Seasonal Affective Grumpiness!

Snowflakes? Really?

I realize blogging about the weather is less than worthless, but here we are again, captives in our own house. Watching the grass grow tall enough to mow before we even get a chance to get any grass stains. When we do try to get outside, the chickens don't even bother leaving the warmth of their coop. The kids are cold after 15 minutes and we all end up back inside!

The result, of course, is general restlessness... and grumpiness. A morning playdate ended early when five kids got too wound up to be contained by one house. Rest time began early when two little girls who are usually best friends couldn't decide whether to play kitties or horses and dissolved into an extremely rare hitting match!

All I want to do is watch a movie marathon and dig into the ice cream hiding out in the freezer. But no, even at 32 weeks pregnant, I can't let myself give in completely. While this growing baby flips and flops in his own increasingly cramped quarters, we'll try to find a new way to build a fort out of the same two sheets and three chairs that have sustained us since that first snowfall in mid-November.

Oh, and dance party! There is always dance party.

Stumbling into Spring

Ahh, the babymoon. An advent of the modern tourism industry, surely, designed to eek the last bit of travel money out of us parents-to-be before all travel stops for a bit. Given time considerations and, um baby-girth-to-airline-seat ratios, we opted to drive north instead of fly south like the rest of the world.

As always, Superior was a balm to the soul.

We found a wonderful hike nearby, trudging through the slush to reach a lovely overlook. I've discovered the recipe for the perfect day for me: a vigorous, you might even say overly-challenging hike, followed by a massage, followed by a luxurious dinner.

As it turns out, the perfect day of the four we snagged away from the kids was also the only day Joe managed to do much of anything. The guy that miraculously avoided the plague that swept our house in March, who rarely gets a cold, was nearly motionless most of the weekend.

He still is. And apparently will be for some unknown number of weeks to come.

I won't dwell on the fact that at 29 weeks pregnant, this baby thing is just a shadow of the cumbersome challenge it's likely to become for the next 11 weeks. Or how badly I don't want to be sick during these last, fleeting weeks with the freedom to focus on the girls and snag extra sleep. I'm refraining from all google-based research on incubation periods and durations of illness.

Nope. Extra meditation. A lot of perspective. A little creative planning to make things easier on myself even as I give Joe all the leeway I can to get himself healthy as soon as possible. Perhaps a plea to whoever is operating that voodoo doll to let us loose....

I'm glad I shrugged off the notion of a complete second draft before June. There will be time again some other day. For now, bring on the lysol and wish us luck!

Quiet Blog...

But a noisy house. We are a symphony of hacking coughs and sniffles with little to blog about other than petty, whiny laments.

This morass of compromised health happens every March, and we will rise again to tackle new dance moves and science experiments. Until then, bring on the brownies and the comfy sofa. We must rest!

A Paradox

Somehow, they are best friends outside. The girls run from invisible monsters holding hands, create sandbox cupcakes for their captive customer (that's me!), and feed dandelions to those happy chickens.

But inside, small plastic chairs are launched at one or the other's head. Hair is pulled. Toys become hostages.

Maybe the difference isn't that extreme. We do have the occasional happy tea party, but I am looking for creative outlets to keep us busy during this rainy week.

Bugging Out

The blog has been sputtering these last few weeks, along with pretty much every other aspect of life around here. After 16 days of bothersome (but minor) illnesses affecting everyone in the house multiple times, we have emerged healthy, disoriented, and buried under a sizable "to do" list.

We have been oscillating between waves of energy, when it seems we have conquered the last of cold and flu season, and the doldrums of sleep deprivation and ibuprofen dosing schedules, when we realize someone else has landed on the couch. I don't mean to complain. We've been so much healthier this year than last, but as nurse-in-chief, I must say I'm glad it's over.

And what a time to be sick. The weather has been unreasonably perfect. The yard and garden are calling out for attention. I'm in the middle of a chapter on my latest writing project. Maya is working on riding her new big kid bike, and Elle is learning to reliably keep her unders clean (slowly).

These along with a dozen other little projects have all stumbled over the past month.


Now healthy, it's hard not to feel overwhelmed. It's hard not to expect the perfect day. You know the one. Everyone eats healthy, watches little or no television, does interesting projects, and plays creative games. I get time to write, exercise, and maybe even read something interesting. The girls go to bed early and us adults have a quiet evening to gather ourselves for the next day. Those days do happen, but it has been a while since we have enjoyed the normal rhythms of our life.

