All This in Just One Year?! (aka New Year's Resolutions, part 2)

As far as I can tell, New Year’s Resolutions typically fall into exactly two categories:

* the ones it’s a no-brainer to keep; and

* the one’s there’s no way on earth I’ll really keep but it feels nice and ambitious and all turning-over-a-new-leaf of me to put them down, so I do.

Category One might include things like “repair the back fence” when one has a dog who loves to wander the neighborhood in search of goose poop snacks. (What? Like your dog doesn’t think these are better than any treat you pay money for?) Category Two is something like “exercise five times a week,” when I’m working a fulltime job with only three days/week of daycare.

So this year, I’ve decided to create two entirely new categories of NYR – and I do hope the Resolution Police don’t find this completely unacceptable, since it seems to me that the tried-and-true categories above have failed worked for millennia for nearly all of us. The new categories are:

* ones that are just a tad bit ambitious but that I could reasonably work on; and

* ones I wish I could make but that would require not just hard work on my part but an actual life transplant into a completely different sphere of existence courtesy of alien intervention or some other dramatic made-for-tv type procedure.

So, without further ado, here are my Resolutions for the year. I won’t insult you by assuming you need me to separate Ambitious But Doable from Life Transplant, Oh Don’t I Wish…

Ø Wear my new pedometer every day and record my steps. Aim to exceed my average daily steps from week one by just a bit, increasing goal weekly. Get to 10,000 steps per day sometime before I turn 40. (If you say I’m cheating here because this just turned into a NYR I have three years to fill, then you obviously didn’t read Part 1 of my new NYR philosophy.)

Ø Count calories daily for three months. Try to stay around 1400 per day. Eat chocolate anyway.

Ø Win an Oscar for my screenplay, making me the first English professor ever to win an Oscar (not to mention the first person who hasn’t written a screenplay to win one). Look fabulous giving my brief and witty acceptance speech while wearing a vintage silk dress – one of those clingy 1930s designs with the shiny side of the fabric showing on some parts and the dull side on others. If you don’t know what I mean, you need to watch more Thin Man movies. And if you’ve never heard of those, you really should start watching them.

Ø Exercise a few times a week. Keep accountable on the steps, calories, and exercise by posting daily stats. If nothing else, the potential embarrassment of saying “d’oh, I forgot to record this or even to care again today” might keep me on track.

Ø Complete a triathalon. No, I didn’t say win one. I’m just that modest in my ambitions.

Ø Try to follow our housework tasks chart at least five days per week. This is ambitious because not all the tasks on it are mine, which means motivating others in the house too. It’s also ambitious because we are nearly d r o w n i n g around here in clean laundry. I can get the stuff washed, dried, and even folded. It’s the putting away that kills me. Story of my house: it’s all in the putting away.

Ø Plan and take a fabulous family trip this summer using the (no joke) several hundred thousand frequent flier miles we collectively have.

Ø Become one of those hilarious and creative mommies who never gets frustrated with her kids’ idiosyncrasies or nags them to hurry up, who always has fun projects in reserve for moments of boredom, and who looks unbearably, unbelievably cute in her low-rise cargo pants. Also, who is not at all pretentious or condescending.

* * *

So, what are your resolutions this year? Doable or Life Transplant? Share in the Comments!

The Life of the Second (and Third) Born, part 2

I have to say that I love hearing my idioms come out of little, tiny mouths. I don't remember Big Sis doing this nearly as often as Minnie 1 and Minnie 2 do, so perhaps it's the 2nd child syndrome that MommyTime talks about below. Whatever the reason, they always make me giggle.

“Oh, Minnie 1,” I call in a sing-song voice.
“What?” responds the 2-yr-old in trouble in the other room.
“Come here!” I say.
“Just a sec!” she calls back. Oy vay.

or my current favorite…

“Minnie 1 loves Mommy TOOOOO much!”
“SO much” I correct with a kiss
“Nooooo, TOOOOO much!”

In our house, the “serious” reprimands often begin with “No, MA’AM!”, as in:

“No, MA’AM! We DO NOT poke our sister in the face with a fork!” or
“No, MA’AM! We DO NOT pour our soup all over Mommy’s freshly washed floor!”

Minnie 1 has recently begun using the phrase as well…

“No, MA’AM, Soph-Soph! No hit me!”

A few nights ago, poor overworked, underpaid, and slightly ill Husband stretched out on the couch to watch the girls play. Just as he closed his eyes to doze off, Minnie 1 marched across the room, hands on her hips, and waggled her little finger in his face.

“No, MA’AM, Dada! No, MA’AM! You NO sleep!”

Poor Dada. I can’t wait to see what she starts to say next…

The Life of the Second-Born

There are many things second children do differently from first ones (including not pee standing up in our house) -- and that means we have to learn to be parents a little bit new the second time around. One thing I've noticed is that Daughter is talking much much more than Son did at this age (20 months). Now, she may just be stunningly brilliant and about to get into Yale any day. But I think there's something about the whole birth-order thing that's at play here. For instance, here are some phrases she can use quite well that Son couldn't even pronounce at this age:

"Myyyyy turn."

"Go a-way!" [not always directed at the dog, either]

the Silent Embrace of Apology [perhaps not a phrase, but an eloquent gesture indeed]

"No, no, no, no, mine, no, mine, no, noooooo, MINE!"

"Hi, Son." [she actually said this yesterday in greeting, while patting her brother on the shoulder, and yes, she called him "Son" as if that were his name]

"I do it." [don't know if this counts as a phrase or not, since she seems to think it's one word]

"I love you."

Coincidence? I think not.

Quiet Reflections over my Morning Coffee

Do I actually control the weather?
It's never warm enough for a picnic on my birthday in late Spring, even when we've already had 70-degree days in March. And there hasn't been snow on Christmas ever since the Son was old enough for me to dream of snowman building contests on Christmas Day. Perhaps there is a perverse wrinkle in the fabric of the universe whereby whatever weather I want creates the exact inverse in the sky above me.

New Year's Eve is still part of the holiday season, right?
So, if I write "and a Happy New Year" on all my Christmas cards and mail them out so they still get a December post-mark, they're not technically late. Right?

Who decided what counts as breakfast food?
Why is it always grains and pork and eggs? Why not green vegetables (obviously no one would choose orange ones as breakfast foods) and thinly-sliced beef? And even if we stick to grains, why would you raise your eyebrows at me if I served my kids warm rice with cinnamon and milk on it? And why is waffles for dinner hilarious instead of a good substitute for the potatoes I ran out of which I realized too late as I was baking chicken?

I'm just wondering is all....

Itty, Bitty Cheerleaders

One of the great joys of motherhood is having your own cheering squad. I remember Erma Bombeck once saying that she loved when her kids were really little because Mommy knew EVERYTHING, controlled EVERYTHING and could fix EVERYTHING...then they grew up, and realized it wasn't true. Still, that blind devotion is lovely while it lasts!

As we were heading up to bed tonight, Minnie 1 turns to me and says, arms loaded with babies and pacifiers, "Me care-care too much STUFF!"
"Would you like me to carry your stuff for you?" I ask.
She hands me everything and then scampers up the stairs faster than a bunny rabbit. Standing at the top, watching me trudge up holding 3 babies, 1 teddy, 2 blankies and 5 pacifiers, she chants, "Youcandoit! Youcandoit!"
As I reach the last step, she throws her arms into the air and yells, "YEA MAMA!"

It's nice to be appreciated for the little things. :-)

[I also remember Big Sis telling me, when she was about 3, "Mama, you're the best cooker in the whole world. 'Cept for Emeril, he's gooder." Still, I suppose being 2nd best in the world ain't bad!]

My toddler has the genius mind of an international crime lord...

I sometimes wonder if we underestimate the logical reasoning capabilities of our little ones. We might assume that a 2-yr-old doesn't really understand cause and effect (after all, if she did, why would she drop her pacifier 130 times from her booster seat, and then cry each time because her "pa-pas" was gone??), but I think it's all a cover for a diabolically clever mind under there. How many times have you had a similar conversation...
"Mama, me watch Elmo!"
"No, sweetie, we've watched enough television today."
"Me watch Elmo, NOW!"
"No," in firmer voice, "we've had enough TV, and I don't want your brain to turn to mush."
"Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" 2-yr-old flings herself to the floor.
In firm, but weary, voice, "You're just fine. Stop crying. Go find something to play with."
Toddler looks up assessingly and then trots over to the singing, dancing Latke Larry doll (imagine dancing Santa, but holding a fry pan and wearing a tallis) and pushes the button to make him sing. Exactly 3 seconds into the annoying song, button is pushed again, and the song starts over, and again, and again, and again, until Mommy is ready to shove Latke Larry's head in the toilet and give him a permanent swirly.
In I'm-striving-for-calm-and-setting-a-good-example voice, "PLEASE, Minnie 1, PLEASE stop playing Latke Larry."
"Me love Latke Larry tooooo much!" The 3-second rendition starts over.
Finally, in desperation, Mommy says, "Who wants to watch Elmo?!" in a bright and cheery voice. Larry becomes blissfully quiet. Toddler gets what she wants. Mommy gets a martini.

