My So-Called Political Life: The Making of a Jaded Citizen

The Nixon Administration: I was born on the Fourth of July in 1972 into a family with not one know democrat in a community that is very, very, very republican. I may as well have arrived in an elephant onesie. If my parents were able to have “life-long republican” stamped on my birth certificate, they probably would have.

The Ford and Carter Years (the 70s): I don’t think people whose age is a single digit have much of a political life, but their political future is indeed being shaped by their family, since their young friends are also too young to have true influence. Let’s skip talking about parents and talk instead of their parents. My grandparents never taught me that I am better than another based on the color of my skin, etc. but — as I say a lot these days — actions speak louder than words. Some of the things that came out of their mouths were stunningly bigoted and some of the beliefs they held were steeped in misconceptions, generalizations and personal history. Like one grandfather, who had a hard time accepting my brother’s Japanese girlfriend (now wife) because he fought the Japanese in WWII. Or my DAR grandmother, who grew up in the South, and had some rather not very nice words to describe people born with skin darker than my own. Another grandfather had a Jewish boss who didn’t allow my grandfather to take the day off for his own father’s funeral: I bet you can see what that lead to. And homosexuality? It wasn’t even discussed.

But grandparents, I always thought, are charter members of the let-it-slide generation, which means it is nearly impossible to change what they have been indoctrinated into. I am not making excuses for them, but it is pretty difficult to find a forward-thinking person born in the early 1900s. What does this have to do with politics? I think race and gender and culture and all of their manifestations impact our political beliefs. And flash forward to my adult life, and I can say unequivocally that I am not racist, classist or homophobic (obviously) in any way. Yes, I consider this an accomplishment.

1980: I voted in my first presidential election. We third graders cast our ballots and an overwhelming number of us choose Republican Ronald Reagan over incumbent Democrat Jimmy Carter. But I was in third grade, so it is safe to say that I was 1.) voting for jelly beans over peanuts or 2.) voting what my parents were voting. I mean, what third grader is capable of independent thought? This isn’t Lord of the Flies: We eight and nine year olds don’t rule the world.

1982: Boy George enters my realm of existence; fights for space with Alex P. Keaton, the republican Wunderkind. And yes, I liked them both, with equal measure, which lead to the realization that I could indeed hold in my head two diametrically opposed thoughts at the same time. In marches Madonna and Prince and Erasure and all the rest. Gender is bent, lines are blurred, homosexuality starts to get a foothold in our society’s dialogue.

The Reagan/Bush teen years: I was republican, but, sadly, only because my family was and most of my community was. I never really thought about it much. Let’s face it: I was more concerned with getting my collar to stand up just right and figuring out which tank top to wear under my off-the-shoulder sweatshirts. Finding scrunchy socks was my mission, not finding a political platform.

The First Bush Administration: I start my college life at NYU. I went from a small, undiverse high school (150 in graduating class: All white, except for two people of color) to one of the most diverse colleges in the country in one of the most diverse cities in the world. Eye-opening, to say the least. Yet I still clung to my Republican label. But mainly I was too busy exploring nightlife and drinking to think about the political system.

The Bush to Clinton Transition Between 1990 and 1994: During college, I shed my republican skin and put on a new Democrat coat. Blame it on diversity. Blame it on drinking. Blame it on feminist thought. I’d say I based most of this conversion on social criteria: Hot button issues like health care and help for the poor and a woman’s right to chose and civil rights, all of which I was firmly in favor for. Bizarre to think that things like “Homeland Security” weren’t even remotely on the radar yet. Clinton fever was sweeping the nation and I was happy to be swept up along with it. I went to my first Democratic fundraiser alone, and sat on the ground in front of Lauren Bacall and listened to Barbra Streisand sing and thought, I am with my people!

The GW Years: I am really, truly an adult. Nicole and I have commenced our relationship; I zip through two graduate degrees; we plan to have kids. All this without the protection of marriage. For the first administration, I am firmly, completely, happily on the Democrat side, even though many people I know are not. But a little political ennui seeps in during the second administration. Ideas start creeping into my thoughts like “nothing will ever change” and “everyone is in it for themselves.” Shouldn’t we all try to help each other, and look out for those who are most disadvantaged? For example, I think welfare is a flawed but necessary system. It is a life saver for a huge percentage of our population. And such a polarizing issue. I am generalizing here, but many Democrats will call it a life saver for people in need and many Republicans call it a hand out for lazy people. Would I rather shut all programs down and spend the money on things that benefit me? Sure. But I feel like that is not the right thing to do, and that we, as a society, need to think about others as well. Even if that means I need to lose out a little.

All Aboard the Hope Train: I went from being born a Republican to becoming a democrat to becoming jaded to …. It’s all about me now. I am making decisions based on what is best for me and my family now, period. f you are going to openly oppose gay marriage, I will not vote for you. Isn’t that an awful attitude? I went to from voting based on an ideology that I though you best serve the country to voting based on my own selfish wants and needs. A complete turn-around from what I used to think.

I was very politically aware during this last election. Neither candidate was overwhelmingly appealing. I liked Obama’s social issues, to an extent, but I think McCain had a sounder financial platform. I couldn’t get past McCain’s Palin choice or his anti-gay marriage ideals. I was one of the only democrats I know who was not fully in the Obama camp or slapping a bumper sticker on my car. And I am still not. My jaded-ness has reached an all-time high and I now long for a partyless race or some sort of massive change that I am unable to articulate. Because a system in which something as huge as health care can be decided by the election of one person is severely flawed.

And now, it’s national budget time. Obama’s not terribly original plan is to cut spending and raise taxes. It’s not his fault: Permutations of this formula are really the only options at any president’s disposal. For us, for me, if this all passes, that means will be paying 39.6 percent, as opposed to 35. Really??!! Almost 40 percent of our income will go to taxes? It makes me angry because I say that we pay all this money in taxes and get no special benefits. Nicole points out that we indeed take advantage of infrastructure and a police force and things like that, but still. These days, I want more to show for it.

Where does that leave me now? Socially democrat but fiscally republican? Independent? Just jaded? I am not sure. It just seems like everything is completely broken, flawed or outdated. But it is safe to safe my political bad mood is very much tied to my current bad mood.

And the groundhog predicts another six weeks of winter? Has he ever NOT predicted that? Stay tuned for more entries inspired by my sourness… But today, I am trying to drag myself out of this mood. I am trying a new schedule out with the girls. And I want to take them somewhere special.

Pictured above: Avery’s drew this spider. Isn’t that pretty good? There are clear legs and little shoes on them. Also pictured, Avery’s yoga/crayon pose.

Too, too, too. Me, me, me

Here’s a Blind Item to start your Sunday morning:

Me: “Why don’t you come into the city tomorrow and hang out with me and girls? I can’t drive out there because Nicole and the car are in Massachusetts.”
Mystery Person: “I think I’ll take a pass.”

You’ll take a pass?! Who even uses that sentence construct when declining a “please visit me” request? You pass on stuffed mushrooms or chicken satay. You pass on the dutchie passed on the left hand side. You pass on a third shot of tequila. You don’t pass on people. Several excuses were rattled off. I give you, in no particular order: Too tired, too cold and too much. When will I stopped feeling stunned? My disappoint knows no boundaries, apparently. Who knows how to fence off rejection pain?

So, yes, that dark mood is still lingering.

Last night I kneeled at the girls’ bed, where they were both sleeping angelically together, put my hands on their backs to make sure they are breathing, and just cried. It was like a moment out of a movie. I could imagine a camera above me, circling around the scene. Maybe it’s hormones. I don’t know. Maybe it’s because they are so sweet and so innocent when they are at the most sleeping vulnerable, and I feel like a monster for ever losing my patience with them. Maybe I am just exhausted. Whatever it is, I am not feeling very balanced right now, but tears aren’t helping.

I put about $600 dollars worth of merchandise into my virtual shopping cart, which, of course, I ended up deleting, because that’s not going to make things better, is it? But my vices are limited.

I’ve had three cups of coffee and made big plans for the day in my caffeine high. And already I have a feeling none will see the light of day.

