Letter B

So We Meet Again, NaBloPoMo

Excellent timing, actually, to be simultaneously writing 1600+ daily words, posting to my blog every day and watching the Yankees in the World Series. Why? These are all activities that keep me up far past my optimal bed time. If I am going to stay up for one, why not stay up for all three? Also? Time change! Bonus. I actually have some energy past 9 PM. Won't last that long but for this inaugural evening I will take it.

Day one of NaNoWriMo is going well. Although after exactly 312 words today I realized this 50,000-word novel in a month thing is going to be near-impossible for me. I am trying to truly free-write but it's not something that comes easily. Hoping that if nothing else I'll be able to break myself of my wicked self-censoring ways. Also, not having a theme or real cohesive idea is either going to prove to be an excellent idea or a really bad idea. No in-between. Right now I am leaning towards the latter. We'll see how long I can keep it up as it is now in the 9th inning and it's a tied game. This is not a metaphor. Go Yanks!

Here it is, your daily dose of my novel-in-progress: "I pretended to pass out and he started nibbling on my toes like he was going to eat me for sustenance."

November Is The Cruelest Month

I am seriously considering doing NaNoWriMo this year. For those of you who are unfamiliar with it NaNoWriMo is the original mack daddy of Internet group projects. Every November since 1999 a bunch of people on the Internets have tried to write a 50,000 word novel in one month. That's it. I have no idea why the idea suddenly appeals to me this year. I have never really harbored fantasies about writing a novel. I've definitely fancied writing a book of short stories. Certainly a volume of poetry. But I have never been that attracted to writing the longer form. I've never had a story sing to me that way. But I figure that if I have to sit in a chair and write 1500 words a day for thirty days straight something will come of it. Even if it's just a few nice paragraphs. Whatever it is, it'll be more than I have now.

It's been a while since I've even attempted writing fiction. Thinking about the prospect of going back to it the last couple days, mostly in the car driving Lowell to and from school, I have had a lot of vignettes pop up that I'd really like to write down. But as far as a unifying idea or even broad theme I don't have one. I feel like it would be good to figure out something before I start writing but the clock is ticking. So, if you have any ideas to give away please let me know. Seriously. I would love some suggestions.

It feels weird not to do NaBloPoMo this November as it's become something of a tradition for me so I guess I'll try to do both. I think I'll just post the best sentence that I have come up with that day. It will motivate me. Dueling procrastination! My family is going to hate me.

Willa's Birth Story

Willa turned two on the 11th. Yay! I'm happy! Boo! I'm sad! The usual. For the rest of my life I will feel ambivalent about my kids' birthdays. Except maybe when they turn 18. I might be okay with that one because they give you a prize, right? But one thing her birthday (as well as this excellent series over at Design Mom) made me realize was that I still hadn't written up her birth story to share with the Internet. (I know! Someone's going to revoke my Mommyblogger badge.) Actually this is logical. It took me a year to post Lowell's birth story so naturally it's taken me two years to get around to Willa's. Thankfully I am not planning on having a third because I think after that the difference in time spans become exponential.

So, here is her birth story. But first, do you like uncomfortable amounts of personal detail? Including details about bodily fluids and excruciating pain? Yes? Onward then.

Chapter 1: It Begins

Willa came early which was not part of my birth plan. Lowell was over three months late (actually only five days but try telling me that at the time) so I was pretty sure I'd be having her at or past my due date. And why did I think this? I'll tell you why: D-E-N-I-A-L.  Because anyone will tell you that your first labor is NOT an indicator of your second labor in any way. In fact, you can almost be sure it will be completely different. And yet I was absolutely confident that I had lots of time. So sure in fact that, a week before my due date, I did not have my hospital bag packed. I mean, I had a bag. It was there in the corner of our guest room, gathering bacteria-laden, asthma-inducing dust. And there were a few things thrown in there. I think flip flops, some undies, and a half-thought out checklist. Not exactly pregnancy-manual ready, but I had time to find all the things I wanted to have with me during labor. PLENTY OF TIME.

Let's go back for a second, back to October 10th, 2007. It was a beautiful fall day. Lowell and I went to a lovely play date with some of his best buddies at my friend Emily's house. She and my other friend Laetitia asked me how I was doing because the day before I had woken up to some strong contractions. Fine, fine, fine, I told them I was fine and sure that I had several more days of bouncing this kid's head on my cervix. Ha ha. HA! The rest of the day was normal. No indication that Willa's birth was mere hours away. I remember I stayed up kind of late that night, puttering around, drinking tea, not packing my hospital bag, finally getting to bed at around 11:30. A little more than an hour after that I woke up, as usual, and started trying to get my enormous belly turned over to the other side. As I piloted the good ship Behemoth to starboard I twisted my hips a little bit to get comfortable and I felt a pop deep inside. And then, like some kind of bad sitcom, a big gush of liquid came out between my legs.

Oh. No.

My water had broken. All I could think was "No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, I AM NOT READY." But my body was all "Hey, go get that bag, we're going to have this baby tonight!" I shook Matthew gently and said "I think my water broke." (FYI this is a foolproof way to get your husband to go from being dead asleep to being completely alert within about .5 seconds.) I went into the bathroom and sat on the toilet and got another gush. It was a little pinkish which made me panic for a second because all I could remember from the books was that clear=good, any other color=panic. After another gush I had a serious contraction. "Fuuuuuuuuuuuck!" I clearly remember yelling that. Not in pain, the contraction wasn't painful, but in frustration because it was very obvious, even through my iron-clad denial, that this birth was going to happen within a time frame that was sub-optimal, i.e. the next 24 hours.

I called my midwife, Susan, and she was like, yep, you're going to have this baby soon. I asked her if I could go back to sleep. She said if I could sleep through the contractions then it would be good to get more rest and come into the hospital in a few hours. Then I hung up and called my sister, Kara. Kara was my doula when I gave birth to Lowell. And when I say that she practically saved my freaking life during my labor with him I would not be exaggerating one single bit. (I would be exaggerating if I said "literally" but notice I did not. Because I am smart that way. ARE YOU READING THIS, RACHEL ZOE?) I called Kara to let her know that unfortunately she wouldn't probably be able to attend the birth but if she got on a plane that second she might be there to take pictures of the placenta (a family ritual). Our plan (and looking back on it "plan" might have been too strong a term) was for her to attend this birth as well. But since she lives in North Carolina it was logistically challenging to pick a time for her to come up. We'd rolled the dice and came up snake eyes this time. But she said she'd get on the next plane and be there as soon as humanly possible.

Funny thing about being in labor, it's really hard to go back to bed when you're in it. After about two minutes of trying to lie down I just got up and started pacing. The contractions were regular and strong, stopping me in my tracks, but not lasting that long and not too painful. But pretty soon I was looking for my old friend, the exercise ball, to sit on to get me through the contractions. Matthew called my Aunt Jill, who lives just around the corner, and asked her to come over in case we had to leave any time soon.

Chapter 2: Wherein I Learn The Value of A Packed Hospital Bag

I'd say maybe five minutes after Jill arrives we start thinking, yeah, time to go! It helped to have a neutral, normal-state-of-mind third party there. Basically the look on Jill's face said "Are you kidding me? Hospital. Go. Now." although she very tactfully said things like "You know what's best." or "I'll do whatever you need me to do." Matthew asked me if my bag was packed and I used my best wild hand motions to distract him. It would have helped to have had something shiny to shake in front of him but he pressed on. "Uh, no." "Seriously?" "Seriously." What you might not know is that Matthew is the kind of person that is packed a full week before he goes anywhere. I am the type that packs the night before, preferably as late as possible. One of our most consistent reoccurring fights is over packing, so you can imagine the string of expletives that came out of his mouth at that moment. Also, I may have lied a little that week about the readiness of said bag. I convinced him to just get the car ready and that I would be packed in a jiffy. I quickly grabbed vital stuff off the half-thought out list, stopping and bending over when a contraction hit. I remembered a few other things, like the newborn hat I still hadn't finished crocheting and threw it in there along with the yarn and a hook. And very soon I was done. Except for the camera. Hmmmm... now that might be important. Where was the camera come to think of it? Matthew came in to hurry me along and found me at the computer. "What the [more expletives] are you doing?"

