on Sunday morning at 12:00:00 AM and do not transfer over to the next week. Priority Service customers get an unlimited number of Snipe Points per month while FREE customers get up to 15 snipes per month. This is good news; more snipes per month for free users. However, the lead time has increased and is now "10 to 20 seconds" before auction end. That does leave time for other bids to be placed, but hey, for free - it's still a cool service.

Merry freakin' Christmas already

We spent the morning trying to get some pictures of the kids to use for Christmas cards, first convincing my daughter she needed to wear the outfit I picked out even though the pants were "poofy" and "falling down", the shirt was "scratchy" and Lord only knows what was wrong with the jacket, but it was something. Once we got her in the outfit, I had wrapped the kids' toy box to look like a gift and thought we would get some cute pictures of them gleefully leaping out of it with bows on their heads. Thirty-eight photos later, we had approximately 28 of my son screaming and trying to get out, 10 of my daughter biting her nails, 7 of the children looking in all directions but at the camera, 5 that included my husband's arm or behind, and 3 where the flash did not go off.


Maybe we'll send regular cards this year.

Fur Real Spooky Friend

My daughter has been asking for a "talking cat" for Christmas. She's also been asking for a pony, a castle, a princess, a baby, and a lot of other things, but the "talking cat" keeps coming up over and over. I'm not sure where she got the idea, but I did a little looking around and found last year's "it" toy, the FurReal Friends Cat. I'm sorry, I LOVE cats, but this thing creeps me out, it looks a half-step away from roadkill, and my daughter is a lot more easily spooked than I am (reference the brand new, tags-on rocking horse that remains in the garage, banned there by her for two years now).

A pony isn't sounding so bad after all.

He Ain't Heavy ... or maybe he is

"No burden is he to bear, we'll get there. For I know he will not encumber
me, because he ain't heavy--he's my brother"

My brother and I have never really gotten along, sweet story about the box of quarters notwithstanding. Our household growing up was more like four people sharing a living space than a family bonded by blood and love. Fend for Yourself was the unspoken family motto. Now, don't get out your tiny violins, this isn't a story about why I'm in psychotherapy, it was not a bad childhood, just not a very loving one. It took a lot of growing up on my part, and a very special man I am lucky enough to call my husband, to show me what loving someone else is really about.

But back to my brother. We seldom have shouting matches, and there is probably nothing really detestable about either one of us. But we just don't click. Over the years, and due in part to his moving to another state, our relationship dwindled into a smattering of awkward phone conversations mandated by birthdays, Christmas, and the like. In June of this year, our mother turned 60. Her sisters, who live all across the country, decided to have a surprise party for her, including all of her out of state relatives. In order to keep my brother's visit secret until the party, he stayed with me and my family overnight. In a series of petty events too long to detail, he ended up being critical of his stay in our home. He continued to harp on it, into the next day at the party. I raised my voice at him and told him to "lay off". He didn't, and my husband came to my defense with the passion of a thousand firey hot suns. Due to the years of built-up steam over my strained relationship with my brother, my husband blew up. Said some things he shouldn't have said. Used some words he shouldn't have used. He apologized, but it apparently wasn't enough. And that was the last I talked to my brother.

I found out from my sister-in-law today that my brother told her not to get Christmas gifts for my family, or to "keep his name off them" if she decided to get them for us on her own. It hurts.

Funny, holiday time reminds me that when I was 5, my brother gift-wrapped me a jar of mud for Christmas. Should I forgive him, and we can call it even?

Do-do-do-do-Dora

My 14-month-old son has two loves in his life: me, and Dora The Explorer. Not necessarily in that order. This bundle of energy, the boy with 42 hands all reaching for things at the same time, will stop in his tracks and gaze at his sister's Dora The Explorer book, cooing "Do-dah ..." and pointing at her with his stubby thumb. Foolish is the parent who tries to turn the page. Today I was wrapping Christmas gifts (heh heh, hate me yet?) while his 3-year old sister napped. One of her gifts is a Dora towel with a Swiper the Fox washcloth (Target, about $12). He was delighted to see me pull it out of the bag with the red bullseyes and oohed and aahed over it. Then came the wrapping paper. Mommy was going to cover Dora! Do-Dah! Do-Dah! His howls of protest gave way to angry tears, and the commotion woke his sleepy sibling. Note to self: Wrap gifts when BOTH children are sleeping.