Pictured, Madeline, who manages to pull off a look that says both “bored” and “above you” like no one else. And Avery, happy as a lark.

Please, Please, Please Let There Be Light

I replaced light bulbs in an overhead light this morning, which involved a lot of stretching and balancing, and it is as if I want a freaking medal. This has been one of those weeks when it has been hard getting things done. I have been neglecting my wifely duties. Here’s proof: Nicole, looking at the mountain of laundry overflowing from the hamper: “Do you think you can do laundry tomorrow?” Me, sighing heavily: “We’ll see.” This week, Nicole has been at work late, and she is currently in Boston for the night. My sleep has been awful: I fall asleep sometime around 1:00 and then when the alarm goes off three hours later to go to the gym, I dismiss it. So I skip my run and sleep in, but while those extra few hours of sleep are needed and appreciated, I pay a heavy price for it all day: I’m lethargic, have less energy, and experience a general feeling of run failure, which I never handle well.

The girls, of course, sensing my (hopefully temporary) weaknesses, have ganged up and overpowered me, and I find myself giving in to their many, many demands more easily. Sure, you can use that paci alllllllll day if it will make you happy. You won’t put on shoes to go to the laundry room? Fine, go barefoot. They can eat an entire pan of brownies and Avery can keep her pajama bottoms on all day. I am too tired to negotiate.

Hold on, Avery just submitted a demand: “Momma, I need plenty more Cheerios.” This “plenty more” is her latest figure of speech. I think it stems from when she asks me for something, like more crayons, when she already has 78, and I say “You have plenty.” So now, she needs “plenty more” of everything.

OK, back. So it has been a tough week, and getting through today and tomorrow solo (no gym for sure, since Nicole isn’t here) is going to be tough. I think I am taking the girls to the movies today. I have the God awful choice of that Chipmunk movie or the Disney Princess movie. Nothing against princesses, but I don’t want to introduce that into our world quite yet. Avery is already completely embracing her inner, innate girl, which I find interesting, as her exposure to things girly-girl are very limited. She sees my manicure and wants one too (in pink, she says). She turns her blankets into gowns and runs around saying “I’m a snow princess Momma!” (I think she got that from the Dora Christmas special.) So if she sees a real Disney princess, I think she may lose it, and my life will be pink pink pink and there will be demands for tiaras and wands and mini high heels for the foreseeable future. I am grateful, at least, that she is also very much into her play tool kit. It’s all about balance, right?

I left the high heels I wore to Monday’s dinner on the floor all week. It’s like I wanted to be reminded that I had the chance to wear them, that I lead this life that involves wearing them and lipstick and contour eye shadow, at least every once in a while. Or maybe I am just feeling lazy and didn’t put them away because there was no medal or reward involved.

Pictured above, the girls at the Zoo. On the entire walk up there, they talked about the penguins. We get there and head over to the penguin habitat and it is ….. closed for renovations. Try explaining that to toddlers who wanted nothing more than to visit the swimming penguins. The sleeping polar bears appeased them a little. And that is a picture of the sunrise one morning on the way to the gym. It is like I am walking into an oncoming train, which is exactly how this week has been feeling. Or is that the death light everyone talks about? Either way, I won’t be seeing that again until Saturday, when Nicole is home and I can get back to my morning run.

Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch....

Last night, Nicole and I went out to dinner here. I had a delicious pan-seared fish that I have never heard of (white, mild, on the small side), and thanks to our waiter’s thick French accent, I still have no idea what it was called. My one year of French in college did not prepare me adequately for this. But whatever it was, it was amazing, especially with a little Riesling sauce and on a bed of rutabaga and sauerkraut. The restaurant was beautiful, the service amazing, and it was nice being called “Madame” a lot, even though I still feel like a “mademoiselle.” I love how the waiter just assumed we would have the soufflé for dessert: He phrased it like “And you will be having the soufflé, of course?” Yes, of course. And it was amazing.

The best part of dinner: No kids. How nice to not have keep two toddlers entertained and quiet long enough to shovel some food into them and then into us. Ranking up there too in the Good Parts department was the fact that we were sitting next to a table full of celebrities who have starred at one time or another on The Love Boat, or maybe Celebrity Password. Connie Stevens and Joely Fisher and Lanie Kazan. Oh yes, nothing but the brightest stars in our orbit. Once upon a time, I used to run into and see younger, more relevant celebrities. Now, it’s like, oh look, there’s Betty White! Is that Red Buttons? I could be sitting on top of a Jonas Brother or a Billy Ray Cyrus offspring and have no idea.

Today was back to reality. It is relatively mild again so I figured it was a good day to go to the playground. I told Avery to hop in her stroller so we could go to the playground, but she said “No playground. I want to go buy presents.” Well then. Isn’t someone getting a bit demanding? I guess this is what happens when I come home a couple of times in a row with little gift for them. I have created a monster, a cute, pig-tail wearing, chunky little monster.

I managed to derail Avery’s one-track present mind and get to the playground. They have officially graduated to the Big Playground, though we still take a spin around the Little Playground on our way out. There was a swing meltdown: I like to take them to an entirely different playground for swinging, but the girls freaked out when I said it was time to go there. They screamed for almost an entire block but calmed down when I went into a deli buy myself a hot tea to fortify myself for Playground, Round Two and they realized they could get chips. The chips distracted them, so I was able to skip Playground Two and head home instead. Score!

It’s gonna be along week. Nicole is home late tonight, and she will be away for work on Thursday into Friday. I think I might take the girls to this place for dinner. It is such a great, easy place for kids, and for us adults too. And they have Tater Tots! I rarely do things like this with them without Nicole, but I think it’s time I start expanding my repertoire of activities with the girls and push myself to do things that make me a little uncomfortable. Any being outnumbered by the girls anywhere in public definitely makes me a liiiiitle uncomfortable sometimes.

Pictured above, on Sunday I made deep-dish, Chicago-style pizza with Avery, who was very much into shaving the parmagian. No one can handle a microplane like my baby! And Madeline loved it. She ate an entire quarter of a nine-inch pie. Very had a decent size portion too. Also pictured, delicious mystery fish dinner from last year. Quality is not so great because I took the picture with my phone. But trust me, it looked as good as it tasted.

Maybe All Transitions Need to Be Celebrated With Cake

Cake


Cake Party (Avery’s term of endearment for any event that includes cake of any sort for any reason) was a rousing success. The celebration began when Nicole came home with two You-Paid-How-Much-For-Those-Giant Balloons? The girls ran around ecstatically tugging their balloons, one shaped like Big Bird, the other like Winnie the Pooh, who Avery horrifyingly and bizarrely and instantly started liking without any formal introduction at all. I literally have no idea how she even learned that Pooh existed. But one day, she was all about Winnie the Pooh. I might need to have a talk with my niece Skye! Anyway, This was followed by a visit to their room and the formal introduction of cribs-sans-front panels, aka Big Girl Beds. Lots of “Wow! Look at your new bed! Bye-bye cribs! What big girls you are!” And the celebration was finished off with cupcakes and candles, with repeat blow-outs, as ordered by Avery.

We brought them to bed at 7:30. We read them a book (Five Little Monkeys Jumping on the Bed) and then left. Madeline was upset at first, yelling for us and crying and shouting out her most heart-wrenching “Where’d ya go Momma?” But within about 15 looong hand-wringing minutes (I do not do cry-it-out well at all) she settled down and instead started talking with Avery. Here is a snippet of their actual conversation: .

M: Peek a Boo!
A: Peek a Boo!
M: I can’t see you!
A: I here Maddie
M: Avy
A: Maddie
M: Aaaaaaaaaavy
A: Maaaaaaaadie
M: What’s gonna work? Teeeeeam-wuk
A: Teeeeeamwuk

Yes, they are currently very much into the Wonder Pets and if you are my Facebook friend, you can watch a video Nicole uploaded of them singing this as a duet. They chatted themselves to sleep. I am fine with that. They are really starting to have this very basic, caveman like conversations. Maddie woke up once around 12:30. She didn't get out of her bed. I went in there, sort of curled onto the bed with her, which is no easy feat. She held my finger and nestled her head on my shoulder. All I could think was “This is sooooo nice but I can’t let this habit start.” I stayed with her for about 15 minutes and then went back to my own bed. And she was fine.