And this is what I was doing:



Matthew just walked out of the room shaking his head but then stopped and said, "Do you have the camera?"

The camera turned out to be totally MIA. We did some triage and decided it was faster for Matthew to run over to Jill's house and borrow hers than to start turning the house upside down. (So here's a little PSA: Keep your camera in your hospital bag as your due date approaches. The More You Know.) Matthew went about 80 miles an hour for four blocks and returned with Jill's camera. I waddled out and climbed into the back of our Subaru. And we were off.

Chapter 3: At Least We Made It To The Hospital

The 25-minute drive there was dark and thankfully almost traffic-free. I think it might have been raining too but I honestly can't remember as I was starting to really need to focus on the contractions to keep from freaking out. At some point in the car I realized I hadn't felt the girlbaby kick in awhile. So I waited through a few contractions. Still nothing. I shifted positions, waited again, nothing. I started to get worried but didn't say anything to Matthew. I wanted him to focus on driving as fast as possible because the contractions were getting really painful and more frequent. We were almost to the hospital and still, no kicks. Just as the fear began to rise towards panic I felt one. And tears welled in my eyes I was so relieved. At that point I started the descent. The inward turn where the labor becomes your entire world. I was all business. I was going to get this baby born.

At the hospital they got me right into a room and did an internal. "Eight centimeters" the attending said. I kind of shrugged at that. With Lowell I was stopped at eight centimeters for almost ten hours. TEN HOURS. I figured, well we have some time. While we waited for Susan to get there I kept thinking to myself "Self, how the hell did you do twelve hours of active labor last time? How? This is really, really, really awful." I just couldn't believe how much it hurt. I remembered the pain being terrible but had it been this bad? I didn't remember it being quite this almost-very-nearly-impossible to bear. It didn't help that I was on a hospital bed with the monitor on my belly instead of in any other position. Susan arrived after about twenty minutes and I was really happy to see her. She's just the kind of person you want in a delivery room. Calm, supportive and in charge. At this point the pain was becoming ridiculous. The contractions were very close together and I was having a really hard time. With each one I thought that panic might take over but I somehow got through it. Matthew was doing his best to help me and he kindly let me twist his fingers off during each contraction. We had left my beloved birthing ball in the car like stupid jackasses and now I wanted it badly but I didn't want him to leave for even a second. When Susan was giving me a quick check he extricated his poor hand and went down to get it. He must have ran the entire way, which is kind of funny to picture because it was a huge mint-green ball. He was back almost instantly and I can't even express how much I loved him at that moment. (And it made up for him complaining to the nurse about his headache and asking if she had any Tylenol when we first got in the room. Seriously. While I was IN LABOR. No, she did not give him any.) By now I think we may have been in the room for forty minutes or so. I got off the bed and on to my birthing ball and felt a hundred times better. Matthew rubbed my back and kept me from totally losing it. The nurse asked me if I thought I might want the jacuzzi and I said yes and she turned on the tap to fill it. I had maybe two or three more contractions and the pain was just epic. Unreal. Just as I was thinking I was going to have to start loudly insisting on an epidural, it happened. The unbearable urge they tell you about. The urge I never quite felt with Lowell. I stood halfway up and yelled "OH MY GOD. I THINK I NEED TO PUUUUUUSH!" My midwife came running in from the hallway. She hadn't even filled out the paperwork yet or changed into scrubs. She got me up on the bed just as another contraction started.

Chapter 4: The Ring of Fire

With Lowell I had to push for an hour (which is not all that long) and it was incredibly hard work. For whatever reason, maybe the epidural, the first pregnancy, his position, whatever, it took a lot of work to get him out. Because my labor was so long and the pushing took so much out of me, I never really understood the baby born in the car or in the elevator or in the burning building stories. I just had a hard time relating because my own experience had been so different. Ahem, I no longer have this problem. Because let me tell you, when I felt the urge to push there was nothing I could do to stop it. My body took over completely and the baby was coming right then whether I liked it or not. After I got back up on the bed the next contraction came and I pushed like crazy. Susan said, "She's right here, she's right here, you can do it!" And I am pretty sure I responded with something along the lines of "OH HELL NO, I CANNOT DO IT!" Because the prospect of being split in half did not appeal to me at all, and I was confident that if I pushed again that's what was going to happen to me. But again, my body had no time for that shit and made me push. Again with the being split in half and the "you can do its!" Then one more, right on top of the last, and, dear Lord, Willa passed through me into this world. Pink, vernixy, curly-headed, and wailing. Matthew was right there, tears streaming down his gape-mouthed face. "Oh my goodness," I said, stretching my arms out for her.

The birth moment is often described by midwives as a "ring of fire" which, quite honestly, is something of an understatement. When I was telling the story the next day to my friend Emily, who had a very similar delivery with her second daughter, she said, without a trace of hyperbole, "Yeah, I was focusing on the view from the room and decided that either the baby was coming out right then or I was going to jump out of that window." That is closer to what I experienced, a pain that truly made me want to do anything to make it stop. But, to be sure, it was something. Not something I necessarily want to re-experience (in fact one of my first thoughts was "THANK GOD I NEVER HAVE TO DO THIS AGAIN") but something I cherish as a memory. I love my little girl so very much and it was what needed to happen to get her here. Both my babies taught me how much I can withstand. And now I know I could go through a hundred rings of fire for them and come out ready for a hundred more.

Chapter 5: Coda

Susan put Willa on my chest and she stopped crying almost right away. She nestled herself in between my breasts and went to sleep. It was one of the sweetest moments of my life. We looked at the clock and it was 4:30 AM, less than 4 measly hours after my water broke. The pain of the labor made sense to me now because I had been in transition, the most intense phase, without even knowing it. At some point somebody turned off the faucet on the Jacuzzi tub. Matthew snapped away with the borrowed camera and got beautiful shots that will forever make me cry. (We found our camera almost a year later, smushed in the bottom of a folded umbrella stroller in the garage. Again, excellent planning.) Kara arrived that morning from NC via plane, cab and train, powered by the unstoppable urge to see her niece on the day she was born. Then she went back to our house and picked up Lowell and drove him to meet his beautiful new sister. I'll never forget him barreling into the room, sitting on my lap and then delivering the tenderest kiss possible on his little sister's cheek. And I finished crocheting the hat that I had stowed in the bag, and put it on her pretty little head.

We brought Willa home a day and a half later.  And she nestled herself right in there, too.

Happy birthday, my darling girl.

Oh Crap

I just want to throw some words up here because it's past 11 o'clock on a school night again and I am still procrastinating doing all the things I want to do. I need to go to bed. I need to stop staying up late with absolutely nothing to show for it in the morning. So I am just going to type and get this out of the way and then maybe tomorrow I'll feel like I can write out some of the hundreds of things that I have all queued up in my head. With pictures.

I did finish Infinite Jest. That felt good. What an amazing, ridiculous, insane, violent, and tender piece of fiction. It's one of those books that is going to be in my head for good. I will be pulling bits of it down at random for the rest of my life. And that's the highest praise I can give for any book. When it infects your psyche. My esteem for David Foster Wallace has grown exponentially (from an already pretty tip-top spot) which in turn has made the feel the loss of him even more keenly. I can't even write about it without getting all tight in my throat and watery in my eyes. Ach.

Okay. To bed. More later. I love you guys. Thanks for taking the time to read and sticking with me even when I go awol for weeks.

CHOCKIT!!