California cornucopia

Not your traditional horn of plenty, but a pretty amazing haul from our own garden 2 days short of December.

For on-the-go worship or quickie weddings

It has been said you could sell a bag of your kitchen trash on eBay this time of year. Didn't find any listings for that, but did come up with kitchen trash bags emblazoned with the logo of the famed Auburn Tigers. Already got those? How about an inflatable church?

Happy Thanksgiving

Happy Thanksgiving to all - carnivore or vegetarian, peanut butter & jelly or turkey & trimmings, low-carb or high-carb, milk or no milk, sweet potato pie or leafy green salad, family or friends, at home or away, potluck, catered, or soup kitchen. Take a small moment - right now - and be thankful.

[This space intentionally left blank while you have a thoughtful moment]

How to Buy on Ebay

Getting a good deal on eBay depends a lot on what exactly you are looking for, but there are some general rules that apply no matter what you're looking for.

Always look at the shipping cost before you bid, there are a lot of inflated shipping prices out there. The reason is, sellers pay eBay a fee based on the final bid price, not on the shipping. So they sell cheap and then overcharge on shipping to get a few more fee-free bucks in their pocket. Don't hesitate to use the "Ask Seller a Question" link on every auction page if you want to know how much shipping will be to your ZIP code (or if you have any other questions about the item.) You should know, however, that the seller will then have your email address, the one you provided to eBay. You will not have the seller's email address unless and until they reply to your question.

Don't get caught up in a bidding war (unless you are bidding on my items). Bid late, very last minute if you can. If you bid early, you are only inviting other bidders to chip away at your proxy until they either give up (and leave you paying the high end of what you wanted to pay) or "beat" you. There are some free sniping services out there that will place your bid at the very last seconds for you, or you can snipe "by hand" if you are talented. Try www.auctionsniper.com (referral link) or www.auctionstealer.com . Auctionsniper gives you 3 free snipes any time of day, then you can buy more snipes or refer people for additional free snipes. (EBay does not allow you to link to sniping sites from your auction page.) Auctionstealer gives you 10 free snipes every calendar month, but unless you upgrade to a paid subscription, you cannot place or change snipes between 7:00 PM CT and 11:00 PM CT.

Sneaky stuff. Most people find auctions by searching for terms in the title. You can look for misspellings to try to find less-visited auctions with less competition. If you find one with no bids, consider placing the minimum bid immediately - it keeps the seller from being able to change the title and correct the mistake. (They can still cancel your bid and end the auction, but many don't know that.) For example, Gymboree is a popular brand of children's clothing. Currently, a search for the misspelling "Gymobree" pulls up 9 auctions. "Gymbroee" pulls up 2. "Gymoree" pulls up 6.

Finally, be sure you search stores and the web for your item before looking on eBay. My mother was caught in an eBay bidding war over a serving dish and I found it for much less, with lower shipping cost, from a website selling replacement china pieces.

'Tis the Season

I've been buying and selling on eBay since 1998. It's high eBay season right now, and I am officially at the point where I have sold or am currently selling everything that is not nailed down (actually, I tried that too, but buyers complained about the nail holes). If you have anything you were planning on selling, do it now. For sellers, your personal eBay calendar and a couple of tips from me.

When to list. Today, Nov. 24, is a good day to list using 7-day listing. Don't begin or end auctions from Thanksgiving through the following Sunday the 30th. People are away for the holiday, traveling, and in the (gasp) brick and mortar stores, not on eBay. Then in December, go for it, all day, every day. There are lots of bits of advice about good days to begin and end auctions, but I say for December, any day is good, any time of day. I have experimented with ending at crazy times like 3 in the morning because I find people use a sniping service since they won't be up, and tend to put in a high proxy because they don't want to wake up to a loss.

Using Buy It Now. Definitely put Buy It Now on your high season auctions, it only costs a nickel and this time of year people don't want to wait around to find out if they've won an auction. I look for the highest completed auction price for the same or similar item and put a BIN a buck higher. Don't put a counter on BIN auctions (or put a hidden counter). If people see that 50 people have looked at your auction and no one has purchased, they won't purchase either. You want them to think they are the first person to stumble upon your auction at such a super deal.

