I Ain't Too Proud To Beg (For Your Favorite Traditions)

Thanks for indulging my trenchant observations on religious journeys and God and faith. I appreciate all of the comments and emails. I love hearing your stories, and learning about where your faith — or lack thereof —comes from (both are fine in my book) and what faith means to you. For me, now, believing there is something out there brings me a sense of peace and comfort in a way it never has before. Thinking there is a some sort of force or spirit or guiding light makes life’s difficult moments easier to get through. And it is nice to have an extra recipient of thanks for the good. At the very least, faith provides practice with giving thanks and asking for help. Who couldn’t benefit from that? And I have a feeling that strength, patience and faith — my personal trinity of trouble spots — can all be cultivated through and with and during this sort of journey. The funny thing is I thought that I gave up on any sort of spiritual journey and it turns out I never even started.

But now, more on some of my personal gods on earth. This is why I love Mary Karr and her new book, Lit: “Joy, it is, which I have never know before, only pleasure or excitement. Joy is a different thing because its focus exists outside the self — delight in something external, not satisfaction of some inner craving.” What a great comparison of three seemingly similar emotions. Isn’t that something to strive for? To feel that sort of joy? Not just satisfaction and not just contentness. Nor just pleasure and excitement. But pure joy. Lately (and over the years) I feel like I have had little pockets of that sort of joy. And I ride that little wave as it crescendos and crests and then pounds back down to reality. I am not sure it is possible, without major drugs, to live in a state of extended joy. But those pockets, when everything feels so right, feel so good.

I am not above trying to create such joyous moments either. Manufactured joy might lack the genuiness of spontaneous joy but I will take and make what I can get. This is where I need YOUR help (and you get a special pat on the back if you can say that like Dora the Explorer). I love the idea of creating special traditions, and I am not above stealing yours. Here are a few that I have read about already and plan on stealing and incorporating into my life (or already have):

• I read somewhere about leaving a trail of glitter by a window to indicate that the tooth fairy came. How perfect is that? Of course the Tooth Fairy leaves a glitter trail!

• A friend emailed me a great idea: Leave carrots out in the snow (or, on the chance that it is not a White Christmas after all, on the bitterly cold earth). After the kids go to sleep, chomp them into bits and scatter them around to make it look like the messy reindeer indulged. That is a nice add-on to the tried-and-true cookies for Santa routine.

• Carey wrote about keeping Christmas presents at a sane level by buying kids something they want, something they need, something to wear and something to read. Four gifts, (plus stocking stuffers) seems rational, as my first inclination is to go crazy and spoil the girls with tons of presents. That said, we have been pretty low key about gifts for them around here and encourage relatives to wrap up recycled toys of their own children as presents.

• Nicole and I go to this place on the eve of Christmas eve every year. We have been doing it for 7 years now. It just isn’t the Christmas season without our annual farmhouse mac and cheese and chicken and leek pot pies.

So help a girl out and tell me some of your favorite traditions that I can weave into my own life!

Pictured above: Nicole and the girls bird-watching. Avery is quite the pro at using her “noculars,” just like Mommy. Also pictured, speaking of eyewear, have you been to Sunglass Hut lately? I swear they are not paying me to say this but they have this great new system set up where you can try on glasses and then email the photo to friends or post it to Facebook! How great is that? Also, it really helps to look at the pictures to determine what looks good on you and what looks ridiculous. I liked these glasses, but balked at their almost $400 price tag. I ended up with a pair of Ray-Bans that I love. Of course it is rainy all day so I won’t be going outside and wearing them. And finally, Annie and I at the Northampton Hot Chocolate 5K. I surprised myself by running the whole race without taking a single break! It was freeeeezing! And I experienced one of those little moments of joy when, as Annie and I walked together after the race, I saw Nicole slowly making her way toward us with a bundled-up girl holding each hand. Endorphin rush plus good friend plus wife and kids plus hot cocoa in a mug warming my hand equals mini moment

Let’s Talk About God and Jesus and Religion and Me, Shall We?

I am no Jesus expert, but I bet if Jesus had a choice, he would rather be associated with the American/Canadian holiday of Thanksgiving and not Christmas. Even the most faithless and heart-hardened of people will start at least one sentence with “I am thankful for…” on that day. But Christmas is all about Santa Claus and presents and Christmas trees and little penguins and polar bears with pom-pom hats on and, in certain parts of the world, apparently, figgy pudding. Doesn’t exactly scream “Happy Birthday, Jesus!” to me. Poor Jesus, he gets lost in the commercial-y, tinsel-y shuffle.

Maybe it is the time of year and the crèches I see springing up in front of churches in the starting-to-look-a lot-like-Christmas land of Massachusetts, but I have been thinking a lot about God and Jesus and religion these days. It is an understatement to say that I was not raised in a religious family. In fact, I was (am) so uncertain of my religious roots that I would frequently ask “Wait…are we Protestant or Lutheran?” I am pretty sure I got a different answer each time I asked. And I am still not sure: My grandparents’ funerals were in an Episcopal church. What? I was never baptized, which is something that bothers me to this day. I am so shaky on some of the basic tenets of religious study that it is embarrassing. Who was John the Baptist and why are there so many churches named after him? What are the differences among the major religions? And what is the deal with the Holy Spirit anyway?

I have wispy memories of going to Sunday school as a child. But all I can conjure up are piecemeal memories of little paper Peanuts cups filled with sickenly sweet Juicy Juice fruit punch and store-bought cookies in earnest arrays on paper plates with paper doilies. While the adults were upstairs robotically singing hymns and dozing through sermons, we were downstairs coloring pictures of Jesus in his trademark pose: Serene smile and arms spread out, with animals and children at his sandaled feet. In the spring we would run around in the cemetery. I can still see those yellow and purple crocuses peeking out of the season’s last remnants of snow; such tenuos life amongst so much death. But this plus singing “Jesus loves me, this I know, cuz the Bible tells me so” does not a believer make. And I don’t think that was the purpose of Sunday school anyway: I am pretty certain my parents (who did not attend church) used Sunday school as a free babysitting service once a week and not as a place to build a religious foundation.

Most of my friends growing up were Catholic, and I was jealous of that. As a person who loves rituals and routines, I longed for — and still do — the weekly church visits, the stand-kneel-sit-kneel-make-the-sign-of-the-cross directives and the Midnight masses on Christmas Eve. There was an invisible thread that connected them. I wanted to be on the inside jokes of religion; to be allowed to complain about how I have to go to Mass on Wednesday night; to talk about how awful a certain sermon was. To be able to talk about God and say “Thank God” and “bless you” after someone sneezes and not seem like such an imposter. I would go to church with my friends and go through the motions and even take communion (which apparently is not allowed?) and think “I can be a part of this!” I was the religious equivilant of a garish American in Paris, wearing a beret and nibbling a croissant and smoking Gauloises cigarettes (inhaling the French way, of course) and talking Jean-Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir and thinking “Wow! I really blend!” A part of me felt like people could see right through me and I stuck out like a sore thumb.

In college, I took a course on Christianity. I thought this would be a piece-of-cake class; a guanrenteed A. I finished the two-hour final exam in twenty minutes, and not in a good way. I left the essays blank and guessed on the multiple choice. By the end of the test, I wasn’t even reading the questions; just coloring in random letters on my bubble sheet and praying (ha!) for the best. Surely God would help me with this? I did not study for it and barely paid attention in class and rather cockily assumed that I would somehow just know everything. I think I expected the fill-in-the-blank portions of the test to be questions like “______ is the son of God” and “Dead people dressed in white with wings and carrying harps are called ______.” After the final, as fear of failure (and existential religious doubts) started to seed itself and sprout like a weed, I went back to my room and drank a 40 ouncer or two of Olde English (that extra “e” at the end of “old” is how you know it’s old) and ate a packed of string licorice, followed by vegetable tempura for dinner and an Erasure dance party in my room. I don’t think I need to go into details on how that evening ended. Where was God when I needed Him? Certainly not helping me avoid that awful hangover or pass that test.

When I am the beneficiary of something miraculous (blessed? So many concepts have a reliogious word and a sanitized word to describe them), like the birth of two healthy girls after a long road of trying, or the beneficiary of something amazing, like a vacation home in Massachusetts, I want to get down on my knees and thank God. I want to think He is responsible for it for all the good that comes to me. But if I give him praise for the good, then I also have to blame him for the bad, right? Is that not the old-as-the-ages question? Is the God who orchestrated my miracle babies also the God who presided over my miscarriages? “I damn you to three dead babies [insert gavel pound sound and lightning strike].” What kind of God would do that? On a less self-centered angle, what kind of God would let a billion people starve to death every year? Was God on vacation when millions of Jews were killed during the Halocaust in the most atrocious ways for believing in Him in their own way? These are the things I have a hard time reconciling in my head. It is easier to assume that my girls the results of an expensive boxful of drugs and intramuscular injections and a team of extremely capable doctors. And my vacation home is a tangible representation of Nicole’s hard work and not God’s handiwork.

That said, I am not God-less. I am not atheist. I don’t believe in nothing. The only proof I have for the doubters of my personal version of faith: My email password is a message to God (and, no, I can’t share it, since that would obviously render my email account vulnerable). But I am also not a follower of organized religion. There is not some neat slot for people like me. I feel like a poser among the faithful and an outcast among atheists. I can see both sides, but my views rest somewhere squarely in the middle. I think God is good God. I don’t think he hates me because I am married to a woman. I don’t think he gave me miscarriages to punish me for some transgression, minor or otherwise. He forgives and forgets. I don’t believe in the devil, but I believe in devilish qualities, like greed and selfishness and self-centeredness. And I don’t believe in every word of the Bible because it is in my nature to question everything I read. My friends and I sometimes have a hard time piecing together stories that took place twenty years ago. I can’t remember the name of the main character of the 700 page book I read a month ago. Believing every word of stories written thousand of years ago? Hard to believe there isn’t even a modicum of artistic license/hyperbole going on there. I’d like to think if the Bible were rewritten now, it might include passages that support gay marriage. Just like if the Constitution were written now, there might be some more parameters about the right to bear arms. Alas, both are open to interpretation, which, unfortunaletly. Usually leads to death, destruction and war. Not very God-like.

But while I don’t subscribe to any one organized religion, I like to take comfort in the some of their slogan messages and cliches: That God won’t give me anything I can’t handle and that I am never alone and that I can let go and let God and that He is everywhere. In the details, indeed. That Footprints in the sand story brings a tear to me eye every time. I like to think I can pray to God to help find the answer to a perplexing problem. After all, isn’t praying just deep thinking? I like to think there is a pre-determined framework for my life; that there is a plan for me; that my life isn’t just a random string of events. That I am exactly where I am supposed to me. That Nicole and Madeline and Avery were destined to be mine. That my friends are my friends for a reason. That I am here for a reason. Isn’t is comforting to think there is a plan? Isn’t it comforting to think there is something behind it all? How great if we all could believe in a force completely, the way a child believes so fully in Santa Clause or the Easter Bunny. Even if we die and there is nothing there, what harm does it do to spend our lives surrounded by a benevolent force? Even if it is just a farce? Believing in something doesn’t seem like such a bad way to spend a life.

And I think Jesus was really cool. My friend Jen was telling me how she describes Jesus to her kids, and it is a beautiful image. He was a man who loved and forgave and tried, even when people hated him, didn’t believe in him and, in the end, killed him. Now that is a good person. There is a cold woman who lives in my building who refuses to say hello to me and everyone else, and when I see her I am filled with mean thoughts of “I hate you!” OK, maybe “hate” is overstating the case, but I think we can agree that Jesus and I wouldn’t have the same thoughts here. I match her scowl with my very own and turn away from her the way she turns away from me. Not very Jesus-like of me.

Jesus seemed easy-going and so very Zen and not terribly preachy, even though he was a preacher. What a skill that is! If he were alive today, he would be the guy friend who would insist on coming over to my house when I had a bad day and cheer me up with a pint of Haagen Dazs and a bag of Herrs Sourdough pretzel nuggets (feel free to amend this image with your own treats). He would watch a cheesy Lifetime movie with me and after the movie and salty/sweet snack, he would reassure me and tell me that it will all be ok. But I don’t pray to Jesus, and I don’t know why. I pray to God. But the idea of Jesus makes it a little easier for me to feel God.

Praying does not come easily to me. When I pray, I feel like a mic-less background chorus voice on the giant Metropolitan Opera stage. Does He even hear me? Does it matter? I feel silly sometimes, talking to someone who may or may not be listening. I feel like it is too selfish to pray for myself. And yet, when I have gone through difficult times and my friends tell me they are saying a prayer for me (my friend Jen and her toddler twins would every night), I am filled with such hope and honor and sereneness and gratitude. When random strangers smile and say “God bless” to my children on the street, I say “thank you” and mean it. When I was going through infertility and miscarriages, I prayed for strength, patience and faith. And that, if you look carefully, is in order of easiest to hardest for me. Strength, yes: I can be strong, physically and emotionally, mainly through my ability to live in denial. Patient: Ehh. I have never been one to wait my turn. I even have a hard time waiting the one minute for my Airborn tablet to fizz up in my water. And faith? I have been let down and knocked down enough in my life to make believing in things I can’t see a tad difficult. So I prayed to God and asked for those three things and not for a baby. And in the end, I got two babies. How can that not be an answered prayer? Regardless of whether or not there is a God, that is indeed an answered prayer.

I am reading Mary Karr’s latest biographical masterpiece (she is amazing), called Lit. When I was getting my hair cut recently, I tore through about 15 magazines. I can’t remember which one I read it in but there was this Mary Karr quote about how a friend challenged her to pray every day for a month, guaranteeing it would change her life. She thought it was ridiculous. But she did it….and it did. I am hoping she touches on that in this book.