Of course, the success or failure of this cannot be determined in one night. I am curious to see how naptime goes today. And nighttime again, as Nicole won’t be home to participate in the brand new ritual. But I am optimistic. And also a little sad: How quickly time is going by. I remember putting them in these cribs when they came home from the hospital.

OK, off to the gym.

Pictured above, cake party. I am obsessed with macro pictures of sprinkles. I have never met a sprinkle that I didn't want to photograph. Also, to file under things I want to remember, Avery calls Nicole's cufflinks "quarters." I don't even remember her learning the word "quarter."

Bad Mood Part II: Nice to Be Reminded That I am Not Normal

Yesterday, I was on my way out to Long Island, and I was checking my voicemail while stopped at a light on 9th Avenue, in stop-and-go traffic, when someone knocked on my window. Of course, I usually ignore such disturbances, as they tend to be not very savory people, but out of the corner of my eye I see the uniform. I roll (roll?) I mean, power down my window and Mr. License-and-Registration-Please opens with “On the cell phone, and you have a kid in car no less!!!” Actually, I told him, there are two kids. And I passed him my license and registration and patiently explained that yes, the car is registered to Nicole, but yes, it is my car too, because we are married. Always fun to see the pallor of lesbian-recognition cast onto another’s face.

Fine, give me the ticket. I broke the damn law. But really? I was at a stop light, meaning I was stopped. And not talking, just listening to voicemail. Me listening to a voicemail that I was about to switch to speaker phone at a stop light is not so dangerous. But whatever. I broke the law and I will pay the ridiculous fine ($130) and hope that my pullover and wasted minutes was the universe in action: Maybe if I wasn’t pulled over I would have rear-ended a truck on the LIE or something. Maybe there was a reason for this waste of time on the side of 9th Avenue beyond what I could possibly know.

Last night, Madeline refused, as usual, to sleep in her crib. I let her cry it out for about a half-hour, and then, when she was on the verge of hyperventilation, I went in. I took her out of the crib and put her and her pillow and blanket on the floor. And she was fine: She stopped crying and settled down instantly. Of course, this got Avery’s attention, who immediately gophered up and she started bellowing “I need floor, too.” So I settled Avery on the floor as well. I left the room, and they were fine. They would have fallen asleep lickety split is Avery wasn’t so excited to be free-range. She kept sliding over to Maddie and talking with her and engaging her, and when I approached the room, she would scamper back. But Madeline did not move AT ALL. It took a while, but both eventually fell asleep. I scooped up Avery and put her back in her crib and let Maddie sleep on the floor. She slept for a couple of hours and when she woke up, I picked her up and brought her to the couch and slept with her there. I could have resettled her on the floor but I was so tied and didn’t want to.

Besides, there is a new plan, culled from your various emails and comments: We are officially removing the front piece of the cribs and making the Stokke cribs toddler beds. This will be a celebration. We are having balloons and cupcakes (I made them this morning) and candles and presents and dancing and laughing. A new routine will be established, one we can stick with (I think it will be each picking one book to read together before lights out.). I have a feeling this really is what Maddie needs. She proved it last night by sleeping alone on the floor, and not in our bed or with us on the couch. It is not us she wants, it’s freedom. Avery, I have a feeling, will be the child we will need to lead back to bed 100 times an hour. But I am ready to get this party started. Wish us luck, and stay tuned for details.

And now, on to politics. Massachusetts just elected republican Scott Brown, the sure-to-be health care bill-killer. Health care reform has been destined to fail from the get-go. What gets me is not his party affiliation but rather the things he says. Take this, for example: “the idea of two women having a child is “just not normal.” You know what I think? I think people who think vile things like that are just not normal. How would you feel if someone called your family “not normal?” It makes me sad, then embarrassed, then angry. Very very angry.

Actually, I a beyond angry I in the realm of fucking pissed. Of course, this sort of stuff bothered me before, but now, these evil thoughts and opinions directly impact my children. Look my kids in the eye and tell them that they are products of a not-normal family. You be the one to tell them that they don’t deserve the same rights as everyone else, unless they grow up and can prove that they are card-carrying members of the “I Love The Opposite Sex Club.”

I am probably preaching to the choir and screaming in the wind here, but I just don’t understand how we are able to get away with saying things like that. Yes, I am all for freedom of speech, but the fact that people can say things like that and get elected say SO much about us as a society. How can we let this happen? I can’t fix this. I can’t make this better for my girls. I just wish for a better world for them.

I would love to write more but my not-normal self has to make frosting for our not-normal cupcake party and then go pick up the dry cleaning, go to the post office and stop at the book store to buy a special not-normal book gift for the girls. You know, all sorts of subversive and not-normal activities like that.

Oh, and I am keeping my eyes peeled for a baby backpack for another not-normal couple I know who are expecting a daughter in June. The kind you can hike with. If you have one and want to sell it, leave me a comment!

Pictured above, my not-normal wife and our daughter pursuing yet another not-normal activity: Learning to shovel snow. And our not-normal snowman. Our lives just scream not normal.

A Couple Reasons Wy I'm In a Bad Mood

I am kinda tired of seeing earthquake survivors on TV announce to the world that they survived because God wanted them to. Riiiiiight. And he really wanted to wipe out those other 200,000 people. They all deserved to die? Was their painful deaths on top of God’s To Do list that day? I am not denying the miraculous survivals of some of these people, and I am not trying to say that they can’t have their own faith and, yes, there but for the grace of God goes I as well, but I just think these “God saved me” announcements must really sting those who lost loved ones.

Yes, people are looting and shooting and beating now. And I would too, in a New York minute, if I were in a situation like that and needed to feed my daughters. Or get them health care. I might go to any lengths necessary to get my children medical attention if they were on the verge of death, God forbid. How judgmental the world can be. And there is nothing like a disaster to bring out all the self-serving, look-at-me people.

I was listening to some talk radio program this weekend and I heard a really interesting discussion about disasters like this. The radio man (don’t know who he is) said that his uncle, who was in the military and specialized in disaster planning, told him that if ever something catastrophic occurs, like this earthquake or something like a nuclear attack, there are two things you must do. The first: Do not gather where the government tells you to gather. Yes, a military man said don’t listen to Uncle Sam. You can go your own way, as the song says. And, two, you have 72 hours to get out of town. The reason is this: In the first 24 hours, everyone is so nice and helpful and generous. By the second day, looters emerge, and gangs begin to form. By day three, gangs are running amok and anarchy rules. Again, this is in the event of a HUGE disaster, like a nuclear attack or a terrorist attack that affects more than just two towers in the city. Interesting advice.

If I ran the world, this is what I would make happen: We would make Haiti a Perfect Nation. A model country, if you will. Completely raze Port au Prince and create a green city, with parks and trees and gardens and recycling centers and humane housing for the poor and medical clinics for the sick and staffed and stocked orphanages for the children. Try to create an industry so this country would have something to export. Build playgrounds and schools (in that order) and museums and some tourist attractions. The best and brightest in every field would help create this new and improved city. New infrastructure. New policies. New everything. Most of all, new architecture: I read that when California experienced a 7.1 magnitude quake (which is TWICE the magnitude of Haiti’s 7.0) 200 died, as opposed to 200,000 And this was in a city of 2 million. The difference: Buildings in California are built to specific earthquake codes. Not so in Haiti. How awful hat so many people died because the nation is too poor to build to code.

Can you tell I’m in a bad mood?