There are worse things. I'll set aside the whining. Particularly since today is shaping up to be one of those gold star days: good meals, chipper kids, and a bug hunt that lasted all morning.

The girls helped me capture bugs in little bowls. We brought them into the gazebo as models for our bug drawings. Then we released them....


In the chicken run! The chickens loved it, though my inner Buddhist feels a tad guilty. Hey, it's the circle of life right?

My favorite Maya quote: "Let's find another one of my favorite REALLY gross bugs... Ina loved that one." She meant the creepy, nasty grubs we kept finding.

My favorite Elliot quote: "I'm gonna BONK that one."

Maya's portrait of bugs. Her rendition is much cuter than the actual specimens.

Chasing Away Charlie Brown's Birthday Cloud

Technically, last week was birthday week for me... I reject it completely and will claim my do-over when we're all recovered from birthday week fall out.

Elliot falling asleep in the car. Her look there sums up how I felt, mostly.

For four days I couldn't drag myself off the couch. So much so, in fact, that I sent the girls to my mother's for their own safety. I kept falling asleep when I should have been keeping them out of trouble, and it seemed better to beg for help than wait for child services to show up with a run-away-Elliot under one arm and foster care papers under the other.

Maya, springy as ever.

I once thought that a week at home without the kids would be great, but as it turns out, no amount of mediocre "Watch Instantly" Netflix videos makes up for infected sinuses and an inflamed throat that no doctor will agree to treat... that was, until I begged, pleaded, and shouted "think of the children." Also, my forced recuperation was mocked by record high temperatures and lovely flowering things all over my backyard. I didn't even have the energy to drag myself out to the hammock!

Not only was the time alone more miserable than I could have predicted, but it was interrupted.

That's right, I had to drag myself off the couch to stand in line at the DMV, take the eye test in spite of the illness-induced blur, and take the stupid picture. Can't wait for that to come in the mail! It should be lovely.


But Charlie Brown's rain cloud dissipated yesterday. We had a lovely Easter morning hunting eggs around the house, and then headed off to the Minnesota Zoo's Animal Babies exhibit. This is a favorite yearly ritual, so we were lucky to all be well enough to enjoy it.


Because as of yesterday evening, I'm the healthiest one of the bunch. I'm off to administer ibuprofen and vics vaporub... This cloud will move on soon, I'm certain!

Fashion Cuts

Maya has developed a passion for hair. She styles her own. She commands me to provide her with French braids or the ever-popular 5 pony tail look.

At three she cut her own hair.

Now, at 4, she has cut her sister's hair, along with her Barbie pony's hair. Shortly after we unpacked our Christmas loot (thank you, thank you, thank you ALL!), I stepped downstairs to sort laundry. I was gone for maybe 15 minutes, I swear. The scissors are stored on a high kitchen shelf, I swear.


When I skipped up the stairs to resume my role as the friendly giant in the adventurer's trek to the volcano, I found my girls deeply involved in a new game. They sat amid a pile of brown and pink and glittery bits of a hair. Maya was hard at work trimming one pony, while Elliot sat nearby with another... supposedly in the queue.

According to Maya, her pony simply HAD to have a haircut. She just couldn't see through all of that dangling hair.


After administering the requisite lecture, making Maya pick up the hair, and banishing the scissor to an indefinite above-the-fridge time out, I sent them off to play. I had to laugh in solitude.... HA, I had cut my first My Little Pony's hair soon after I got it too. Plus, the giver of the pony commented on the pony's excessively long, glam locks as soon as it was removed from the box... It seems that Maya agreed. This horse needed a trim. It was all very funny!


Until I found a light brown chunk of hair on the play room floor, baby soft and slightly curled. Poor Elliot was short a patch right up front. I dithered for a week or two, wondering whether to let it grow out or simply bob it off.


As you can see, the results are adorable, but I definitely teared up at the sight of all those baby curls resting on her shoulders!

Age of the Superbug

Perhaps it's time I admit it. I am becoming a germophobe.

In just 4 short years, I've made the remarkable transformation from a healthy adult with a solid (if mistaken) belief in Vitamin C supplements and the mantra that colds are for wimps to a neurotic, half-gallon-of-CleanWell-Hand-Sanitizer using, I-think-I'm-getting-a-sore-throat, Web MD obsessed crazy person.