Religion is not just about my personal quest/satisfaction/curiosity anymore. I want to raise my girls with some sort of religious foundation. I want them to grow up appreciating the views of different faiths and, when they are old enough, decide for themselves whether they want to formally declare themselves a part of a certain religious family. Or not. I want them to know that Santa isn’t the only reason for Christmas. And not just know that, but also feel it. I want them to adhere to the fine print of most religious groups: Do unto others… and love your fellow man… and judge not. Share. Love. Give. Forgive. Repeat.

But, as I said to a friend recently, this will be a challenge. It is like saying I want my girls to grow up and love eating sushi, but I never take them out to Japanese restaurants while they are growing up. It isn’t going to happen organically. How are we going to do this? Nicole is a lapsed Catholic and I am ignorant Protestant/Lutheran/Episcopalian whose personal religion fits into no category. Nicole does nurture a very academic interest in God and Jesus and religion and religious studies. There is always a nonfiction book about religion on her nightstand and she listens to the NPR religion podcasts. She has more religious morals than almost anyone I know. And yet together we have not figured out a plan. We don’t go to church, since we aren’t a card-carrying member of any religious group and also, if I am being truthful, because trying to wedge in a few hours of group worship each Sunday seems impossible. But even though I don’t want to sacrifice our precious weekend time for that doesn't not make my commitment to God and religion and a growing faith any less. I can find my God where I want.

My religious education, which never quite got off the ground as a child, is starting to take flight now. As I said earlier, I think about God and Jesus and religion a lot now. I am trying to figure out how I can be baptized and not be a member of a particular church. I am trying to figure out how I can be a part of some religious community. I am trying to figure out who God is to me. Is He the first responder? Or last resort? Or everything in between? One thing I DO have figured out: He is something to me. And right now, that is all I need.

There. I feel better getting this all out.

And if you need any proof that there IS a God: My children slept to an improbable 9:00 a.m. today, which gave me time to pound out this post. Hmmm….

Pictured above: The stocking are indeed hung by our chimney with care. Reindeer? Check. Snowmen? Check. Christmas trees? Check. Jesus? Ummm…. Missing in action. And, the house in the snow! And a picture of ice on trees. Let me warn you: I take a lot of pictures of ice/snow on trees, and I will post them. And the girls and their cousin.

When an Extra Hour Feels Like a Present

Here we are in December, on the final countdown to Christmas. We have started talking about Santa Claus with the girls. Avery in particular seems to have a preliminary grasp on the concept: Santa will bring her surprises. And Avery love her surprises. Right now I am lucky because even a gummy bear vitamin qualifies as a surprise in her book. I know we won’t get away with so little in the near future, but for now, it works, and I will be working the low-key angle, the “here is a Post-it Note!” surprise as long as motherly possible.

I have a love/hate relationship with this time of year. I like the magical/good will qualities that everyone else does, as well as the anticipation. And, of course, the gifts. But, paradoxically, I don’t like how presents become the main focus. I don’t like the commercialism, the buy buy buy mentality that I can easily fall prey to. Like if I don’t own that snowman candle then Christmas just won’t be Christmas. I don’t like battling the throngs at toy stores to hunt down gifts for nieces and nephews that are sure to disappoint them within a week anyway. I’m not a fan of the massive, slow-moving, picture-snapping crowds in New York City, making simple errands a battle of me and my giant stroller vs. the masses. But despite all that, it really is the most wonderful time of the year, as the song says. I am really enjoying it. And I am looking forward to New Year’s Eve. Even though it has been a long time since I have been able to stay awake till midnight, I am a sucker for that turning over a new leaf feeling that a new year brings.

As an early Christmas present to me, the girls are sleeping an hour later than usual. Instead of getting up around 7:30, they now lounge in their beds till 8:30, or later. I have so much time in the morning that I barely know what to do with myself. We still put them to bed by 7:00 every night, and the only thing that has changed is that Avery has become the consummate staller. Ten minutes after their door closes, Avery is calling for us. We go in (I know, I know) and we are greeted with her issue du jour: Current favorites include “I need my kitty” and “My nipples are gone” (she is obsessed with her nipples) and, that old chestnut, “I need water.” Of course, Madeline is up for the duration of Avery’s Need Cycle. So technically, while they are going to bed at 7ish, they aren’t getting to sleep till closer to 8. And that is pushing their wake-up time.

I am counting down the hours until we leave for Massachusetts, as I do every week. The thrill is has not worn off yet. Tomorrow I am running a 5K, which I am hoping won’t be so hard since I run more than that each day on the treadmill. But outdoor running is very different, so I am prepared to be humbled. My brother and his family are also coming up, with a U-hual of things from their basement. Since our furniture hasn’t shipped yet (another few weeks) I am happy for anything we can get! I want to get a Christmas tree and take the girls to see Santa, but that might wait till next weekend.

One Christmas present it looks like we won't be getting: Legalized same-sex marriage in New York. Way to eff that up, New York elected officials. Color me bitter. I didn't go to any protests, and I feel kinda bad about that. But it all just feels so futile. Which, of course, makes me what to beat a hasty retreat, because I generally don't like to undertake anything I can't succeed at. I guess that is one of the things I need to be working on next.

Pictured above: Be honest: is this the artwork of a future serial killer? Or a future Kandinsky? Avery has a very distinctive drawing style. She literally vibrates as she creates these masterpieces! Her style is quite different than Madeline’s, which is the typical toddler giant scribble. Also pictured, Avery in her crib. She likes to sleep with all of her friends, a veritable nest of stuffed animals. And finally: A stack of letters. I send the girls a copy of every Christmas card and birthday invite or holiday card that we mail out. When they are older (or moms, hopefully, themselves) I will give the the whole stack. It’s fun that they are postmarked. I think it will be a wonderful memento for them one day, to be able to go through all of the messages and pictures.

Thanksgiving and Control and Mashed Potatoes and The Talk

We are heading back up to Massachusetts on Tuesday night for an extended stay, and, just to beat a dead horse here, I am so excited. The excitement/thrill of it all is not fading at all. And this time I am not just excited to be escaping the city for the country, but also because this means for the first time ever, Nicole and I will have Thanksgiving alone. Normally, we are the one trotting off to everyone else’s home for this (and every) holiday. And not just holidays: We usually are the family members that go to other’s homes, period. We established this paradigm way back, and it is one that is hard to shake.

I said that once we had kids, we would stay put more often. So we had kids (nothing like reducing years of infertility down to a few words; like it was soooo easy) and we still are all over the place. Yes, the holidays are about family and spending time together but I have to remember that we four are a family, too. And I don’t want my kids to remember holidays as blurry images they see from the back seat of a car as we drive from family home to family home. I don’t want them to rush through Christmas morning so we can get in the car and beat traffic. Maybe I am saying all this to assuage my guilt, but, I must say, I am looking forward to our first Thanksgiving alone.

Thanksgiving dinner will be a semi-simple affair: Turkey, stuffing; mashed potatoes with crispy shallots and a roasted fall vegetable medley. I’m thinking a few well made dishes will trump an abundance of so-so dishes. The thing is, I am really good at making so-so dishes. I would never say I am a great cook, but I would say I do make a few great dishes and then mostly a range of solidly just fine, it’ll do dishes. And I am really good at ordering pizza. I am trying to have patience and concentrate on making the best mashed potatoes I have ever made and an extra flavorful fall veggie medley that is appropriately tender and crisp. Nicole is in charge of the turkey and stuffing because I can’t handle stuffing a raw turkey. Nor can I handle reaching into the birds cavity and pulling out that bag of…what is IN that bag anyway?

I wonder what the girls will eat. I have tried to get them to eat mashed potatoes about 10 times and they turn their little noses up at it. Over the summer, my mom made them mashed potatoes from a box and of course they LOVED them. How oh how could they love that crap? How do they have a taste for synthetic food at such a young age? Fresh, homemade mashed potatoes eschewed for flakes of potato product mixed with water and milk? I don’t understand the toddler palette at all. I just can’t make those fake potatoes for them and will keep trying to get them to eat the real deal.

Speaking of food, Nicole had The Talk with me. The Talk about weight loss and unhealthy attitudes and all that. Two summers ago, I was running a lot and eating too little (it was summer, and hot and humid) and just on the go with the girls and I lost a little too much weight. Once I saw femur bones and ribs I cut back a little on the runs and ate a little more and tried to find a happy medium. Of course, this lead to….massive weight gain. No one does yo-yo dieting like I do. I am the Oprah of my social circle in that way (without the billions). My yo-yo range is about 20/25 pounds, and I gain and lose it almost yearly. When am I going to stop that? Good question. I know it is not healthy. I am not sure what exactly yo-yoing does in the long run, but I am sure it isn’t good. People will talk about how it destroys your metabolism, but mine seems just fine. My body responds to exercise really well, and it always has. It also responds to a lack of exercise really well, and it always has. Lesson here: If I exercise regularly, I lose weight. And if I don’t, I gain weight. Simple. So I usually exercise. What helps is that I really do love to exercise: It is my hour of alone time every day. I really look forward to it.

When it comes to food, my biggest issue is I don’t know moderation. Actually, that is my biggest issue in life. I do everything full throttle. I don’t overdo it on most food, but, like most people, I have some trigger foods. Pretzels are top on that list, followed by things like Samoa cookies or Gummi bears. All those things I can eat in their entirety in one or two sittings. And then I will punish myself for eating so much but cutting waaay back on what I eat the next day; in part organically (I am stuffed) and in part to create a calorie deficit. This creates an awful cycle. So because I don’t know moderation, I cut out. It is easier to say no to pretzels than to say, ok, I’ll have a few. And that sucks. I need to master control and balance and moderation, and quick, before my girls get any older.

While I am about ten pounds more than I was at my crazy summer bone-showing low, Nicole pointed out that she could feel a rib or two. So I have been put on notice. My attitude toward exercise is healthy, but I do suffer from body image issues, which never seems to alter no matter what end of the weight spectrum I am on. Where does this come from, this bad body image? I need to figure that out too, so I can make sure my girls don’t go through all this BS.

On a random note, I asked Nicole to pick up some strawberries on her way home from work, and she came home with two pounds of strawberries; two pints of white raspberries; a pint of blueberries and a pint of blackberries. Talk about lack of moderation! Looks like I will be packing fresh fruit to take up to Massachusetts.

Pictured above: Toddler pile up. I was trying to read on the floor, but me in this position usually attracts company. And trees glorious trees, in our backyard! And the girls running around the house. In Christmas sweaters that are too big but I don’t care. They are so cute (The girls and the sweaters).

That Peaceful, Easy Feeling

So my head, my brain, all my extra thoughts are centered around our new house. This knotty-pine covered, red-tin roofed home in the woods that I can’t stop thinking about it. This house has been a miracle. Its very presence has injected something into me that I can’t quite explain. Part hope; part direction; part easy, peaceful feeling. It just makes me feel calmer all around. And Nicole, too. I don’t think we realized how badly we both needed this/wanted this until it actually happened. It all still feels like a dream.

We are heading up today for the weekend, coming back Sunday, and then we will be back up on Tuesday night for the rest of Thanksgiving week. This will be our first Thanksgiving alone. Usually Nicole and I are the ones traveling to other’s houses for this holiday, so I am really excited to just stay put and take up this cooking challenge on our own. We had to buy a roasting pan and one of those turkey basters, and we still need various other Thanksgiving accoutrements that you don’t really think of unless you are the one doing the cooking. Nicole is in charge of the turkey and maybe stuffing, and I will make the mashed potatoes with crispy shallots and harvest vegetable dish. Oh, and apple pie. I really want to keep it simple, but that is getting harder, because Nicole keeps adding must-have items to the menu.

On this weekend’s agenda: Christmas card pictures. I am bracing myself for the nightmare of trying to photograph toddlers in dress attire and in happy dispositions. I am looking for nothing short of a Christmas miracle. Anything that shows them look in the vague direction of the camera with even a hint of a smile will qualify. We are doing it ourselves: I have a tripod and a shutter remote and a control-freak streak that won’t allow me to ever have anyone else do it for us. And my dad got me a new camera for [early] Christmas. It is amazing! It is a big step up from my last Canon SLR, with a much better ISO range and a faster processor. It is sort of a bridge camera for someone who is below professional photographer, but above casual photographer. It is definitely a camera I can grow with. But is it a camera I can get a Christmas card picture with, that remains to be seen.

The girls have their two-and-a-half year appointment in about two weeks, so cue the “where has the time gone?” laments. I need to talk to the doctor about Avery’s eating. Or lack thereof. She is beyond picky and beyond grazer. She eats almost nothing. I have a feeling this is because I allow her to have unlimited access to milk, with chocolate in it. The girls will polish off a half gallon a day. But Madeline eats her fruits and veggies and all three meals, along with her milk. Avery, not at all. I am not even kidding when I say that today all she has “eaten” is the ice off of frozen grapes: She sucks on the frozen grapes until they are soft, then spits them out, and pops a fresh frozen one in her mouth. Her old standbys (pizza, yogurt, wagon wheel pasta, etc.) no longer float her boat. She should be emaciated, but she’s still pleasantly plump, and that is a little reassuring. The milk, I suspect, keeps her caloric intake up. But I have no idea how we can get her to eat more. I know what the doctor will say: Cut back on milk and she will start eating more. But I am dreading doing this, because Avery loves, loves, loves her chocolate milk, and since she eats nothing, I want her to at let have that. And thus the cycle continues.

Speaking of picky, I am having getting a liiiiitle nervous about my own eating habits. I eat no meat but chicken and turkey (on a rare occasion). But lately I have been not really feeling the chicken at all. In any form. Nicole thinks I will be a complete vegetarian by next year. That is not the direction I want to go in, for certain. I know I can find protein in other places, but my palate is pretty limited to begin with, so cutting out chicken is cutting out a whole chunk of my diet. I have no idea why my palate is changing as I get older, but at this rate, I will be eating nothing but pretzels and caramel cone ice cream in a decade or so. Right now, I have some new food obsessions to take the place of chicken: I have hummus sandwiches every day for lunch with my roasted fall veggies (parsnips and carrots and turnips and sweet potatoes and squash). And I eat two or three apples a day. I love the fall selections! (gala and pink lady and honeycrisps and macintosh). And one thing I will never tire of is pizza. My love of pizza is singularly the reason why I could never be vegan, even if I wanted to. I eat it all the time.