I am also in desperate need of sleeping advice. We have been lucky thus far with naps and nighttimes: Daily two-hour naps and 7:00 p.m. bedtimes, sleeping 12 or 13 hours every night. But that has come to a screeching stop. About a month again, Madeline absolutely refused to go to bed at night in her crib. She does naps in her crib fine, and plays in it during the day, but when night comes, she screams for HOURS. And she does this in the city and in Massachusetts. She literally starts shaking when we say “OK ladies, it’s time for night-night.” Of course, we handled it all wrong: Tried to let her cry it out; did a modified Ferber method; brought her into or bed; slept with her on the couch; sat in her room holding her hand or rubbing her tummy for an hour or so. Every night, a new plan. Talk about unstable. What do we do? Does this mean she needs a twin bed? Did she have a nightmare and now is afraid to sleep at night? We tried leaving doors open and adding nightlights. Everything. I am at my wit’s end, because now my day, which usually ends with two hours or so of quiet time for me to work, relax and chill out, is now occupied with this non-sleeping paradigm. Any advice at all? Please help us! Please! I don’t think I can survive another night of hearing Madeline scream “Momma where did you go?”

And now, to lighten the mood, a few random bullets:

• Avery and Madeline got a tool kit for Christmas and they love it. They know their wrenches and screwdrivers and hammers and saws. I think our next toy for them might be a workbench.

• When I offer Avery two choices, she used to pick one. So I would say “Do you want applesauce or yogurt?” She would always pick one. Now she will say “No either.” We are in trouble!

• I am in a media heaven. I am reading two great books (Game Change and The Privileges) and enjoying the end of season one of Big Love. Life is sweeter when you are reading a good book and watching a great show.

Pictured above: Avery looks so chic in sunglasses! Also, I took Maddie on her first Momma/Maddie date this weekend. We went for ice cream at Herrell’s in Northampton. She is a very different child when she is alone and not under the spotlight/glare of her sister. She talked more, explored more, and showed little snippets of a personality I don’t see much when they are a dynamic duo. I have a feeling Avery will be the same. I really want to try to add more alone time dates with both of them, as well as with Nicole. Also pictured, the new furniture came. Avery proved how comfy the new couch is by promptly drifting into a soft slumber after sitting on it for a few minutes. And Madeline seems to think snow is a beach. All she needs is a frothy drink and a beach blanket.

When The Rain Falls, It Don't Fall on One Man's House Top

Thank you, New York Times, for snapping a lot of us back to reality with the constant stream of graphic, horrific, unbelievable photos of what is going on in Haiti. How can you look at a picture of a man sitting with his head in his hands in front of the dead body of his ten month old daughter and not feel instant, penetrating grief?

The older I get, the more these things resonate with me.

Maddie is still having a problem going to bed at night in her crib, and it is creating sleeping havoc for Nicole and me. I don’t feel like leftover pizza for lunch. These are not problems in life. I am in the middle of a minor emotional upheaval right now (life related, not Haiti related), but it all seems so petty. Instead, I need to focus on the fact that I am sandwiched between Madeline and Avery right now. Maddie’s leg is thrown casually over mine and Avery is leaning her head on my shoulder. This is what life is all about. We are healthy (knock on wood) and have a home and a fridge filled with food and all the water we need. I think we tend to forget that if you have those basic things than you are luckier than something like one-quarter of the earth’s population.

Others abject grief remind me how lucky I am. This in itself is such a first-world privilege paradigm. Why can’t I just feel grateful all the time? Do I really need to see bruised and bloody people who have just lost everything to make me pause and think, “Wow. We are so lucky.”

In my own defense, I should add that these past few years there has been a sort of shift in me and I look at life in a different way. Again, I chalk this up to getting older, getting settled and getting wiser. But, whatever it stems from, I appreciate things more. I respect things more. I know how good I have it, and everyone in my life too. We are all so,so lucky.

This is what I want to do: I wish we could sponsor a family. One particular family. And send that family food and shoes and clothes and toys and things they need. Hold our own fundraisers to raise money for whatever heath care they need. Help them get the basics until the bigger charities help with the bigger issues (housing, infrastructure, health care, etc.) . Helping a family just seems so much more personal than writing a check. Alas, I am not sure such an organization exists. And I don’t know any Haitian families.

In the meantime: I want every airline to fly at least one plane a day of relief workers and volunteers over to Haiti for free. I want Fed Ex and UPS and all the shipping companies to send one plane of supplies over to Haiti every day for free. I want every major diaper company and formula company to send over at least 250K worth of free goods. I want every major food company to send over at least 100K of food. I want every clothing manufacturer to send clothes. Every shoe manufacturer. You get my drift. Maybe some of those athletes who make $30 million a year could step up to the plate (no pun intended).

Even being in this shitty mood seems indulgent.

ThIngs That Go Bump In The Night In My Head

My children are still sleeping (it is almost nine!) so I put on the news, hoping to hear the latest in Haiti, but instead am greeted with a very important segment on cruises. What is wrong with this world? Can we not as a nation as least pretend to have a collected interest and concern with what is going on over there? Thousands of people are trapped under rubble even as I type this. But, really, let me hear more about the all-you-can-eat chocolate buffet.

And yes, I know how hypocritical it is for me to then now whine about my own pales-in-comparison issues, but here I go.

First, I have a random blind-item poll: Someone I know is sick. They are suffering with pneumonia. This person claims to have a very bad headache in the back of their head that they can’t get rid of. Yes, I am using “they” on purpose. This person has had this headache for a while, though it comes and goes. This person was so scared about the headache that they claim they were up half of the night crying and not sleeping, such was the extent of worry. (That may be an exaggeration.) So I tell this person to go to the doctor today. Do not pass go, do not wait another day. Go to the doctor. I am rather firm about it. And this person gets angry at me and tells you to stop causing aggravation and worry, etc. “I don’t need to hear this from you now.” “Why are you getting on my case?” “I don’t need you beating me up.”

What?! Beating up? This is the only person I know who gets angry when I show concern for them. I am wrong? Should I just back away? Of course I should back away. Toxic alert! Let me add that I have been calling every day to check in, to make sure all was well, to be an ear, and to ensure that there is food. Oh, the drama. Drama drama drama. When will I learn? And yet I seem to be drawn to this drama like a moth to flames. But the choice isn’t terribly fair: Ignore this person and seem heartless and distant and unconcerned or call this person and get sucked into drama. Because while I recognize the centrifugal pull of the drama circle, I am so for unable to escape its pull.

Now there is a segment about a dog without hind legs who uses wheels to get around. I can totally see how that is more newsy than, oh, an entire country digging out of the aftermath of a giant quake.

I was planning on driving up to Northampton today with the girls. This sort of scares me: I am completely afraid to spend the night without Nicole. A house in the middle of the woods with lots of windows and occasionally intermittent cell service. Yes, I know how ridiculous it sounds, but it’s true. I am a scaredy cat who even is afraid to sleep without Nicole even in a doorman building with video cameras surrounded by neighbors in the middle of the city. I still check in closets and behind shower curtains. I hyper analyze each and every sound. I let my imagination run very wild and work myself up into a state of panic.

We will be in Northampton for the three day weekend, but I am so happy up there and so are the girls, so I thought we could get a jump start on the weekend. A little extra time for the girls and I while Nicole plugs away another couple days at work. Nicole could take a train to Hartford on Friday and we could pick her up. But my father is in town and I may or may see him today, so I need to stick around and see how that plays out.

Is anyone else afraid to sleep alone? Anyone else sleep with a cell phone and a Mag light under their pillow? Anyone else drawn to drama? Anyone else figure out how to maintain your dignity when dealing with a drama-prone individual? And while I am asking questions, anyone else planning on reading Game Change? It is sold out of EVERY book store in NYC. This, of course, only heightens my interest. I told Nicole if she sees a copy on someone’s desk at work, she is to steal it. I love reading some in-depth reporting now and then of the yellow variety.

Pictured above, guess who slept in our bed again last night? And I would like to point out she slept until 10:00 a.m. Nicole is trying to break her by forcing her to cry it out. I insist that she will go back to her bed like she always does when she is ready. Like in another week or so. In the meantime, the only one getting beauty rest around her is Madeline.

Soooomebody's Been Sleeping in Our Bed. Maybe Bette Davis.