I am slowly composing a post about getting through Infinite Jest. Trying to make it not too boring for those of you with the good sense to stick to beach reads this summer but also a post that conveys my sincere awe for the work. In the meantime enjoy this end-of-summer short:

(P.S. Matthew's barely-controlled laughter is the scene-stealer.)

California Is For Lovers. Of Produce.

Just flew in from California, and boy is my ass tired. Wait, did I do that right? But seriously folks. We went to the Bay Area, my husband's homeland, for two weeks and now we are back. Totally wonderful vacation filled with fun, sun, rest and relaxation. The kids basked in the prodigious and glowing love of their west coast grandparents, cousins, aunts, uncles and friends. This is what really made it worth the special hell that is the cross-country flight with two young kids. Oh, it's a special hell. And our kids were comparatively fine. Still hell.

California is a funny place. I love it, I even called it home for a short time, but still when I go there I feel a little bit like Margaret Mead. For one, why is every other person so FREAKING TALL? I am an above-averagely tall woman but I feel positively lilliputian in California sometimes. I found myself constantly looking straight up to have conversations. And the produce. Have you ever seen "Defending Your Life" with Albert Brooks and Meryl Streep? The premise is that after you die you go to a kind of limbo and have to argue yourself into heaven. Everything is pretty much the same in this limbo as it was on Earth except all the food is the very best food you have ever tasted. This premise makes for an excellent running gag where every time Albert Brooks puts something in his mouth he has this orgasmic reaction because he's forgotten where he is. I have the exact same reaction every time I put a piece of produce in my mouth in California. I am like "Oh my freaking God this STRAWBERRY!" and then I remember I am in California. Produce Heaven. This is the real reason they make you throw out your vegetables at the borders, by the way.

One of the other reasons we made a pilgrimage this year was so that my husband could attend his 20th high school reunion. I attended the main event with him and it was fun. Surprisingly. Because early on in the evening I found myself twittering "Hell is other people's reunions" in the bathroom stall. (Admittedly very poor form on my part, I think I was regressing.) But then I had another vodka tonic from the open bar and, what do you know, it got way better! Thankfully I have met many of Matthew's high school friends over the years and they are lovely and kind and do not make fun of their friend's drunky wife. My neck may have hurt afterwards (see above) but I was happy to be there and to meet new people from the past with him.  Something that definitely struck me is how similar all the pictures that were on the walls were to the ones from my own yearbook, and I lived thousands of miles away. It's funny how you never realize in the present that you're just another geist in the zeit.

Happy to be home, of course. Sad that summer is just one more week for us. Lowell doesn't go back to school until after Labor Day but Matthew goes back to teaching on the 1st. Mopey face. Screw people on trains, summertime is the best example for the theory of relativity that there ever was.

BlogHer '09: Way More Than Bags Of Crap

My BlogHer this year was pretty much a big sundae with a thousand cherries on top. I know there have been some reports of swaghogging and general misbehavior and/or cliqueishness but my own experience was incredibly positive. That's not to say I didn't experience moments of social anxiety or feelings of inadequacy or even experience times when I wished I had never heard of BlogHer or the Internet. But on the whole it was as it has been the last two years: an experience I wouldn't miss for the world.

If nothing else, I got to talk and listen about blogging, social media, and the Internet-technology-at-large for 3 whole days. For the rest of the 362 days out of the year I get very few opportunities to get my geek on so BlogHer is a pretty fun place for someone like me. And if that weren't enough I get to see all my friends from inside the computer in one place. For a whole weekend. WITH BOOZE, a lot of it FREE. I'm sorry, but if you know me you are probably shaking your head in disbelief that I ever came home.

My panel on microblogging went really well and it was incredibly fun to do. Which, honestly, surprised me because I was pretty nervous beforehand. But often when I am sitting in audience at the panels I wish I could just chime in on the conversation whenever I want and this time I could chime in to my heart's content. That was really fun. Especially because I was having a conversation with such interesting women, both on the panel and in the audience. I hope that I added some new insight on why microblogging (i.e. Twitter) is such a compelling format. I know that I learned a lot from Erin, Susan and Lucretia as well as from everyone who spoke from the room. I would love to do it again and I sincerely hope I get the opportunity.

The other panels that really stood out for me were The Transformational Power of Blogging, Women of Color and Marketing, and  Dying is Easy, Comedy is Hard. All were really interesting with fascinating women on the panels. Women of Color and Marketing may have been my very favorite and not because HeatherB is my friend and Thruway neighbor or because Karen Waldron called me a genius when I stood up to ask a question (whereupon I lied down and whispered into the mike that God could take me now) but because of my absolute conviction that the world we live in now is a far better place than the world we were living in just two years ago. I left the panel brimming with optimism, which with me is no mean feat. Then again the comedy panel might win as favorite for the motherf*cking LULZ. Holy crap did these women bring it. I was truly laughing my ass off as I was sitting on a very hard floor (another totally overflowing room). It was totally inspiring and made me want badly to strive to improve my funny. But then again the stories in the Transformational Power panel had me weeping. Listening to Kate from Sweet|Salty made me want to kiss the Internet on the lips. It is a completely transformative medium in the adept's hands. And, boy howdy, is she ever an adept.

Other highlights were both speeches and spaces. Like last year, the Community Keynote was a knock-out. Amazing stories told by incredibly brave people. My only criticism was that they did not hand out Kleenex and I had to keep bumming it off JenB. (Hello? Kimberly-Clark? I am no marketing whiz but I know an branding opportunity when I see it.) And the Saturday morning keynote with Tina Brown, Donna Byrd, and Ilene Chaiken was outstanding. When Tina Brown started things off by saying that she would never want to go back to print my jaw went crashing into my cherry danish. And it pretty much stayed there. The Shutter Sisters suite was an oasis in the chaos. Seeing Tracey and Jen again was a treat and they and the other sisters were so generous with the space. And Isabel and her cohorts outdid themselves with the CheeseburgHer party as well as the Recovery Breakfast in the presidential f-ing suite. Fabulous doesn't even cut it.

As wonderful as the panels and keynotes and as fun as the parties and the bags of free stuff can be the sundae cherries that were the sweetest were my old friends and my brand new ones. So many awesome friends.The parties? They were fun because my friends were there and I met all kinds of new friends. The late night Chi Bar scene? Fun because I was with my friends. The musical chairs seating at breakfast? Great because I met cool new people at random.The run to Walgreens for Visine? Fun because my friends reminded me to get Advil too. I can't, and won't, list everyone because it's late and I'll forget someone incredibly wonderful and I can't stand that. You'll see many, but by no means all, on my Flickr stream (if I ever finish uploading, which feels unlikely right now). But I will mention just one: my sister, Kara, made it this year and that was the cherry de la cherry. She took BlogHer by storm and I fully expect everyone to be saying "aren't you Kara's sister?" next year. Next year? New York City, kids. She'll be coming. And I hope you will be too. We'll have a blast. If you can get me to shut up about the Internet for five minutes.

 

Wheels Down

In Chicago and ready to rumble. If you're going to be at BlogHer I can't wait to see you or meet you. My panel is on Friday at 2:45. Please come and laugh at my jokes. Zoinks!

Good Gravy

Lowell came home from daycamp yesterday with a pretty high fever, but with no other real symptoms (you know, other than an inability to do anything besides sit on the couch, chug pedialyte, and whine for more Sponge Bob). One of his friends had just come down with the same kind of weird fever the day before so I really was not that concerned. I gave into his whims, fed him soup for dinner, dosed him with Motrin and sent him to bed early. A few hours later I heard him wake up and run into the bathroom and then I heard a panicky whimper for me to come up. I ran upstairs and he was sitting on the bathroom floor completely glassy-eyed and red faced and so hot to the touch that I started running a bath before even reaching for the thermometer. When I took his temperature it was 105+ which, um, yeah, HIGH. His hands and feet were slightly swollen and he was red all over and obviously distressed and confused by it all. This is where I should mention that Matthew was in the city and I was home alone. Unsweet!