Pictured above: Avery’s tummy certainly doesn’t look empty, but, alas, it usually is. And Nicole, sitting on the floor, since our furniture hasn’t arrived yet. It will take six weeks for the furniture to get to us! And here I thought it could be overnighted. But we aren’t letting a lack of furniture (or the rain behind Nicole) rain on our parade. And, finally, my beautiful niece and nephew.

Living My Way Into The Answers = Not Easy

On Friday, I was piggybacked across the threshold. Well, more like piggybacked halfway across the doorway and then unceremoniously dropped, since that was as far as Nicole could carry me. But I’ll take it. (I contend that it is Nicole’s lack of upper body strength and not my size that made this task difficult.) So that means we officially officially officially closed on the house in Northampton. It turns out short sales make for nightmare closings, but it was worth it, and we are happy beyond belief. I could not stop smiling all weekend. And I am still on that high. I feel so lucky and I am not taking a single moment of this for granted.

What a lifestyle change from NYC. There was moonlight on my pillows at night. Moonlight! It is so quiet in the woods; the kind of quiet you can hear. I heard my favorite sound in the world: The sound of wind rustling leaves. I watched the sunrise parfait of warm colors through our bathroom window. I even had to pull over one morning to watch the sun rise as I drove into town to try out a gym. We watched our girls learn how to walk down the steep driveway and play in a pile of leaves and play with rocks and leaves and twigs. And there were so many stars at night. This sort of nature I’m sure many people already experience and appreciate on a daily basis. But for me, after living in the city for twenty years, and for Nicole and the girls, it is amazing and restorative.

We spent the weekend nesting, which for Nicole and I translates into two very different sets of activities. For Nicole, that meant buying and installing filters for furnaces and changing deadbolts and meeting with the handyman and hooking up the wireless. For me it meant cleaning every single surface and finding a place to put the snowmen mugs and organizing the pantry. Trips to Home Depot for her and trips to Target and the food store for me. It works out well for us because everything gets done, and we are both content with our allotted chores. We work together very well like that. A bed, stove and fridge were delivered (the previous owner took every appliance and almost every light fixture with her), which makes life a little more comfortable. But we are sitting on the floor until we get furniture delivered.

This house really was fate for us. I think I wrote about this before, but we looked at it when it was on sale many years ago. I remember walking around hunched over in pain: I was pregnant but it was ectopic, which I didn’t know yet. We loved the house, and didn’t make the jump, for several reasons. Nicole continued to get weekly emails from the real estate agent and, about four years later (which was two months ago), the house pops up for sale again. Nicole took off the next day from work and called our mortgage broker and drove up and made an offer. The offer was accepted the next day, and here we are. It all happened very fast and yet very slowly, if you consider the first time we saw this house. It was fate.

On the drive home, I was thinking about this: Obviously the universe wanted us to wait a little longer for this house, and I wonder why. I think there is a lesson of patience in here somewhere. Day after day, patience is a trait I am trying to learn. I have little moments of impatience (why is the pizza delivery taking so long?) and big moments of impatience (the TTC years come to mind). I am not good at detail work because of this impatience affliction. And my worst Mommy moments can be attributed to this negative quality.

But I am trying, I really am. I even have this amazing Rilke quote printed out and framed to remind me:

"Have patience with everything unresolved in your heart
and try to love the questions themselves ...
Don't search for the answers, which could not be given to you now,
because you would not be able to live them.
And the point is, to live everything.
Live the questions now.
Perhaps then, someday far in the future,
you will gradually, without even noticing it,
live your way into the answer."

Sometimes I don't even have the patience to read the whole quote! My lack of patience, and its partner in crime, my oh-so-controlling ways, undermine me at every step. I want to know every answer; I want to know what happens next; I want to know my future and my purpose and my life story. I read literary criticism sometimes before I read the book. I read spoilers before I watch the latest episode of Mad Men. This house (and my children and the presence of Nicole in my life…) reminds me that some things are worth the wait and sometimes things happen (people happen, events happen, jobs happen, relationships happen, life happens) in unexpected ways and in entirely unexpected timeframes. There is a bigger plan out there, of this I am now sure, and that is giving me comfort for a change.

I am trying to enjoy this rush because I know that life can quickly and easily take a turn for the worse. Life has certainly not always been easy or happy for me. But, as I have said before, this is how I know my life is on the right path: Each year is better than the last. 2007 was a great year, with the girls being born. The highlight of 2008 was getting married, officially, in Massachusetts. And now this. Right now, I just feel so lucky and happy and excited, and I am going to try to savor it and surf this high as long as I can.

Also, on a food note, I had the best slice of pizza this weekend: Asiago almond pesto with butternut squash, caramelized red onions and sage.

Pictured above, Nicole and the girls on closing day: Nicole is slightly stunned/subdued and the girls ran around in circles. And Avery in moose feetsy pajamas! She loves them and insisted on wearing them for nap time as well!

Closing: The Sequel

So that closing last week was apparently just a dress rehearsal. Nicole took off from work, drove up there and signed all the papers. She then drove to the new house and dropped off a carload of our things. The next day, as we were basking in the afterglow and enjoying the end of paperwork and planning our first weekend up there, we find out that the bank that owns the house didn’t process some piece of paperwork properly (the pesky title), so we aren’t technically the owners. Minor detail. Basically it is just a red-tape hassle that involves us returning to Northampton this Friday to resign the papers. And then, it will officially be official, or so they say. But, on an exciting note, we will be spending our first weekend there. This should be interesting, as we need to arrange the delivery of beds, fridges and stoves. It could also be an indoor camping adventure.

Halloween is barely in the rear view, and we are already on to the next holiday. I already heard a Christmas song on TV and the aisles of the drug stores re cluttered with holiday lights and ornaments and red and green versions of candy. But I’m still mentally in a fall place. We went to Halloween party at a friend’s house, but no trick-or-treating for us. The girls don’t know what candy is, and I would like to keep it that way for another year or so. Besides, they wouldn’t even wear their costumes. I think they are too young to get it, so while I am excited to share these milestones with them, I am also content to hold off on another year or two. My friend Jen and I were talking about what to do with all the extra candy the accumulates from leftover treats or from the kids’ haul. It seems wasteful to throw it away, but it also seems wrong to let kids eat 15 tons of candy, even over an extended period of time. And then, this morning at the gym, I saw some news story about donating your extra Halloween candy to the overseas soldiers. What a great idea.

Random note: Another reason why I love my new gym: They give out free fruit. How great is that?

In a move I may regret in the near future, I entered the 2010 NYC marathon lottery. Yep, watching it on Sunday got me all worked up and filled with false confidence. For a mere eleven dollars I have a slightly higher chances than a snowball’s in hell of being allowed to run 26.2 miles next November. Yes, I am insane. I don’t even like to drive 26 miles, let alone run it. Now let’s be clear: I am in no way nearly ready to run that far or for that long at this present juncture. But given almost a year, I think I may be able to get to that point. I have a feeling my run would include quite a few walk breaks. And a sub-four hour time seems waaaay outside of the realm of possibility. But we’ll see. It is up to fate. If my number is selected in mid-march, I will have a lot of work to do. I like that my November running fate is a little bit of a mystery.

The girls are running me ragged. They have so much energy and are busy busy busy. They have a new habit: They like to go into their room, close their door and play together. If I try to come in, they yell “GO MOMMA.” It is endearing now, but won’t be endearing when they are around 14. But for now, I enjoy the fact that they entertain each other and I can get something done. It’s the little things and little moments.

Pictured above: My lunch, which made me laugh because it sorta looks like a face. You can tell I spend a lot of time alone with children. It is hummus on pita with spinach and then roasted fall veggies (squash, carrots, turnips, parsnips and shallots). I have been on a huge hummus kick. And spinach too. Also pictured, Avery leaving her tag on a friend’s fence. Also finally, if worse comes to worse, this will be out Christmas card picture. Seriously, I hope we can do better than this. Plus, I should maybe color my hair before the next picture. I have three-inch roots.

When A Closing Marks a New Beginning

I was a tad concerned that my last post could come across as too preachy, too holier-than-thou. That was not my intention. I certainly am not one to prance around and act like I know everything, but I can’t deny that I am proud of that bit of wisdom that I learned. Maybe some people already know it; maybe some people already live it. Maybe it is a twist on the Random Act of Kindness phenomenon that I repackaged and am trying to spin off as my own. Regardless,

I can almost trace its genesis. About a year ago, a woman who lives in my building died. She had a huge family, and some of them were staying in her apartment after she died to organize the funeral and her estate. I ran into a family member in the elevator. He was extremely kind and sweet to the girls, which always makes me instantly like someone. In parting, I said to him “Please let me know if there is anything I can do” and even gave him my apartment number so he could contact me. So we went our separate ways and it occurred to me: He is NEVER going to knock on my door and say, “Hey, you know what? We could use some dinner. Got anything?” The ball was in my court, and I see now that I could have just made some cookies and left them on their doorstep. The gesture would have been appreciated. I still regret that I did nothing.

This then begs the question: I am doing these things for others because it makes me feel better about myself? Am I being altruistic, or selfish? What motivates us, as people, to drop some money in a collection basket at church or give a few dollars to a homeless person or, more close to home, bring over a tray of brownies to a sad friend? Sure, we feel compassion, but that is an emotion, and, as we have all experienced in our lives, emotions can be ignored, denied or avoided till the cows come home. Being altruistic involves some sort of action, some sort of sacrifice on our part, even if that sacrifice is only time. What exactly pushes us to take the next step? Saying “Let me know if there is anything I can do” is like a bridge between the compassion camp and the altruistic camp. What happens next is completely up to us, and not the sad or grieving or depressed or lost person. And for me, I am trying to cross that bridge.

All of the comments on that last post were great. It was great to read how people already live this. I agree how there is a fine line between being intrusive and being thoughtful, and no one wants to be considered intrusive. Ordering someone a box from Fresh Direct, as Shelli wrote, is such a wonderful idea. I may steal that one! Leaving voicemails for a distant and depressed friend is unbelievably caring. From personal experience, I can vouch that voicemails and emails and messages and comments have helped pull me out of quite a few bad times. And, also from personal experience, I know how hard it is to be in the middle of your own hell and how difficult it is to then help others or be a good friend. I am sure there are studies that say helping others might distract you from your own pain, but I call BS on that.

This comment really resonated with me: “I appreciate people's respect of my privacy...but it is also my quest for privacy that prolongs my isolation.” This has been my experience completely. Pain and suffering and depression for me have historically been very isolating periods, and I am certainly not doing myself any favors by not returning emails or calls or accepting invitations to go out. But I hope going forward, I can learn to reach out more; to stop pretending like I can do everything myself; to admit that I can’t get through some of life’s challenges without a little (a lot) of help from my friends.

And to the commentor who lives outside the city and who just lost a baby at 21 weeks: I left a comment for you under my last post.

In other news: Yesterday, on my nephew’s seventh birthday, we closed on the house in Northampton! Nicole drove up and did the final walk-through and then signed all the papers. It all seems like a dream. We are going up this weekend, and the weekend after that, and the weekend after that, ad infinitum!

Pictured above: Not sure if we are going to Trick or Treat, because I am trying to ensure that the girls have no idea what candy is for at least another three years, but if we do, they will be pumpkins. Also pictured, Avery and her chocolate-covered Godiva strawberry. I got the girls these as special treats, not knowing that they cost $6.50 EACH. So I plunked down almost $14 for two strawberries. I would have walked out, but, in my haste to show them how delicious fruit and chocolate can be, I put the strawberries in their eager little hands before I paid. And don’t be fooled by this picture: Avery only licked the chocolate off of hers. Never again. And finally, a new donut and ice cream shop is opening around the corner from us. This is dangerous for two reasons: 1.) I can consume six or seven donuts in one sitting and 2.) I can’t get its name straight. I have already reversed the two words and left off the “y”, creating a very porn-worthy name in its place.

The Best Piece of Advice I Have to Offer

Yesterday was gorgeous here in New York: A balmy 70-something degrees. I was overdressed in my puffy vest and long-sleeve shirt. After 37 years on this earth, I am still not good at dressing appropriately for the weather. In fact, several times I have made New Year’s resolutions to learn to dress weather-appropriate. I am constantly overdressed or underdressed or have too many layers or not enough. Spaghetti-strapped dresses in 60 degrees; flip-flops in rain. I obviously need to revisit this resolution.

I took the girls out to Long Island and met a friend at the playground for a playdate, which, of course, is more like an excuse for the Moms to get together in an environment that will allow for children to be happily distracted so the Moms can engage in much-needed grown-up talk. It is a great playground, right on the beach. There was a nice breeze and you could smell the smell that is the Long Island Sound (I mean that in a good way; it has a very distinctive smell). The girls had a great time, raised by the power of sand, which is a substance they love to throw at each other. The even somehow got sand in their diapers.

So my friend and I were talking about how her aunt was just diagnosed with breast cancer and has to go for surgery this Saturday. My friend asked her aunt if she wanted her to go to the hospital with her, but the aunt said no, and she said that she knows how busy my friend is with her kids. The aunt said she would do it alone (the aunt is not married and has no other family around). Funny how people shut the world out just when they need someone the most. (And yes, this is the pot calling the kettle black: I am notorious for this.) My friend is indeed busy, and has a month-old newborn at home to boot, so things like taking an aunt to the hospital is indeed difficult to work into an already-packed schedule. But despite her aunt’s do-it-alone bravado, my friend said she is just going to meet her at the hospital anyway. How sweet is that? It was one of those moments when I felt lucky to have a person like that as a friend.