Madeline speaks with a tone/accent that I can’t quite place, but it is a dash of the Bette Davis clipped staccato (how’s that for a random reference?) with a Boston consonant dropping tendency mixed in. “Pictures” are “pitch-ahs” in her toddler Bette Davis speak. She drops the R from Avery’s name and calls her “Avy.” That, of course, I find adorable. I wonder all the time if others can understand her without us translating, and worry because she is definitely behind Avery in the talking department. I’ve done my research and there doesn’t seem to be any major issues going on here. In the words/speaking department, Avery seems slightly above average and Maddie seems just slightly below average. But Maddie is more physically adept than Avery. Compare compare. When will it end?

This past week I have spent a lot of one-on-one time with Madeline. She has been going through one of her season sleeping issues. Usually, every three months or so, Maddie will cry out every night around 11:00 for a few days in a row. We just run in a get her and bring her to our bed (we don’t want her to wake Avery). And then it randomly stops and she stays in her crib all night and life goes back to normal.

This time, she won’t go into her crib at night. She will nap there, but when we try to put her down at night she screams till she hyperventilates and insists on our bed. So we bring her in there, tuck her in and she is just fine. When she wakes in the morning she spends AN HOUR (or more) there alone, talking to herself and reading through her books, and just lazing about. I’ll ask her if she wants to get up ad she will say no, bed. This morning, after I showered, I climbed back into bed with Maddie and she read, napped, cuddled and just relaxed until almost 9 while I sat next to her and read and did some work online. It was so sweet and bonding and I imagine parents of one child have experienced moments like that a lot. Maddie and I stayed there till almost 9:00, when I decided we better wake Avery up otherwise she will sleep the day away (Avery sleeps forever when Maddie isn’t there to wake her up).

I am amazed at how relaxed Maddie is, how low key she is, how different she is when she is without Avery. I am always dealing with the two of them as a duo. Always. They have a personality dynamic as a duo and then a different dynamic when they are solo. This reminds me how important it is to have alone time alone with each of them. And how much they need time alone so their own personality’s can grow and shine without being in the constant shadow/glare of their sister.

Speaking of personalities, I worked out this week with Jackie Warner! It was some special event done with Us magazine to promote her new workout DVD. That means I got a free DVD and a bag full of swag. The workout was great: I am still sore two days later. This reminds me that I really need to cross train because running is not enough, and it never makes me sore anymore. Jackie was a force to be reckoned with. All blonde and taut and tan and tight, tight abs. She seemed so more human and approachable in person than she does on TV. She had some great tips an great advice: My favorite was she said to put spinach in morning fruit shakes and she said that you wont taste the spinach. I was doubtful, but did it this morning and she is right: I couldn’t taste the spinach at all. She also says to always add fresh lemon to your water. It helps with liver detoxing or something and ups your calorie burn by 33 percent. So there are two little changes that I will test out. And I will be doing her workout DVD too and see if I end up blonde, tan and taut. (Hey, a girl can dream. I need to remind myself that she didn’t endure massive pregnancy weight gain and a C section.)

We head back to Northampton tonight. It is going to seem like such a short trip after our ten days there at the end of December. I can’t wait to leave. I made triple chocolate cookies and oatmeal raison cookies for our neighbors, who plowed our mountainous driveway, and for my friend Annie. Somehow I have a feeling all the cookies won’t make it up in the car. We four might be able to plow through a tall stack before they reach their intended destinations.

Pictured above, look who looks riiiiight at home in Mommy and Momma’s bed. Avery eating carrots: Proof that it isn’t all nuggets and fries! If you like Avery's shirt, my friend made them and sells them here on Etsy. Avery asks all the time to wear her BoBot shirt! Last picture: My shirt. Alas, no bobots. It was an impulsive spring buy: I am already looking forward to the spring thaw and summer heat!

Confession Number One: Let’s Start Out Small and Work Our Way Up

I told you it was a slippery slope. So slippery that I slid right from never, ever, ever to “I need to go out and buy at least 15 pairs of stretchy pants with elastic waistbands.” My comfy pants day experiment, needless to say, went swimmingly. Why wear starchy, hard, body contouring jeans when I can laze about in soft cotton that positively swims on me? I loved this new winter dressing paradigm so much that I even ventured outdoors (to Chipolte, to buy dinner. See a pattern here?) in these thermal pajama-like pants. These pants have officially been upgraded from “pajamas” to “casual day wear.” Next stop: High-waisted mom jeans. (never, ever, ever.)

So on to my confession: I let my children eat Wendy’s chicken nuggets and fries with abandon. These days, giving fast food to your kids is akin to child abuse. At least, that is how I feel sometimes when I tell other people. Like if I am not giving them a five food group four course gourmet meal, then I am an awful mother. The thing is, I dislike fast food (since I don’t eat beef or bacon cooked anywhere but home), and I know that it is not good for you, and I know how many toxic ingredients each menu item contains. Thanks to my limited palate, I can only eat a plain chicken sandwich from Wendy’s. So not eating fast food isn’t a huge sacrifice for me. (Note: Fast food French fries from any fast food restaurant are divine. I could eat any of those all day.) But how can I ignore the convenience of fast food? When the girls are in the car, I can just pull up to a window, yell my order into a little microphone and pull to another window and viola, bag of food. I then pass the food back to the girls and I can check lunch (or dinner) off of my to-do list. You can’t argue with the convenience. Or the price. And those leftover nuggets heat up nicely in the oven.

I made the girls pancakes this morning. Little golden silver dollar size pancakes. Did they eat them? Nope. Did they even touch them? Nope, again. Smell them? Nope. I even put blueberries in some for Maddie and chocolate chips in some for Avery. It is so frustrating. I hate wasting food and wasting time, and feeding toddlers frequently falls into both of those slots. I asked Avery what was in her tummy and she said “French fries and chicken.” She hadn’t actually had a Wendy’s power lunch in maybe a week but how scary is it that?

So maybe that isn’t a juicy confession. I have a few more up my sleeve. But right now I need to motivate (thermal pants off and jeans on) and dress the girls and put on their hats and gloves and coats and socks and shoes and blankets and take six elevators and two trains to get down to Union Square. Have I mentioned how over winter I am? (In NYC, that is. I don’t mind winter in the winter wonderland that is Northampton).

Pictured above: Sunday night dessert: A caramel apple spice donut and vanilla donut with sprinkles; and a cookie dough cupcake and red velvet cupcake. As you can see by the after picture, none were too pleasing to us. Also, pictured, brussell sprouts. Because after a few weeks of sugar loading, that is what is for dinner. Oh, and Nicole and I gave up on the brown rice cleanse diet on Day Two. So much for stamina! I am still doing a modified version, though.

The First List of the First Day of the New Year in the New Decade

First read text message from: My brother (“Happy New Year!”)
First food I ate: Red lentils
First drink: Coffee
First person I spoke with: Nicole
First thing I said: Good morning
First sent email: to my MIL Nancy
First song I heard from start to finish: “Be Without You” by Mary J.
First breakfast: Egg and cheddar and caramelized onions on a roll at Sylvester’s
First referred toddler fight: Over sunglasses
First phone call: To my friend Jen
First purchase: A hodge podge of things from Target: Two organizational boxes; two organization cubes; a bird lamp; a nightlight; and several Christmas candies that the girls grabbed
First unappreciated joke: (while counting birds while bird-watching with the girls): “Ladies, we are Counting Crows.”
First time I apologized unnecessarily: On the way to breakfast, when I realized I left the camera battery charging in the wall and we needed to turn around. I must stop this pesky apologizing insanity.
First playlist: Nicole’s “Today” play list, which is this crazy mix of Shawn Colvin and Dave Matthews Band and Patty Griffin and Counting Crows and more….
First dinner: Asiago pizza with arugula and balsamic
First dessert: Burnt sugar ice cream with homemade hot fudge and chocolate sliver sprinkles

That about covers it. We are now well into 2010. Four days already. The year is zipping by, no? Today starts our annual beginning-of-January food cleanse: For the next week, nothing but veggies and brown rice and fruit shakes and hummus sandwiches. It will be a nice detox from all of that extra holiday sugar. I am not sure if this actually cleanses the body in any real, measurable way, but it certainly does psychologically.