See, a multi-part strategy that would make the War Dept proud. "Toddlers can't reason." Yeah, right.

New Year's Resolutions -- part 1

I've been thinking a lot about this year's resolutions--the annual fruitless attempt to create life-changing patterns and highly gratifying new habits through the simple tactic of making a list. Why don't I think of this in, say, mid-May or late-November when I also want to get things done? According to the NYR conspiracy, if I just wrote down what I wanted to accomplish, I would be able to reach those goals with ultimate efficiency and incredible ease. But, silly me, I just keep forgetting to write down what I want to do, and hence, I can't manage to do it. Sometimes, I can't even start the car because I forget to write down during breakfast that I need to put my keys in my pocket before I leave the house. So you can see how the New Year's Resolution thing might be hard for me...much as I dislike writing and all...

In all seriousness, though, I have been trying to discern why it is that my New Year's Resolutions invariably fail to be met at any point during the year. I'm sure I'm one of the few people who makes these promises-to-self who doesn't manage to keep them. But just in case you find yourself unable to stick to your own guns (a bad metaphor, perhaps, given that these must apparently be guns held by self, aimed at self), here are my tips on how to keep your New Year's Resolutions for an entire calendar year:

• Set clear, specific goals. "Wear matching shoes every day" is so much more doable than "be more organized." And achieving a goal can be so motivating. You might even -gasp- exceed your resolution by also finding your keys before 8am each day. (No, by "you" I do not mean "me." Though I might mean "Husband.")
  
• Divide tasks that really ought to be long-term over multiple years. For example: instead of "win Olympic gold medal" in 2008, try "choose a sport I am physically capable of doing" for this year, and then next year move on to "start playing my sport at least once per month." By 2020, you might be up to entering local races/meets in said sport. By the time you're doing this sport often enough to be Olympics-worthy, you'll probably be too old to compete for a slot on the team (unless the sport you've chosen is curling), but you will have had literally years and years of fully-met resolutions on the physical activity front, which should be sustenance enough to get you past that one disappointment.
• Sub-divide larger-scale resolutions over several months. Want to lose weight? You could choose small eating modifications for each month and set reasonable goals of just a few pounds per month. It's much more manageable to try to lose a pound per week than to contemplate losing 50 all at once. Or, you could do what I do: re-calibrate your scale every other week while standing at just the right angle with your head cocked in just the right way so that when you get on and weigh yourself, you have clearly lost just a pound or two without really cheating per se.
• Pick at least one resolution that's fun to try to keep. I'm convinced the reason I normally fail at the whole NYR thing is that I pick the boring awful things I really need to improve on. I mean, really, there's only so much time anyone wants to spend on trying to defeat that precarious pile of mail, kid art, coupons, lift-the-flap-books that need repair, and warranty cards that anchors the kitchen counter. This year, I think I'll pick "eat some chocolate every day" or "plan and take a fabulous beach vacation" or some other delightful item to round out my otherwise heavily-obligatory, exhaustingly-productive, despairingly-remindery-of-my-short-comings list.

Or, you could just not make any resolutions at all. But where's the fun in that?

* * *

Keep your eyes peeled in the next few days for part 2--the post with the actual resolutions, where you can add yours to the list.

Not Even Kangaroos?

As I've mentioned before, Son likes to invent rules and codify things. He particularly wants to know the exact parameters for new rules he hears. To wit:

We were walking into Fed Ex recently, and the sidewalks and even parking lot were coated with a thick slick of ice. He was bouncing, for no particular reason except that he's three, has Spiderman boots, and was happy. I very sternly told him, "NO BOUNCING." He looked pityingly at me, as if I couldn't see that this was a perfectly excellent day for bouncing (yes, he might be related to Tigger). But I insisted that the walkways were icy and that it was dangerous to bounce because it was so slippery. "No one can bounce on ice. Not even grown-ups. It's very dangerous because you can slip and fall and hit your head."

"No one?" he asked.

"No one," I confirmed.

He looked at me seriously. "Not even kangaroos?"

Not that these are native to Michigan. But there's a whole fleet of them [what IS the word for a group of kangaroos?] down at the Detroit Zoo, and surely they do not pick their way carefully across the ice. Certainly, they must indeed bounce. I was stumped. Incredible how a brain 1/12 the age of mine can out-think me sometimes.

Being Jewish in a Goyim world…

I like being Jewish. I really do. It’s comfortable, and feels “right.” I formally converted after getting engaged to my Jewish husband, but had thought of myself as Jewish for years. There are, however, times when being Jewish is, well, awkward. Like the temp job I had in college, where the very nice Southern Baptist office manager invited me to go to her church. I thanked her politely, and told her I was Jewish. She looked me up and down, clearly searching for horns and a tail, and said in surprise, “But you’re so NICE.” Yes. Well.

Parenthood has brought it’s own amount of awkwardness regarding our religion. I still vividly remember the look on the clerk’s face 3 years ago when I took Big Sis, then 2-1/2, shopping in mid December. As she sat on the counter while I paid, the clerk leaned over with a big smile and said, “So, what is Santa going to bring you?”

And my lovely little daughter, with wide-eyed innocence and baby-plump cheeks, replied quite seriously, “Who’s Santa?”

The look I received clearly said that I was the worst Mommy in the whole world. I just sort of shrugged and smiled weakly.

Many Christians just don’t get what parts of their daily life and traditions have religious connotations and which don’t. Like when our nanny, after the twins were born, brought Big Sis an Easter basket. “Well, I know you’re Jewish,” she said, “but you still do Easter baskets, right?” Um. No, not really.

Last year, Big Sis’s favorite Dec. activity was driving down the street after dark and proclaiming, in a very knowing voice, “Jewish. Not Jewish. Jewish. Not Jewish.” If a house had Christmas lights and decorations up, clearly the people that lived there were not Jewish. If they didn’t have lights up, they were. Ah, the simplicity of youth.

Really, the only thing I miss about no longer being “Not Jewish” is our family’s Christmas traditions. For 20+ years, Christmas morning rituals were always the same. Wake up (early, early, early when we were little, more reasonably as we hit the teenage years), open stockings, and eat grapefruit to sustain us during the present-opening frenzy. Then settle in on the couch and floor around the mound of presents with my sisters and brother, grandparents and step-dad while Mom assumed the all-important place of hander-out-of-presents. And then it began. We were never one of those families that just handed everyone a pile of gifts and everyone ripped into them at once (like my hubby’s family is with Hanukkah—where’s the fun in that, I ask you?!). Oh no, Mom handed out one present at a time, reading the card aloud first. We’re great at cards. They were always witty, or funny, or snide, sometimes giving a clue to the gift, sometimes giving a clue to the motivation behind the gift. And then we watched as the person opened it, making the appropriate “oooh, aaaah” noises, or laughter, or comments as it was revealed. Stories were told, acknowledgements made, and then we moved on to the next gift. It took hours. I loved it. Only after everything was unwrapped would we sit down to breakfast—scrambled eggs, crisp fried bacon (the PORK kind—I miss that!), and homemade cinnamon rolls. –sigh- I miss those too. A lot. There were always too many people in the kitchen, and general chaos until the food was on the table, but everyone pitched in, and we ate ‘til we couldn’t really move, and THEN, we got dressed and lounged around like lumps on the couch watching holiday movies or listening to music or chatting while we poked through the cookie tins, basically just waiting around for dinner and the next food coma.