OK, that was a long set up for a somewhat simple point: Actions speak louder than words. Verbal offers to help are kind and considerate and sweet, and usually genuine (though sometimes not), but doing something will always trump a verbal offer. You know how people say “Let me know if there is anything I can do?” This is what I think: Don’t ask what you can do, just do something. Anything. That is maybe the one piece of wisdom that I hope to be telling my grandchildren some day. And it only took about four decades to learn.

In my life, I have not really known one person who was able to step out of the grief/fear/depression/bad place to think of a task that you might be able to do to help them. Sadness and delegation do not mix well. “Let me know what I can do” is usually met with “Thanks, that is sweet. I will.” and then…. nothing happens. Why? In general, I think most people do not like to ask for help or to impose. People do not like to be needy. People like to appear strong and not vulnerable. Or maybe I am just speaking about myself. Regardless, I have not heard one example of a person suffering through an illness or death or loss say “Actually, yes, can you pick up a few groceries for me and maybe make some dinner because I haven’t eaten a real meal in about a week.” Or “Can you whisk me away to a movie so I can escape for a couple of hours?” Or “How about do you something slightly cheesy but sweet, like get send me bubble bath and an apple-cinnamon scented candle and a trashy magazine.” People are just not that specific.

Also in the same vein and another phrase I wish I could retire is “Call me if you want to talk.” This I experienced first-hand during my miscarriages. It meant so much to get voicemails from friends, saying that they were thinking of me and that they were there for me, even though I was not reaching out. I was not going to call anyone, really, to talk, during some of those darkest and scariest moments. My grief made an impenetrable wall around me. The irony was that I had that wall, but I wanted people to try to take it down. I needed people to try to take it down. But every single phone call with a “I’m on my way to work and just wanted to let you know I was thinking about you” message I got knocked down a few of those bricks.

Even the littlest tangible gestures mean so much more than just words. That is my wisdom. That is the one thing I know for sure.

Thanks for all of the reassuring comments about the pacemaker/heartbeat issue. I am keeping track of the palpitations and will follow up with my doctor in three months. Until then, I am going to not stress about it. Stressing would only make the heart issue worse, no? And the cycle would just continue.

Pictured above, two of my friends, appropriately dressed for the rain, on their way to a miscarriage support dinner for me. The umbrellas are symbolic, no? As much as I like to shut out the world and crawl into a cave during my dark times, I feel so lucky to have friends who will climb in there with me. And also pictured, a year ago, this was us. I can’t believe tomorrow is our first year anniversary! We are dropping the kids off with their cousins and going to do something. Not sure what, since there is supposed to be massive rain tomorrow. But we are not going to let that rain on our anniversary parade.

The Appointment In Which My Doctor Uses the Term Pacemaker

I had my annual physical with my doctor yesterday, one which revealed a few surprises and twists. First, my doctor thinks I need to look into boxing lessons. I am still not quite sure why this is so, or why she was so specific about the physical activity she thinks I should pursue. I told her I run every morning, between four and five miles, but for some reason she thinks a little more exercise might help me sleep better. I tried to explain that I have had sleep issues my entire life: Sometimes it can be stress- or depression-related, but more often than not it is just me-related. Meaning I can be happy as a clam and I still have sleep problems. Falling asleep is usually not the hard part usually: It is waking up in the middle of the night and then staying up for hours. So far, the best solution is Ambien. And so far, my doctor still won’t give it to me 365 days a year.

The other interesting development was revealed in my cardiogram. Apparently my heart likes to take extra beats. She listened to my heart with a stethoscope and it did the same thing. She asked if I felt palpitations ever, and I actually do: There are times when it is so sudden and [slightly] painful that it will stop me in my tracks. But they only last a couple of seconds. The next step is I need to keep track of how often this is actually happening. Of course, sitting there on that exam table on crunchy paper in a gown open to the front, I panic. What does this mean, I ask her. Well, she said, if this is actually an issue then down the road I might need a pacemaker. I’m sorry, say that again? Pacemaker?! What? I am not going to panic. I’m not going to stress. And I am not going to borrow worry. But I have to say this is a little bizarre.

So while I am not worrying about my extra-beating heart, I can not worry about Avery’s eating. For a point of comparison, here is Madeline’s menu from yesterday:
• A pint of raspberries
• One apple
• About one cup of cut-up strawberries
• Several handfuls blueberries
• Wagon wheel pasta
• Chicken
• Four fig newtons
• five pieces of broccoli
• Homemade pot pie (peas, carrots, parsnips, celery and chicken)
• Chocolate milk and water on demand (I sue an organic syrup to make this slightly healthier)

Maddie is a superstar eater. She loves her fruits and veggies. Loves them! She will eat a bowl of green beans as a snack. She will gnaw on a whole carrot. She will pick fruit any day over anything sweet. And now let’s look at Avery’s diet:
• Whole-grain fishies
• Cheerios
• One fig newton
• Milk on demand (and she has a lot of it)

And this is Avery’s diet almost every day. This child does not want to eat. And it should come as no shock that this one won’t touch the gummy vitamin I offer her daily. Even her go-to favorites (pizza, and it’s leftover cousin, pizza sticks) are no longer givens. Nicole got her a chocolate croissant from our favorite little bakery, and Avery used to devour them. But this time—and I am not kidding—she poked a hole in it and pulled the chocolate out with her pinky and just ate the chocolate pinky pull by pinky pull.

Now I know what my pediatrician is going to say: Limit her milk so she stops drinking her calories and starts eating them instead. But I have tried that before and it only makes for a cranky, hungry Avery. I will try it again. As far as I can tell (and the doctor’s appointment will clarify this) she is gaining weight on a normal growth curve. Maybe this is just a stage. Maybe she is just abusing her decision-making power.

We have a tentative closing date next week, but these things have a way of changing. I can’t wait until we can get up there. And Saturday is our one-year wedding anniversary. One year plus the previous seven years, that is.

Pictured above, the cabinet of snacks that my picky eater refuses to partake in. And my picky little eater. And fall beautiful fall, in my friend’s backyard.

For Sale: Overused and Unwanted Parenting Subwoofer

For Sale: Overused and Unwanted Parenting Subwoofer

I had a bad couple of Mommy days. And by bad, I mean I was at times so impatient and frustrated and distant that I almost didn’t recognize myself. The kind of days where I thought again and again that I need to take a step back and settle down and refocus and think instead reflect on how grateful I should be, but I simply could not do that. Instead, I was almost vibrating with impatience as I struggled with simple tasks, like getting the girls in the shoes and coats and into the stroller so we could go outside and take a nice walk, dammit. Just completely overwhelmed.

That is the thing about parenthood: It highlights and amplifies your good qualities, but it also showcases your not-so-good ones. Like a subwoofer, bringing my lowest qualities to the surface for all to see (and hear).

My good mothering qualities, the aspects of parenthood that I excel at and am proud of, are completely opposite of my upbringing blueprint. And while that may sound judge-y toward my mother, I do not mean it that way. I am merely saying that I show love and nurture and care for my daughters in a way that wasn’t necessarily done to me. For example, I feel the need to tell Madeline and Avery all the time that I love them. I whisper it in their ears and I tell them before nap time and I yell it across the room. I say it in first person, second person and third person constructs. It pops out of my mouth at random times so much so that at times I worry that I am diluting the power of that little phrase. And yet, I still feel a strong need to tell them constantly, which, of course, speaks more about my needs than theirs.

But my bad moments, the ones I am not proud of, the ones that I would like to erase completely, are almost identical to my upbringing. And, wow, does that scare me. When I look in the mirror and see a reflection of my mother, I know I need to try harder. But trying to figure out a new way to deal with parenting’s frustrating moments is just not an easy task.

One of my biggest challenges is patience. I am not the most patient person in the world, by a long shot. That said, I must say that I have gotten much better. The infertility years helped with that. So now, these days, when I am stuck in traffic, I am able to settle into a groove and just accept it. When the girls empty the six bins of toys all over their room, I can sometimes scoop them all up and put them back in their place with sighing and lecturing. When Avery refuses to take off her doggie pajamas and insists on wearing them all day, I can shrug it off and just deal with it. But those are the good days, when my patience cup runneths over.

When my patience level dips, I change mentally and physically. I become quiet and distant. I grit my teeth and clench and unclench my hands. The tone of my voice changes. All because I just cannot understand why my two two-year olds refuse to put their shoes on, or something similarly as silly. But the thing is, my girls don’t deserve to suffer due to my own inability to have patience and due to my own shift in balance.

These are the moments when I need a break. I need to be able to take a walk by myself or go to the food store alone or sit in a dark theater and escape. I just need to walk away and re-center myself. I love my girls to the end of the earth, but there does need to be some spaces in our togetherness. Because no one can be a good mom for twelve hours a day, seven days a week. Right?

And I do get breaks. Nicole is home relatively early every night, which gives me the opportunity to have a break. The girls are in bed every night by seven, the latest, so I have that finish line daily to anticipate. My evenings are filled with baths and reading and internet surfing and mindless television. And when the weekends come, I know I can escape when I need to. The thing is, those rarely are the times when I need distance. It is in the middle of the day, when I am alone, that I most need relief. It is when something seemingly simple pushes me over the ledge for no good reason at al. It is when I see myself starting to get angry and distant and frustrated because a two-year-old did something a two-year old is expected to do. It is when I look in that parenting mirror and not like what I see looking back at me.

What helps, I learned, is positive feedback. Lots and lots and lots of specific, pointed, positive you-go-girl feedback. I was complaining to my friend Jen, the one I bailed on visiting this week because I was stuck in a lousy parenting cyclone and wanted to mope rather than do something that might break the spell, and she told me that I am doing a great job; that my girls are happy, healthy, well adjusted and smart. Her comments both acknowledged how hard this motherhood job is and assured me that I was doing fine, even though I feel like I am not. And comments like that mean so much. Those comments added some fuel to my tank and helped me to take a step back, go a little easier on myself and find my groove again.

Time is fleeting, and I will someday long for these days again. Remembering that helps. We tried so hard and endured so much to get here, and that helps too. They are miracles, my two little girls, and we are so lucky. Which makes my occasional breakdown moments seem even more unreasonable. But I think the important thing is that I am trying.

I could go on and on but that is a post for another day.

I Got Whole Lot Of Nothing

I was supposed to visit my friend Jen in Jersey today but it was rainy and dreary this morning and I was unnaturally and for-no-real-reason tired today, so I am not going. Which seems very lame of me. But there are days when I just don’t relish the idea of walking the girls to the car and loading them, their stroller and various bags in the car while other cars are waiting impatiently behind me. Getting out the door can be such a struggle. Bribes need to be made to get the girls into their stroller, since they always want to walk. And the drive to somewhere can be a torture session of dropped toys and books and me saying over and over again: “Momma can’t get that toy because Momma is driving.” Through gritted teeth, after about 15 times. Once I get where I am supposed to go, I am always glad I pushed through. But still, sometimes my motivation is lacking for no good reason other than I just feel lazy.

And my back is killing me and I have no idea way. Driving makes it feel worse. I think I need some sort of special driving pillow, one that includes a word like “lumbar” or something. I can only imagine I might have pulled something while doing the twist-and-fish-out-a-toy-from-under-the-seat-while-driving-move. Or maybe it is from lifting the sometimes thrashing toddlers who don’t want to have their diapers changed. Or maybe it was just from getting out of bed, such is my advancing age. The pain lead me to Duane Reade, where I purchased one of those heat packs for the back (it Velcos on and stays on for eight hours, but I must check to make sure I am not burning my skin) and Doan’s back pills. These pills, they have more warnings on them than I am comfortable with. I took them yesterday and they seemed to work, but still, all those warnings about complications from taking the pills makes me seriously question whether or not I should put it in my body. So today I eschew them and try to grit my teeth through the pain. Let’s see how long this bravado lasts.

I know; all of life’s troubles should be this petty.

This past weekend we took the girls to their first movie: Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs. We were prepared to make it about ten minutes before we would have to bail, and were pleasantly surprised—no, shocked—when the girls sat through the entire movie without a peep. Amazing! The best part it was the 3D version, which we didn’t realize till we got to the theater, so the girls tolerated fuzzy scenes every now and then without complaining. Madeline watched the previews while standing and peeking through the seats in front of her. It was cute. But the she settled on Nicole’s lap and watched the entire movie from there.

Out of the blue, Madeline has added a few new phrases to her vocabulary: “Hey, Momma” and “Ok” and “alright.” She will come up to me and ask for milk. I will repeat it back to her “You want some milk, Maddie?” and she says “OK,” as if it were my idea. From time to time I worry that she isn’t speaking enough, but then she will suddenly spurt things out like “Plane flying there” and I think I am being silly to worry. It is so so so hard not to compare the two girls. And Avery is so verbal, always talking, always repeating and shocking us with her three and four word sentences.

Some legitimate concerns I have: I am losing the paci war. What used to be jut a nighttime and naptime is now becoming much more often. Because yes, it is easier to just give in rather than listen to them cry for that damn piece of plastic. Other concerns: Avery eats almost nothing but carbs. She loves her bread products and will only eat things that have flour in them. And even that is only occasionally. She seems to be on the path of picky eater, which wouldn’t shock me, as I am a very picky eater. Madeline, on the other hand, eats amazingly. She will have a pint of raspberries, a cup of strawberries, an apple, frozen grapes and several clementines throughout the day. Interesting how the girls can be on either side of these spectrums.

We close in two weeks! We just might be in the house in time for some peak foliage!

And finally:

• I am reading Nurture Shock and loving it so fat. Chapter one can be boiled down to this: Be specific with your feedback and encouragement. Chapter 2 is all about the importance of sleep. Preaching to the choir. Nicole and I am very much into instilling a strict sleep schedule. I am looking forward to the rest of the book.

• I am also reading “Parenting from the Inside Out.” Just got it yesterday. I am hoping that this book and the other will illuminate a parenting path for me.

Pictured above, pictures from the weekend. It is fall in NY and I love it.

At Least I Can Look Forward to Sourdough Bread

I have been parenting solo over here, since Nicole is in San Francisco. She left on Tuesday and will be back Friday night. The days have been long but it hasn’t been as hard as it has been in the past. Bed time can’t come soon enough, though; for them or me!