Consider using an auction host. I highly recommend using an auction hosting site. I use Sparedollar (not a referral link), and though it is quirky as all hell, for $5 a month you can post as many photos as you want for no extra fee, schedule listings to launch at whatever time you choose for no extra fee, check all your counters, bids and prices on one screen, and you get some nice looking, simple templates too. The best feature is a photo gallery of all your current auctions right on every auction page. I get tons of hits that way.

Take it (somewhat) seriously. The best way to avoid problems is to be somewhat professional about selling. Ship quickly, pack safely, stay in touch with the buyers. Consider putting Delivery Confirmation on all your packages, even if you pay for it yourself, you are the one protected by it. I got some free business cards from vistaprint.com with my eBay seller information on it and I put one in every package.

Tomorrow: Tips for Buying on eBay.

Well, we had to have my son sleep in the pack & play in a "retreat" room off our bedroom since his room was just painted. He went to bed ok at around 7:30 but at 11 woke up and didn't like the strange bed and the strange surroundings. I picked him up and held him, he fell asleep. I returned him to the pack & play, he woke up screaming. Pick up, sleep, put down, scream, pick up, sleep, put down, scream. I decided to see if he would sleep in our bed between us. At first it looked like a good idea, he cuddled up and I heard that lovely deep breathing in minutes. I closed my eyes and started to drift off to sleep. MUM-MUM??? He was sitting up pulling on my hair. MUM-MUM??? BA-BUM (bottle)??? I lay him back down and patted him off to sleep. Boing, up like a jack-in-the-box again. We considered letting him sleep in his room, but after opening the door and being blown away by the fumes, decided he might wake up with a brain tumor, or three eyes or something.

My dear husband, who has been canonized a saint overnight, held the baby in the recliner all night. If anyone knows any chants to get paint to dry quickly, let me know.

nocapsorpunctuation2nite

i painted my son's room today and my arms are killing me so pardon any typos. Before my boy was born I decided to do his room in a sweet little tropical fish theme. I had wanted to do Curious George but had a hard time finding bedding and accessories because it was not widely licensed. Well, every time I went into his room after he was born, I felt like it was someone else's room he was borrowing. It just didn't fit him. He is a silly, curious, intrepid bundle of energy, he is quick to laugh and has a good sense of humor. So, we are redoing his room to Curious George after all. He is a good little monkey, and always very curious.

Take it with a grain of salt

A version of this anti-Atkins diet news release may have appeared in your local paper; it appeared in ours. Now, I am not defending the Atkins diet, but it is frequently painted with the same broad "low carb" brush as my beloved South Beach Diet. I think it's important to know that the author of the news release is the somewhat inaccurately named "Physicians Committee on Responsible Medicine", an adamantly pro-animal rights nonprofit organization. The agenda behind the news release is the protection of animals and the promotion of vegetarianism, not preserving the health of our human society. How did I know? I used to be a PCRM supporter and subscriber; I was vegetarian for a third of my life. While I still support animal rights, I have fallen off the vegetarian wagon and eat poultry (free range when available) and fish. So take the article with a grain of salt, and perhaps some low-carb sugar substitute.

Tonight, tonight ...

South Beach Diet meatloaf (ground turkey), South Beach surprise mashed potatoes (cauliflower) and - yippee - red wine. Hey, I've got to do something with the rest of the bottle after I take out the half cup for the recipe! Check out Nov. 4 entry for links to the recipes. I hit 119 pounds this morning, haven't seen a "1" as a middle digit since before my 3 year old was born.

Survivor

In our house, our guilty pleasure is rushing the kids to bed early and cuddling up for Survivor on Thursday night. I'm sure there are hundreds of blogs today about last night's episode so I won't go on at length about Rupert's dismissal. (In fact, I am in the minority on this one, I know, but I thought he was too darn full of himself, and I don't really feel sorry for him being a "misfit" because we are all misfits.) What I do have to ask is, what was UP with Lill giving Burton an open-mouth kiss when they won the reward challenge? It was hard to hear, but I had the captioning on and he said "Quit doing that, Lill!". Eeeeeyew.