Everything turned out fine. His fever dropped right away after the bath and his pediatrician said to just keep an eye on him and bring him in the next day. Since he had no other pain or symptoms at all I really never felt any panic. It was just a spike, a scary spike, but nothing more. By the time I checked on him before getting in bed he was completely cool and normal feeling. Thinking about it today though, I am surprised that I wasn't more freaked out. It always surprises me when I react calmly in a stressful situation. It's one thing to just be calm for the kids while you're freaking the fuck out on the inside but this time I honestly never got there. And lord knows I can get there. Why, I feel panicky all the time!  But when I look at the pattern of my anxiety it almost always strikes when everything is fine. I know what this is about (blah, blah, blah, therapy-talk, hi, I've been in therapy) and yet I still have trouble not feeling the creep of panic when all systems are go. For instance for months now I have been (silently, secretly) afraid that something was physically wrong with Lowell (based on NOTHING at all in reality) and feeling all manner of anxiety over it and suddenly he gets a 105 fever and I'm all, hey, no problem! I wish I could channel real-crisis-me when when fake-crisis-me starts getting my google on late at night, right before bed. Actually, I could do that, that's what I have been taught to do, but it's hard. Yep, being mentally healthy is hard.

Gah. Two heavy posts in a row! This always happens when I start forcing myself to post. Okay, gratuitous cute picture! I should just carry this picture around in a little glass case marked "Break In Case Of The Howling Fantods¹" 

¹ Infinite Jest reference right there. More on how that's going later.

The Past Is A Foreign Country

This picture showed up in my inbox today from our friend Joey who just got it himself from a mutual friend. A long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long time ago Joey organized a sail on a schooner around lower Manhattan for a bunch of friends and co-workers. Just because. Just because we all lived our lives by the water but rarely went out on it to get a good look at our beautiful city. I have lots of memories from this cruise but one of the most vivid was a gorgeous sunset as we sailed through New York Harbor towards the the Narrows. Matthew and I had just started living together at this point and our future together was slowly taking shape. The one part of the future that we never imagined is obvious in this shot. It's a picture from a world that's gone. Our private world and the world over Matthew's shoulder. It's both an image I want to put at the bottom of a box in the back of a closet and one I could stare at all night.

Constructive Summer

Matthew is finally done with school and now we can get this summer started. And by "started" I mean let's break out the Sheetrock! Last year we did no summer projects on purpose. This year, not so lucky.  We have a list of what that stretches into infinity and beyond. (I was going to christen this summer "The Summer of Noggin" but I think it might turn out to be "The Summer of Toy Story 2.") The fraction that will actually be accomplished is probably about 0.001%. And that would be a good number. This is when I wish we could just hire a crew, give them some plans, a sack of dough and then fuck off to the Cape for a couple months. .... Sorry, still reveling in that fantasy. Just give me one more second... Okay. I'm back. Dammit.

So anyway, yes, the List. We decided the most important thing on it is to get the kids into the same room. And because this requires a little demolition it's obviously the one Matthew wants to do first. (The man teaches ninth graders. He has some tension to release.) Right now Willa sleeps in a dormer room that is off our bedroom. (Saying it's a room is generous, it's basically a closet with a window.)  This little nook was created by the previous owners who walled off the dormer from another bedroom (Lowell's) and opened up a new door from our bedroom. We plan on tearing down the false wall, boarding up the door and returning the bedrooms to their original state. (Why am I using all these words? What is this, the 19th century? Pictures here if you prefer visuals.) This will make Lowell's bedroom bigger and we'll basically just keep Willa's crib where it is now and voila! They share a room. On the one hand I know getting Willa into another room and out of ours is a good thing. There is just a curtain separating us from her which was lovely when she was a baby (and not in bed with us which wasn't often.) But these days it is starting to feel a little flimsy. We want our room back so we can stop worrying about making noise or keeping the light on (walka-chicka wahh). We both feel like it's a good time to do this since we'll have time to adjust before we do any travel. And yet. And yet. I am having trouble. I don't want to say goodbye to the baby stage and this feels like we're taking a sledgehammer to the five minutes of babyhood she has left. (Okay, a sawzall, it really is a flimsy little wall.) I keep coming up with things to procrastinate the task but Matthew's not buying it. It starts tomorrow unless I chain myself to the wall. Which I won't do. But I will be sorely tempted. Goodbye, little nursery. I will miss you so.

Peer Pressure Is My Friend. Again.

In 1992 I bought a copy of that year's Best American Short Stories and was blown away by this story called "Forever Overhead." It was told in the second person which is something that I usually really hate but this story was so simultaneously gorgeous and nauseating that I raced through it and had no time to be annoyed. After reading it I flipped immediately to the back to read the author statement and that was when I fell in love. Right then and there. This guy, David Foster Wallace, had written this ridiculous, wonderful, and hilarious author's note that was a complete 180 from and even more brilliant than the fraught and delicate story I had just read. And it had footnotes. Footnotes in an author statement. I was smitten.

When Infinite Jest came out I bought it right away. I'm pretty sure they released it in paperback because I remember buying it at a now defunct Brentano's on 6th avenue a few days after it came out and I remember it was a paperback. I went home dewey-eyed with excitement to start reading. I started that day and I think I got to page 160 or so. And then stopped. This was back when I devoured books, staying up all night to read even mediocre books. Once I got started on a book I read it constantly until I was done. That never happened with Infinite Jest. I put it down and it stayed down. I remember picking it up again a few years later and getting to right about the same spot again and again stopping. At some point I must have lent out my copy because the next time I felt up to reading it I couldn't find it anywhere. After this I walked around with a tiny little part of my brain that felt guilty for never finishing, hell, barely starting, the magnum opus of my favorite contemporary writer.

When I heard the news last September, cryptically via Twitter, that David Foster Wallace had hung himself I found myself crying almost instantly. Suicides make me very upset anyway but to lose such a mind to that fucking villainous black hole, depression, shocked me to tears. I couldn't shake the dread and sickness that plumed up whenever I thought about if for a long time afterwards. That day though, partially because it had been on my mind again since getting Consider The Lobster and partially because I am a narcissistic douche who can't help myself, I had the thought: shit, now I have to finish Infinite Jest.

Enter Infinite Summer, a brainchild of Defective Yeti's Matthew Baldwin and also guided by my favorite Internet sensei, Eden Kennedy. As soon as I heard about it, again via Twitter, I knew I was in. Here was another chance for me to prove how susceptible I am to peer pressure AND fulfill one of my lifetime goals. Fun! The gist is that a bunch of people from around the globe will be reading it this summer from June 21st to September 22, 75 pages a week. (Not including the extra 300 pages of endnotes.) I am 50-some pages in and feeling good. Just knowing that I will be finishing it this time (as God and the Internet as my witness) definitely helps. I will be occasionally blogging about it, I guess, so I hope you don't mind. Not sure how I'll do that as I am so spoiler-averse it borders on psychosis, but I'll figure out something. If anyone out there is participating in this summer project too, please pipe up and let me know.

Did I Mention That I'll Be (Speaking) At BlogHer?

I have been meaning to write a post now for months to let you know that not only will I be going to BlogHer this year but I will be speaking on a panel. (I know, I know, why the hell would I be speaking on a panel at a blogging conference? I nearly let my blog die this year for f*ck sakes. But the panel is about microblogging -read: Twitter- and I'm representing as Momku so it's not entirely absurd. Not entirely.)  But then BlogHer sold out in like, a freaking minute, and I felt that posting about a conference you couldn't attend even if you wanted to was bad form. And there is also this little problem that I am almost genetically prevented from self-promotion of any kind. This is not something I like about myself. I really believe that it's important to be proud of your accomplishments and abilities and, for women especially, to not shy away from talking about them. I believe this strongly. In theory. In practice it's almost impossible for me. I want so badly to be able to do it but I have all sorts of psychological baggage that makes it about as appealing as waltzing barefoot in my underwear on a stage strewn with crushed glass. Yeah. Issues!

