Tomorrow we will return to our regular programming (a whole plethora of topics! suggested by The Wife!) - but until then,
Please read this and also this.
This is the same area that Chip & I visited Thanksgiving Weekend. You've seen the photos - it's a beautiful place, filled with lovely and generous people. We can't even recognize parts of it anymore.
Yet another reminder just how incredibly fortunate I am. I have a dresser that isn't filled with mud. I have amazing wedding photos that don't have to be put in hazmat bags because they're floating in sewage. Things that I don't think about. But I should.
Monday, December 10, 2007
Friday, December 7, 2007
hubris
This is something I've struggled with writing. It's been written in my head a million times - and then erased, knowing that I'd hear the echo of a thousand (okay, there aren't that many people that read here, so let's say dozens of) women cackling with laughter and glee - LET'S ALL LAUGH AT THE FIRST-TIME PREGNANT GIRL! ONLY SHE WOULD SAY THIS!
Today I'm feeling brave. It's nearly the weekend and the hubris is at its PEAK. So here we go.
I'll start by letting you know that I like being pregnant. You've heard the reasons before: the beauty of life, the amazing ability our bodies have to contort and fit this growing creature, the burgeoning promise of what's to come, having a hand in creating an entire person that is bits of you and bits of your spouse and bits of that unknown ingredient that can only mean the hand of Someone Greater. I'm fascinated by this baby and I've never seen her face. I've never heard her cry. I've never held her in my arms or felt the weight of her head, soft as a peach. I've never smelled her. I've never kissed her milky skin. I've never gazed into her eyes. I've never listened to her coo or grunt or quietly sigh. I've simply never beheld this creature, but I absolutely know her. She has been with me in a way no other human being has been. We have spent our days and our nights in restless wonder - and I love her with every bit of might that is in me.
They don't tell you that the one thing that expands beyond the width of your waistband is your heart.
Early on, I was perfectly content to just be pregnant. I didn't understand the women who would talk about how ready they were (even in the first trimester!) to just have the baby already. They talked about how they wouldn't mind skipping over the pregnant part just so they could get to B-A-B-Y. I didn't feel this way. I wasn't ever one of those girls who had to hold THE BABY or touch THE BABY or be with THE BABY. Sure, I babysat and played with my nieces and nephews, but I just haven't ever been, you know, a had-to-have-baby person. Being pregnant was something of a revelation to me, and I found myself loving it. I loved the whole promise of what the Bean was - and how we were going through a whole metamorphosis together. If I could be pregnant for a few more YEARS to have this feeling of almost, of what if, of ??? - I would have been perfectly happy. It's true that this has been a relatively comfortable ride (so far), but I've had my difficulties - so it's not that I was just so peachy and comfortable. Rather, I was happy to experience this peaceful lull of quiet contemplation of the idea of Bean. And having that time of introspection was something I'd welcome for much longer than nine months. Recently, though, I'm beginning to understand the rumbling desire to see her, to touch her, to hold her, to know her in a whole different way. I'm finally at a place where it's not just the concept of Bean that excites me, but the actual girl herself. It's like there's a point where she crossed over from conceptual baby to real baby - and I can't wait to hold that real baby in my arms.
I've been trying to relish every second of this adventure, knowing that I'm one of the lucky ones. You just don't know what's around the corner - or what might happen next that will send your life crashing down around your ears. To this end, I get even deeper when I tell you this: I don't want a short delivery. (Insert even MORE cackling laughter with a side of ARE YOU KIDDING ME from across the blogosphere.) I suspect that I'm going to regret this and eat my own words, but I have a bone-deep desire to experience every little bit of this pregnancy, every little bit of Bean's entrance into the world. I don't want to miss anything, including a 40-hour labor (if that's what it takes). For some insane reason, I welcome it. People who know me best are aware that I have a peculiar relationship to pain. I'm no masochist in any way, but I think that pain is a necessary part of life. There's an old Judybats song, Pain Makes You Beautiful that I just love. Pain transforms us in ways that nothing else can. We deepen. We learn. We can become something (and someone) else through pain - someone stronger, someone braver, someone with a greater capacity to care. There's a reason that gold and silver and all other metals have to pass through a tempering process. Human beings are the same. Without pain, we would be brittle and weak. Without pain, we would have no concept of sacrifice. And sacrifice, my friends, is what makes a loving relationship work. We give up something good for something better. Our little world isn't fond of this message. Our little world tells us that pain and sorrow are the enemy, and it's best to do whatever we can to avoid them. In The Prophet, Khalil Gibran writes,
Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.
And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.
And how else can it be?
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.
Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven?
And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives?
Later he writes of pain,
Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding.
Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain.
And could you keep your heart in wonder at the daily miracles of your life, your pain would not seem less wondrous than your joy,
And you would accept the seasons of your heart, even as you have always accepted the seasons that pass over your fields.
And you would watch with serenity through the winters of your grief.
In my life I've learned (through pain, through sorrow) that the point isn't to search for happiness or comfort, which are both incredibly fleeting. The point is to search for peace. It's a quiet distinction - one without the fanfare of pomp and consumption. My greatest hope for the Bean's delivery - assuming general health for her and for me - is a deeper respect for the sacrifices we've made and will continue to make for her well-being. Some kind of palpable connection to this journey of ours. I know that the deeper she is carved into my being - into Chip's being, the more joy we will have that she is gracing our lives.