The movie, I am sad to say, is very bad, I read today

The Cat in the Hat movie promotions have been driving me crazy. Everything from breakfast cereal and jam to the U.S. Post office is plastered with the frightening white face of Mike Meyers as Dr. Seuss' Cat in the Hat. Cat in the Hat t-shirts, plush toys (does any child really need another plush toy?), watches, lunchboxes, shower curtain rings - they are everywhere. eBay has more than 3300 Cat in the Hat items for auction right now. I read this review this morning with a sigh. In a nutshell, the movie stinks, a cash-grabbing bastardization of a true classic. Now what to do with the promotional clocks and socks and sidewalk chalks?

At least they all fit in one carseat

My 3 year old daughter, M., has imaginary friends. Well, sort of. She actually becomes her own imaginary friends. One moment I will be talking to my own sweet daughter and the next, she is correcting me "I'm Jo Jo." She becomes 3 or 4 different people now - Jo Jo, Kathleen, Julie ... I think I'm leaving someone out. Each person has their own family members. When she is Kathleen, her father and I are both known as "House" and her baby brother becomes "Album." As Jo Jo's mother, I am known as "Ada" and her brother is "Budgy Wudgy". She can keep them all straight for hours, it is quite eerie. She will tell me before breakfast she is Julie and 3 hours later I will call her brother by his given name and she will correct me "Actually, House, that is Album."

All these people first showed up when our summer babysitter, to whom our daughter had become very attached, moved away. A few days later, she was insisting we call her Julie. The connection did not dawn on me until I began to wonder where she came up with the name, since I couldn't think of anyone we knew named Julie. She watches the TV show Caillou in the morning, and Caillou has a babysitter named Julie. By becoming Julie, she was replacing the babysitter she missed so much. I thought it was a healthy way to grieve and indulged her fantasy play.

Then the other people appeared, and I began to notice that whenever she did something to be especially proud of, like drawing a beautiful picture, finishing all of her meal, or getting dressed by herself, she would attribute the feat to one of her other personas. In her eyes, Julie, Kathleen (the name of a teacher at her school) and Jo Jo (a TV character I don't particularly like) were all older, smarter and better than my daughter.

Yesterday, she said something interesting that made me very sad. She told me, near tears, that she didn't want to be a grownup. I asked her why and her exact words - at barely 3 years old - were "I want to stay a child." My heart broke. What was so terrible about being a grown up - about being like me that she was in tears over it? I realized that this is the purpose for the infallible Julie, the fearless Jo Jo, the multi-talented Kathleen: they are performing all the major accomplishments so that M. does not have to be the one growing up.

Add a little melted butter . . .

My one-year-old spent this morning's playgroup hour playing in the hostess' yard, picking and eating her social garlic. Kept him entertained and he smells so savory too.

In addition to growing eyes in the back of your head

I knew it. Motherhood affects your brain. This study found that rats who have given birth are smarter, more courageous and more resourceful than those who have never given birth. Now why can't I find my keys?

Past repasts

Let's see ... Friday we had that fabulous pizza, and that started a SBD-free weekend. Not off the wagon, but just off the book. Saturday, vegetarian "burgers" and salad; Sunday, Praram Tofu (tofu with peanut sauce on a bed of fresh spinach leaves; with home-cooked brown rice) from a local Thai restaurant. Tonight, oh my - tonight! I haven't started anything and it's quarter to five. Gotta go.

Why do I always get things half fin

It's been several days since I blogged. Why? Because I suffer from severe lack of follow-through. Look around my house, find the sewing machine under a pile of fabric scraps, the dusty guitar in the closet, the items I was going to sell on ebay in a heap in the corner, the Martha Stewart soap making kit sitting idle while we use plain white Dove soap. The problem is, I am not guided by muses, and not even driven by demons. Not that I don't have demons, I have a whole flock of them around here somewhere. But I have spent so much time and energy telling them to be quiet that they now are.
My 3 year old suggested "fishies" as my blog subject today. Fish, fish, marvelous fish. One fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish. We have no fish, fish have not played a significant role in any formative stage of my life, I have no sweet little anecdotes about fish. It is on sale at our local grocery store, salmon filet $3.99 a pound. Will be making SBD Grilled Rosemary Salmon this week.
Note to self: Perhaps 3 year old is not muse I have been seeking.