So anyway. I will be speaking on a panel. At BlogHer. With some smart, awesome women. If you're going to the conference please consider attending our session. I think it's going to be great.

(p.s. I have also been holding out that I got my hair cut off about a month ago. I am the world's worst blogger. Next post.)

My Little PCB Monster

This weekend a bunch of ships sailed up the Hudson to celebrate the 400th anniversary of Henry Hudson's discovery voyage. There was a big celebration held on a point near us to watch the ships come in with bands and food and hula hoops. (Hula hoops? What is going on? Must be some kind of trend.) We went down and Lowell was instantly drawn to a shallow bank where there was a beach of mud and rocks due to low tide. He and a bunch of his fellow hooligans spent hours mucking in the silt. I was focusing on keeping Willa from throwing herself off the end of the beautiful, but treacherous art installation/pier so I didn't really see the extent of the mucking. When I finally caught up with Lowell he was basically a walking Super Fund Site. (The picture really does not do justice the extent of the muddiness, it was ridiculous.) Although part of me wanted to rush him home and give him a Silkwood-esque shower I just made do with some baby wipes and then Matthew handed him a chocolate ice cream sandwich to smear all over his face and complete the look. I'm sure he'll be fine, since the Hudson is soooo clean now. Maybe we'll be lucky and he'll just end up with some cool mutant power.

Indulge Me

GOD, I hate blogging about blogging but even more I hate blogging about NOT blogging. So this is an especially uncomfortable post for me. (And for you too! Woo hoo! Aren't you glad you decided not to delete me from your reader??!) But I feel like it would be dishonest to not say something when I am obviously having a problem posting on a regular basis.

There are a lot of things that I could use as excuses: busy with the kids, twitter-suck, bad juju, bad habits, major blogging-block, general malaise... oh I could go on and on. But honestly it boils down to losing the passion that had, in the past, kept me doing it no matter what. That hurts to say because I love this blog. I love every post, even the embarrassingly bad ones. I love every single person that has ever stopped by and read a post or added my feed to their reader. I love every single comment and every single commenter. And when I say love, I mean LOVE both because I am a slut like that and because I can't believe how much positivity this blog has brought into my life. It's hard to describe but I am a different person because of this online experiment. Blogging, for me, has been a surprisingly deep and satisfying experience that I feel fortunate to have had. (Short aside: I think that one of the biggest reasons I hate to blog about blogging is how many times I have to say the word "blog." Bloggy!)

But, before you think this is a valedictory kiss off, lack of passion does not mean lack of desire. (Just ask my husband. Ba dum bump.) The desire is most definitely there. In fact, I have been carrying around a lot of weight because the last thing I want is to let this blog die. So it's time for action. It has been my experience that lack of passion can be made up for, almost pound for pound, with discipline. (If this were not true I would never have been able to stay gainfully employed most of my adult life.) So I am going to just get all methodical on yer asses and promise, from now until the forseeable future, I will post once a week. Public promises usually work with me, not because I am highly ethical, but rather highly co-dependant. If I think even one person out there is put out because I didn't keep my promise I'll freak out. (Terrible, crippling trait but for now, bonus!) Also, I am trying to change the layout of the blog so that some of my extracurricular content shows up more legibly. And perhaps, just maybe, I'll change the freaking banner that is still referencing the move we made three years ago. And my about page. Oh and the out-of-date picture. Jeeze.

I hope all you are still out there. Hope you haven't given up on me. Rising from the ashes over here. Dusty and coughing, but with a fiery heart.

Horseshoes And Hand Grenades

No Kentucky Derby contest this year. Disappointed! I have had a really lame spring cold, including a hacking cough that kept me from doing anything this week (besides assuring people I haven't recently been to Mexico or the Bronx). Luckily I was able to languish on the couch while my mom, up for a visit, took care of my kids but I still wasn't able to get my act together to post the contest. Maybe I'll do a Preakness special this year. Stay tuned.

It turned out to be a great race, though, didn't it? One of the reasons I love horse racing is that it produces some of the best sports writing you will ever read. If you weren't able to catch the race, or even if you were, read this recap from the incomparable Joe Drape. He is a throwback of the best kind - I always imagine him at a typewriter chomping on a cigar as he pounds out his turf poetry. I could read him all day. (And I probably will - just found out he's on Twitter. Ahem, boo-yah!)

Lowell is very rude in this next video. Just warning any of you who might be sensitive to bad language. (By the way, no actual Tech Deck Sk8ters lost any legs during filming. It was all done in post. Movie magic, people.)

This Is What Interfaith Marriage Looks Like

We're over here enjoying the wind-down of the Easter-Passover nexus. Lots of uneaten hot-crossed matzoh and the like. Hope you had a joyous spring holiday.

Waiting for it to start to warm the ef up around here. I am so tired of feeling cold all the time. Although I recently read an article in the NYT about this so-called brown fat stuff that is activated by cold and helps you lose weight. This made me feel less guilty about sitting in my freezing kitchen eating bag after bag of chips. (Okay, this paragraph is starting to make me feel like a) I have to start linking to something else besides the NYT - it's all I ever do; and b) I am starting to feel like a living, breathing Cathy cartoon.)

Willa has recently entered a new phase. One that includes hitting whatever is in front of her when she is even slightly thwarted. Today at a restaurant when I took away her cup she hit me, then the table and then screamed out some gibberish that I am pretty sure was "I WILL CUT YOU!!!" This kind of scenario plays out pretty much hourly these days. Two is going to be fun, I can feel it. But she looks like this so, kiiiinda hard to not come crawling back for more. Sigh. Yummy.

Mind Games

You guys have to tell me if I should be worried.

Let me start at the beginning. I decided awhile back not to let Lowell play any kind of computer games for as long as possible. I figured that he'll be attached to some kind of screen device for the rest of his life (at least until he's swigging back nanobots) so why not delay the inevitable for a little while? (Ha! Oh, I crack myself up. Actually I have been keeping him in the dark because I don't want to share the computer during the day. The last thing I want is for him to be standing there whining to use it while I'm trying to get my Twitter on. AM I RITE?) But it was a long, cold winter and some of the edumacational games my well-meaning father loves to give him started looking like a good thing. One particularly wretched day I basically said "F*ck it" and popped one of the disks in and let him have at it. Lowell was instantly hooked. He played for as long as I would let him and, technical difficulties aside, he played without a peep. This is a kid who does not like to play alone that often so I have to say I was also instantly hooked. One thing led to another and now he's a Noggin.com flash game junkie. Backyardigans and Diego are his favorites. But this week we (and I do mean we) had to go cold turkey because of the escalating tantrums he was throwing whenever his time was up. After a couple days without playing he was okay but the withdrawal on the first day was painful (for my eardrums especially).

So what's worrying me? Aside from the Noggin.com-DTs? Yesterday he was running around the house doing all sorts of twists and jumps and muttering to himself. Not unusual at all but then I listened in and heard him saying to himself "use the left and right arrow keys to steer. Press the spacebar to do a trick! SPEEDBOOST!" I realized he was playing the Diego snowboarding game in his head as he ran around the living room. First thought: "Oh my God, I have rewired his brain." Second thought: "How creative! He IS a genius!" Third thought: "Perhaps there is a Diego Clean-Your-Room game..."