So what did I do on Dec. 25 this year? I got the kids fed and dressed in the morning (no evidence of Christmas spirit in our house), packed up the requisite stuff for a day away, and went to the in-laws where the kids played with nick-nacks they shouldn’t touch, grudgingly watched some basketball on TV with Grandpa, and generally got bored and cranky ‘cause there’s nothing to do on Christmas if you’re Jewish. We ate leftovers for lunch and bad Chinese for dinner. I played Superman at the restaurant and miraculously changed 3 children into 2 layers of PJ’s, without a changing table in sight, so that they were all ready to dump into their beds when they fell asleep on the way home. It was not unlike a great many other days. And that was the most depressing thing of all. I want my cinnamon rolls. I want my grandmother calmly sectioning grapefruit in the kitchen amid the chaos. I want to watch Mom open the perfect gift that makes her cry (we’re really good at this, and manage to pull it off almost every year). I miss my sisters, who are happy to indulge in ridiculous, hysterical laughter over things that no one but us would find even remotely funny. Sometimes change is fun. Sometimes it sucks. There’s one day a year when I really, really wish I were “Not Jewish.” I think I need a martini.

Could the Tank of Death curse be lifted?!?!?!

As anyone who has ever had a fish tank knows, tanks go through cycles. You have to get them up to speed good-bacteria-wise before fully stocking them with fish (this is actually called "cycling the tank"). And then you have to be prepared to replenish periodically as that modest gourami you bought turns out to be a savage predator, or ick (yes, that's really the name of a fish disease) culls the school, or old age (1 fish year is like 30 people years, or something like that) catches up to them.

And then, there are those times when your tank--for reasons no one, not even your most trusted local fish store (LFS) guy can explain--suddenly turns into the Tank Of Death. When this happens, your 27 gallon room-brightening conversation starter turns into a grim lesson in the laws of nature. One fish after another assumes the final pose at the water's surface. Or appears half-gnawed in the corner behind the big rock. Or simply disappears. First, you think, "Oh crap, another aggressive fish." So, you watch vigilantly. But the thing is, nobody seems really to be chasing anybody in that tank. And anyway, they're all pretty much docile "community" fish. And the algae eater is way too small to have killed the bigger, faster fish that have recently died. So you wait, and change water, and test the water, and take samples of the water to your LFS for them to test with their more sophisticated test kits. And something else dies. And you clean things really well, and you try the antibiotic food, and you try treating for ick, and you double-check the filters. And something else dies. And you keep watching and obsessively monitoring. And you change the water again. And just when a week or so has gone by and you think things are better, another one goes belly up.

It is so incessant a march of death that (if you're me) you even want to shield your pre-schooler from the full scale of the catastrophe. And this is the only place on the planet where up until this moment I've actually been honest about death. It is over the fish-tank that Son created his definition of death: "When you are dead, you can't swim anymore. And you don't have anything else in your mind." But when our tank turned into the Tank of Death, I just quietly kept scooping out all the casualties I could find. And periodically making trips to the LFS to buy new fish. "Cheap ones," I'd explain. "The tank is still a Tank of Death." They weren't overly concerned; this just happens. They'd test the water again to humor me -- but of course, there was nothing wrong with any of the water's parameters. So, they'd sell me something cheap and cheerful, in red, preferably (yes, I realize this is sounding like the purchase of hooker-wear, sorry). And we'd take the little guys home, and release them to certain doom.

When we were left with with one little neon as the last fish standing, we were completely certain that fish-on-fish aggression was not the cause of death. These things only get one inch long. (Photo copyright Practical Fishkeeping; see full article here.) But we were as completely uncertain about what actually was the cause of death.

Still, not wanting an empty tank, I make one more trip to the LFS, and bought a mini-school of five somethings. I don't know what they are. I chose them because they were pretty and cheap. They are an iridescent blue, with small red fins and tails. They are vaguely hatchet-shaped. I was sure they wouldn't make it.

And I was getting tired. So I let the tank cleanings slide a bit more, let the algae get nice and thick (the pleco that was supposed to eat the algae disappeared to the Death Squad a while ago, and no trace of it was ever found, despite the fact that it was a three-inch-long, fat fish prior to its demise). I noted the strange black markings on these newest fish, like little polka dots of charcoal, with resignation. They were marked for Death. I fed them the antibiotic food for a week but didn't really figure things would change. The lone neon died.

Weeks passed. It was holiday time, so I paid minimal attention except to feed and occasionally clean. I did notice that one of the fish was hiding an awful lot behind the plants, and I assumed it was going to be the first to go. I sighed but didn't figure there was anything I could do about it.

And then today, Husband was feeding the fish with Daughter, who had insistently dragged him through the house repeating "Show me, show me. Fish hung-ee." Somehow, half the container of food fell into the tank. This amounts to approximately three months worth of food for five 2-inch-long fish. So tonight I went to clean out the carpet of food that was already beginning to make the water cloudy. It was about time. The algae was serving as a fabulously cushiony carpet-pad for the food, the water level was low, the tank sides needed scrubbing. Basically, the tank looked sad and neglected.

And, lo, what did I find? A BRAND NEW BABY FISH!!! A tiny little silvery thing, darting around, as proudly hatchet-shaped as it parents. The Tank of Death has spawned new life! I called Son over to show him "the coolest thing ever." I was delighted to share what in my mind was a glimmer that the curse had been lifted. He watched the 1/2 inch fish, as I explained that the big ones were its parents. He looked at the five swimming around and, apparently reasoning that everything else in his world seems to have a maximum of two parents, explained back to me that these were also its "aunt and cousin and friend." There was a long pause, and then, "No," he said. "It's not super cool. It's just a baby fish."

If only he knew how extremely incredibly super fabulously cool that one tiny little baby fish is...a miraculous little creature, swimming around in what I can only hope is no longer a Tank of Death.

What was your favorite part of your day?

We often have this conversation at dinner, and it is very sweet when Son starts the ball rolling. "What was your favorite part of your day, sweetie?" he will ask. Sometimes he'll say it while looking at me. But if I start to answer, invariably he'll stop me with a disapproving look, "No," he says, "I called Dad." Whereupon Dad must answer, and then keep the ball rolling by asking the question of someone else.

When I tell you that we had homemade chocolate cake in the shape of a firetruck (of course) after dinner the other night, you will probably guess that Son's answer to that question was "eating dessert." But you would be wrong. This was his answer, and it's pretty easy to see why.




Don't you wish you were almost-four? Not that this bowl isn't big enough to hold your head too...

There really IS a Santa Claus!

And here's how I know...

First, everyone in our house (and there are eight of us) got exactly what they wanted, needed, or otherwise desired even if they'd never even thought of it before. Son said, from the very first thing out of his stocking to the very last thing he opened, some variation of the following: "Ohhhh, a lion puppet! It's just what I always wanted." Santa just KNOWS.

So do grandparents, whose present was responsible for eliciting:

[sharp intake of breath] "A ROCKET SHIP!!" [furious tearing of paper, accompanied by physical bouncing in an effort to get the box opened faster, faster, FASTER, before his head exploded from excitement] "It's just what I been wanting my whole life."

Second, there was a lovely note from Santa on the empty cookie platter, in which Santa indicated that he'd eaten the "delicious and ferocious" dinosaur cookies himself and (as desired by Son) passed on the racecars to the reindeer to enjoy.



Third--and really the only evidence one needs--we found reindeer footprints on our front stoop. I kid you not. These are not doctored. No parents, aunties, or any other humans were responsible for these prints, which came all the way up our walkway, around the front bushes, and right across the front stoop.










And I have pictures to prove it. This is the best Christmas ever.

It's not even Christmas Eve and I'm DONE with all the presents AND wrapping!!!!

I know, you're all shocked... but I really pulled it together this year for some unprecedented organization and planning skills to make sure that I had tons of breathing room between making and buying presents and when the family was to be in town. Of course, all this perfect planning was thrown out the window when Husband had a GENIUS idea 1 week before Thanksgiving that all of his family members should get pretty quilted letters to hang in their foyers this year (making it 5 letters to make instead of 1). This meant an extra 40 hours of sewing to squeeze into my impeccably perfect (and already VERY tight) schedule. I'm not sure if he's learned any lesson though - in the extra time that I've spent in front of the sewing machine this month, he's had tons of extra uninterrupted gaming time on his XBox 360. Ah well.. this was one of the few times this year I didn't automatically exercise the "No" and instead went ahead to see if I could raise to the challenge. Any other arena and I would have said no... but really, I LOVE my new sewing machine so spending extra time in front of it is really not a hardship.

It's not even Christmas Eve - this is really nice :) In a few minutes we're going to meet the rest of the family for yummy Italian food and then my first exercise in weeks which will consist of hauling my big butt around Greenfield Village for the evening. I don't expect there to be many posts over the next few days as everyone is having fun holiday times so I'll go ahead and say "Merry Christmas to all and to all a good day/evening/night".