I'm part hypochondriac, part apocalypse soothe-sayer, and part... well... mother.

Of course, it's the mom bit at the root of all my neurosis.

Before motherhood, or more accurately, before mothering a preschooler, I could afford to laugh in the face of minor illness. Before motherhood, I could curl up with a bottle of NyQuil and an Audrey Hepburn movie and sleep uninterrupted until I was healthy. Before motherhood, I was sick only once a season, at the most.

Now here I am with two little germ spreaders and our first of many expected minor illnesses this season.

Along with brightly painted pictures of autumn leaves, Maya brought us all a cold. Unfortunately, in the age of the superbug, each cold puts me on edge.

So I'm watching their colds and mine for any similarities to the H1N1 symptoms (none so far). I'm reading the literature on MRSA staph, the antibiotic resistant strain that my neighbor recently contracted and we should all be concerned about. And I'm scrubbing every frequently-touched surface I pass. Thankfully my favorite cleaning product, vinegar, is purportedly a great germ killer as well, so I don't have to depend on those nasty chemical companies.


I ask you, how does one find the zen in germ warfare? How much yoga do I need before I can resist the urge to don a gas mask each time Maya wakes up with the sniffles? I'm off to find out.... :)

Hmm, maybe I'll swap the yoga for banana cake and peanut butter frosting, as long as the cooks wash their hands!

Well, then, there is your dose of crazy for the day. And mine too!

Technically Speaking

It's always something, isn't it....

For some reason, Internet Explorer is refusing to display the blog correctly. I'm tracking down the problem, but my time is as limited as my computer programming skills. In the meanwhile, if you are having trouble keeping up with us, try downloading the Firefox browser, which works flawlessly every time!

Is "No Kids" the New "No Smoking"

Now that smokers have been safely sequestered to their own balconies, backyards, and automobiles, what is the next social ill our society will battle?

Surprisingly, it's not the jerks addicted to their Blackberries and their Bluetooth Earsets, ignoring present company while talking loudly into the ether.

No, it's the kids that have to go.

According to a recent rant on CNN entitled, Excerpt: Parents, Your Children Aren't that Special, kids these days are so undisciplined and unruly, they shouldn't be allowed out of the house. Unless, of course, curmudgeonly author Jack Cafferty's own semi-abusive father puts the fear of a stiff belt into your kid. Then certainly, they will be silent, terrified, and allowed to lurk near decent people.... You know, the people ignoring their dinner dates while twittering away on their iPhones.

It is not his call for discipline that I object to, though I suspect we differ in our methods. It is his, and increasingly everyone's, intolerance for children in any public setting.

I'm not taking my girls to 5 star restaurants, night clubs, or contemplative museums. No, its my favorite neighborhood Greek place that is now "take out only" for us. Even when Maya was dining quietly, everyone from the wait staff to the grandmotherly ladies lunching at the next table let loose an audible sigh and an eye roll when we sat down.

Even in the St. Paul skyway, as we traveled to the renowned Minnesota Children's Museum, we got disgusted looks and the occasional comment from nearly everyone that passed by our admittedly cumbersome double stroller. Should I disguise them in a catering trolly next time, to keep those around me calm? No, no, it's not a child (eeew), it's just D'Amico catering....

It wasn't my children or their discipline that was a problem in the skyway. I once pulled Maya out of a Target because of her excessive whining; and I've never had to do that again. The mere suggestion is enough to prevent a meltdown.

No, in the skyway, Elliot was totally quiet, and Maya was busy asking charming questions about the businesses we passed and where our friend's baby David was playing.

Sadly, it wasn't their behavior but their mere existence that angered the people around us. Children in restaurants, with high chairs that narrow the walkways. Children on airplanes, fidgeting and bored. Lately, even children in parks, walking too slowly for joggers and bikers, who incidentally, are talking on their cell phones.

Regardless of the behavior of my children in these situations, in fact, even when my girls are being pretty enjoyable companions, the adults are annoyed and often outwardly rude.

It is their existence that everyone is objecting to. Many don't even bother to deny it.

Maybe these child haters don't understand that well-behaved adults don't spring fully formed from the delivery room simply because their parents sign a "3 Strikes and I'll spank you" Discipline Doctrine. Or maybe they aren't aware that keeping kids in a kennel until they're past "that annoying age" (which for some can stretch past 25), is illegal.