Worrisome or just funny? It actually reminded me of a time when I was doing a lot of Photoshopping for work and I started thinking "undo" every time I made a mistake in real life. I definitely believe that computer use changes the way that you think so I wonder what effect it has on a developing brain. I'm positive that in moderation it's not going to do anything good or bad but I have no idea where the moderation line is. I'm thinking I'll just stuff the genie back in the bottle for a little longer and then  just choose not to worry when he's playing them again. Did I mention that I just got a Wii for my birthday? I am a complete hypocrite on this subject. Although at this point I think video games will probably help my brain since I'm at the atrophying phase. Is there a Clean-Your-Room game out there by the way?

Cake Is For Closers

From a very nice card made by my lovely nephew.

It's been over two weeks and I am just now feeling up to discussing my birthday. I woke up the morning of the third of February feeling seriously depressed. It didn't help that I woke up at 5:30 AM to the sound of a screaming baby. And although my husband went to work late so that I could sleep in and made me a beautiful breakfast while fending off two crazymakers I was still in a major funk. And then it snowed all day long. That did not help at all. Also, I had a really awful acne flare up which was truly unfair. Acne and wrinkles together - why wasn't I warned?

I think that for me turning 39 is way harder than 40. I remember hating 29 too and just wanting to get the year over with. I feel the same way now. I am living a lie! I am practically in my forties so why pretend? (This is a symptom of a greater problem which is that my head will never let me be in the moment. Stupid head. Yeah, you.) I do feel like I am saying goodbye to my youth. A good youth. A well-lived and extended-to-almost-the-last-possible-second-youth, but youth nonetheless. Not that I would go back, good God and go through all that angst again? No way. But I am sad to see it go. (Especially the wardrobe. At least I can still fit into most of the shoes.) I am sure I will enjoy old age because, beyond my health and death, there will be much less to worry about. It's middle age I'm not sure I am going to like so much. So much going on, so many responsibilities, so many PTA meetings and questionable hair styles. I'm sure it will be fine. I'm sure it will be more than fine, why I'll be in the shank of life! But I'll probably be kind of grumpy until this year is over. At least forty will be the start of something instead of the end. Soon enough I'll be wishing I was forty again. Instead of 49. It never stops. Stupid head.

Shadow Of My Former Self

Happy New Year! I'm just a little late. And Christmas. Crap. Oh, and Hanukkah. Um. Yeah. WTH? Thankfully my new year's resolution is to become re-addicted to the Internet. I have really been slacking lately. I don't even check my email every day anymore. How have I let this happen? I am so ashamed.

One major distraction? My family. Jesus Christ do they have NEEDS. And lately, as this household has succumbed to one communicable illness after another, their needs have had needs. I feel like I have done more laundry in the last 4 weeks than I did in the entirety of my twenties. And we have molars coming in too. Willa's that is. It's been fun around here. Actually it really has been fun when it hasn't been pukey or poopy. We had a really lovely holiday break that somehow wasn't overshadowed by the ick. There was lots of cozy family time and, thank God given the state of our health, zero travel. Lowell and Willa were showered with gifts for both the gift-giving holidays that we celebrate and, Lowell especially, was charmed by the magic of the season. Although he has fully moved on to the next fantastical creature that will invade his home and bring him gifts and candy.

L: Is the Easter Bunny coming?

Me: Yeeees. Not for awhile though.

L: Is the Easter Bunny nice?

Me: Sure.

L: As nice as Santa?

Me: Nobody is as nice as Santa, kid.

L: Where does the Easter Bunny live?

Me: (Genuinely stumped). Uh, I really don't know.

L: Hmm. I think he lives at the East Pole.

Okay, I have made the first step in my journey back to Internet addiction. Next up, going to open my RSS reader tomorrow. One day at a time, one day at a time.

Domestic Disturbance

Him: Do you realize we are watching a Lifetime Original Movie?

Me: But it's starring Nancy McKeon! [Still, always, forever hot for you, Jo.]

Him: I'm sorry, but some kind of line has been crossed. [pause] Let's start going to church.
_____________
*Um, just found out via that Wikipedia page that Nancy's brother was Philip McKeon, Linda Lavin's son on Alice. I mean, how did I go thirty-some years without knowing that? They totally look alike, holy crap.

Act Local

Back during the November daily post-a-thon I came up with an idea to write an entry that was a combination thank-you note/love letter to all the things and people out there that got me through the Bush years. Like all the writers and comics at The Daily Show, Stephen Colbert, The Onion of course, Michael Moore (in small doses), and Paul Krugman (who, I might add, deserves some kind of medal, I mean other than the fricking Nobel he just won, for his unstinting and relentless criticism of the administration while other journalists cowered or embedded. The Presidential Medal of Freedom would do nicely). These are just a few off the top of my head but one that stands above all others for me: Get Your War On. David Rees was somehow able to distill the rage and insanity of those years into tidy three- or four-panel clip art strips of master satire. Master satire that also made you laugh hard enough to injure something. I credit him with saving my sanity during the darkest hours of the Bush administration. Sitting there in my own Midtown cubicle, constantly refreshing the gywo page, hoping for another release of the crazy pent-up tension that colonized every cell in my body post-9/11. Anyway, the reason I finally did just go ahead and write this post is because, whaddya know, David Rees recently moved to my town. My tiny little town. And he's giving a reading at a local gallery this weekend. I am going to go and try to keep cool and not get all fan girl on him because next thing you know we'll probably end up at the same city council meeting trying to expand curbside recycling or something. Oh, and the original reason I wanted to write the post was pretty much just to point to the GYWO videos that he's doing now. This one? Oh dear God. Remember what I said about injuring something? You've been warned.

TGID

Well, another NaBloPoMo kicked in the head. I feel like I never really hit a groove this year but I'm still feeling a nice sense of accomplishment, so there's that. Thanks for hanging in there with me. Next up, me doing nothing but knit the next couple nights. And possibly finish the book I've been working on since September. Be back soon.

Elevator, Going Up!

My 20th high school reunion is going on right now but I couldn't make it for a variety of reasons. Ultimately, I am okay with this. (Who needs reunions when you have Facebook?) But I hate to miss a party and therefore I am a little sad tonight. So, I have decided to post the elevator pitch of my life during the last 20 years for you since I can't deliver it there, in person, while cradling a glass of wine and a canapé. Here goes:

Ahem. After high school I went to Madison for my undergrad years. Did a junior year abroad in Budapest, Hungary, months after the Berlin Wall fell. While there realized Kafka's writings were actually non-fiction. After graduation moved to San Francisco. It was fun, there were piercings, but ultimately could not find work so moved back to Budapest. Fell in love with a painter. Took side trips to a war zone and the arctic circle. Wrote a buttload of poetry. Left Hungary after three years and moved to New York City to go to grad school and get an MFA. Hungarian boyfriend followed. We married for love and a work permit. Chickened out of grad school due to enormous tuition and went to work for a software company instead. Spent the Silicon Alley boom in various crazy companies doing various crazy things on the Internet. Divorced Hungarian husband. My best friend moved in and we got a dog. Lost wacky Internet job when company went under in the bust. Watched in abject horror at the World Trade Center burning and collapsing as I stood in Union Square. Best friend proposed. Got my dream job. Married best friend and honeymooned in Paris. We had a baby boy a year later. Started a blog. Quit dream job. Left New York for a small town. Had a baby girl a year ago. Yes, I have a picture of them. I am still blogging and I occasionally still write poetry. Gulp. Nibble, nibble.

So, what have you been up to the last 20 years? One paragraph. Go!

Leftovers Anyone?

Leftovers Anyone?, originally uploaded by LetterB.

Corny

Hope you're having a great Thanksgiving (those of you who are celebrating it today). We were four adults and two kids and we cooked for twelve. Let me know if you need leftovers.

Let me just take this opportunity to say how thankful I am for any and all who take a moment to read this blog. It tickles me endlessly that you do it. Thank you.

My Get Out Of Posting Free Card

It's Wednesday night. I got my smartwools on. Oh yeah, it's business time.