Fun with Numbers

Although Son can count to 50 (except that he often forgets what the number is that comes after 49, and sometimes tries again with 40), he's not so good with the conceptual numbers thing. Also, he has no scale in his mind for many things, no idea about relative size or units used to measure.

Recently, he's announced: "When Santa Claus comes, his bag will have so many presents in it, it will have to be 500 big."

And: "Look at me run. I'm almost as fast as Dash. But not quite. He's *really* fast. He can run even a hundred and thirty fast."

Today, while carrying his 90 cents of change (after purchasing 10 cents of candy with the first dollar bill he has literally ever "paid" as he puts it), he was asked, "Is that more or less money than you had when you had your dollar bill?" He promptly answered, "It's less." "How do you know?" "Because these are only small coins and that was a whole BIG bill." Apparently, the lesson about how the little dime is worth more than the bigger nickel hasn't been taught yet in our house.

The Facts of (Mommy) Life

In preparation for becoming a mother, there are zillions of books one could choose to read, lots of advice available from everyone from pediatricians to friends to parents to well-meaning strangers who rub your belly in the check-out line at the frame shop. But there are lots of things that none of these books or people tell you -- that in many cases they couldn't tell you -- that are also part of being a Mommy. I think about this periodically as I come across one 12-24 month size dirty sock tucked carefully atop a can in the pantry or have to put back the food I've just given the dog so that Little Miss I-do-it can re-do the feeding. So, in no particular order, here are some things that I have determined are simply the facts of being a mommy.

1) If you own a designer purse, and you insist on continuing to carry it (which you certainly should), you should simply be prepared for its contents list to include: lipstick, wallet, diaper, sunglasses, fancy pen, wipes, cell phone, binkie, organizer, and spongy rubberized gecko.

2) The most communal room in the house is the bathroom, and you would do well to practice before the baby is born holding something on your lap while you pee. A doll is better than nothing; a small wriggling dog will be more realistic.

3) You will not only have to but will become astonishingly good at doing things one-handed. This includes cooking (even chopping with your good knives), vacuuming, unloading groceries, and carrying your three-year-old up the stairs. (The reason you only have one hand for this last is that you are also carrying your baby -- if you wondered about this, you currently only have one child.)

4) Housework takes longer when you have kids...not because they make more messes (they do) but because they want to "hep" you clean up. And when Little Miss I-do-it is in town, and you are trying to change sheets, just be prepared for a long slow process.

5) You will not only be able to multi-task; you will be able to multi-converse. Don't be surprised when childless friends are amazed by a conversation that goes like this (it's all you talking here):
"Yes, and while I was trying to watch the debate...don't put that in your mouth...I kept wondering why he wouldn't just mention that recent...I SAID take it OUT of your mouth...ballot initiative...you will get a time-out if you don't take that out of your mouth now...to refund the schools...1, 2, 3 okay -- time to sit on the steps...excuse me just a minute [walk away carrying pre-schooler; wailing ensues from other room]...which I find morally reprehensible."

It's nice to know that Mommy-dom comes with some mad skills! I know there are other facts I've forgotten, so please feel free to add to the list.

Surprises...

I haven't been here much because I have been having fun family time. My parents in town are delighting in their grandkids, and I'm having a ball watching them all together. And in between the ice-cream cones, and the big family dinners, and the games of dinosaurs, and the fabulous "Spiderman Activity Pack" that Grandma and Grandpa brought for Son, there's not a lot of time left. I still have to finish calculating final grades to turn in. -sigh- And I still have to finish building a puppet theater. So, with those deadlines in mind, I wish everyone else who is also last-minute shopping / baking / addressing envelopes / wrapping / cooking / etc-ing, the best of holiday goodness. More later...

LED Christmas lights RULE!

So, I'm almost done with all of the billion and a half Christmas errands, shopping, wrapping, baking, decorating, cleaning, sewing and of course working. I just realized (about 1/2 hour ago) that I've been erranding (it's a word) my butt off for the past couple weeks and I need to take a bit of my own advice and sit and do absolutely NOTHING for a few minutes. Obviously, my first thought was, "oooo, I haven't blogged in a few days".... from never having blogged before joining this one, I've gotten pretty accustomed to it and actually enjoy seeing what is going on with everyone and doing a bit of writing myself (how do you like THAT for a run-on sentence Dr. MommyTime??)

The past few years my husband and I have been using a 4ft fake tree. It's just the right size to sit in the bay window with all the presents around it. I put it up a couple weeks ago. It originally came with lights already attached. Of course, many bulbs were burned out so the light strands didn't light. First, I spent 2 hours replacing bulbs. Not enough - seriously - I bought out all the light bulbs from 2 CVS's and there still were burnt ones on the tree. So, I ended up cutting the original lights off of the tree and then lighting it with these fancy new LED lights that my husband picked during the second round of "Michelle vs the Christmas Tree". It was painful at the time (I actually got a blister on my thumb from cutting the 3/4 billion zip ties off the tree that kept the original lights attached) but now it just looks beautiful :) There is nothing that I have to do this evening except sit with my husband enjoying the tree and watching dumb tv. I know, there are things that are not getting done. But there will be time between now and Christmas to get it all taken care of.

I have really enjoyed reading the posts - and it is true.... while human kids are WAY more expensive than the 4 legged kind, they are also WAY funnier. I sure hope I don't get reindeer poop in my stocking this year!

I'm not normally "crafty," but I love these

So if you know me, you might try to argue that I am, in fact, "crafty." But here's the thing: while my friends in grad school called me MacGuyver because I can fix almost anything with a little glue and some shoe leather, and I can bake a good wedding cake, sew a dress that actually fits, and install a sink, I actually don't do crafts. My sister made me a gorgeous scrap-booked baby book with pages dedicated to "First Thanksgiving" and "Big Brother and Me" and all sorts of beautiful spaces to insert photos and write notes. My other sister makes amazing quilts, embroidered fabulous velvet stockings with our initials on them for everyone in the family, and is always experimenting with fabric projects. But me? Well, for me crafts are pretty much of the finger-painting-baby-in-a-diaper variety. I can't knit a straight row no matter what -- and I really hated even trying. Give me a project that's about building, remodeling, sewing, or gardening, and I'll have a great time. Hand me yarn, glitter, scissors that cut in cool ways, pipe cleaners, or hundreds of other craft implements, and whatever I produce will pretty much look exactly the same as what my almost-four-year-0ld makes. It's a sad but true fact.

But here's a craft I can get my head around: snowy, scented pinecones. My sister-in-law sent me these gorgeous gems as tree ornaments several years ago. She took really lovely pinecones, spritzed with spray adhesive, and sprinkled on iridescent white glitter. (I'm guessing a little here, based on the finished effect; maybe she'll correct me in the comments if I'm way off base.) The finishing touch is several drops of essential oil. She chose cinnamon. If you have a real tree, the cinnamon scent is a great complement to the pine. If you are allergic to pine needles, live in a place where a real tree costs as much as small house, or otherwise opt for faux trees, you could use pine oil on the cones and dress your tree in that Christmas-y smell. I would imagine these would also look beautiful mounded in a glass bowl, or heaped on a platter surrounding some pillar candles. And they'll make even the most craftily-impaired of us look like Martha came over to help out. What could be better?

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If you're interested in more holiday project ideas, check out this post at Scribbit.

"Starve a fever..."

This afternoon, I felt truly horrible. I didn't really eat breakfast. Lunch and dinner sort of merged together as I ran errands, worked on the bathroom, fed the kids, cleaned the house. After slowly munching my way through Kashi almond bars, clementines, a little chicken strips, some broccoli, and nearly half a (mini) loaf of cranberry-orange bread (what? someone needed to try the extra one to be sure what I'm sending to daycare tomorrow tastes okay), I can report with much certainty that "...feed a cold" actually works. Just in case you were wondering.

Lovely Little Loaves

If you're like me, you have a long list of people you'd like to remember with a little something at the holiday season. It may be daycare staff, colleagues, neighbors, playgroup friends, or the mail lady...you know, the people to whom you want to wish special holidays but on whom you can't spend lots of money given the 32 immediate family members you're buying for. So here's an idea: mini loaves of sweet holiday breads. Their merit is that they need nothing by way of icing, topping, filling, or anything else. Just slice and enjoy. Make your recipients all warm and cozy inside what with the tasty goodness and the fact that you made an effort and actually made the gift yourself. And do yourself a favor by making a triple batch of your favorite tea bread, spooning it into these handy little pans, and getting the holiday baking done in an hour.