Kids learn positive social behavior through good parenting, of course. Discipline is part of that;. But they also learn through kindness, mimicry, and practice. If we shut them away until they are 18, they might still emerge in their first restaurant throwing mashed potatoes on the nearest waitress (to be clear, my kids have never done this).

In a world where people feel entitled to grimace and be obnoxious at the mere appearance of children in a public place in the middle of the day, I am afraid to bring my children out in public.

If I do, will they learn to mimic the eye rolls, snorts of disgust, and general rudeness that all of these so-called sophisticated adults shower on them? Between texts and twitters of course.

Next time I take them out, maybe I'll drape them in shirts and flare that reads, "Future Taxpayer," so their financial value is readily apparent. Or maybe something that says, "Be nice to me, I may be your heart surgeon some day."

Or for the sake of my girls, maybe I will keep them at home and in the backyard where they'll get not only discipline, but kindness, and a little leeway as they learn the rules of common decency.

Even at home?

Seriously, even in the world of Stay at Home Parents, men have a higher value.

No, no, I realize we live at the dawn of a new age where discrimination is on its way out (yeah right), and the Obama administration's first legislation promoted equal pay.

At this week's Early Childhood & Family Education class, there was one dad.

The whole crowd of moms, when asked to introduce themselves all had the same instinct: justification. Each mom in turn, introduced herself, her child, and then, her lifestyle.

If she had employment, usually part-time or her own small business, it was trumped up with enthusiasm. If she wasn't employed, the most recent job was tossed out along with hopes for future employment. By the end, I think we could have written each other's resumes.... and we were definitely keeping a few others in mind as networking opportunities. At least I was.

The lone dad introduced himself as a stay at home dad. He offered no background regarding education, former or future employment, or other popular markers of self-worth.

He said the words "Stay at Home" with pride and confidence. Dare I say, a little self-satisfaction? And his announcement was met with intonations of approval, even delight from some of the others at the table. OOOooh. What a dedicated father, seemed to be the agreed upon sentiment.

I realize this seems like a small sample size, but it is only one anecdote from my 1.5 years of Stay at Home Motherhood. It's the same everywhere. At the grocery store, I get annoyed looks from others if my child is screaming or trying to open a package prematurely, while the dad next to me, having the same issues, gets complements from the same customer.

It happens on the playground, at preschool drop off and pick up time. Stay at home mothers are supposedly dummies that couldn't hack it in the real world, or are lacking in appropriate ambition, while stay at home dad's are heroes, dedicated parents sacrificing some of their time to fully parent their children.

Sound like a double standard to you?

Some of this judgment, I realize, is my own. Just read Mommy Wars and you'll know what I mean.

But much of it is real, and it's just not fair...

ZZzzzzz

Oh dear. Here's another good public radio program if you're interested. Midmorning's Why We Sleep.

We all know that sleep boosts our immune system. Now, new research is demonstrating the link between sleep and all sorts of other metabolic processes. A good 8 hours of sleep per night can prevent weight gain and promote weight loss. An average of less than 7 hours of sleep per night can lead to a substantially greater risk of heart attack, among other alarming side effects.

The program is mostly geared at over achievers who are artificially limiting their sleep so they can get more done. That is definitely not my issue. I'm now going on my third year of involuntarily interrupted, rarely dependable, usually 6 hours per night sleep habits. I miss my 8 or 9 hour sleep habits... I miss long, involved, crazy dreams.... and now, I face the grim prospect of long term associated health problems.

Good grief.

Those of you who can... luxuriate in your zzzz's!

Bombs Away!

No, this isn't a post about the upcoming inauguration and my hopes for a more peaceful future (though that has been occupying my thoughts!) No, this is a bit of a rant about one of our latest purchases.

I'm assuming all of you have heard the latest household toxin to avoid: BPA or Bisipherol A. It's an estrogen like toxin in many plastics (and other household items) that tends to leach into our food and bodies in tiny amounts. Cumulatively, these tiny amounts can be incredibly harmful to growing neurological systems.

When the information on this latest little terror started mounting, our family ditched as much of it as we could. We tossed our brightly colored plastic drinking glasses in the recycle bin, trading them out for the classic 1950s aluminum cups that have made most of our guests sigh with nostalgia for grandma's house. We replaced many of our sippy cups with BPA free NUBY cups.