But I have to say I have really enjoyed the past couple of days with the girls. They have been charming and funny and cute and affectionate and just plain adorable. Not all at once, but in moments. Avery gave me four kisses in a row. Madeline curled up on my lap with a book. The both leaned on either side of me as we watched Curious George. Of course, they had their moments of screeching and pulling toys out of each other’s hands and saying “No Momma!” but all in all, a good few days. On Tuesday, I went to Long Island and visited my friend and her new baby. On Wednesday the girls and I went to the Central Park Zoo. It was such a beautiful fall day, and we meandered through the park on our way there, soaking up the fall in all of its not-nearly-peak glory. At the zoo, the animals all were particulary visible that day, lounging and stretching and preening right in front of us. Avery and Madeline both said “Bye Gus” and “Bye EEE-da” (the polar bears) and had tons of fun jumping in puddles. Today I took them to Toys r Us in Times Square and they loved it. I figured the glitzy-ness would be a nice change from our typical city street or Central Park walks. Our walk through Times Square was made even more magical for them by the presence of a giant Spongebob SquarePants.

It is October. When did that happen? I was looking back at pictures of the girls from the beginning of summer and realized that they look so much older now. They even feel heavier in my arms. Lifting them up is getting quite difficult. They talk more and laugh more and demand more. They both drink chocolate milk all the time. Time is flying, as usual, and I am still often too busy looking at the view ahead of me that I forget to enjoy where I am.

Speaking of looking ahead, if all goes well, we will be closing on the house in Northampton in a couple of weeks. I am so excited. When I have a moment of silence and time to indulge in random thoughts, I think about the house, of how much it is going to be a part of the girls’ childhood. I think about the huge Christmas tree we will get, and how will can hang beautiful garlands from the deck. I think of curling up on the couch with the girls and watching a movie and eating popcorn. I think about listening to the wind blow through the trees, which is my favorite sound in the world. I am very excited and very grateful. But also very, very impatient.

Remember the whole push-up challenge? I started doing two push-ups. I am now up to 16 in a row! I can a total of 60, if I take breaks between sets. There really is something to be said for dedicating yourself to something for 30 days: It is a long enough period of time to see progress or change and to create good habits. I am still having the Amazing Grass fruit shake in the morning. That has been nearly two months already!

Oh, and the winner of the DVDs has been contacted! Thanks for throwing your names in the hat. I literally put them names in a hat and had Avery pluck one out!

Pictured above, the girls at the zoo. How cute is the picture of their little footprints?! And the girls over the weekend.

Suddenly I Like Rob Thomas A Lot More

One of the positives of running on a treadmill with a television built into it is that I can channel surf, which can really make a run go faster, especially on days when I am not so in to it. On one of my runs/surfs, I came across the new Rob Thomas song video, Her Diamonds. The song is catchy, like most of his songs, and I really liked the video. When I got home I goggled the lyrics. My infertility radar stated pinging like crazy because this song, I thought, could easily have been written by someone sympathizing with someone going through infertility. But I have been know to have an active imagination

So I buy his album, and then I hear the song “Mockingbird” and there is no doubt in my mind that infertility is a theme. Here are some of the lyrics:

“Here we stand
Somewhere in between this moment and the end
Will we bend?
Or will we open up and take this whole thing in?
Everybody else is smiling and their smiles don’t fade
And you don’t even wonder why you just don’t think that way
Maybe you and me got lost somewhere, we can't move or we can't stay here
Well maybe we've just had enough, well maybe we ain’t meant for this love
You and me tried everything
But still that mocking bird wont sing
Well man this life seems hard enough
Well maybe we ain’t meant for this love”

This is, without doubt, a song about infertility. I am convinced of it. So I head back to the internet and google Rob Thomas to see if he has children. He does, but then, I discover, that child is from his first marriage. He has remarried and he and his new wife do not have children. On top of that, his wife has an autoimmune disease. And autoimmune diseases, as we all know, make conception difficult, if not impossible.

I bring all this evidence to Nicole, and make a case for infertility themes in Rob Tomas songs. And this is when she points out the title of the album: Cradlesong. Leave it to me to overlook the obvious. It is a great album, and now I look at Rob Thomas and his wife in a completely different way. This, of course, makes me like the album a thousand times more. Broken hearts are so often the subject of songs, but who sings about infertility and child loss? There is a Dixie Chicks song and that heartbreaking song “Tears in Heaven,” but other than that, I am hard pressed to come up with any.

I started my 30-Day Push Up Challenge and my baseline won’t be hard to beat: Two push-ups. And, yes, those would be modified push-ups. That may be few, but they were excellent form, with my nose touching the ground before slowly pushing myself back up. Two that I was proud of. I figure I will go though this challenge twice: The first time doing modified push-ups and the second doing straight-leg push-ups. By the end of this challenge, I should be able to do dozens of push-ups in a row. We’ll see about that.

Pictured above, the girls, on a recent playground trip. Avery has become attached to her blankets, and even carried one around at the playground, dragging it in puddles and down dirty slides before I could wrench it from her little hands. She also insists on cuddling up in them on the couch when watching the TV. And of course, she has lots in the crib and sleeps in a veritable nest. I think we have a Linus in the making.

That Was a Fast Month and A Very Random Giveaway

I lost track of time, but sometime in the past week, my 30-day breakfast smoothie challenge ended. For the record, this is how I make them: About a cup of milk plus a handful of blueberries, half a banana and some more random fruit (whatever is in the fridge: strawberries or raspberries or watermelon, etc) and a dash of vanilla. I add a scoop of the Powder (Amazing Grass Green Superfood, from Whole Foods); a tablespoon of Chia seeds (the very same that are used in Chia Pets!) and about a teaspoon of flax just for the heck of it. This all gets throw in the blender and whipped in a smooth, drinkable frenzy.

These are my thoughts on it:

• It took a couple of days to get used to the taste of the powder. It tastes like how those health food stores smell: Earthy and pure and green and somehow repugnant at the same time. In the beginning I thought there was no way that I would get used to taste. I was prepared to declare my losses and surrender to a daily breakfast of croissants and pretzels. But around Week Two, the taste didn’t bother me at all. And this is coming from ultra-food-picky me. In fact, I have come to enjoy it. Not as much as I would enjoy, say, a Jamba Juice Cremsicle Smoothie, but Jamba has the advantage of adding lost of sugar and no healthy powders.

• I will be sticking with these smoothies for breakfast for the foreseeable future. The thing is, I am not really a breakfast fan anyway. Cereal and yogurt do nothing for me, and I had to give up my peanut butter-on-toast breakfast after we had the Mouse Issue and started using peanut butter on traps. Instantly peanut butter toast became not appealing. If we go out and during the weekends, I am into pancakes or omelets and all that, but I am not the type to make such things during the week. I am very much a creature of habit so I love not having to think about what I am going to have for breakfast each morning.

• Sadly, I am not really a fruit eater either, so it feels great to get a few servings of fruit each day. Also, I am very much a momentum person, so starting the day out healthy helps me continue eating healthy for the rest of the day. And even if I don’t finish the day healthy, the next day’s smoothie sort of represents a fresh start, literally and figuratively.

• The Energy Question: I am not sure if these magical powders have me bounding with excess energy. My days starts at five a.m., and chasing after the girls all day depletes my energy rather quickly. I am tired a lot, and have a feeling will be for the next 15 years or so. So this begs the question: Should I be spending all this money on fancy powders that don’t make me feel like I can run a marathon? The answer is yes. I am sure there are other benefits to this powder than just what I can feel or point a finger at. Like depression pills: We resent the pills if they don't make us feel euphoric but that belittles what the pills actually are doing for us. The powder is undoubtedly healthy and adds much needed nutrients to my diet. Now that I think about it, my nails might be a bit stronger.

• More on Chia: Chia is an edible seed that is considered a super food. It is commonly used in Mexico, and researchers say it was used by Aztec warriors to sustain them in battles. When you add Chia to water and let it sit for 30 minutes, it forms a gel. Researchers say that this also happens in our stomach, which makes us feel full and slows the breakdown of carbs into sugar. I do think there is some truth in the theory that it makes you feel full: I usually have a snack between breakfast and lunch, but with the shakes with Chia seeds I am not hungry for it at all. I probably should have a snack anyway, but since I am usually on the go with the girls and not always around a kitchen cabinet, I am happy to skip it. The only drawback is that the Chia seeds stick in my teeth, so I must be near a toothbrush immediately following the shake.

So all in all, I consider this a success. That whole theory that it takes three weeks to make-or-break a habit rings true once again. In the spirit of that, I am on to my next 30-day challenge: Starting next Monday I am going to do the 30-Day Push-Up Challenge!

OK, and now for the random giveaway. Anyone want the first season of Nip/Tuck on DVD? I hear it’s a great series, but I don’t have the time or inclination to invest in it. I was going to say the first one to say they want it gets it, but I guess it is more fair to have you leave a comment and then I will put the names in a hat and pick one. That is fair, in case more than one person wants it! It is opened, but in new condition. Holidays are coming, so it might make a good stocking stuffer. And you can’t beat free.

Pictured above, we went apple picking on Sunday, and the girls really enjoyed it. Madeline took a bite out of every apple that she bagged, so I had to separate all them when I got home. We have so many apples. I have made apple breads and cakes and gave a bag to my friend yesterday and we still have mounds to get through.

Hoping For No Hills Between Here and Happily Ever After

During Labor Day Weekend, we drove up to Northampton and stayed with Annie for the night. It was a short, 24-hour stay, but we managed to spend quality time with Annie and to check off our list all of our favorite rituals and routines: A walk through Northampton; dinner in Amherst; a visit to Smith for a stroll. I even took a power walk with Annie in Belchertown and, at night, after the girls went to bed, Annie introduced me to Family Guy, which made me laugh so hard my stomach hurt. The next day, Nicole and I collected our children and their many accoutrements and after a stop at Sylvester’s to get coffee and one of those real estate books to flip through on the drive home, we were on our way back to NYC.

Back in the car, Nicole driving, my feet slipped out of my shoes and pressed on the window. We are slouching back to NYC at about 60 miles a hour. We talk about the type of house we would like to have. The type of neighborhood it would be in. Basically a giant wish list; a conversation we revisit again and again during which we build dream homes and then tear them down and start all over. We talk about the realistic-ness of braving 2.5 hours every weekend to drive up to another house. We talked about condo vs house vs two family, near town vs far from town. A lot of talk. Nicole and I are nothing if not very, very thorough.

What we both agree on is that we regretted not buying a house we saw three years ago. It was a classic A Frame house, walled in gorgeous wood throughout, with soaring ceilings and a wood burning stove to add extra coziness. There are two bedrooms, two bathroom and two acres, plus a three car garage with a hu-u-u-u-u-uge attic. Bird feeders and woods and bears. There’re trees, so many trees. We loved that house. We lamented it.

We get back to New York City and on Monday, Nicole receives her weekly email from our real estate agent in Northampton and buried in her current listings is our house! The house that got away, the house we decided was the perfect house for us. It was back. And it was in foreclosure and for sale almost 100K less what they were asking three years ago. Fate?

That was Monday. Tuesday Nicole made phone calls to the real estate agent and our mortgage broker. Wednesday Nicole drove up to Northampton (and back) to look at the house again and make an offer. On Thursday the offer was accepted. And then, suddenly, we are in contract and scheduled to close the day before our one-year wedding anniversary. It is still sinking in.

All this happens over the span of three days. Now many balls are in motion. Inspections and lawyers and checks and water tests and closings. Nicole is excited in a way that I have never seen her excited: This has been a dream of hers for a long time. And I am excited too. But it is just the beginning and a lot can happen between here and happily ever after. But for now, I am lingering in the glow of This Might Happen.

Pictured above, the house from the side and the windowed view from our bedroom. I really don’t like that glaring white cement foundation and want to paint it to match the house. And on bottom, our apple cups floweth over. We went picking on Sunday and I have already made apple bread, an apple cake and apple upside down cake and we still have 346 apples to go....

Why Is This Day Not a National Holiday Yet?

What a different world, pre 9.11.01. So many years have gone by and yet it still feels surreal. I can’t watch the coverage on TV, so my TV stays off today. It feels disloyal and heartless to avoid the coverage, but I just can’t. I feel for the people who lost loved ones and am grateful that I am not in that category. But, not to get all metaphysical, I think we all lost a lot that day.

I was living on the boat, which gave us a unique visual perspective and a brief moment of reality check when the FBI asked to commandeer our boat. (And, in a state of shock, I asked them if it was OK that I didn’t have enough life jackets.) My brother’s friend came down to my marina and took our dingy with an outboard and packed as many people on it without sinking and puttered across the Hudson. Cells phones worked intermittently, and so for an extended period of time I, like most people, was suspended in a state of ignorance, unsure of where loved ones were, unsure if my brother and his wife changed trains at the WTC before the towers collapsed, unsure of what was going on elsewhere.

I have hundreds of pictures that I took, but I can’t really look at them anymore and I won’t post them. Instead, I am posting pictures of how I remembered the city before that day. And I remember how the city changed so much in the weeks that followed. People were so polite and kind. The country felt so united together. I miss that.

My life is so different now. Nicole and I have a NYC escape plan, a plan for where we will meet if another disaster hits NYC. WTF? This is modern living? Bin Laden says he wants to develop nuclear power and bomb the USA. And, you know what, I believe him. He has proven to be someone who follows though on threats.

I remember going out for lunch with Nicole in the weeks after this. We were not even close to dating: This was one of our pre-dating friendship days. I was going through one of my No Drinking phases (a brief stoppage of drinking before I quit for good). We went to The Half King and ate comfort food and then went on our separate way; her back up town and me back down. If you told me then that eight years down the road we would be married with two daughters, I never would have believed it. But, then again, I never would have thought that terrorists would take down the towers.