Never seen these pans before? Just go to your grocery store and look in the baking aisle. You'll find them somewhere near the disposable turkey roasters and the covered pyrex dishes. Be sure to buy the disposable ones with lids. This way, you bake in the nice little pan, and as soon as it cools, all you have to do to wrap is pop on the clear lid, tie on a ribbon, and tuck in a bit of some evergreen or a star-shaped card (cut it out of those wrapping paper scraps you know have lying around).

Don't have any favorite tea bread recipes? Also called "quick breads," you can usually find them in any cookbook with a good baking section. Or, try my favorite below. Just don't put nuts in anything you're sending to the daycare!

Rosemary's Great-Grandma's Cranberry-Orange Bread
Ingredients
juice and grated peel of one orange
2 Tbsp. melted butter
boiling water
2 c sifted flour
1/2 tsp. salt
1 1/2 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. baking soda
1 cup sugar
1 beaten egg
1 cup chopped nuts (optional; I never put nuts in this)
1 cup raw cranberries, halved (very important, otherwise they'll burst in the oven and make the bread all messy)

Assembly
Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Microwave butter to melt in a glass measuring cup. Add orange juice and peel. Then add enough boiling water to make 3/4 cup total. In a separate bowl, mix flour, salt, baking powder, baking soda, and sugar. Pour liquid mixture into flour mixture and stir just until damp. Then add egg and mix just until combined. Do not overmix. Batter will be quite sticky and heavy. Fold in cranberries and nuts (if desired). To prepare pan(s), spray with cooking spray OR butter it/them and then flour lightly. If you bake the whole recipe as one loaf (in a full-sized loaf pan), it should take about an hour. If you use the mini pans, it will take about 40-45 minutes . Bake until toasty golden on top and a toothpick comes out without goo (a few moist crumbs are fine). This recipe triples nicely. A single recipe will make 1 large loaf; a triple recipe will make 9 mini loaves. Don't be temped to think the loaves look a little scrawny, so you'll just make 8 robust ones. I did that this year. Now I can only get lids on three of the pans, the ones that looked a leetle bit too scant when I baked them. I wish I'd made 9.

If you don't like cranberries or oranges, or you just want other ideas, look for recipes for pumpkin bread, applesauce bread, spice cake, or gingerbread, all of which hold up nicely without any icing or additions. Though if you really can't eat your sweet breads without spreading on a little something, may I suggest using cream cheese on pumpkin bread? mmmmm... Of course, you'll be keeping a loaf for yourself!

The Santa Rules

Son loves to have schema for things, and if there aren't rules, he'll make them up. Of course, he prefers to follow the rules he makes up than the rules we make up...but then, don't all pre-schoolers? So, here's what he's come up with so far:

(1) "Santa doesn't bring you everything. He brings you two presents if you are two, and three presents if you are three, and four presents if you are four." Although he can count to fifty, he has yet to make it past year four in terms of the Santa presents. I'm personally hoping for 37 presents this year, but it's kind of a tiny glimmering hope rather than a giant flame of probability.

(2) "Sometimes Santa brings you things you asked for, and sometimes he brings you things you didn't even think of." He announced this on the way out of preschool today to a kid who was having a conversation with his mom about a particular castle he wanted for Christmas, which needed (obviously) to have "a cage for the dragon" as one of its features. Despite Son's knowing tone, the other kid just shot him a withering look as if to suggest that in his house Santa only brought exactly what one asked for. Son actually has this rule right in our house, as the List of Longing is filled with things Made in China, but Santa understands my corollary rule, which is "Santa only brings things NOT Made in China."

(3) "If you are bad, you get coal in your stocking. And if you are really bad, you get coal and reindeer doo doos." To which I, choking on laughter, immediately responded, "Who told you that?" "No one," he said. "But if you're naughty...." his voice trailed off. There was a pause. "I been verrrry nice." Indeed. If nothing else, he's been very amusing.

Fun Facts about the Martini Mommies

Information about MIQuilter that will finally make your life complete.

No, not really.

I’m the only mommy on this blog who doesn’t have human children. I have 12 furry legs in the house and dozens of scaly tails and gills but nothing at all with an opposable thumb besides myself and Husband. And I like to think that that’s ok.

I am the middle sister and thus obviously the black sheep of the family but I have the fortune of being only ½ hour away from a niece and nephew. It’s the perfect distance – I can see them any time I like, but I can also escape to a distance that exceeds their vocal range.

Over the past few years I have been in a first-third-of-the-life-crisis and have been searching for a much more interesting full time job than I currently have. Part of the problem is that most anything is more interesting than my full time job. The rest of the problem is that most things pay much less than my full time job.

I tried, for a time, to make baking my new profession. However, I realized that I got no satisfaction from it. You deliver a wedding cake hours before the event and never get to see anyone enjoying the fruits of your labor. And, I already have a job that I get no real satisfaction from… so I got very de-motivated to continue down that road.

Now, I have a fantasy where I can do web development ½ time to help pay the bills and then spend the rest of the time quilting. I’d like to be a famous quilter. I really am not interested in fame – but then fame in the quilting world is way different than, say, a movie star. Put a movie star in front of a hundred people and probably at least 80 of them will know the name of the star and at least one movie that they have been in. If you take that same room of 100 people, none of them might know the “famous” quilter. Even if it’s in a room of 100 quilters. It’s more along the lines of “poll 1000 quilters and if 1 recognizes your name and you do not personally know them, you’re famous!”. Hurrah. Really, it would be cool if anybody over the course of my life said, upon introduction, “oh, YOU’RE MIQuilter? I’ve heard of you”. That’s just the right level of fame.

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Truly Trivial Trivia about MultiplesMommy

I have been told many times that I was born in the wrong century. The people who tell me this clearly know me well. I double majored in college in English and Medieval Studies with a Comparative Lit minor (though MommyTime can still read me under the table). As you might imagine, there are neither hoards of American castles nor hoards of people who own castles that need a good medievalist. -sigh- So I went into marketing after graduation. Much more boring. More lucrative, but more boring.

I, too, like to cook. I’m not much of a baker, unless you count creative muffin making, but I do love a good dinner party, or even better, a fabulous brunch. I do all the cooking for our annual Hanukkah Brunch, which usually hosts 50-60 people. Nothing like Jewish food on a large scale to keep the cardiologists in business!

Though I can sew, I don’t often do it unless it’s a home dec project—I don’t have the patience for clothes.

I’m a super-duper type A personality. I like to think of myself as A+.

I’ve been painting miniatures (the landscape-on-canvas kind, not the military figures) for about a year and a half now and find out, much to my surprise, that I’m actually good at it. Miniatures appeal to me because they are small (instant gratification), very realistic (what’s up with that “here’s a black dot on a white canvas, we call it fine art” modern crap??), and highly detailed (Type A+).

I’m currently a stay-at-home mom with a 5-1/2 year old and 2 year old twins. I have my own business doing marketing, advertising and PR consulting part time. If I could have any OTHER job, it would be:

- Queen

- Interior Designer (I could go into MommyTime’s architecture business)

- Book store owner

- Actress

- Professional medievalist (I actually really love research in musty, old books)

- Independently wealthy with a villa on the southern coast of France and a bevy of super deferential servants (well, we can all dream)

Things I’m really bad at:

- Can’t catch a ball to save my life (eye doc says I have no depth perception, Husband says, “yeah, right”)

- Never could get my arms around geometry (how DO you graph an imaginary number—it’s IMAGINARY!)

- Latin. It sucks.

- Singing (my mother always said I was a lovely singer, I just didn’t sing well.)

Winter Magic

It has finally snowed (as many of you know). Here's what our world looks like right now:

We spent a fabulous two hours outside this morning. The kids got to experience the tobaggon for the first time. (Lest you think we were neglectful in previously depriving Son of this pleasure, let me say that while 50 degrees and t-ball were a fun novelty on Christmas day last year, I prefer big piles of the white stuff myself.)

There was so much snow that we didn't even have to bother with trying to fit the sled, the kids, the dog, hot chocolate, and who knows what else into the car. We just took the sled down off its peg in the garage, piled the kids on, and took off across the yard. They were delighted. Mostly.

Daughter really really really wanted to be outside. But then she wasn't really sure she wanted to be as soon as she realized she'd have to actually stand in the snow. So she lurked in the doorway of the garage until Daddy thought to bring out the sled. That was fun for a while, but the snow and wind were a bit much...so she and Daddy went inside leaving just me and Son to shovel the driveway.

Let me just say: our driveway is LOOONG. Fortunately, we have very nice neighbor who gave Son a spare kid-sized shove. This was a tremendous help, as you might imagine.