Next, he'll be moonwalking

This Baby Signs thing cracks me up. We tried to teach my son a sign for "diaper" and so used a thumping fist on chest sign that my daughter made up when she was a baby. Over and over, we would thump our chests and hold up his diaper before a diaper change, or when we noticed he was busy using a diaper (it does not take a detective, as he tenses every muscle in his little body and turns bright red). He never repeated the sign. But then a few days ago, I told him it was time for a diaper change and he patted his crotch. He is, after all, a boy. Today he's waddling around looking for trouble, peeks in the door at me as I'm sitting in the bathroom, and pats his crotch. Good Mommy! Later, he spied his sister's Princess undies on the floor and again patted his pants. Michael Jackson would be proud.

Whassfodinna

Screw South Beach, tonight it's the North Beach Diet - pizza and red wine! Hubby is home early after having seen The Matrix Re-Reloaded or whatever it's called. I am not a fan. Not anti-Matrix, mind you, just not a 'Trixie. Yeah, I just made that up. Must be the red wine. Oh, and the pizza does have a whole wheat crust so we are not totally going to South Beach Hell.

haiku

housebound
we really need to go out
fill prescription pick up milk
my daughter in her tutu
says no

Jently evolving

I'm still in the process of figuring out my template. For now, I'm planning to have one set of links to like-genre ("jenre") blogs - personal, humorous blogs on parenting (please don't email me to tell me you didn't know mine was humorous). I'm also adding links to "jeneral interest" blogs on all different subjects, ones that made me laugh, made me think, or - what really pops my toast - ones that gave me a glimpse into what it would be like to be in a totally different skin. Why live one life when you can vicariously live hundreds? The Jeneral Interest links are likely to change weekly.

Ho ho ho!

Hey, did you just roll your eyes at that title? I know it's early. I used to get really mad about all the marketing of Christmas months in advance, now I'm excited like a little kid. My daughter loves Christmas, we watch her Wiggles Christmas videos year-round and her favorite bedtime song is Silent Night. So I can't wait to start decorating the house and playing Christmas songs.
Thinking about Christmas makes me think about gifts, wouldn't the retailers be so pleased. The best gift I ever received came from my brother. I was a freshman in college and he gave me a tin candy box full of - not candy, but quarters. There was $80 in quarters in that box. Besides being a huge wad of cash to an 18-year-old, I never had to scrounge for quarters for the laundry. Made me very popular in the dorms as well. When that box ran out, I realized what a pain it was to always be hoarding quarters, praying that the change machine worked, asking disgruntled cashiers if they could cash a $5 for me.
The quarters are long gone, turned into nearly-clean clothing and damp-dried sheets. But I kept the box, and whenever I look at it, I remember what a great gift that was.

What's for Dinner

Tonight's South Beach ... Salsa Chicken - spicy cubes of chicken cooked up with some salsa, served on a bed of shredded lettuce with some sour cream. Even the kids ate it, and it's good enough for company. Even people you like. Sorry I couldn't find a link to the recipe. They are fairly well guarded so that you have to buy the book.

About the Book - South Beach Diet - it's a great diet; it's a pretty lousy book. There are great gaps in information, there is conflicting advice in different chapters, and most annoying, the number of servings each recipe makes is completely random. The dinner menu may call for an entree, a vegetable and a dessert - but the dinner recipe serves 4, the vegetable recipe serves 2 and the dessert serves 1. Maybe they expect people to start leaving once you have served them dinner. You have to check each recipe carefully before you begin to be sure you are making the right amount and you need to be a mathmetician as well as a fairly comfortable cook. Another gripe - the time given for cooking chicken and fish almost always results in undercooking. Also, some recipes give the amount in ounces - "add 2 ounces of fat free half and half". Hang on, let me grab my beaker ...

Bang, bang

We've been careful since our daughter was born to limit her exposure to violence. We don't watch television (other than pre-approved children's shows) at any time when either child is awake, and don't listen to news radio when children are in the car. We edit their books as needed so that, for example, Curious George (written in 1941) gets a "time out" rather than going to prison for accidentally calling the fire department, and the Cat in the Hat's "Little Cats" use "shooters" to "get" the pink snow spots instead of, as written, "guns" that "kill" the harmless little pink blobs. Now, I don't think for a moment I am going to shield her from the realities of the world forever. However, I do think that the longer we can postpone her eventual bombardment with sensationalized violence, the better equipped she will be to deal with it; the more she has been steeped in a peaceful home environment the more she will be able to identify peace as her way and recognize that violence exists, but is not her way.