The Glass is Always Half-Empty and Half-Full

Things that are annoying me right now

• Anyone catch Cindy Brady on the Today Show the other day? She was promoting her new book, a thoughtful and in-depth treatise (I’m being sarcastic) on the ill-fated nine-episode run of the 70s non-classic Brady Bunch Variety Hour. And, in explaining why she wrote the book, she conjured up the Holocaust. Here is the quote: Susan Olsen: “…he wanted me to write something on the webs site and I did sorta liken the show to the Holocaust and he wanted me to do a little bit more of that…” Yes, she compared the Brady Bunch Variety Hour to the Holocaust. It’s been days and I am still seething over this and shocked that no one in the media has jumped on it. I Google “Susan Olsen Holocaust comment” and nothing comes up. What the hell? Please tell me if I am overreacting. But I find that sort of comment sickening and uneducated and insensitive. And since no one has said anything then let the record reflect that I think Susan Olsen is beyond wrong.

• I hate when newscasters make banter with weatherman and feign indignation at the weather forecast, pretending it is the weatherman’s fault. This has become so trite and predictable. On a news note, I also don’t like when the newscasters make inside jokes with one another. Everything they say to each other smacks of sexual innuendo.

• Who is the real father of Michael Jackson’s kids? That would be Michael Jackson. DNA does not a parent make. But can we stop equating parenthood to strands of DNA. I don’t care who supplied the DNA for Jackson’s kids and I suspect, Jackson didn’t care either. They are his kids. Why is the press still talking about this?! Should they be talking about insensitive Susan Olsen’s comment?

Things that aren’t annoying me right now:

• We are heading up to Northampton on Saturday. I cannot wait to get out of the city and breath fresh air and see trees and do the things we do every time we go there. Our just-married friends are coming up too so it will be fun to share the weekend. And on Monday, we are going on our annual apple-picking trip, which means I need to start researching apple recipes.

• I am 40 percent through (percentage compliments of Kindle) Middlesex and loving it. So you all can start saying I told you so. I could use a family tree to keep things straight, though.

• It really feels like fall and I love it. You can feel that crispness in the air. It won’t be long till the leaves change colors and the air is really chilled and the sweaters come out. Having leaf-peeping weekends to look forward to really help me get through the looong weeks.

Pictured above, Avery. She really looks like Nicole’s mini-me. This picture was taken after her first bee sting! (It was on her finger.) She is not allergic, thank goodness. And below that, Avery and her frousins (friend-cousins) bird-watching. Avery still has her mullet tail!

My Morning Coffee Habit Just Got a Little Less Delicious

I am the type of person who scoffs at those overplayed, ridiculous segments on news shows that tout the myriad ways people gain weight. Who doesn’t know that two liters of Coke a day will result in some weight gain? And who doesn’t realize that a pint of ice cream every night will pile on the pounds? I think most people, myself included, know how they gain weight and how they can lose it.

Expect, apparently I don’t. Let me explain: I drink my coffee with a heavy helping vanilla soy creamer. The soy creamer was a consolation prize: I was accustomed to drinking those French Vanilla creamers, but stopped because they were filled with so many chemicals that I just couldn’t justify it anymore. So I switched to soy and slowly learned to like it.

There are mornings when I run out of the soy creamer and for those terrible occasions, I have an emergency box those little tubs of French Vanilla. The fact that they don’t need to be refrigerated and can live in my cabinet for years kinda freaks me out, and underscores why I had to wean myself off of them in the first place. But they are there for coffee emergencies, which don’t happen frequently. That is my justification.

Where is this going? I ran out of soy yesterday so I went to my stash and, as I ripped the top off of my fourth little tub and dumped it in my coffee, I thought, this is so bad for me. To make myself feel even guiltier, I took out the box and read the nutritional information and I was shocked to realize that on top of ingredients I can’t pronounce, each tub was packed with 30 calories. I use four per cup of coffee; I have at least three cups of coffee per morning: That adds up to almost 400 calories of chemical crap ALL before breakfast! EVERY day!

This got me curious about the soy creamer, so I checked out its nutritional info and found out that each container contains 960 calories. I go though those containers at the rate of about two-and-a-half per week. That is 2,400 calories, or one ice cream mini-binge night away from a pound a week. That means about three of my morning runs per week is going to cancel out my creamer addiction. Holy crap.

Yesterday was my last day of creamers. I have said before it is my only vice, and I am going to keep it, but it seems a little indulgent now. And I am not getting up at five in the morning to run for a creamer habit. I am back to adding a little milk to my coffee. It will take me a while to get used to not having that sickly sweet coffee taste, but I am sure I will learn to like it again. I hope I will learn to love it again.

Pictured above, the little devil creamers, with a raspberry, so show size perspective. Each of those little tubs packs 30 calories and about 50 chemicals. Also pictured, Avery’s kitchen creation. Nicole let her go to town with some spices and various ingredients while she was making dinner on Sunday. Avery’s culinary creation includes an entire jar of garlic powder (we never use it. so we figure, what is the damage in letting Avery use it) as well as sour cream and bleu cheese and pepper and parsley. Not bad for her first effort, I say!

What Do Bananas and Tori Spelling Have in Common?

To answer the blog title question, what they have in common is this post. There are three things on my mind that I need to write about: bananas, toddler vocabulary and Tori Spelling.

To understand why I want to talk about bananas, I first need to go back to the whole 30-Day Green Monster breakfast shake challenge. I am about halfway through and, while I am loving it, I am always hunting for new recipes, since my banana-blueberry blast is getting a bit played out. There is a world of food blogs out there that I am just starting to explore. It is very time-consuming. A friend sent me a link to a Green Monster blog that one day had a picture of something called banana soft serve. It looked appealing, so I googgled it and — lo and behold — there is a veritable underground movement to bring this tasty treat to tabletops everywhere.

It is the simplest thing: Peel ripe bananas; put them in the freezer; take them out and blend them in the food processor for a few minutes and viola, you get this delicious banana soft serve ice cream. That’s it! I add cinnamon and sometimes a little vanilla for a little extra kick. Did I mention it is delicious? This is going to be in heavy rotation in our house. Apparently it also qualifies as “raw” food, which is another thing I keep reading about on these foodie blogs. I can’t begin to adequately describe how tasty this is. Just try it. You will be shocked and stunned and in awe what a frozen banana turns into in a food processor. It really does taste like soft serve ice cream! The kids will think it is delicious too. Just try it. Did I mention I want other people to try it?

Moving on. The girls’ expanding vocabulary was cute at first, but now we seem to be stuck in a fugue of a few favorite phrases. Avery says one of the following four things ALL of the time:

• “I do it.”
• “Avery’s turn.”
• “Mine.”
• “No, Maddie, no!”

So she needs to do everything herself. And by “everything,” I mean everything. I made the mistake of lifting her off a stool at the sink after a short period of water play, but NO Momma, Avery has to climb down herself. So she promptly climbed back up the stool and down again. By herself. She has to put her shoes on herself. She needs to snap her car seat buckles and put milk in her sippy cup and screw the top back on. She wants to do to all and that is making certain tasks interminable. She tried to shred one piece of paper yesterday: It took her three minutes to get the flimsy paper into the slot. (Yes, I was supervising.) Thanks to this vocabulary detour, my responses to her have been reduced to “You did it!” and “Good job!” and “Keep trying…you can do it.” Which is fine and dandy, but when will we be able to move onto new topics?

Maddie’s favorite phrase is actually a word: “Bunge budge,” which is Maddie for Spongebob, which happens to be her favorite show. Maddie says other things that we don’t always understand. But Avery does. Last night at dinner, Madleine kept asking for something. Nicole and I had no idea what she was asking for. Avery cleared it up: Yogurt. Avery knew Maddie was asking for yogurt. How cute is that? I love the idea that these two may have their own secret language going on.

And now, apropos of nothing, Tori Spelling. I think I have mentioned in some posts how I read her two books and watched her show. Why on earth, some people want to know, do I watch her show and read her books? Fair questions. It is interesting how she has come to represent the cultural low brow, which has forced some people to be on the down-low about their appreciation of her. But I think I have figured it out. Her appeal to me, that is. First of all, she has issues with her mom and she isn’t afraid to write about it or talk about. What other Hollywood person can you think of who is outspoken about a problematic parental relationship? Some may call it airing dirty laundry, but I think it is just a coping mechanism and comes from a desire to truly make things work out. Hope springs eternal, right? There are some parallels there, between her and I. And I bought both books hoping to read an in-depth treatise on mother-daughter relationships. Someone needs to write that book...one exploring the at times painful and prickly yet enduring and eternally important relationship between mothers and daughters.

And the show, well, I am not usually a fan of those type of reality shows, yet I find her show fun to watch. Yes, I know all reality shows are scripted, and this is too, I’m sure. But I feel like we still get a little flavor of real life in there, fights and all. I think it accurately portrays marriage as something that is wonderful, but something that is also difficult at times, something that takes work and compromise. And then there is something about the way Tori’s husband treats her. He is the picture of devotion, which reminds all of us watchers that we shouldn’t settle down till we find that too. The way he supports his wife and loves her and treats her like a princess and showers her with gifts and compliments her all the time? The compliments are the best part: It’s crazy how good a few words of niceness make one feel. Yes, I know their relationship started as illicit affair, but they seem to prove that you can get do-overs in life and you can get that happy ending. So regardless of what people think, I am going on the record and admitting I am a fan!

Pictured above, banana soft serve! Make it! And pizza, made instantly healthy with the addition of arugula. If only it were that easy.

No Borboun, No Scotch, No Beer

Seven years today, I drank a bottle of Veuve Clicquot Grand Dame (a bottle of champagne given to me by Ru.pert Murd.och…long story) and never drank again. That was Day One. I still can’t believe it has been seven years since I drank way more than I should. I have to admit there are times when I miss it. Or, more specifically, I miss certain aspects of it. Squinting through hangovers and trying to piece together fuzzy nights and checking my Recent Calls on the cell to see who I spoke with: I don’t miss those parts. But I miss the social-ness of drinking; the (temporary and artificial) relief it brought me at the end of the bad day. Or, more truthfully, at the end of every day. When I get together with friends and they casually order a glass of wine (which the may or may not finish) I envy them. I wish I could take or leave liquor; get a drink and not feel the need for another and another and another and hey let’s go to another bar the night is still young. I wish that I never let it get the better of me and I wish I still had control.

But I don’t, and I am grateful that I got to the point in my life when I realized my consumption wasn’t normal and I am glad that I was able to stop, after many fits and starts. I couldn’t have done it without the unconditional support that I got from Nicole. What a difference it makes to try to stop when your partner supports that fully. She stuck with me as I fidgeted through the newly long nights, which didn’t include the requisite nightly bar visit. She held my hand as I walked past dark havens and old haunts, with their siren call of yeasty beer smells and sticky floors and super-friendly bartenders. She was a pillar of strength as I fumbled through those precarious early days, and is a daily reminder just by her presence of all that I got for giving up drinking. Because if I still drank, I can guaratee that I wouldn’t be with her, we wouldn’t have children, and I wouldn’t be where I am today. My drinking path was destructive and isolating and not conducive to healthy relationships, let alone parenthood. Now, each year to mark this occassion, she writes me the most beautiful cards, telling me how proud she is (usually accompanied by a gift!) because this is, in sober land, truly a day to celebrate.

People don’t believe me sometimes when I tell them how bad it was. But it was bad. Blackouts and spoken regrets and drunk-dialing and reckless nights dancing on bars are the tip of the liquor iceberg. There was the time when I literally almost died. I was drunk and walking home to my boat when I slipped off the undulating dock and fell like a stone into the cold, choppy Hudson River. I was wearing clogs that slipped off my feet and sank and a dress, which billowed up around me, making my struggle that much harder. I struggled to find the surface for the water. I finally came up, but I was underneath the dock, still under water and panicking and choking. I struggled like a caged animal, trying to find air and trying to find the edge of the dock to pull myself up. My ex fished me out, using that supernatural strength that one is only capable of in dire, life-or-could-be-death situations. It was eye-opening and terrifying, but did I quit the drink then and there? Nope. That was not enough of a wake-up call.

Fourteen rounds. I remember nights at bars drinking 14 rounds of beer. I could drink many people under the table. I used to be proud of that; about how much I could drink.

It was so difficult in the beginning, but it is not terribly trying now at all. There are days or moments when I say to Nicole “I really, really wish I could drink now” but they are usually a gut response to a bad day or some emotional upheaval. There are those hot summer nights when I would kill for a wheat beer with a sliver of lemon and those cold nights when I want a glass of throat-warming scotch, but, in general, my desire to drink coincides with a desire to make a bad situation better or a boring evening more enjoyable. Sometimes when Nicole and I go away, especially to new places, we will be walking and pass a bar and one of us will say “If we were still drinking, we would be there right now.” And we would have.

The question I get asked most: Do I mind if others drink around me? No, I don’t mind at all if you drink. It doesn't tempt me or make me feel weak or compromise my sobriety. I have a couple of friends who will still ask, when we go out to dinner, if I mind if they drink. I think that is very sweet, but, as I tell them, I don't mind at all.

For me, quitting was a life-saving decision and one I am so grateful to have made.

Pictured above, me, the subtle drunk. Notice the almost-empty glass of scotch on my hand. I couldn’t even take my had off that glass to take a picture. And, apparently I couldn’t blink in time with the shutter. Also pictured, another drunk-in-the-day shot. This time, on my boat, sitting on my smoking perch. Notice the empties over my shoulder. And the vinyl pants.

I Owe It All to the Italians and Their Superstitious New Year’s Diet

Fireworks and champagne were out of the question, so this year Nicole and I had to find another way to bring in the new year. For reasons I don’t understand, I wanted to add some sort of tradition; that is, one beyond my tradition of crying when the ball drops or the latest tradition, which involved sleeping through the ball drop (babies and their schedules and oh so tired mommies, I blame). I read how southerners eat black-eye peas and how the Japanese eat long buckwheat noodles: If they can eat one without chewing or breaking it, that means they are supposed to enjoy good luck and a long life. But I don’t like black-eyed peas and the noodle things sounded like a choking hazard.