Honestly, It's All Twitter's Fault

Well, the less said about last night the better. Checking Willa's mouth this morning I saw another tooth coming in on the bottom that I hadn't noticed. This is in addition to her top incisors and a molar. Just glad we are not traveling for Thanksgiving because the only way this could be more fun is if air travel were somehow involved.

I read this article over the weekend about "slow blogging." The phrase is meant in the same vein as "slow food" and the upshot of the piece was that less frequent, more reflective blogging equals good and frenetic multiple daily posting ala Gawker or HuffPo equals bad for a certain section of the blogging community. Aside from the ironic timing of it coming during National Blog Posting Month I thought it was kind of interesting that this subject matter would make it all the way to the New York Times (even if it was the Sunday Styles section. WTH? Why are blogging articles always put there?  Weird. Sorry, digressing.) I feel like it is still a pretty fringe activity to have a personal blog and it's hard to imagine a lot of NYT readers would be interested in such arcana. Anyway, it made me feel a little better about not posting here as much as I used to. Now that I am part of a movement I am hoping I will feel smug and superior instead of lazy and inadequate. Yay.

Sleep Is For Sissies, Part 27

Dear God. I cannot take this. Tell me again why I had a baby in my late thirties? I can't hack the sleep deprivation this time around. This morning I was woken up for the day at 4:30 AM by an unhappy, teething baby. I am a mess. Anyway, I swore I would not stay up too late tonight reading posts and writing some half-assed thing at 11:52 so this is all I am posting. Pray for me that she'll at least make it to 5:30 tomorrow.

The Fortress Of Attitude

Hey! I haven't done my obligatory nablopomo "this is what I am watching on TV tonight" post yet! Hooray! Tonight: Superman (The Movie) and then the Stephen Colbert Christmas Special. Neither disappointed. Except during the special when the sound cut out during one of the loveliest versions of "Peace, Love & Understanding" I've ever heard. That blew. Luckily I have a feeling Comedy Central will be replaying it a couple times. And Superman (I watched two-thirds before switching over) is really showing its age. I guess it is 30 years old but it's still an incredibly charming movie. It helped that I watched it with all my favorite wiseacre relatives who were doing a fair MST3K treatment on it. The title of this post? What my sister's secret hideout would be called. Snaaaap!

Four

Lowell turned four today. He's turning into such a little dude. We gave him a bike and he hopped right on that thing and rode it in the freezing cold until his little hands turned blue. No fear, no hesitation, just pure joy. There are no real words to describe the way I feel when I watch him do things like that. He is making giant leaps in abilities and maturity every day and there is barely a minute to sit back and savor it. Milestones like birthdays help you do that and today I was amazed. Happy birthday, my darling dearest boy.

Take Me To Your Eater

The Birthdayminator lives! Okay, going to bed now.

Currently

Totally channeling Jane Brocket with this photo. Right now I am decorating mini cupcakes as if my life depended on it. Lowell turns 4 on Saturday and these are for his class tomorrow. I am getting frosting all over the keyboard right now. My new Momku (you get a sneak preview; it goes out on twitter tomorrow):

Suburban momdom
Complete. Now proud owner of
Cupcake carrier

Wall, Hit.

Jesus f*ck I cannot do it tonight. I am so sick of myself! Blargh!

For The Lulz

1. Just listened to Matthew, who is just not a real wired type, try to figure out my post title from a few days ago.

Him: "Yes We Can... Haz?" What the hell does that mean? [Tries out different emphasis.] "Yes We CAN Haz? YES, We Can Haz?" What? Why is "has" spelled with a "z?"

Me: [lol]

Him: [muttering] I don't get it.

Me: It's LOLspeak. You know, Lolcats?

Him: [The very picture of bafflement.]

Me: The funny internet cats? "Invisible Bike"?

Him: Oh yeah. [Looks back at my blog]... I still don't get it. "Yes We Can HAZ?"

2. This is freaking hilarious and so true. We're all pretty much 21st century sorcerers that sit around bitching about how lame our magic wands and brooms are. Louis CK on Conan. Very funny. [via Kung Fu Grippe]

Cries For Help

1. So tonight I decided to make this white bean and butternut squash soup but forgot all about the soak-the-beans-overnight first step. Not a problem, I thought, I will soak the beans tonight and make the soup tomorrow. (I am so clever). But guess what? Not a white bean to be had in the entire house. Where is the jar of white beans that I was absolutely sure was in the pantry? Why is my brain unable to compute the fact that it does not exist and instead force me to keep looking for it over and over again? So now tomorrow I must go out and buy white beans (even though I know that jar is hiding here somewhere, mocking me). Anyway, my question is, since I'll be damned if I wait another day for this soup, do any of you out there have a good quick-soak method? Does one really need to soak at all? I seem to remember hearing that was passe. Please help me, Internet.

2. I have decided that I need to hire someone just to manage my children's clothing. I feel like I am drowning in outgrown and/or not-yet-grown-into clothing. I try to keep on top of it but it is completely out of control. You should see my basement. It looks like a children's thrift store threw up in there. Do any of you have any good tricks, systems, methods for this madness? Preferably ones that work by magic but I'll take anything at this point. Am I the only one suffering from this? Seriously, the clothing haunts me.

3. Willa has been taking us on a roller coaster ride of sleep / no sleep over the last few weeks. It's been exhausting and demoralizing because every time we think she's turned the corner she starts waking up again. I am also keen to wean her but now afraid to give up my ace in the hole. I rarely nurse her during the day but I still nurse in the early morning to eke out one more hour of sleep. I don't really have a question for you, more a plea: remind me that this will end. Remind me that I will sleep normally again someday. Tell me your own stories about sleepless nights with squalling babies and how you kept yourself from throwing them out the window. That would really help.

Yes We Can Haz

While I type this I am watching "The Wizard of Oz" for the second time tonight. Why? Because I can. I will always watch this movie if it's on. It's not nostalgia (ok, maybe a little bit of nostalgia) but more because I am absolutely fascinated with this film. I love it on several levels, some of which are deeply nerdy so I will stop now before I start spouting insufferable undergraduate-level theoretical analysis. Before "The Wizard Of Oz" I watched Obama on "60 Minutes." (I'm not going to count the brief stop at "Witness to Jonestown" between the two - would like to forget I ever saw any of that. Good lord.) It was the first time in a long time I have watched a presidential interview and only made fun of the host. (Hey, Steve Kroft, you are not Clint Eastwood, stop with the crazy squinting. You looked like you were trying to see the inside of Barack's skull. Also, 1974 called, they want their hairdo back. Oh, snip!) It was so weird to listen to the President (elect, yeah, yeah) and not want to immediately throw something at the TV screen. What am I going to do with my collection of foam bricks? Obama was great, if a little guarded. I can't wait for January. But the real reason for this post is not to talk about my Sunday TV watching but to point you to this awesome little blog Yes We Can (Hold Babies) that I found via Mimi Smartypants. An entire blog devoted to pictures of Obama with kids. There are some pretty cool pictures there. Some funny, some sweet and some seriously moving. I am so excited that he will be the first president that Lowell knows and remembers. Sure beats Ford, kid.

Gone Knitting

Hi, yeah, can't post tonight because I am too busy knitting and then frogging then re-knitting the same 16 rows over and over again. I can't get it right!! It's making me crazy. Pro tip to those of you who are also NaBloPoMo-ing: don't rekindle an old obsessive hobby at the same time. COUNTERPRODUCTIVE.

Funny Ha Ha

I've pimped these bitches before but if you are a podcast-listening type you really might want to check out You Look Nice Today. And if you're not a podcast-listening type then this might be the one that changes you. These guys are hilarious and unrepentantly geeky (no surprise that they met on Twitter). Here is one of my favorite episodes to get you started.  Enjoy. Or not. No pressure.