She turned 3 in September. This morning she came running to her father with two attached pieces of Lego and said "I have a shooter". She waved it around - "Shoot, shoot!". I was still hoping she was thinking of a rocket ship, "shooting" into space. The next words out of her mouth, however, as she grasped her little toy - "Bang, bang!". Sigh.

Sleeping Like a ...

Last night:
7:30 p.m.: 1 year old to bed
8:30 p.m.: 3 year old to bed
8:35, 8:45, 8:48, 8:50 p.m.: 3 year old needs water, is cold, needs a hug, has an owie on her finger
10:00 p.m.: Mom and Dad to bed after watching our tape of last night's 24, followed by South Park
11:15 p.m. Insomnia-stricken mother finally falls asleep
11:58 p.m.: 1 year old awakens for bottle and rocking
12:08 a.m.: Sleeping 1 year old deposited in crib
12:35 a.m.: 1 year old awakens for more bottle and more rocking, tries to convince grown-ups to join him in rousing round of E-I-E-I-O
1 - 2 a.m.: Blur of sleep deprived parents rotating into and out of crying baby's room, bringing milk, infant Tylenol for teething, turning on the heat, turning off the heat
5:56 a.m.: 1 year old, having had wonderful night of social activity and warm milk, awakens refreshed and with a soaking wet diaper, pajama, and bed.

Whash for dinna

More South Beach for dinner. Pina coladas, cheeseburgers, and fries. Nope, just kidding. Leftover SBD meatloaf (it really is better the second day) and Oven Roasted Vegetables. Amazing that this stick-to-your-ribs food peels off the weight.

May I kvell for a moment? My 13-month old has started Baby Signing in earnest, and I am so proud. My husband and I (and, in fact, our three-year-old, who also was a signing baby) have been demonstrating signs for him for several months, and it looked for a while like it just wasn't going to click for him. Suddenly, the diminutive little lightbulb went on, and he now has signs for telephone, more, all done, diaper, elephant, monkey, fish, dog, sheep, and hat. Added to his few spoken words, Mama, Dada, A-Ma (derivation of his sister's name), kitty cat, bye-bye, night-night and bottle (ba-ba), he has more than doubled his vocabulary due to Baby Signs. I recommend this for any parents of infants/early toddlers and parents-to-be. My daughter commanded dozens and dozens of signs by 18 months, and used some of them (for harder-to-pronounce words like "elephant" and "giraffe") until nearly 2 1/2 years.

Are these just Stupid Baby Tricks? Though it at first may not seem very useful for your baby to be able to sign to you about zoo animals, the point is, Baby Signs allow your baby to communicate, and they get a big kick out of that. When you see the glee on your baby's face when he signs "giraffe" for the print on his footie sleepers, and he hears you say "oh, you see a giraffe?" it makes all the hours of thumping your head, stroking your throat, and flapping your arms worthwhile.

South Beach Diet meatloaf and mashed "potatoes" for dinner. Shh ... they're really cauliflower. Yeah, the diet's great. Lost 12 pounds of ugly fat without cutting off my head.

Time to do the Babysitter Rag. In order to take my daughter to the aforementioned co-operative preschool, I have to hire a sitter to take care of my son, as unenrolled siblings aren't allowed at school. Yes, we may be a bunch of tree-hugging granola eaters but we do have some standards. So I pay a college student to come watch my son between 8:30 and noon. I know he naps for a good hour and a half to two hours of this time. I know there may not be much for a college student to do while trapped in my home - like, I don't know - study? Or even watch the TV. But when I got home, it was clear to me she had been napping, because left the blanket she unfolded and the pillow she had been using on the sofa. The baby needed a new diaper, and had not had a new one since I changed him in the morning. Breakfast dishes - granted, they were the kids', and not the sitter's - languished in the sink. There were 2 messages on the answering machine because she had not answered the phone. Gee, I hope it didn't wake her.