And for Christmas this year, Santa wisely brought Elliot a fancy, stainless steel Kleen Kantene sippy cup. The thing isn't cheep. It was $20, including two tops, compared to $4 for a NUBY. But it is oh so chic in the high fashion world of stay at home, suburban, hype-aware parents.


I did like it at first. It doesn't leak unless shaken really hard or tilted just right after a big drink (sadly, that's better than most of the other cups we've tried). It has a sort of funky look. At first the only drawback was that it's a bit heavier than her other cups, but she managed it just fine.

Maybe a little too well, in fact.

She now wields it like a weapon! She has actually dented the stainless steel along the bottom in several places, simply by hurling to the ground with all of her considerable might. I don't want to think about what it would do if it connected with my toe... or the window.

Occasional buyer's remorse is one of the drawbacks to my (and Joe's) uber decisive personality. It doesn't happen often, but this is one instance that I can't deny. Next time I'll consult this lovely review of BPA free sippy cups and bottles, which has a surprisingly wide array to choose from, and then consider the weapons grade potential of the actual item before I purchase it!

Yet it's fashionable, still works, and was spendy. So for the next year or so that Elliot will require sippy cups.... Bombs Away... hopefully away from anything breakable.

Hats off to Parents on Holidays!

Thank you mom and dad!

Until this year, I didn't really realize how much work it is to prepare a good Christmas for kids old enough to remember the experience!

First, there is the challenge of shopping for gifts. The girls were really well behaved when we shopped for everyone else, but it was still exhausting.

Picking out their gifts obviously requires a babysitter (thanks DO!), and a working knowledge of the grandparent's gifts for the girls, so that we don't accidentally shop off of the same list! When we finally do think of a few good things, we grapple with the big question: which one is from Santa? Do we get the credit for the best gift, or does the scary man that breaks in through the chimney... the man Maya won't even wave to at the mall, unless she is peering safely down at him from the second story balcony outside of Herbergers!

And it's a good thank Maya can't read! I found her coloring on the Amazon.com invoice of her Santa gift today.... One more year, and that might blow the whole charade!!

Don't forget the gifts for the preschool teachers. Other parents compared gifts for bus drivers, piano instructors, coaches, etc (obviously they have older children, so I guess I can see what's on the horizon.) Some of the mom's even bought gifts for the other kids in preschool. That's exactly what I needed, 20 chocolate Santas to defend. I, along with several other NON over achiever parents vowed to abstain from that level of compulsive giving.

Then, of course, there are the non-gift related traditions we're all trying to maintain. We wrote up a list of nice things Maya can do for others this holiday season (help them make their beds and give hugs were the two biggies!) We're waiting until she's a bit older to establish a volunteer tradition. We made the construction paper chain, to help her understand when we get to go to the farm, and when Santa comes... Oh, and lots of classic movies have been featured during these cold evenings.

And the baking! How are we expected to have at least a few different goodies and STILL fit into our holiday garb? I've taken to chewing gum while a bake, so I can't sneak the chocolate chips!

Not to mention all of this must be accomplished while still fulfilling regular life requirements, fresh, healthy meals, creative play time, regular work and preschool schedules....

Phew! I haven't even started packing for our week long hiatus from baby proofed surroundings and regular schedules!

Hopefully, it gets a little easier with practice, but still.... Thanks mom....

Hats off to Parents Everywhere!

Joe Six Pack?

Is anyone else appalled that we middle class Americans have earned the nickname "Joe Six Pack?"

It started with Palin's relentless attempts to mask ignorance and carelessness as "average," but the media has really picked up on it. Suddenly all non-elites qualify as "Joe Six Pack." My status as a "Mainstreeter" for the past two weeks has been hokey and annoying, but "Joe Six Pack" is just offensive.

The moniker is a derisive way to tear down the middle class, suggesting that all working Americans live only for the beer at the end of the day, and can't possibly muster the intellectual capacity required to fully engage in complicated political conversations of the day.

Think of your reaction to similar nicknames, not by a friend but by the people you have elected to represent your interests: Joe Weedsmoker, maybe then it would be Mary Jane McDooby... or Joe Scratches-his-butt.... or Joe Eats-too-much-chocolate.

Anyone of those might be descriptive for some or all of the average Americans it is trying to reach, but is that the key descriptor we want our leaders attributing to us. "Hey country of complacent, alcoholically-numbed simpletons, vote for me, cause I get 'ya."