I took to the nets and found a slew of Magical Foods from different cultures that make big promises if you consume them on New Year’s Eve or Day. Many of those foods offended my delicate taste sensibilities (aka, my super pickiness; to wit: A whole fish, eyes and all) so I selected Italian Lentils, the kind that look like little orangey-golden coins. The lentils, the Italians say, symbolizes money and good fortune. Who couldn’t use that? Eat them and money will fall you’re your lap. Whatever with long life, show me the money.

I went to Westerly, the local health food emporium, and scooped a giant portion of lentils into the plastic bag, paid and brought them home, completely unsure how one even cooks them. Back to the internet, and I got a recipe for these lentils, these lentil which would CERTAINLY change our lives.

So on January 1, 2009, I made a big dish of Italian lentils and made sure it was the first food we consumed in the morning on the first day of 2009. And, believe it or not, they worked. And worked. And worked. The first cash surprise was a completely unexpected check in the mail, some sort of real estate rebate that was cancelled by Bloomberg then reinstated. Then came a check for some overpayment of something. And then I got a very unexpected and large editing job. Last month, I won a baking contest at Nicole’s work and it unexpectedly came with a $100 gift certificate.

Anything that arrives in this house outside of Nicole’s paycheck I chalk up to the lentils. Yes, all of this would have happened I’m sure if we didn’t eat the beans but I am not taking any chances. I realized that some superstitions are fun. If I even find a sticky coin stuck to the floor in the laundry room I think “It’s the lentils working again!” I keep a scoop it the house at ALL times now (which is my variation on the superstition: Eat first thing in the new year and keep on hand at all times…) and will definitely be eating them on the morn of 2010. I want others to try it. What can it hurt? At the very least, the lentils are good to eat!

Pictured above, the lentils, in all their uncooked glory. And below that, dinner. I love salad but really don’t enjoy making them. It is so labor intensive. When I look in the fridge I must say that salad makings don’t really jump out at me. This was my modified Cobb (no bacon and no chicken) and it was really good. Cobb is my second favorite, right behind a bleu cheese wedge.

Rolling With The Punches

First, thanks for all the comments and email. I appreciate every word of advice, encouragement, empathy, etc. This is all a learning process for me; letting go is just not in my nature. My sister-in-law said to me in her deliciously blunt way that I get disappointed when things don’t work out the way I want. Not just a little disappointed; a lot. I am very good at planning things, so my level of disappointment is continuous. And she is right. I need to be better at accepting things that I can’t change, and changing the things that I can. I want relationships to be a certain way, but there isn’t a cookie cutter for that. There is only so much I have control over, right? So I need to let go a little and let everything just be the way it is supposed to be. Easier said than done. I feel ok right now, but I am pretty certain that this feeling of calm acquiescence will ebb and flow.

In the meantime, I am distracting myself with tons of reading. I just downloaded Middlesex and am excited to begin it. So many books, so little time…

Avery is battling a summer cold, complete with rattling cough and runny nose. It also came with a fever, but that stopped a couple of days ago. Maddie has a minor version of it, and I suffered through a few days myself. I thought summer was the magically healthy time for toddlers. It makes me dread winter and its virus fest. But fall, I am so ready for. Enough of this summer in the city already. I want sweaters and leaves and scarves and brisk days.

Phrases heard in our house now all the time: “My turn.” “Mine!” “I do it!” “No Maddie no!” “Sorry, Momma!” Yes, we are definitely smack dab in the middle of a challenging phase. Which translates into eating battles too. Madeline eats great: Lots of fruit and veggies all day and an adventurous palette to boot. She will choose carrots over Fig Newtons and raspberries over chips! But Avery…not as good. She will not touch fruits of veggies and leans heavily on carbs. Our latest battle is getting them to eat at the table. They like to take their food on the run. We try to make sure we all eat dinner together at the table every night, but so far, no luck with breakfast, snacks or lunch.

Countdown two days till my seventh sober anniversary... quitting drinking was worth if only because it created a gift-receiving occasion!

Pictured above, morning shake before and after. It’s Day 12 already! I think I have found a good ratio of blueberries and bananas and milk and Chia seeds and powder. I may start adding flax seed because I am feeling cocky now. I got Nicole drinking them too. Today is Day Two for her. Also pictured, raspberry bars that I made for Nicole to take to work. I gave one to Maddie and she loved it. And then I remember that there are nuts in it. She has had minor allergic symptoms to nuts, so I guess I will be on high alert all day for hives and such. And the last picture, if you look closely at that car, you will see it is stuffed with oatmeal cookies I made for the girls. Not the best use of my baked good, though pretty creative, I must admit.

Nothing To See Here

You know where to go for the secret blog. It’s up and ready for comments.

But here, business as usual. How about a boring shake update? I am loving my breakfast shake. Loving it. I experiment with different combinations of fruit each day; some are winners and some suck more than you think it could be possible for something that is mostly fruit. But it is such a great way to start the day. I am very much a momentum person, so if I start out eating healthy, then I can carry on with that throughout the day. Or, at least, until four-ish. My eating has been horrible lately. I skip meals daily, because it is summer and I am not fond of eating when it is hot out. Having that shake in the morning makes me feel like I am at least packing some nutrients into my scatter shot diet and starting the day off right. I have a feeling I may keep this habit far beyond the initial 30-day trial.

Nicole’s big news, for those of you who are so patiently waiting, is that she is moving to a new division in her company into a role that she is very excited about. May not seem milestone-y enough, but it is for her. The benefits of working for a bank with like 70,000 employees is that there is always room to grow, laterally and vertically. It is like Nicole just slid up a chute on a corporate game of Chutes and Ladders.

Random question: Has anyone read Middlesex? Should I read it? Yes, I am making you all responsible for my reading list. I am reading The 19th Wife and loving it. I am always up for a book about polygamy. I also just finished This is Where I Leave You and it was very, very good. It will make an awesome movie (already optioned).

Pictured above, blueberry and bananas and vanilla (and a scoop of the Green Monster powder). And the girls in their news shoes. They picked out their own colors! And, for the first time, really, they both feel ownership over something specific with permanence. Heretofore, they trade shoes and clothes and toys and everything belongs to everyone. But the red shoes are Maddie’s shoes. And the pink are Avery’s.

Time to Batten Down the Hatches; Storm's a-Brewing

I want my money back because the so-called calming chamomile with hints of relaxing Tahitian vanilla shampoo is NOT working.

The background: I am back home in the city after a week on Long Island with four kids: my own and my niece and nephew. We stayed there for a week, in what is to become the first year of Camp Cousin, a tradition I would like to keep up so the kids can spend a week together. Cousin bonding time, if you will.

Of course, nothing goes quite as planned. And my next post, coming later today or tomorrow but certainly before the weekend's end, will be a private one. So dust off your passwords and email me if you lost it/forgot it.

I will say it is so nice to be home. Five days without Nicole is way too long, for the girls and for me. The only downside so far: Poor Avery is feverish and has a bad cough, which makes her even more cuddly than usual. It looks like it will be a quiet day for us at home.

Pictured above, Camp Cousin!

The Lawsuit That Got Away....Maybe

About six weeks ago, I was in a major NYC food store (rhymes with “P-ristedes”) and had a bad fall. An embarrassing, flat-on-my-side kind of fall. One of the freezers along the back wall of the store was leaking and there was a big puddle, the size Lake Titicaca, that I somehow missed. In my haste to buy whatever it was I went to buy, I slid right into the puddle and fell hard on my ankle. I was a little stunned, and a couple of other shoppers came over to help me up. It hurt SO much. I got myself up and hobbled toward the exit, but my gait was slow enough that I saw one of the employees return to the scene with a mop and one of those danger cones.

I limped out of the store and back home, but the next day I was in so much pain I could barely walk. That has never happened to me before. Thirty-seven years on this planet and I have never limped. I had to hop to get around. We were going away that weekend (it was my birthday weekend) and we thought about canceling. But I didn’t want to do that so we kept our plans and hoped for the best.

Advil wasn’t cutting it. There were some extra Percocets left over from my C-section prescription. I didn’t finish the pills because I was so paranoid about breastfeeding and taking all these pain meds, even though all the doctors gave the ok, so I parsed them out and gritted through the pain, ostensibly to save my children from becoming addicted to pain meds in their first weeks of life. So I took the Percs while we were away and it help immeasurably with the pain. Within 20 minutes, I could walk with no problem. It is a miracle pill. Sure, I probably did extra damage by masking the pain and keeping on keeping on. But I am not the convalescing type. Thank you, Percoset, for getting me through hat rough week.

When it happened, one of the customers at the store mumbled that I should sue this store that rhymes with P-ristedes. But for what? I have health insurance, so any doctor visits are covered. I don’t have a physical labor job, so my income is not impacted. I had pills at home, so I didn’t even have to head to Duane Reade to get painkillers. The worst case scenario is I might have to go to the doctor and inconvenience Nicole to take a few hours off of work to stay with the girls. These things happen, and I was happy it wasn’t worse and I wasn’t going to sue. Besides, lawsuits take way too much time and money and note-taking. As my lawyer friend Jon says, lawsuits are not for the forgetful.

Except now, the pain is STILL there. A dull, throbbing pain that is intensified if I flex my foot or point the toes down. If I am sitting on the floor with the girls for a while, I feel it get tight. When I walk far distances, which I do daily in NYC, I feel a dull ache. I feel it when I run. The pain is not completely going away and I am pissed. But what’s a girl to do? Despite my revenge-driven theory that someone MUST pay for this, I am not going to sue. But I guess I have new insight into why people do sue, even when it seems like there experienced no real impact from an injury. It sucks that I have to deal with this because the store that rhymes with P-ristedes isn’t taking proper care of its freezers. (I have seen puddles there before, for the record.)

It’s Day Two of Green Monster, and I think this smoothie is better than the last: Bananas and blueberries and vanilla and milk. And the green powder. The semi-gross green power that promises oh so many things. Nicole tasted it today and declared it not undrinkable, but that very specific healthy powder flavor…well, it is a bit strong.

I am taking the powder on the road for a week, as I am heading to Long Island, where I will be hosting Camp Cousin. Leif and Skye are coming out for the week and I will be mothering four kids all. week. long. Yes, maybe I am biting off more than I can chew, but with a backyard and dens and kitchens and living rooms and dining rooms and a portable Bounce Castle, I feel empowered. I’ve created a menu for the week and will enforce a strict bedtime. There will be one movie per night, before bed, with popcorn. It is going to be difficult, but I am curious to see if the shake-in-the-morning helps me. I won’t be able to run, unless I get up WAY early and ask my mother to be in charge for that early morning hour. But we’ll see. I will be my new running shoes and maybe head to my old high school track, the site of many an embarrassing 440s and Presidential Fitness Tests.

Pictured above, Madeline in Nicole’s shoes. And the girls with Mommy.

Would You Like A Side Order of Sleek, Functional Design with That?

Today is The Day. It is Friday, August 14 and this is the day that Molly and I begin of 30-Day Challenge. Thirty days of Green Monster Smoothies for breakfast, every day, without fail, dammit. And than means we have thirty days to find out if we reap any of the oft-hyped benefits, such as increased energy, healthy skin and nails and hair and a scrubbed-out set of internal organs. I want a spotless lower intestine. I want my sparkling liver. I want hair so shiny it can be used as a mirror. Whatever this magic powder promises, I want, plus a little more. Is that too much to ask?

Yesterday, Avery presented me with an additional milestone: She apologized to me, for the first time. Maddie took her crayons and for the tenth time created some art on various walls. It is frightening how fast she is and how many walls she can cover while I go into the kitchen to get some water. This is a girl with a mission. And then I come back and yell NO and, just to spite me and show me who’s boss, she does it in double time, as she knows the crayon will quickly be pried from her sticky little fingers and put back in the crayon drawer.

Back to the milestone. So as I am scrubbing away at yet another wall that will have a hazy hint of orange on it because I am not putting enough muscle power into it, and Avery came over to me and, for some reason, said “Sowwy, Momma.” I think she could tell I was frustrated by Crayon-gate, even though she only uses crayons on paper, like good girls everywhere do. And she also apologized after a ten-minute temper tantrum she had a few hours later. That apology came with a hug. It melts the heart!

Yesterday was hectic, with four kids in this house. Anyone with more than two kids, you have my COMPLETE awe and respect. For me, two kids are manageable. I am used to that dynamic and I can handle it, most of the time. But when you start adding kids, my patience gets shorter, my temper surfaces more and my exasperation is tripled. With two two-year-olds, a four year old and a six year old, there is always something going on. Someone’s fort is invaded, someone’s flashlight is pilfered, someone’s Gameboy — apparently called DXs or something now — is running out of batteries, someone’s stuffed dog Pepper is kidnapped. And, at certain times, everyone wants to sit on my lap at the same time. Life would have been a lot easier if I could find a cartoon that spans this toddler-preschooler-first-grader age range.

I know I promised to write about Nicole’s milestone, and I wrote it all up, in glorious detail, and read it to Nicole to make sure it was okay, but Nicole redacted it. I was censored! Which is not to say that I can’t share; I just need to write a less-detailed version. This is a woman who is not as used to sharing as I am! So please stand by.

In the meantime, I am flustered and excited by a surprise that showed up last night. Yesterday, due to a house full of kids and that lowered patience level, I was not capable of making dinner. I was in the mood for a chopped salad anyway and asked Nicole to pick it up on her way home from work. She did and when she came in she gave me the bag and asked me to set it up because she was SO hungry. That should have a been a clue.

I opened the bag and pull out my salad and her wrap and some cheap forks and an iPhone! She went to the Mac Store and got us both iPhones yesterday! I have been a Mac girl since my college days and converted Nicole. We both have been coveting them since they were announced, but thought we should wait eight months until our Verizon plan expired. She is pragmatic and logical and not the type to pay the extra fee for terminating a contract early. But I am glad she had a lapse!