Off to school with my daughter this morning. She's in a co-operative preschool, which means that each class session of 24 children is staffed by 2 paid, credentialed teachers, plus 7 parents. So I "work" every 2 weeks at the school, staffing a designated area. It works beautifully. The adult-to-child ratio is such that many children get one-on-one play with a grownup. Squabbles are few. The children thrive. Plus, having been "home" with my daughter since she was a year old, I can't imagine having her disappear three hours a day and having no idea what she is doing.
Time flies when you are getting yourself plus a one-year-old and three-year-old washed, dressed and breakfasted all before 8:30 a.m. I have to go. More later.

Jumping right in with a first blog and no fancy introductions. Have to get it out before the self-pity turns from desire to write this down to desire to dive face-first into the Halloween candy.

My children looked shabby today, in front of everyone. Yes, that is what is getting me down. Now all I need is to hold a Pampered Chef party and I will be a poster girl for Stay at Home Momhood. It's Halloween and the downtown businesses in our little burg have Trick or Treating for kids during the afternoon, so the little ones don't have to go to strange homes in the dark. I arranged to meet up with some friends with children and headed downtown, feeling very proud of my 3 year old angel and 1 year old devil. My daughter's costume was made from a full skirted white dress, to which I added some sparkly felt cap sleeves, gold rickrack, wings and a halo. It turned out to be a cold day, so I put some white tights on her with her white sandals. My red-horned son was wearing a red sleeper adorned with a felt forked tail and red, orange, and yellow felt flames around the collar.

We arrived downtown first, and during the wait, my little devil threw his horns off and refused to put them back on. My angel ran here and there in the cold, making the tip of her nose turn red and her golden hair frizz under the halo. Eventually, our playmates arrived.

Each of them adorned in full Disney Store regalia.

Cinderella was a vision in shades of sky blue, wearing a satin gown with a velvet maribou-trimmed cape, sparkly silver shoes and holding a magic wand that glowed and sparkled at the flip of a switch. The Disney Princesses graced the satin headband holding her golden bun of blonde hair. Stick-on paper earrings completed the ensemble. Her fairy godmother had added shimmery silver and blue eyeshadow to her three-year-old face and a touch of pink lip gloss.

A pink princess wore a high velveteen cone of a hat with a cascade of satin ribbons flowing from its peak, matching pink velvet dress and sequinned silver and pink slippers. Intricately detailed plush dragons, lions, and giraffes abounded, each with a long sleeved plush suit and cozy warm animal-head hood. A trio of Batmen with molded plastic muscle-chests chased Tinkerbelle and a ballerina with real ballet slippers.

Because of the young ages of my children, the sunken-heart moment was all my own. My daughter's game of chase with Snow White had turned her halo about so the white elastic piece I used when I ran out of rickrack was smack in the center of her forehead. My son, with a felt circle covering the holly on his "First Christmas" sleeper, didn't care that his flaming collar made him look more like a Gila monster than a devil, and that the heavy felt tail made the seat of his pants sag unbecomingly.

Now, I am sure no one else cared either. But for me, I was grateful my children were so young, and silently shamed myself for this moment. Give their peers a few years, and the cruelness, the taunting, would surely come. I had my share of shabby moments in my childhood, moments that 25 years later still make me feel like the kid in the too-short wide-wale cords.

Moments like when I was in sixth grade (yes, I told you these things stick with you) and we went on our class camping trip. The mimeographed supplies list we took home to our parents said to pack up our belongings in a duffel bag. So my Mom helped me get my change of clothes, toiletries, pajamas and other necessities and pack them into the cloth drawstring bag she referred to as a "duffel bag". I didn't question it. It was kind of an off-white, perhaps having once been white, with a tiny diamond pattern on it. Not unlike something you might see on your Dad's boxers. The next morning, my Mom dropped me off in front of the school, and I was instructed to put my duffel bag in the large pile being stowed under the big yellow school bus. I was startled to see a mountain of fancy nylon-zippered duffel bags - real duffel bags - in conservative hues of forest green, burgundy and black. They had multiple pockets, hand and shoulder straps, and plastic luggage tags. The sturdy waterproof nylong demurely gave no hint of what might be inside. I dropped my slightly sheer ivory bag, really nothing more than a laundry bag, bulging in embarrasing ways with my personal items, and walked quickly away, getting that unfortunately familiar feeling of being the shabby girl once again.