Of course, we had to take lots of breaks to do things like throw snowballs at each other, make snow angels on the hillside that separates our yard from the neighbors, and try to walk in snowshoes.

I wore Husband's and Son wore mine; this experiment need not be repeated any time soon, though it was quite funny to watch Son trying to walk in adult-sized ones. Having been inspired by the snow-shovel-gifting neighbor (an extremely generous boy of about 10, who gave up his favorite shovel so my son could have the red one while he kept the faded pinkish one for himself), we of course had to make a snow fort.



In just short of two hours, we only managed to shovel half the driveway. But since it is still snowing, and I am quite sure I'll have to shovel that first half again, I'm just not that worried about the foot or so of snow that still covers the bottom half of the driveway. It's not going anywhere. And we aren't either. We still have work to do in the bathroom (see yesterday's post). And besides, this snow fort might need to be enlarged.

Loving the small stuff

So today was uneventful in a no-Publishers'-Clearing-House-
surprise-visit, no-long-lost-relative-phone-call, no found-money, free-makeover, or kid-milestone-moment kind of way. And yet, it was a really lovely day. It makes me realize that I need to keep the computer turned off, put away the grading (even though it's the end of the semester), and do my best to focus on one thing at a time more often.

Now, I'm not that good at focusing on one thing at a time. This is a genetic downfall, I think, as I have a chronically over-extended mother, and two sisters who typically have approximately 37 projects going at a time. With two kids who are apparently made out of crumbs (at least, the amount of times I have to vacuum the house has led me to feel this is the only reasonable conclusion...either that or the dog is made of sawdust), a full-time job, and a house that is apparently able to mess itself up without any help, it's not that surprising that I've always got more than one thing on my mind. I NEVER make a phone call unless I'm also folding laundry or doing dishes, never set the kids up for breakfast without simultaneously scrubbing some kitchen surface. I find myself saying in response to nearly every request from Son to "come play dinosaurs" or choose "which car you would prefer" or "draw a snowplow for me" or "play domilos" (his pronunciation, not my typo), that I will "be there just as soon as I finish ____" [fill in the blank with current activity]. But here's the thing: unless the activity is changing a gross diaper, or supervising some safety hazard, there's really no reason I couldn't drop the damn laundry and come NOW. After all, the socks won't run away on their own.

So, today we made farm waffles for breakfast, snuggled on the couch for a while, and then painted the bathroom. The latter was an Important Job, in the sense that it was a prerequisite to installing the new toilet and sink...and I figure my parents who are coming for the holidays will appreciate having a bathroom in which they can do more than just take a bath. Right now, they can do nothing else there. But this was also a fun job. If, while balancing Son on the knee of my leg that was propped on a stool so that he could paint "all the way up high" on the wall, I had been able to take a photo, I certainly would have. There was something so loving and perfect about the moment -- both of us dressed in our paint-covered sweat pants, hiding in the bathroom so that curious Daughter wouldn't get into the paint, me holding him, him so very proud of himself for using a full-size wall roller. I watched that green paint smooth onto the wall, got a little giddy on the fumes, and thought to myself, "I hope he remembers this moment of closeness forever." I certainly will.

Of course, he got bored before the painting was done, so I finished on my own. But for at least a while today, I was only doing one thing. A project. A project with my boy. Something that felt connected, and productive, delightfully new for him, and thus delightful for me despite the many many many many many walls I've painted and repainted in the two houses we've owned.

Now it's snowing, and they're predicting a lot, and I'm thinking tomorrow will be another day of One Thing At A Time. We'll make snowmen, then cocoa, and then install the trim in the bathroom. Because, really, if I just keep running at full speed all the time to get through the next thing on my list, I'm afraid I'll wake up one day and find out that I've missed all the good stuff. Son asked me the other morning, after going to bed excited about the fact that the next day was his show-and-tell day at school, "Is it Tomorrow?" Unable to explain to him that any moment we're talking about is always Today and never Tomorrow, I just said, "Yes." But it made me think: shouldn't I really work a bit harder to be living in Today? So today I did. And it sure was grand.

Feeding frenzy

So, this post comes as a spin-off from a conversation on Mrs. Furious today, which started out being about the annoying presence of Splenda in so many things, like juice, that we want to feed our kids. The comments spiraled into artificial sweeteners, and then occasionally moved more generally to the feeding of kids...whereupon I brought up my own particular bugaboo: the pervasiveness of high fructose corn syrup (aka Liquid Evil) in, well, just about everything. It's only been a few years that I've been paying attention to this because, frankly, I never thought I needed to be a label reader. We eat pretty healthy food in our house, cook a lot, go to the out-of-the-way produce store on a regular basis, don't buy processed foods or junk foods, blah blah blah. I figured that if the only things we ate out of packages were bread, cereal, crackers...the stuff we really couldn't make ourselves...then all we needed to do was ensure "whole grain" was on the front of the box and then we were good to go.

As it turns out, however, HFCS is in bread. And cereal. And crackers. And yogurt. And ketchup. And jam. And fish sticks. And gourmet teriyaki marinade. And vinaigrette dressing. And soup. (Okay, so we do eat a lot of things out of packages, apparently, even though we cook.) You name it, it's in there.

My first objection to this is one of basic principle: if I wanted sweetened bread, I'd buy a cinnamon roll; if I wanted sweetened crackers, I'd buy cookies. But if I buy something whole grain to serve with aged Vermont cheddar, I don't want it sweet!

My second objection is to this specific kind of particularly insidious sweetener. Studies have linked it to childhood obesity and an increase in diabetes, in large part because it is soooo sweet and soooo cheap (relatively) that it is used in almost everything but it doesn't really satisfy hunger needs...so when we consume foods containing HFCS, we're eating empty calories of the worst kind. Addictively sweet, sweetening things that don't need to be sweet (like whole-grain bread for goodness sakes!), and not really satisfying hunger cravings, so we just want to eat more after we've eaten it. Though I'm far from a FOX news junkie, here's a good article that details some of the findings, with some useful links to studies.

The defenders say, "High fructose corn syrup (HFCS) cannot be singled out as a unique contributor to obesity," according to a recent study presented at the American Dietetic Association. And Pepsi recently sponsored a study that concluded that HFCS vs. sugar make no difference in how satisfied people feel after consuming a beverage -- though they are contemplating switching to sugar for some of their beverages. But my feeling is that even though HFCS isn't the only culprit (watch tv much? eat too much fried food?), it certainly isn't helping.

And, as I've already suggested, I just don't need or want the savory things in my life to be sweet. If you look around enough, you can find versions of all of the above without HFCS, but it's not easy. (Hint for those in MI: the Busch's Full-Circle brand of products don't seem to contain this odious substance, even in the ketchup! It's the only ketchup I've ever seen without it.) This drives me completely bonkers, though, because I try so hard to keep my kids in broccoli and carrots, whole grains, freshly-cooked meat and poultry...and then the stupid ranch dressing that makes all that veggie goodness palatable to Son comes full of more sugar than I'd let him have in a serving of cake!! I get that companies go for the cheap solution to sweetening their sweet products. It wouldn't surprise me to find this stuff in Hostess cupcakes, fruit punch, and the bazillion other food-like products out there. But, keep your sweeteners off my "healthy" foods, I say. No one needs the extra calories. No one needs to be enticed by extra sweetness to enjoy a mushroom-puff. And my kids really don't need to get so accustomed to everything they eat being sweet that they can't stand the taste of real foods with natural sugars in them like fruit. You know, steamed sugar snap peas are actually sweet--unless you're so used to sweetened applesauce that you can't taste natural sugars anymore. I don't want my kids to feel like they're drinking o.j. right after brushing their teeth (that horribly tart comeuppance!) every time they bite into an apple. So I buy them no-sugar-added everything I can find. My one tiny stand against the food machine of the world. Maybe they'll even like a few vegetables when they're adolescents at this rate. One can only hope.