The modified Gift of The Magi part was I was going up to The Mac Store today with the girls to buy one for Nicole. She has been talking about getting one a lot lately, and I thought, aha, here is a gift that Nicole will love and I am going to make it happen, extra fees be damned. She is so hard to buy for so when an opportunity presents itself, I like to jump on it.

I had my surprise for her all planned out, but she beat me to the punch. The best part is the only reason why I didn’t go yesterday was because I thought four kids in the Mac Store would push me over the edge. Otherwise I might have run into her! So let the record reflect that once again, she buys what she wants and needs when she wants and need them, thus ruining every gift-giving occasion. So when she gets dish towels for her birthday, she really has no one to blame but herself.

Pictured above, the best Chop't salad I have ever had! And the kids and their digital childhood.

How to Build A Cookie Burger

Yeah, I know I promised to reveal Nicole’s Big Milestone, but I have to wait one more day. Or, specifically, until later this afternoon but the likelihood of me posting twice in one day are slim. Leif and Skye are coming over again today, and with a house full of children, it is impossible to squeeze in time for things like that. So tomorrow, tomorrow.

There is a good chance that I will have melted by tomorrow though. It is HOT in the apartment. I reason that it is on the top floor so all of the heat must rise into our home. Plus, we are under the roof, so we get that extra hit of warming sun. But it is consistently 85 degrees in this apartment. And that is not an exaggeration: I have an indoor thermometer. We have an AC in the bedroom, and used to have one I the girls’ room to, but we never put the second AC in and moved it out to LI instead. Big mistake. It gets unbelievable hot in here, and when I use the oven, forget it. If you don’t believe me, ask Ms. Unwellness
. She and Beck came over yesterday and can attest to the fact that it felt like an oven. So today, I am looking for two ACs: One for the girls’ room and one for the kitchen. I can only imagine what our electric bill will be: Right now, with one AC that is usually on just at night, our bill is $240 a month.

These days, pretty much al of my recipes come from Cooks Illustrated. I love that book/magazine/website. Amazing recipes and pretty much everything I make from it is a huge hit. So the Challah bread recipe came from there. It is way to long to type up! The website is one of those that you have t pay for, but the do have a free 14-day trial.

And here is the hamburger cookie recipe:

Hamburger Cookies With A Side Of (French or Freedom) Fries

• 1 big box (12 oz.) Nilla* wafers
• 1/2 cup powdered sugar
• 3/4 cup semisweet chocolate chips or about 8 ounces of semisweet chocolate in bar form
• 1/3 cup milk (whole, skim, almond, whatever)
• 1/2 cup sweetened flaked coconut
• 1/2 teaspoon water
• green food coloring
• Red and yellow decorating gels, the kind usually used to write HAPPY BIRTHDAY on a cake (for ketchup and mustard)

If You Want A Sesame Seed Bun:
• Melted butter or gum Arabic
• Sesame seeds, or, if you insist on maintaining the sweet integrity of the cookie you can use marzipan or fondant to create little things that look like sesame seeds.

Directions:

Put about twenty Nilla wafers into a Ziploc or mini food processor and crush into small pieces (not a fine crumb…more like a chunky crumb). This should yield about 1½ cups. Mix wafer crumbs with powdered sugar in a bowl. I will not be pedantic and say what size bowl to use. I think you can figure it out.
Melt chocolate and milk on stove (or in the microwave). Stir to make sure it doesn’t burn. Once melted, pour chocolate mixture into wafer mixture; stir until combined. It will be chunky and kind of fudge-like, like a really thick cookie dough. Cool for 10 minutes. Then, after it has cooled a little, roll this chunky fudgey-like dough into little balls (about one tablespoon each). Then flatten them so they look like little patties.
Combine coconut, drops of water and green food coloring in a Ziplock. Seal bag and shake shake shake till it’s as green as you want.
Now build the burgers. Start with one Nilla wafer, then add the patty, then add a smidgen of green coconut, then add ketchup and mustard. I squeezed the mustard and ketchup in ovals on the patty’s tops, so it sort of dips down on the side of the bun. Put Nilla wafer on top. If you want to add sesame seeds, then melt butter and brush a little on top and drop on some seeds. Or use Gum Arabic, which is an edible adhesive used in baking that is flavorless. You can add flavor to this flavorless gum if you want by adding Colorless Vanilla. But melted butter works just fine too, and is easy.
Ideas that I may try in the future: Using fruit rolls up of a yellow or orange variety and cut into little squares to make cheese. Also, there has to be a gummi candy that can be slice to look like a tomato. And, finally, I bet you can use white chocolate and then color it to make it look like veggie burgers or chicken/turkey burgers.
The Fries:
Make sugar cookie dough OR just buy the rolled-up, ready-to-bake kind. I did the latter for my first attempt. Roll out the sugar dough on parchment paper, then sprinkle sugar all over the tops and then, using a pizza cutter, slice it into thin strips. Then — and this is very important — put the whole thing in the freezer, like you do if you are making cut-out sugar cookies. If you try to separate the pieces before freezing it, it will not work. Once frozen (I think about 15 minutes) then you can lift up the dough and break off the strips. Unbelievably easy.
Put the thin strips on a parchment-paper–covered baking sheet, spaced apart, and cook. When they are done you are going to think “This doesn’t look right” because the pieces are all puffed up and look like fat fingers and not like French fries at all. But that’s ok. As soon as you take them out of the oven, take your pizza cutter and immediately cut the puffed up pieces into thin shoestring-like strips. If you wait too long (just minutes) the cookies will harden and it will be impossible to slice into thinner strips. Also, as soon as you take it out of the oven, you can sprinkle more sugar on it to make it extra delicious and make them look like extra-crispy fries.
* I use Nilla wafers, but I am sure any old kind of vanilla wafer cookie will work.

Pictured above, cookie close-ups. And my Green Monster Smoothie! The thirty-day challenge has not officially begun yet, but I wanted to have a couple of days to try to ramp up my smoothie-making skills. My fruit combining skills begin and end at banana-strawberry. So I am trying to add blueberries and blackberries and orange and everything else. Thinking outside of the fruit box, if you will. The color is not very appealing and the taste is decidedly healthy. Let’s just say my versions won’t be mass marketed anytime soon. I made one yesterday and, this may be a revisionist history, but I had A TON of energy afterward. While watching all four kids, I cleaned the bathroom, organized the bedroom, and cleaned up the entire kitchen. I was unstoppable? Coincidence? We’ll see….

How Green was My Monster?

It was a milestone sort of day round these here parts. And each person in this family has one to share.

Avery’s Milestone: Avery put on her shoes all by herself. Her new and constanly repeated motto is “Avery do eet” and, I am proud to say, she is dabbling in personal pronouns, which translates into “I-a do eet.” Now she says this all the time, which can be charming and wonderful, but can also turn any simple task into a fifteen minute event or a thirty-minute massive inconvenience. Avery wants to pour her own Cheerios? Five minutes, including clean-up time. Avery wants to use the remote to put on Curious George? That is easily ten minutes. Because when Avery does it that mean I can’t do a thing, except bark orders like a coach on the sidelines, trying to use as many words that she understands as possible. Which sounds a whole lot like “Now touch the round button, no, the circle button, in the middle, right there, circle, circle, circle, round, right there, yes round, no touch it, oh, no, you have to point it at the TV, now touch it, touch the round button…” and just play that on a loop for ten minutes and you will get what I am up against.

Back to her milestone. Today, I couldn’t find her trust summer crocs so I dug in the bag of niece and nephew hand-me-downs and found a pair of Velcro sandals. And Avery put them on all by herself. Yes, she put them on the wrong feet, but still, progress. And she wouldn’t let me fix them. Which makes me wonder, is she already turning into a surly teenager?

Madeline’s Milestone: Not to be outdone by her sister and coming in just under the wire, Madeline flung herself out of her crib tonight. This is her second time; the first being about two months ago. Nicole and I were in our bedroom and heard the whole thing on the monitor, including Avery egging Maddie on with “Go get it, Maddie.” Hmmm. And then, that unmistakable thunk of thirty pounds of toddler hitting hard wooden floor, cushioned only by a thin rug. We have no idea where she hit herself, because by the time we made it to their room, she was already standing and screaming. We soothed her and Avery the Instigator and put them back down. But, at ten, while the girls were sound asleep, I went into their dark oasis of a room, scooped up Madeline and nestled her in our bed with Nicole on one side and my pillow on the other, since I am here typing in the kitchen. I feel better having her close to us after she takes a fall like that.

My Milestone: I made mini hamburger cookies today for Leif and Skye, who are under my care tomorrow. The cookies have received praise from Nicole and several friends already. I am happy to explain how it is done, if anyone wants to know. I made them with the girls, but I gave them decoy tasks: “Here, Avery, mix these Cheerios with cranberries.” “Here Maddie, add these cranberries to Avery’s mix.” Because they like to help, and, as I pointed out before, their help is my hindrance, usually. Once they were distracted I was able to build a better cookie burger. And tomorrow, I will make its fries. Next up on my baking short list is a14-layer cake. Oh, yes I am. I just need a function to bring it to. So someone, quick, invite me over and ask me to bring dessert. And I will, and it will be a 14-layer cake.

Nicole’s Milestone: Here’s where I get to be coy. Nicole has a big milestone, but I won’t be able to announce it until tomorrow.

And, in exciting news (for me), breakfast change is a-foot. I have been struggling with the breakfast dilemma for a while now. Peanut toast became very unappealing once we went through the mouse issue, and peanut butter was used as bait. I am not a cereal eater; nor do I enjoy yogurt. Sadly, fruit is not top on my list and toast is boring without protein-packed peanut butter slathered on it. I love pancakes and French toast and such, but they are way too intense for a casual weekday meal. I was talking with my friend Molly and she is all about smoothies and Green Monsters. She has done all sorts of research and has collected anecdotal evidence of Green Monster Smoothies being The Answer to All That Ails You. After a short conversation I was convinced smoothies were the answer to everything, too: Not only are they easy to make, but they pack in a huge amount of healthy fruit and veggie servings in a teeny spoonful of powder. I ran off to Whole Foods to buy the powder and once Molly’s package arrives in the mail, we will be embarking on a 30-Day Challenge of one smoothie a day, with the intention of finding out if our nails and hair grow faster; if our skin looks all glow-y; if our energy levels increase and if we feel detoxed. Stay tuned.

Pictured above, Avery’s milestone and my milestone and the new Green Superfood. Miracle in a can? We’ll see….

Perhaps I am Overthinking This Whole Parenting Thing

I have had more than one person comment to me recently that they are not the mother they thought they would be. They then are quick enumerate the many, many ways in which they claim to be a disappointment to themselves. In the past I never gave this much thought because I have said the very same thing myself and had my own list at the ready. But now, I’ve been thinking, maybe I (we) need to let up on myself (ourselves) a little.

Yeah, I had a vision of what kind of mother I would be. But this is a vision I created before I knew what it was like to have children; a daydream I created while going through the hell of trying to get and stay pregnant; a carefully designed mirage that turned out to be pure fantasy and speculation and wishful thinking. And we are beating ourselves up because we don’t live up to this? I also thought pregnancy would be a lovely, glowing Madonna and Child(ren) experience, steeped in wonder and awe. Nope, sciatic nerve zaps and constant urination and perpetual discomfort weren’t a part of that image.

Like many people born in the seventies and earlier, there are just a handful of blurry and fading pictures and a few fuzzy home movies to encapsulate my childhood, which pales in comparison to the blogs and pictures and home movies and books that my own children have. Perhaps the girls will someday be embarrassed of this biographical bounty. Time will tell. I guess I am motivated by my personal lament for more evidence that I existed before I was ten/twelve years old, which is around when most of memories start. (I will never, ever win that “When was your earliest memory?” game.) So I observe and record and capture and document and save save save every last detail of the girls’ lives, for their sakes and for my own. Someday when one asks me what there favorite food was when they were two, I need to be able to answer it. (For the record, Avery is loving fig newtons and pizza and, suddenly, pastina, and Madeline leans toward all types of fruit.)

But for most people, memories makes up for what lacks in pictures and warping VHS tapes. This is where I fall way short. My memories are so fractured and just plain scant.
But it is, for me, impossible to parent without conjuring up how I was parented. How I parent either aligns with what was done with me or, more often than not, contradicts it. And there is a whole lot of just guessing on my part, of sort of feeling around in the dark until I find something that resembles a door knob so I can open a door and let in some light, because there is a whole lot I don’t remember. What I do remember is not so great. And it makes me feel sorry for the little me. Yeah, I know how cheesy that sounds, but it’s true. I look at my beautiful daughters every day and think how DARE everyone not love them to pieces. Did my parents think that about me?

This might be a good time to recall that actions speak much louder than words.

So I kiss the girls each a hundred times a day, at least, and despite my tendency toward hyperbole, this is not a case of exaggeration. I do it because I never remember that as a child. Specifically, I have no memories of being kissed, or hugged, or even really touched much. Therefore, “Kiss Often” is part of my Parenting Blueprint. And the rest of it, I think Nicole and I are making up as we go along, and that seems fine.

There are a million books out there and lots of unsolicited advice, but maybe parenting is such a unique and highly personal endeavor that it is impossible to define it in broad strokes or ten chapters. Maybe it’s not about enrolling the girls in dance classes or taking them to the playground every day or limiting their television viewing. And maybe my parenting prowess will not be measured by how many food groups I can get them to ingest or by the length of their afternoon nap. Maybe it won’t even be measured by the girls’ memories. Maybe it is just a new small, attainable goal each day, and striving to make sure the girls feel loved.

I have said to other people — and other people have said to me — that the very fact that you are thinking about your parenting skills makes you a good parent. Let’s hope that is true!

Pictured above, what happens when Madeline eats applesauce unsupervised! And Avery with her new hair do (introducing: Barrettes!) And Madeline with the French Toast Nicole made from the Challah bread I made. Did you follow that? It was my first try making Challah and it was pretty good!