Needless to say, with this cleanse on the horizon, the weekend was a feast of the tasting senses. I went out with a bang. To say I made poor food choices might be an understatement. This is the problem with “Start Monday” diets and such: The time leading up to the start time is usually a very slippery slope into destructive eating and drinking and a period of true excess. It backfires every time at least for me. So in effect the cleanse just undoes the damage of my pre-cleanse binge.

I went out for brunch with friends yesterday. We played a conversational game that I sort of invented: Each person asks a question and the rest can only answer with a yes or no. Afterwards, we can discuss more in depth. The questions were really hard: Would you ever get divorced? Would you leave your spouse if they cheated on you? If you won the lottery would you share money with the people at the table? Do you have a secret that no one at the table knows? Good deep, thoughtful, conversation-provoking questions. It was a great way to start off the new year.

But now it is back to reality. After an extended vacation with Nicole home, she is back at work, and we are back in the city and it is back to life as we usually know it. It is frigid today, which means errands to the post office and food store are going to be challenging. Annoyingly, it is supposed to be cold all week. The girls and I will get cabin fever for sure. I have deemed today comfy pants day: The girls and I will all be wearing thermal pants (me) or stretch pants (the girls). I can say this with certainly: This is the first time since the girls were born that I have worn what can be described as pajamas pants during the day. As a general personal rule, I never wear sweat pants or stretch pants or anything like that because I feel like for me it is yet another slippery slope: One day, stretch pants, the next, I am living in sweatsuits, and wearing shiny sweatsuits for special occasions. But I am going to embrace comfy pants today and try not to feel like a lazy, slobby slob. New year, new leaf and all.

Pictured above, January 1st self portrait. And the girls in all of their cuteness. Madeline started the new year with a great breakfast: Whole wheat pancakes with Oreos and white chocolate chips. And the house, in the beautiful snow. I miss it already.

Inward, Upward and Forward: My Year in Review and My Upcoming Hopes

I am looking forward to the next year for the simple reason that I illogically like years and days that end in even numbers better than I like years and days that end in odd numbers. This is why we were married on the 24th of October, and not the infinitely easier to schedule 25th (which fell on a Saturday). And 2010 has such a great ring to it, no? Twenty ten. Twenty-ten is so very Hollywood-sounding, so modern, so shiny and new. Not everyone is drinking the year-naming Kool-aid: My friend Erin is going with Two-Zilch-One-Zip. That just rolls off the tongue, no?

For some reason, despite all the of media coverage and endless “best of the decade” lists, it didn’t really hit me until last week that we are ending one decade and beginning a new one. Surreal. The 00s or aughts or whatever we as country never really named it is coming to an end. It was a sweeping, epic decade for me: I quit drinking and quit smoking and got married and went through infertility and miscarriages and had twins and got two Masters degrees. I was given a niece and a nephew, and through Nicole another three. I learned more than I can possible recount in this post without boring readers to tears. And I achieved a happiness and a content-ness that I never knew was possible. Bottom line: This decade I have settled down without settling, which is a very good thing.

And while this may not have been the most momentous of years, it was quite good. Without further ado, here is my annual wrap-up post:

Inchoate Personal Philosophy, Part One: Random acts of kindness need not be sanctioned or ordered by others. I have officially retired the phrases “Let me know if you need anything” and its partner “let me know if there is something I can do” and instead will just do something. Anything. Because more often than not, people are not good delegators, and the smallest of tangible gestures — especially in times of need — are appreciated much more than my sentences filled with promises of gestures that I have every intention of delivering on, but then don’t.

Inchoate Personal Philosophy, Part Two: Nothing permanently bad can happen to us. There can be nothing but an eventual happy ending, even if we have to walk through fire to get there. Believe me, I can worry and fret with the best of them, and this year I spent my fair share of time in a fugue of what ifs. However, I started asking myself, what is the WORST that could happen? As long as my family is healthy and safe, there is nothing we can’t get through. This was put to the test this year, as the economy spent another year on the down side and there was always that underlying threat of, will Nicole lose her job at a major bank? You know, those banks that were too big to fail, but kinda did anyway? Will she be layed off, like millions of other people? She did indeed make it through all those rounds of layoffs. Yet how many days did I waste in a panic state, borrowing worry for no reason at all? So now, when worry creeps in, I determine the worst case scenario and figure out how we will survive it. It brings me instant ease. These days, I stress more about the micro issues (What will we have for dinner? Did Maddie’s tick bite turn into Lyme disease?) then I do about the macro (Where will the girls go to Kindergarten? What if Nicole loses her job? Where will we be in sixteen years?). One day at a time and all that.

Most Illegal New Habit: I have become a shoplifter, of the accidental variety. Navigating my giant stroller through the stores while trying to keep the girls’ hands off of everything and still managing to pick up everything on my list proves to be challenging. I am always stuffing food into the canvas bags I bring and on the stroller top and in the basket under the stroller. Sometimes I let the girls hold things because I will do whatever it takes to keep them calm and occupied in public. They need to hold a gallon of milk? Be my guest. Checking out becomes chaos and occasionally I forget that Avery has a giant box of Cheerios on her lap. Or that a $20 package of chicken is laying across the top of the stroller. And the best part is, the cashier never seem to notice either. She lets me shuffle off without so much of peep to me. Before anyone starts calling authorities, I do indeed go back and return what my children steal. 99 percent of the time. The funny thing is when I do go back, the cashiers are always like “Dude, why did you come back to pay?” I guess accidental shoplifting is one proven way to keep grocery costs down.

Best Lesson Learned From a Children’s Show: This important lesson is brought to me by Yo Gabba Gabba: “Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out. Now you have patience.” In some of those moments when I feel like a women on the verge, I do just that, and it works. But let’s be clear: I spend much more of my time in an impatient state and many times I am too impatient to practice what I am preaching here. That’s something I need to continue working on.

Things I Am Happy To Leave Behind: Bye-bye recession, hellooooo slow economic recovery. Also, I am happy to have a particularly bad week in August waaaaay behind me. And a fond farewell to the two giant and painful cold sores that adorned my upper lip this past year for a couple of weeks. I have never in my life had such bad sores. I looked like a bad Botox victim.

Double Indemnity: Speaking of that awful August week, I have finally figured out that I can’t try people for the same crime over and over and over and over again. That, I guess, is the cornerstone of a hard, unforgiving attitude. And I am oh so good at it. I don’t know why this is just occurring to me now, but I can say, definitively, ok, universe, I hear you. Message received, loud and finally clear. Now I need to work on moving on (aka, forgiveness, which I can admit is very hard for me) and leaving past transgressions in the past; to not be shocked at present transgressions, and to fully anticipate future transgressions. There is too much good out there to waste time on the bad.

Biggest Holy Crap Moment: We bought a house in Northampton. This house, which we looked at years ago, before the girls were around, was fated to be ours. And yet another lesson on the positive side effects of patience. Now, every Friday night after Nicole gets home from work, we pack up the car and our fun little dinner canteen with four individual dinners (I hate fast food, so stopping on the road at a random drive-thru isn’t really an option) and head two-and-a-half hours north for the weekend. After 20 years in the city, I am finding my country-side. Our lives now are a study in opposites: The loud, fast-paced city during the week and the quiet, slow-paced country on weekends. It is awesome. The girls love it, too. And it may include bears in the spring and summer!

My Family, Government Approved: After a long and sometimes annoying and very expensive process, Nicole officially adopted the girls. She is legally their mother, in the prying eyes of Big Brother (though, let the record reflect, I am grateful that I can make catty comments about my government without being jailed. Go America!). It took the government years, lots of red tape, and all that money to acknowledge what we already knew. But I am going to try not be bitter and instead focus on the positive: No one can take the girls away from Nicole. And her name will be on their birth certificate. Take that, people who hate my family.