Lies we tell our kids

Tonight Son came downstairs 15 minutes after being tucked in with a familiar complaint in his arsenal of bedtime hold-ups. This is a hard one to handle because it is about a real issue--unlike requests for a third drink, or claims that he can't sleep because daddy didn't send me up to kiss him, after I'd sent daddy up, after I'd already done the first tuck. Tonight the issues was teeth brushing. Occasionally, like tonight when I'm doing bedtime alone with both kids as Husband had to stay late at work, we forget to brush Son's teeth in all the flurry of Daughter's bottle, diapers, lotion, jammies, and so on. Son NEVER forgets, though, thanks to the story he learned at preschool from a visiting performer who gave the kids extensive lessons in tooth care. It has apparently been seared into Son's mind that if he doesn't brush his teeth every single night, the Cavity Monster will come and pound holes in his teeth. Not just if he doesn't brush for weeks in a row. Not just if he is generally lazy about mouth care. But if he doesn't brush tonight, the Monster will show up as soon as he falls asleep tonight and terrorize his poor little mouth. This is pretty scary for a kid who spent several weeks about a year ago waking up crying with worry about monsters, one who himself has a stuffed monster that he occasionally requires me to display around his room so that the "invisible monsters" will know he has a protector by him all night, one who takes comfort from the story we have which clearly pictures monsters as lurking under one's bed because his bed has no frame but sits flat on the floor leaving no room for monsters underneath. And so, when he appears with a quivering lip and tears in his eyes to tell me in a whimpering voice that "you forgot something; you forgot to brush my teeth...and the Cavity Monster will come," I have to jump up and right this wrong. It's not that I'm that worried about this teeth (bad Mommy) but that I hate the idea that he will be too scared to sleep well.

And this incident has me thinking tonight about the lies we tell our kids. As far as I can tell, they fall into three main categories:

Lies to make things more fun...
"I have no idea what we'll find at the end of this treasure hunt"
"Santa Claus flies around the whole world in one night with the help of his flying reindeer to bring children like you presents once a year"
...which mostly mean we enjoy creating surprises to watch the joy on their faces.

Benevolent or protective lies...
"Only policemen are allowed to have guns, so that they can protect you from bad guys"
"Your birdy flew away to be free and join all the other birdies playing in the trees"
"I don't know why that lady is crying"
...which mostly mean we want to shield them from the uglier things in life as long as we can.

And lies to scare the bejeepers out of them or threaten/bribe them....
"Children who don't eat their vegetables aren't strong enough to be able to ride a bicycle"
"If you don't brush your teeth, the Cavity Monster will come a pound holes in them"
...which mostly mean we can't think of any better way to get them to do what we want.

As you've probably guessed, I feel pretty conflicted about these scary lies. This isn't a matter of cut-and-dried principle. Santa is coming to our house in a few weeks. I've sheltered Son more than once from the idea that grown-ups--even parents--can die. He knows vaguely what death is; we have a fish tank. But I really don't see the need to suggest to him yet that he could lose his own parents. I see the value of many of the lies we tell our kids, for all sorts of reasons. On the other hand, do we really need to scare them to the point of tears to get them to brush those perfect, sweet, tiny little teeth? Mightn't there be a better way? And how do we tell before we scare the pants off them what lies are "worth it" and which ones aren't? I have no answers, only questions on this one. Input anyone?

A Pirate Christmas for us

We've been doing our best to get into holiday spirit around here...hanging stockings, putting up twinkly fairy lights on the banister, getting a real tree we have to water every morning, you name it. Husband and I have recorded ridiculous quantities of Christmas movies--from the new(ish) Polar Express to that puppet-figure Rudolph we used to watch every year when we were kids. And we listen to the holiday music channel when we're just hanging out. The other day, in the process of getting bundled up to go choose a Christmas tree, we had to take a hiatus to play with fun hats.

And while the hat thing is pretty funny, nothing beats the Santa imitations they've been trotting out. Basic background: we have a dress-up box with lots of pirate gear. We have a daughter who pretty much copies everything Big Brother (pronounced "Bruh-errr") does. And we have a three-year-old who has got it firmly in his head that Santa says, "Yo, ho, ho!" With a round belly laugh, and an effort to make their little voices as deep as possible, my two kids run around the house playing Santa and shouting "Yo, ho, ho! Merry Christmas!" Since no matter how many times I offer them "Ho, ho, ho!", they persist with their own version of the Santa greeting, I've been fighting the urge to insist that Son don his pirate eye patch with his Santa hat.

So, in the spirit of getting into the spirit of the season, supporting the joyousness of children, and delighting in everything that bespeaks happiness, "Yo, ho, ho! Merry Christmas!" to you all...

P.S. I'm happy to keep focusing on food and exercise...except I'm not doing any of the latter, and I don't know if anyone else is either. So I'll use this space to post funny, weird, or maybe-worth-talking-about things till any/all of us get back on the bandwagon... Today's calories: 1511.

You can't argue with that logic

"Mommy, lean forward a little bit."
Mommy, who is sitting comfortably on the couch, quite reasonably asks, "Why?"
"So I can hide behind you."
"Oh."
Son puts his face very close to mine, so he can whisper the next part: "But don't keep that in your mind. Because we're playing hide-and-seek, and you need to look allllll over the place everywhere (gesturing widely with arms) to find me."

As the plate comes close to being cleared, Mommy slips one more small piece of pizza onto it. Son looks down at his plate and says with some surprise, "Hey, who put that pizza on my plate?"
"The Pizza Fairy," I say. This standard response typically provokes giggles in our house. Not this night.
"No," says Son sternly. "There are no fairies in town."
"How do you know?"
"I haven't seen ANY fairies lately, and they haven't come by, so I *know* there are no fairies in town."

Adventures in eating

I've decided to put yesterday's 2000 calorie bonanza behind me and focus on today. So far, very healthy. Breakfast this morning saw me eat one waffle (barn-shaped, of course, since we only eat "farm waffles" in our house) with plain yogurt and a dab of mango sauce, half a grapefruit, and one perfect-but-rejected bite of bacon off daughter's plate. Husband, similarly restrained for him, ate 2 waffles, 2 slices bacon, and 1/2 a grapefruit. Kid tallies were stunning. Daughter: two rooster waffles, one slice bacon, 1/2 cup grapefruit juice (she only weighs 27, so that's pretty darn good). Son: THREE waffles (all cows, his favorite) and a whole grapefruit. And he only weighs 44! After-breakfast conversation, while drawing a face on a monster and roaring, included the matter-of-fact announcement: "I'm much ferociouser than you, mommy."

Other around-the-table good times...as we're eating lunch together yesterday...
Son: Mommy, why are you moving that glass?
Me: Because I don't want Daughter to reach it and pull it over.
Son: But she can't reach it.
Me: Well, she might try to lean over and reach it.
Son: But she can't reach it. Her arms aren't long, you know (gesturing with his own arms to indicate length). They are very short, short like a Tyrannosaurus Rex.

As the whole family is out to dinner last night (aka the pizza insanity)...
Son: (petulantly) I don't *want* that kind of bread. I don't like it.
Me: Just taste it.
Son: No. (arms crossed over chest)
Husband: Here, Son, just try it.
Son: pouting, bites it
Husband: Well...?
Son: Nooot Bad! (proceeds to eat four more soft bread-sticks as fast as humanly possible)

Ain't food fun!

20,000,000,000,000,000 calories of pizza

Well, perhaps that's a little exaggeration. But after such a healthy breakfast and reasonable lunch, our whole family went out to dinner. "Hooray, pizza!" the kids sang out in the car on the way to the restaurant. I proceeded to consume one slice shy of HALF a pizza. All I can say in my own defense is, Husband ate the rest, and at least I didn't eat bread sticks too like the rest of them did. Oh, and I've discovered that if you eat pizza to the point where you feel as if you can't actually swallow the last bite because you've completely filled up not just your stomach but your esophagus too, you won't be totally 100% comfortable stretched out on the couch later. Just in case anyone was wondering...

Will-power is E-X-T-R-E-M-E-L-Y difficult

So, I was very very careful today in terms of both portion size and food choices. I resisted eating even a single nibble of the kids' chocolate-chip muffin that was the obligatory snack after an afternoon of lost-mitten-hunting and Christmas-tree-procurement out in the cold. I even threw out a portion of the muffin rather than cleaning their plate for them. For me, this constitutes huge progress. I probably could have chosen not to eat any of the yogurt and granola that I got for Daughter in that coffee shop, but I was hungry, so I ate half of it. Despite myself, I find that at the end of the day I have consumed 1643 calories. Thing is, I'm still vaguely hungry. Not starving, mind you. But feeling like a few crackers with cheese would be welcome. Today's a stay-at-home day, and it leaves me wondering if really I should not have checked "sedentary" for my activity level when I plugged my stats into the calorie counter. I did, after all, pick up and chase after two kids all day, stretch myself out on thin ice (literally) to rescue a mitten that made it out onto the half-frozen pond in our subdivision, as well as sweep the kitchen THREE times and mop it once. (It's not that I'm bad at these things and thus miss spots; it's that the kids are actually made out of crumbs.) So perhaps my activity level should count as "light." If so, that raises my daily needs from 1749 to 1981 for sustenance. This seems more reasonable, in the sense that I should aim for 1481 to lose weight, rather than 1249 which just seems like it would feel like starving myself. But still, that means that I've consumed 140 calories too many already today. This leads me to two points:
(1) Joshenry: you are my hero! I have no idea how you are sticking to a 1000 calorie diet -- both in terms of willpower and in terms of what the h*** you are eating. I couldn't possibly imagine what the meals for a 1000 calorie day would look like.
(2) Apparently, I need to exercise. If only I had done something like spent 30 minutes on the treadmill today (the real one, not the one that just feels like a treadmill because I'm repeating orders to put on coats and boots 100 times in between sweeping up Play-doh for the umpteenth time), then I could actually have a tiny snack right now and STILL be within my calories for the day.