Well, that has worked for 8 years, why should we demand more respect as the economy crashes around us, our political leaders threaten armed conflict with two or three new countries, and our main concern is how pretty one VP candidate looked in her bikini 20 years ago.

Perhaps I'm just bitter that Palin didn't implode last night, instead retreating to her "safe" topics of energy, her non-elite status, and the democrats as tax-raising-job-killers every time Biden's impassioned, reasonable, and clearly well-understood responses left her floundering with no prepared, relevant material.

I must say, though, that the Joe Six Packs in the house would be in the undecided category if one VP was a presidential candidate (hmmm, I didn't actually notice him when he was one, so he's probably best at #2). Biden was inspiring,very clear, and very respectable.

What a fantastic ticket we get to vote for!

Tell me, Please, Palin is no Hillary....

Tell me that you listened to Barack's speech last night.

Tell me that the video took your breath away, especially given the stark contrast with the last two DNC conventions that left all of us saying, well, he's not Bush.

Tell me that the speech that followed, especially the bit about "we're a better country than this" and the bit about it being his grandmother's night too and the bit about "we are all patriots" brought you to your feet in your own living room with the energy and excitement that only comes from hoping that we may be able to recover the lost ground of the past 8 years.

Tell me that McCain's running mate, Alaskan Governor Sarah Palin, will not steal Hillary's supporters since, other than both having a, um, hoo-ha, they share little resemblance.... Certainly not the pro-woman, pro-family, pro-health care, pro-choice policies that Hillary has spent a lifetime supporting.

Tell me that getting ahead in politics as a woman doesn't mean you have to be come a cross between Ann Coulter, George Bush, and the Brauny paper towel guy.

And tell me, please tell me that the democrats have some obnoxious, media-stealing news blitz planned for the day after McCain gives his undoubtedly dull and un-newsworthy speach at the end of their convention.

I can't stand the game... it's all too stressful!

Michelle, ma belle

Did everyone listen to Michelle Obama last night?

It is worth listening to online, if you missed it. I remember being 13, listening to Hilary Clinton at the '92 convention, and being excited to hear a female orator with strength and enthusiasm. Michelle Obama likely made history last night, setting herself up as first lady in an idealistic yet efective presidential duo that will work to right the wrongs created in the Bush presidency.

At least, I hope so.

Of course I would rather have the inspiring, strong female orator cast in the role of presidential candidate rather than spouse. But unlike Hilary's die hard supporters, who appear to be threatening mutiny at the convention if they don't get.... I don't even know what they want... Unlike them, I have no problem supporting Barak Obama.

I'm am just a little afraid. It's like watching Phelps swim. You know they are all probably sincere. The ideas they espouse, not just the poetic way they present them, stir a deep desire in most of us to participate in changing the disparities in the world around us. I, we, hope and expect them to work toward these goals with sincerity.

Seven years under the most duplicitous executive branch in history understandably leaves me watching the convention with my fingers crossed. Let's hope the Obama's can deliver.

During the Olympics I kept thinking, this would really suck if Phelps turns out to be on something.... like so many other athletes. Now I find myself with similar thoughts regarding past political disappointments.

Here's to hoping they're not on anything... like a simple power trip.

Memory Zen

I woke up cranky this morning! I was disgusted that after spending a good portion of the wee hours trying to teach herself to walk, Elliot woke up radiant and ready to play at 6 AM. Joe was at the center of my crankiness (although he accepted his half of the midnight duties with equal... um... zest and pride for our little over achiever), because it was his turn for the early shift and he was in some sort of coma.

I was mad at the nanny for not clocking in early...

I was really just tired... but, ooh, I was mad.

While Elliot cruised around her high chair, stopping periodically by the foot rest to grab the cheerios I stashed there, I slammed around the kitchen making coffee and contemplating the likelihood that I'll sleep more than 6 hours at a crack within this decade.

Just like Little Critter, I was so mad.

Without anyone to be mad at, I was subconsciously preparing to be crabby all day. I snapped at Maya when she wanted to select a different television show for her morning entertainment. I snapped at Joe when he assured me he'd get up early with her tomorrow. I think I even had a sarcastic comment for Elliot when she got tired of chasing the cheerios around her high chair and squawked to be free!

As I stormed about, I realized that Elliot, the little angel, only wakes up this early a couple times a week. Maya's routine was a 5:30 wake up call. All of those mornings, or most of them, I woke up with Maya regardless or how many times she had been up the night before. Yet as crabby as I was this morning, I only vaguely remember being upset now and then that I would never sleep again.