I Never Thought It Would Happen, Part 1: I am losing a taste for chicken. And keep in mind that chicken is the only meat I eat. That means my food choices, already limited by my extremely unforgiving palate, are going to be further reduced. I don’t know why this is happening. Take tonight: I made chicken parm and spaghetti for Nicole and the girls, but I roasted tomatoes and caramelized onions and put those on bread, then added cheese and broiled it, because I didn’t feel like eating chicken. Nicole says I will be completely vegetarian within a few years. That may be true. What I do know for certain: I will never in a millions years be able to go vegan. I love cheese and pizza too much, and will accept no substitute.

I Never Thought It Would Happen, Part 2: I have begun reading books electronically. I swore I never would. But what do I know? I also said the internet would never take off and in college I wrote a review of an early No Doubt album with the headline “There’s No Doubt They Lack Talent.” I can read so much more and so much more effectively with the Kindle. So when I am summoned to watch an episode of Sesame Street sandwiched between my two toddlers, I can be reading my book too. Sorry, Big Bird, but you lost your luster years ago.

Best Movie: I haven’t seen too many movies in the theater this year, but my favorite was Precious, by far. Up in the Air was worth seeing too, even though I have strong memories of getting popcorn sick after that movie. And there is a special place in my heart for Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs, which earned the honor of being the girls’ first in-theater movie. (the book is much better, naturally).

Best Movie I Didn’t See But Will on DVD: I am a sucker for feel-good movies like The Blindside and for documentaries like The Cove. Both of those are on my short list.

Most Watched DVDs: Curious George movie; Elmo in Grouchland; Elmo’s Potty Time. I did manage to slip in Love, Actually on Christmas Eve.

Best Books: Grand total read: 27. But I also read a lot of samples through Kindle, which I ended up not downloading. Right there, the Kindle proves its worthiness: Under previous circumstances I would have bought the book and started to red it and tossed it aside if I didn’t capture my attention. Lit by Mary Karr was by far the best biography I read (sorry Melissa Gilbert and Tori Spelling, but Karr defined this genre, so it stands to reason her third book beat yours by a landslide). The Hunger Games was compulsively readable and completely unlike any book I usually read, and so is the sequel. Cutting for Stone was sweeping and epic. The Phsyick Book of Deliverance Dane was page-turner. I was lucky with my picks: I pretty much enjoyed almost every book I read this year, with the exception of two. I would so love to join a book club.

Biggest Musical Surprise: So I like Taylor Swift. And after watching the Curious George movie approximately 175 times I came to enjoy Jack Johnson. I also liked Rob Thomas’ new album. However, this year proved one again that I am a musical creature of habit, and will listen to Patty Griffin an Erasure and 80s music and Melissa Etheridge and Pink and my other traditional and not-so-traditional favorites over and over and over again. I did one six-mile run listening to NIN’s “Head Like a Hole” on repeat and another one listening to Dido’s “Here With Me.” And yet another study I contrasts.

Most Listened to CD: Carrie Underwood’s Carnival Ride, for the second year in a row. The girls love this CD, as we have been playing it since they were born. They even ask for it by name. Needless to say I am beyond sick of it. And yet, Nicole and I are going to see Carrie live in March!

Healthiest Habit: My morning breakfast smoothies, which I started in August, inspired by my friend-of-two-decades Molly. This new breakfst instantly ended my an awful cycle of not really eating breakfast or wondering every day what to eat. I blend fresh and frozen fruit, milk, Chia seeds and the magically delicious Amazing Grass green powder. It really starts my day off well and it totally fills me up. And I kicked my coffee creamer habit: Sadly, no more of the delicious (but fake) vanilla creamers for me. I switched back to milk in my coffee. It only took a couple weeks to re-acclimiate my taste buds to just milk. But it was tough. I also cut my coffee consumption from, oh, six or so cups to just two a day. But I seem to cycle with this: I will go through low coffee periods and then I will experience months of high volume coffee drinking.

Running up That Hill, Still: I continued running, upping my average from four miles a day to six miles a day, six days a week. I did a 5K in Northampton on a chilly winter morning, too, which is kinda a big deal for me as I am an indoor treadmill runner and not used to the hills and hard pavement and vehicular traffic.

Unhealthiest Habit: I am still not drinking nearly as much water as I should be. I neglect going to the dentist this year. And I could be better about using sunblock. There’s more, but I am trying not to dwell in the negative.

The Year of New Electronics: We acquired an alarming array of new electronics this year. Most were gifts: A GPS for Valentines Day (bye, Mapquest); a new computer for our anniversary (bye, creepy gray sick Mac screen); and a Kindle for my birthday (bye, books as we know them). My brother gave us a Blu Ray player (which, thank goodness, will also play our DVDs). My mom gave use a digital indoor/outdoor thermometer (so fun!). And then there is the iPhone. I love it more than I ever thought I could.

Brush with Fame: Madonna thanked me; Angela Landsbury breezed past me in Whole Foods; Jane Fonda hugged me.

Favorite TV Show: Mad Men, The Office and Survivor were on my Tivo list. The girls are enjoying Sesame Street, Curious George and Yo Gabba Gabba. Oh, and Spongebob, much to my chagrin.

What I am Grateful For: Nicole, Madeline and Avery, which I am sure goes without saying. But it is nice to writ it down every once in a while to remind myself about what really matters. Not to get too new age-y, Indigo Girls-y or anything, but I think family is fate. Every big and little decision and important and random event in my life lead to us. I am lucky and happy where I landed.

What I am Grateful For, Part Two: I wouldn’t be able to get through life without my friends. To wit: Today I received an email from a friend with this message: “I am here for you. I love you.” Which is exactly what ones needs to hear (and feel) from friends. There are some friends I speak with every day, and there are others who I check in with less regularly. But I feel grateful to have reached the point with some friendships when you know, no matter what, they are there. I’ll be the first to admit that I am needy and require a lot of attention and can be easily hurt, but the good news is, I understand that about myself now and I get over perceived slights lightening quick.

Relationship Lo-lights: Date night? Alone time together? What alone time together? Nicole and I spent a pitiful amount of time alone. Sure, once the girls go to bed around 7, it is just us. But that is not the same as spending time together out, doing something, creating new experiences. And besides, we both use that time to unwind and read and take baths and teach online classes and relax. All before our crazy early bedtime, like 8:30 for Nicole, and usually around 9:00 for me. However, I do read usually till ten. And my alarm goes off at 4:20 so I can go to the gym, so there is a reason why I am in bed so early. Still, we need to find a way to connect more regularly as a couple and create those aforementioned new experiences. Alone.

When Did They Become These People?: The girls are little walking, talking, thinking beings. They use complete sentences. They say thank you and please. Avery is a mushy, loving, cuddler, who lays her head on our shoulders and asks to be tucked in. When Maddie cries, she hugs her and comforts her, patting her back and saying “It’s ok, Maddie.” She can whistle, and does often. She loves to wear stretch pants and pajamas. She insists on helping pick out her outfits each day, which leads to some pretty interesting outfits: In other words, outfits that make me cringe. She loves to dance around and is starting to sing: Just yesterday she sang the entire Twinkle Twinkle song! And she has the best laugh. Madeline is so independent in so many ways. She is easy going and very go-with-the-flow. She loves sets of things: A pack of cards or a stack of puzzle pieces. She can stack blocks about 20 high. She knows her alphabet and numbers to 20 in English and to ten in Spanish. Her good moods are infectious: Seeing her happy is just contagious. And she has the best smile, the kind that lights up her entire face.

Just So You Know, It Isn’t All Sweetness and Light: The girls ARE two and a half, after all. Avery has learned how to whine. Where? I have no idea. But she can whine with the best of them. And when Maddie gets mad, watch out. She has this cry/screech that hurts my ears. And both will fight over the same stupid toys. A random toy will sit in the middle of the living room for an hour but as soon as Maddie decides to touch it, Avery is screaming MINE. And vice versa. I do feel that a lot of the power struggles between them and me lies in communication issues. After all, they can’t quite express themselves fully yet. So I am white-knuckling it through the rough spots and hoping for even keel soon.