And this begs one question:
What do I do if I don't have the energy to exercise? Donutluvr, how do you do it while chasing after a kidlet and wearing yourself out at work and at home too?? Any advice you have would be most welcome!!

Counting Calories: About as much fun as changing diapers

So, I really don't love counting calories, but I really do love my-calorie-counter.com, and here's why:
(1) I can type in what I ate on a given day, and it will give me lists of options of what exactly the food was, so that it does most of the hassle for me. It even breaks foods down to carbs, sugars, proteins, etc., so I can make sure I eat enough veggies. (I don't.)
(2) It has all these cool tools (under the "Tools" tab--go figure) that will do stuff like calculate how many calories I need to eat each day just to live (the BMR calculator). This makes it easy to subtract 500 per day to figure out how many I can eat and still lose weight. As an aside, Joshenry, at my current height, I can eat 1200 per day and still lose a pound per week, so you with your svelte several inches taller than me could certainly up it from 1000 and still shed pounds...
(3) It has lists of exercise too, so not only can I plug in what I ate, I can plug in what physical activity I did (assuming I ever get off the couch again and stop just sitting at the computer), and figure out what my calorie net for the day was. So, if I'm supposed to eat 1200, I can eat 1700 and exercise for -500...get it?
(4) Though there are all sorts of features supposedly available only to premium members, there are some pretty cool pie charts (mmmm....pie......) and other sorts of graphs to show me my progress, my food proportions, etc.. Annoyingly, the calorie totals for the day are supposed to be a premium feature. But I figured out that if you go to the "Daily Charts" tab once you've plugged in the day's foods, you can figure out your calorie totals by dragging your mouse over the first bar graph (a pop up will tell you how much you ate).

Having discovered that today I've consumed 1330 calories (not including those two tiny candies I ate a while ago)--and this on a day where I was very very careful not to eat junk at work, to have portion control at lunch, etc.--I have learned several things from this calorie counting process. First, don't ever open a new bag of Trader Joe's chips while in the we're-all-starving-and-dinner-can't-get-
cooked-fast-enough time of day. Second, have an actual exercise plan whenever there is candy in the house. Third, grody hot chocolate from the machine in the building lobby at work is a HUGE waste of 140 calories. Why not just get grody coffee and consume only a few calories of milk? Even better, why not make GOOD coffee at home, or save the hot chocolate calories for later at night, when I can steam real milk myself instead of drinking some powder dissolved in hot water???!?

So, anyone who wants to join me in this: start adding the day's calorie intake to your posts. It's like a little game.

Welcome Donutluvr!!

Ah, yes, the shrine to the glorious donut is nigh, like a beacon in the night, and lo, you must eat some! Though I don't have a small portion of my brain or soul devoted to the worship of said small round fried object, I do totally get that love affairs with food are an essential part of existence. My newest favorite fix is to dip into the blog archives at smittenkitchen.com and relish the so-gorgeous-it-makes-me-want-to-taste-the-computer-screen photographs of food. Such a procedure, while admittedly gross, has far fewer calories in it than anything in my pantry. It's no donut, but it might be worth a try.

Thanks for joining our little band. You will hands down out-exercise us, but maybe we can all start working on the eating thing too, since I see Joshenry has become stoical about all the deliciousness that's around right now (1000 calories per day?!? That's seriously hard work.). And since I apparently can't do much more exercise than to follow my exercising family with my eyes, I'd be up for working on the calorie counting too. This site: my-calorie-counter.com is pretty great. Anyone else up for trying this too?

say it isn't so!

but wait... it IS.... I exercised again today!!! 30 minutes of cardio. And that's it. The extra strength building exercises I did on Mon and Tues have my muscles feeling it (in a good way) today. I thought I'd give them the day off.

I had no idea that more than just me had a cat-hair riddled elliptical trainer in the lair in the basement. Huh.

I actually did a full 30 minutes of cardio!!!!

In a record-breaking fit of enthusiasm I did a full 30 minutes of cardio today!!! I got done with reading my paper and cnn news was on so I didn't go crazy on the treadmill. Today I also focused on legs doing squats, lunges, leg lifts, donkey kicks and a bit of stretching. I don't know what's gotten into me but this exercise thing isn't all bad.

I forgot to mention to joshenry yesterday that the peppermint mocha drink sounds AWESOME! I can see how it could lead to a downfall. My challenge is Christmas cookies. I'm doing all my baking this weekend so I'll continue to have piles of cookies all over the house... it's tough to not eat them when they taste so yummy. So far, I haven't been able to stay away from the cookie jar (I baked this past weekend too).

What? Did I actually exercise?! YES!!

I think that I was on the same place in the parade route as MommyTime (with the bandwagon miles away) until today! Thanksgiving week ended on a much weaker note than it started... those 3 exercise days ended up being all she wrote (or all I biked, one of the two). Last week was worse.... no exercise at all! I was in a training class all week which got me up an hour and a half early every day. This meant that I was so exhausted all week I didn't have the energy to work out or the time - since I normally get my exercise time in during lunch and I had a working lunch in the training class all week.

This week started on a MUCH stronger note. At lunch I did almost 30 minutes on the treadmill and then followed it up with seated dips, push ups, sit ups and lunges. I feel GREAT!!!

To joshenry - we have an elliptical creostrainer that is very rarely used - how much were you planning on spending? I'd accept a reasonable offer for mine if you're interested.

No More Peppermint Mochas!

No physical activity going on with this mommy lately, but I have been seriously shopping for an eliptical machine. I know I must have shopped online for at least thirty minutes 2 or 3 times this week. Does that count????
I think this weather makes us all want to stay in near a warm fire under a blanket!
I did very well with my eating this week- so I AM proud of that! Down 3 pounds due to limiting my calories to roughly 1000 per day- and no martinis, wine, or peppermint mochas . . . I really became hooked on those last month. They are a delicious way to consume 800 calories.
Imagine my surprise!! I will admit that I was quite hungry at night, but was happy with the way my clothes fit at the end of the week.
I will continue with my 1000 calorie plan until Christmas and will try to squeek in some physical activity. Hope everyone has a great week!

PS- Tell son that I, too, have seen those invisible arrows- Mine are leading me AWAY from the goodies in my pantry . :)

The Bandwagon's so far ahead, I can't even hear the music

For reasons impossible to identify, I have actually lost four pounds since the doctor's office weigh in (this one seems real). This is entirely NOT due to my exercise habits, as that is actually an oxymoron in my life. I have not exercised one single time since my last post. On the positive side of the balance sheet: everyone is still happy, wearing clean clothes, getting educated on a regular basis, and making huge messes in the house which I valiantly try to clean. I have finished the Christmas shopping and wrapped everything that has to be mailed far away. There are times when just keeping the house running is as much as a body can do. So, here are the funniest things Son has said lately:

At the children's museum while building with wheels and gears: "This race car is going to be *even more fabulous* than the one we built last time!"

On meeting his sister head-on inside the collapseable tunnel: "You can't go through this way. Get out and start at the other end." To which I responded, "No, that's not true. It's a two-way tunnel. She can go through either way." His matter of fact reply: "No she can't. See, there's a big, invisible arrow pointing like this (indicating with his hand) that says you can only go through this way."

Daughter's new favorite phrases:

After I, for example, sneeze: "Ah-choo, mama, ah-choo," deliberately enunciating every syllable.

And, when anyone tries to help her do just about anything: "I do it."

I would like to adopt that last one, "I do it," as my exercise motto....hmmmm, we'll see how that works. Has everyone else fallen off the bandwagon too? It's been awfully quiet around here lately.