My memory of the sleep deprivation during Maya's babyhood, and of my own crabbiness about it, has almost completely faded. I very clearly remember watching the Morning Show, sipping coffee, and chasing Maya as she crawled gleefully to the stairs or the fireplace or the outlets as needed. I don't remember, but must have had, days of crabbiness at Joe, at the world in general... at Maya? over the unfairness of it all.

This morning, I decided that since most of us don't remember much about the mediocre crabby days, I wasn't going to have one. If I'm going to forget it anyway, I might as well get over it now.

(This doesn't ring true for all of the other little things about my daily life that I'll forget, like the joyful but horrifying tenor of Elliot's baby voice as she babbles at 3:30 in the morning - but it does hold real possibilities for so many other stupid things I stress over daily but won't remember by next week. I need to relax!)

My theory worked, or maybe it was the pot of coffee. Anyway, today will not be forgotten as a middling crabby day. It will be remembered (by two of us anyway) as the day Unk rode on the Teacup Ride and visited the zoo.


It will be remembered as a great day!

Three Years Ago...

Just three year ago today, I wasn't a mother.


I spent the entire day in a quiet house, with my feet up, reading a good book. At one point I took a very slow, very quiet walk around the local park. I did not stop at the swings. I did not inquire about anyone else's need to use the restrooms.

I took a nap, all by myself. I probably watched crappy daytime television - a program of my own choosing - before drifting off. I woke up gradually, on my own time. Without anyone needing my immediate attention.

Joe returned, after a long day sitting for an exam, bearing a bucket of KFC. We devoured our junk food not at the family table amid stern statements such as "don't bang on that" but in front of the television watching The Aviator.

Three hours after the movie was done, Maya Elizabeth was born.

Most women love to tell their birth stories, or at least the stats (24 hours! Sorry mom), but rarely do we share those last moments before the chaos. I'm happy to look back on my last childless day and know that I spent it fully and completely relaxed, doing exactly what I wished as the mood struck.

It may not sound like much fun to you, (in fact, I know many who would complain about having nothing to do on such a day) but as I listen to Elliot's dramatic demands for a power cord to chew on and Maya's polite request to please eat my "chop stick" (meaning lip gloss), a quiet, unassuming day of freedom sounds like nirvana.

Earth Day - Shmirth Day

Does anyone else loathe birthdays?

I love the idea of them of course (not the getting older bit so much as the me, me, me theme). No, I tend to feel the love of my family and friends and the depth of my good lot in life more on a random Tuesday when the girls are tucked in and we take a moment for real conversation and a good glass of wine. For me, along with nearly everyone I know over 21, the reality of birthdays tends to be a depressing rush of schedules and expectations that never quite line up.

Earth Day 2008 has shaped up in much the same way.

Elliot in Joe's Old Chair

Yesterday, I was definitely in the mood to celebrate our connection to mother earth. It was finally over 70 degrees! We were outside nearly all day, slathered in nontoxic sunscreen (Blue Lizard has been my favorite for three years now!) Maya and her imaginary friend Butrik bonded in the sandbox over mud-pie (atta girl Maya), while Elliot rolled around on a blanket eating grass and developing a strong tolerance for common allergens. Meanwhile I raked, dug in the garden, and scouted our yard for the best place to plant my 6 new raspberry bushes.

Maya (self styled!) at play.

I felt especially mother-earthy when I nursed Elliot in the shade of a tree in our backyard while Maya chased a worm around in the flowerbed.

Today, though, I’m just not feeling it. None of us are. Maya was only marginally interested in painting the planet earth picture I drew for her, refused to make the crafty “rain stick” out of a paper towel roll and rice, and spent our entire walk to the park in her stroller eating goldfish crackers rather than scouting out birds and bugs. Apparently you just can’t force Earth Day.

My less than sunny mood is probably caused by endless MPR stories featuring the interwoven crises of environmental degradation, gluttony (in the developed world), and poverty (everywhere else). It’s hard to feel good about rededicating ourselves to compost and low flow showerheads when food riots in Cairo and environmental refugees are the problems we’re trying to solve.

I’ll let you know if I discover a more effective way to bring the global battle for balanced survival to the level of the household. In the meantime, I’m going to track down an American Elm tree with Dutch elm immunity… I’ll just celebrate Arbor Day early; it’s less depressing.