Aging is Just Great, Isn’t It?: 
I suffered a nasty ankle sprain in July. Thank goodness I had a few leftover Percoset, the wonderful masker-of-pain. I had to follow up on my enlarged thyroid, which, of course, had me worried about the big C word. And then there is the little issue of my heart beating irregularly, which could lead to a pacemaker in my future. Nice.
Future Medical News, Perhaps?: I signed up to be a bone marrow donor, prompted by a post Unwellness wrote in the late fall. My cheeks have been swabbed and my DNA is in the system. This means I could get a call that I am match tomorrow, or I could get a call never. I had thought about doing this for years, but always had this worry, what if I died while under anesthesia? I thought about it and realized that I have not heard one story about people who have died donating marrow. And I am pretty sure the media would be all over that story, if it were common.

And Even More Medical Lessons: When you doctor tells you don’t in any circumstances stop taking Lexapro cold turkey, she means it. I tried and it was awful. Silly me, thinking I knew what I was doing.

Reunited and it Feels So Good: I was reunited with my childhood nanny, which turned me in a blubbering idiot. When I saw her a cascade of randomly strung together memories fell out of my mouth: “And I remember your hands always smelled like Vaseline. And you had croutons in Tupperware. And that macramé you had all over the house. And your giant boat of a Cadillac. And your dog Taffy. And how you touched my check in such a loving way. And how you let me open your junk mail, which I didn’t realize was junk mail.” I wish so badly that she lived near me now because I want her back for my own kids. I didn’t realize how important she was to me and what a part of my childhood she was till I saw her again. I was also reunited via Facebook with my middle years summer nanny. She was this hot-to-trot tanned, blonde California girl in short shorts and tube tops who I idolized as a child. She was so creative and caring and loved to write. She would take me on walks to a local pond where we would both bring notebooks and just write. And such my love of writing (and career path) was born. She taught me the sign language alphabet, which I did indeed use once in my life to communicate with a deaf person who needed help registering to vote. She was so patient and kind and loving. Funny how we overlook the role models right in front of us sometimes because we are too busy lamenting how someone isn’t being a role model. I am happy to have renewed contact with both.
Looking Inward: I had a particularly rough week in August (see the secret blog entries for a recap). But there was a silver lining to that awful week. I reached a turning point, a rock bottom and a realization all at once. There was no where to go but up. And slightly away. Just goes to show that good things can come from bad.

Looking Upward: Hello, burgeoning faith. I thought religion was like ice skating or golf and new languages: Unless you start at a very young age, you can’t turn pro. It’s not that I am a Godless person, or ever was, but I lacked a religious foundation and upbringing. I found that I must create one myself, and that I *can*create one myself. So faith and me and religion are not a lost cause. This past year, something clicked in me: Something I can’t quite explain yet, but this feeling, this belief, this undeniable knowledge that random luck is not soley responsible for the good things in my life. Call it God or karma or the Universe or whatever: But there is a force, even if it is just the force of forward motion. And that bad things are not just a scattershot from an ill will gun. I spent the fertility years thinking how terrible life was, how unlucky I was. But, looking back, I was fortunate then, too: Fortunate to have Nicole and a relationship that was able to survive that stress; fortunate to realize that we can survive tough times and come out the other end; fortunate to have friends who carried me through that awfulness; fortunate to have discovered a community online that I still rely on and turn to. There is always a thread of a silver lining, and sometimes it can’t be untangled until way after the fact.

Looking Forward: I am not really a hard-core resolutionist, but this is what I want to see happen in 2010:

• I miss my memory-book creating days. Before the girls were born, I used to create something akin to scrapbooks. Well, they are more like captioned photo albums. But I loved doing them, and loved looking back on them. This year, I want to start them again.

• I want to run a 10K and maybe a 15K. And if I win the NYC Marathon Lottery in March, I may undertake training for a marathon. The chances of my winning are very slim. But who knows? I am letting fate decide if this is the year I try to run (...and walk....) a marathon.

• I want to continue phasing out processed foods from my diet and the girls’ diet. And drink more tea, because, apparently, this is good for you.

• I want to learn, really learn, the fundamentals of good photography. Each week, I want to focus on a new topic and then use my friend Google to research, read, review and learn. I think I may have roped a friend in on this too. Who needs fancy photography school? Everything we need to know is out there already.

• Nicole and I will be doing our annual first week cleanse diet. Nothing but brown rice and veggies and fruit smoothies, oh my. I think we usually make it five days. But I love the routine of it.

• The other stuff, I will figure out as I go along.

As I teach my students in one of my online classes, big goals need to be broken down into smaller, attainable goals. And steps need to be taken every day to reach said goal. So that is exactly what I will be doing these first few weeks: Figuring out how and when are why and all those other logistics.

And now begins the… Twenty Teens? The Teens? And it kinda blows my mind that in another decade, we will be saying the 20s. Cliché as it is, I must point of that time flies at an alarming rate, and I am sad that these moments are passing by. Each one spent angry or bitter or hard will be one I regret on my deathbed.

On that morbid note, Happy New Year to all of you! Enjoy the night, and the champagne, if you can! I am pretty sure this year, like the recent past ones, we will be ringing in the New Year sound asleep. And that is just fine with me.

And Just Like That, Christmas Is Over

Important Days; Important Outfit Selections

Today we head downtown to court and take the final step in this long, expensive and somewhat arduous process of second-parent adoption. That means, as of around 3:00 p.m. today, in the eyes of the state and the country, Nicole will officially be considered Avery and Madeline’s mother. Which is ridiculous, since she has been their mother from the get-go. However, I do understand why this is emotionally significant for Nicole, and definitely important should I meet an untimely demise and if bitter people contested my will and demanded to have custody of the girls, so in the end, all of the flaming hoops we had to hop through are worth it.

I had it in my head that I must buy a camel-colored pencil skirt and camel-colored sweater for this all-important adoption day. Surely that is what people wear to adoptions. Or perhaps, this is what people wore to adoptions in the 50s. I then ping-ponged through a selection of similar type outfits, all in monotone colors and all a bit on the conservative side. If I am going to be in a judge’s chambers, I want to look upstanding and muted. I settled on gray pants and a pink turtleneck sweater. I showed the girls my outfit and Avery protested: “No, those are Mommy’s pants! Mommy’s work pants!” Indeed my outfit choice is much more aligned with what Nicole wears. I am the skirt/dress wearing mother. But today I just felt like wearing pants. I find it surreal that at just two-and-a-half years old, Avery is already picking up on details like that.

I will also be wearing a lot of green. Right about now I am regretting using green food dye when I was making Christmas ornaments the other day. My fingers are still stained and nothing will get this ink out. I guess my red nails and green skin look a little festive, at least.

The organizer/planner in me is a little annoyed that this adoption appointment is smack dab in the middle of naptime. Let’s hope that napless toddlers plus new environment does not equal complete chaos.

Thanks so much for your tradition ideas, and keep them coming, if you have them! Already I am working on weaving in so many of the ideas I have read. I love the Christmas pajamas hanging on the door on Christmas Eve!

Avery is really embracing Cause-Cause. (Santa Claus, Avery style). She grasps the all-important concept that he will bring presents and eave them under her Christmas tree. She has asked for a teddy bear. Madeline enjoys ho-ho-ho-ing. She speaks of Santa as well, but says little of what Santa can do for her. Avery continues to be the big taker of the two of them. I am fine with that, as long as Madeline’s speech isn’t considered delayed. Just when that panic starts to creep up she will say something like “no touching my ear, Momma” and then I feel like all is well. (She has a boo-boo in her ear and does not like me to inspect it).

Less than ten days till Christmas!

Pictured above, they love love love the snow. They had so much fun in it last weekend. After an hour we managed to tempt Avery inside with the promise of a handful of chocolate chips. Madeline came in, literally, kicking and screaming. We don’t have sleds yet, so they got on their tummies and slid down mini hills in their snowsuits. Clever girls! That picture of Madeline protecting her boo-boo ear cracks me up.

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.