Too Close For Comfort

I watched "Close Encounters of the Third Kind" tonight. I don't think I have seen the entire movie since it came out. I was seven or eight when I saw it the first time, possibly at a drive-in. My dad took us to see it, that I remember. (My dad always seemed to have a blind spot for movies that were inappropriate for kids. I have a vivid memory of staying up late with him to watch the original "Invasion Of The Body Snatchers" on TV when I was maybe six. I don't think I slept for a week after watching it.) With "Close Encounters" I remember liking it but also being really freaked out by it. And whenever I think about the movie I get this weird uneasy feeling. We lived in Indiana at the time it came out, and that's where the beginning of the film is set. Around that time my own family was falling apart. My parent's marriage was in crisis and they fought constantly. Watching tonight I realized that the movie is about adults totally out of control. The shots of children watching from doorways or windows as their parents lose it would have been, shall we say, resonant for me at the time. I noticed while watching the scene where Richard Dreyfuss and Teri Garr have a huge fight that I was getting very upset and feeling a sensation close to panic. I can remember as a kid identifying the Richard Dreyfuss character with my dad, feeling then that something like what happened in the movie could happen to him. And in a way it did. All through the divorce and the immediate years afterwards he was a completely different person to me. Maybe at the time I had a prescient feeling that everything was about to change. I am glad I watched it again tonight but I think that will be it. Part of me wishes I had just stuck with "30 Rock." Bee boo bee boo boo.

Basic Cable

I am not a good knitter. I hover just above beginner level and I take such long breaks between projects that I forget all sorts of very basic things (like moving the yarn to the front to purl, duh). Because of this I have not really progressed from knitting plain rectangle shaped things. Anytime I want to make something with shape or interest I usually crochet. I grok the hook. For whatever reason two needles (or more) are just harder for me. This does not stop me from buying all sorts of fancy knitting supplies, you know, just in case. Tonight I decided to sit down and teach myself something new. Behold:

I finally put that cable needle to work. This is a very small step but I am feeling like I might be able to try a hat pattern I've been eyeing. I will probably document the whole process over at Roses Are Blue. If you are also novice knitter and want to play along let me know.

Did I Mention She's Walking?

Not sure I ever announced that Willa has been walking with gusto for a couple weeks now. Here is a video from the day she learned to stand up unassisted. She is trying so hard to keep up with Lowell that she now has several bruises on her face. Yesterday she started jumping on the bed. We are so screwed.

Matthew Cracks Me Up Yet Again

Him: [story about really crappy day with ninth graders]

Me: [supportive murmurs]

Him: Well, that was my day in a buttshell, how was yours?

Kersplash! On Etsy! Prepare To Spend Some Money!

You know how I just posted about my sister Kara's mad crafting skills? Well, she done opened up her Etsy shop! Now you can buy her stuff on the Internets. If you have a iPod listener on your xmas list look no further. And if you'd like one of her Joey bags for yourself (because they are super awesome and you will probably want one) I would order right now because those babies are going to sell out fast. Such a bargain too. Buy now before I convince her to raise her prices. This is so exciting.

Listing

Okay, time for my first It's-nablopomo-and-I-don't-have-any-idea-what-to-post-f*ck-it-I'll-just-do-a-random-list post!

1. Currently obsessed with meal planning. This is following the pattern of many of my other obsessions: read constantly ABOUT something but don't actually do it. Past obsessions include interior decorating, several hundred crafting techniques, meditation.

2. Took a pilates class today and spent the entire class wishing it would end. But felt fabulous afterwards and I really want to keep going. I think it may hit me right in the masochistic sweet spot.

3. I thought maybe I would use this nablopomo to stretch a little and do a series of posts on a theme or try to find some kind of ongoing story to write. Several of my friends in the computer have done this and I have loved reading them. I am not doing it because I don't seem to have the bandwidth to settle on an idea (read: I am terrified of doing any serious writing on this blog. What if you stop liking me?)

4. Lowell shouted at me today "I CAN'T HANDLE THE CANDY RULES!!!" It's true, he can't. Thankfully Halloween haul nearly gone. Birthday party tomorrow and praying there is no pinata.

5. PMS is killing me this month. Every single time I think about the election or about any of the Obama family (including the first puppy) I start welling up with tears. Also, spewing profanity-laced invective at the drop of a hat. Lowell repeated some doozies today. His preschool teachers are in for a treat this week!

My Last Two Days

What is better than a one-year-old with croup, diarrhea, and diaper rash? A one-year-old with croup, diarrhea, diaper rash AND 'roid rage. Jaysus. Actually, given how miserable she must be Willa has been pretty copacetic most of the time. But when she loses it she loses it and there is no getting her back. Thank God I am still nursing (wait, did I just say that?) because I have no idea what I would do if I couldn't give her boob. I am exausted.

We've had a bunch of doctor trips lately that involved giving blood and other fun stuff so Lowell has developed a serious phobia. When he had to come with me yesterday for Willa's appointment he was beside himself with fear and anxiety. I kept having to tell him that it was not his turn to see the doctor and that nothing would happen to him but it was pretty much useless. That's one of the difficulties of this age. They sit there speaking very good English, comprehending, saying logical things and you think wow, they are really maturing. You start to forget that they are still tiny maelstroms of emotion that no amount of nascent reason is going to tame anytime soon. That is until they are clinging to your leg across a parking lot, sobbing and begging to be left in the car when IT IS NOT EVEN THEIR DOCTOR'S APPOINTMENT. When we finally did get in to see the doctor Lowell just looked at her with his tear-streamed face and said, in a completely normal tone of voice "Barack Obama won. John McCain missed." He went on to have a nice political chat with the doctor as if nothing was wrong. Four is going to be a long year, isn't it?

Carolinas Are Blue

Blankie.jpg, originally uploaded by Alana.

Totally not into writing a new post tonight so I am going to link over to a post of mine over at Roses Are Blue, the crafting blog I share with my sister Kara. It's a bit about the baby blanket I crocheted for Willa and finished just in the nick of time, right before she stops being a baby. Please click over if you like that sort of thing or if you haven't seen my sister's crafting. Her stuff is amazing. Not surprising since she is amazing. You may not know this but she and my mother were entirely responsible for North Carolina going blue for Obama. They would pooh-pooh that but really, they worked their yankee asses off to make it happen. Bless their hearts.

Croup D'Etat

Willa has a case of the croup so I must keep this brief. Hoping she will sleep tonight, poor thing. Apparently the virus going around is so bad that when I talked to the doctor he prescribed the big guns right away. Very unusual for this practice so I am relieved that I even mentioned it to him. Usually croup is not a big deal. In fact, my first experience with it inspired this particular Momku:

Woke you. You're grumpy
Perhaps pediatrician
Was poor career choice

I'm always nervous about needlessly medicating but I am so glad I will not be spending the evening in a steamy shower with a miserable baby.

Still on a major election high over here. I think it's kind of funny how people are worried that the expectations are too high for Obama, or any mere mortal, to reach. They forget just how low the bar has fallen over the last eight years. The first time he gives a clear cogent answer at press conference or is able to actually discuss an issue with the intelligence and gravitas it deserves people are going to go into shock. He might not walk on water but the fact that he can chew gum while trying is going to mean a hell of a lot.

Yes We Did

When I was seven I got a pony. This is better. President-Elect Obama! Can't stop crying.

Why It's Not Easy Being Me (Or Being With Me): Reason #287

In the grocery store considered not buying bag of (very delicious and convenient) frozen turkey meatballs because the brand name is "Cooked Perfect." I actually stood there thinking "Do I want to support this kind of cavalier attitude towards the adverb?" Also, I can't watch ESPN for five minutes without shouting out the correct usage of "less" vs. "fewer." People in bars love me.

(Can you tell I am trying not to think about the election? La, la, la, la, not sure I am going to be able to sleep, la, la, la.)