I reserve the right to rescind parts of this statement. I might get my first taste of a contraction and be all THERE IS NO WAY I'M LIVING THROUGH 1 HOUR OF THAT, LET ALONE 40. We'll see. In the end, that's one of the charming things about pregnancy and childbirth: we have so little control over it. It's in someone else's hands, and I'm totally okay with that.
Today I'm feeling brave. It's nearly the weekend and the hubris is at its PEAK. So here we go.
I'll start by letting you know that I like being pregnant. You've heard the reasons before: the beauty of life, the amazing ability our bodies have to contort and fit this growing creature, the burgeoning promise of what's to come, having a hand in creating an entire person that is bits of you and bits of your spouse and bits of that unknown ingredient that can only mean the hand of Someone Greater. I'm fascinated by this baby and I've never seen her face. I've never heard her cry. I've never held her in my arms or felt the weight of her head, soft as a peach. I've never smelled her. I've never kissed her milky skin. I've never gazed into her eyes. I've never listened to her coo or grunt or quietly sigh. I've simply never beheld this creature, but I absolutely know her. She has been with me in a way no other human being has been. We have spent our days and our nights in restless wonder - and I love her with every bit of might that is in me.
They don't tell you that the one thing that expands beyond the width of your waistband is your heart.
Early on, I was perfectly content to just be pregnant. I didn't understand the women who would talk about how ready they were (even in the first trimester!) to just have the baby already. They talked about how they wouldn't mind skipping over the pregnant part just so they could get to B-A-B-Y. I didn't feel this way. I wasn't ever one of those girls who had to hold THE BABY or touch THE BABY or be with THE BABY. Sure, I babysat and played with my nieces and nephews, but I just haven't ever been, you know, a had-to-have-baby person. Being pregnant was something of a revelation to me, and I found myself loving it. I loved the whole promise of what the Bean was - and how we were going through a whole metamorphosis together. If I could be pregnant for a few more YEARS to have this feeling of almost, of what if, of ??? - I would have been perfectly happy. It's true that this has been a relatively comfortable ride (so far), but I've had my difficulties - so it's not that I was just so peachy and comfortable. Rather, I was happy to experience this peaceful lull of quiet contemplation of the idea of Bean. And having that time of introspection was something I'd welcome for much longer than nine months. Recently, though, I'm beginning to understand the rumbling desire to see her, to touch her, to hold her, to know her in a whole different way. I'm finally at a place where it's not just the concept of Bean that excites me, but the actual girl herself. It's like there's a point where she crossed over from conceptual baby to real baby - and I can't wait to hold that real baby in my arms.
I've been trying to relish every second of this adventure, knowing that I'm one of the lucky ones. You just don't know what's around the corner - or what might happen next that will send your life crashing down around your ears. To this end, I get even deeper when I tell you this: I don't want a short delivery. (Insert even MORE cackling laughter with a side of ARE YOU KIDDING ME from across the blogosphere.) I suspect that I'm going to regret this and eat my own words, but I have a bone-deep desire to experience every little bit of this pregnancy, every little bit of Bean's entrance into the world. I don't want to miss anything, including a 40-hour labor (if that's what it takes). For some insane reason, I welcome it. People who know me best are aware that I have a peculiar relationship to pain. I'm no masochist in any way, but I think that pain is a necessary part of life. There's an old Judybats song, Pain Makes You Beautiful that I just love. Pain transforms us in ways that nothing else can. We deepen. We learn. We can become something (and someone) else through pain - someone stronger, someone braver, someone with a greater capacity to care. There's a reason that gold and silver and all other metals have to pass through a tempering process. Human beings are the same. Without pain, we would be brittle and weak. Without pain, we would have no concept of sacrifice. And sacrifice, my friends, is what makes a loving relationship work. We give up something good for something better. Our little world isn't fond of this message. Our little world tells us that pain and sorrow are the enemy, and it's best to do whatever we can to avoid them. In The Prophet, Khalil Gibran writes,
Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.
And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.
And how else can it be?
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.
Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven?
And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives?
Later he writes of pain,
Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding.
Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain.
And could you keep your heart in wonder at the daily miracles of your life, your pain would not seem less wondrous than your joy,
And you would accept the seasons of your heart, even as you have always accepted the seasons that pass over your fields.
And you would watch with serenity through the winters of your grief.
In my life I've learned (through pain, through sorrow) that the point isn't to search for happiness or comfort, which are both incredibly fleeting. The point is to search for peace. It's a quiet distinction - one without the fanfare of pomp and consumption. My greatest hope for the Bean's delivery - assuming general health for her and for me - is a deeper respect for the sacrifices we've made and will continue to make for her well-being. Some kind of palpable connection to this journey of ours. I know that the deeper she is carved into my being - into Chip's being, the more joy we will have that she is gracing our lives.
I reserve the right to rescind parts of this statement. I might get my first taste of a contraction and be all THERE IS NO WAY I'M LIVING THROUGH 1 HOUR OF THAT, LET ALONE 40. We'll see. In the end, that's one of the charming things about pregnancy and childbirth: we have so little control over it. It's in someone else's hands, and I'm totally okay with that.
Thursday, December 6, 2007
umbrella envy
I didn't know it was possible, but I've worn out my umbrella. There are little moth-like holes in most of the places where the joints of the metal umbrella skeleton meet the fabric. These holes, while allowing for some great cross-flow of air (!!!) also give errant raindrops a place to drip drip drip onto my face and clothes, which... sort of goes against an umbrella's raison d'etre, don't you think?
Waiting for a light to change, I cowered under my swiss cheese umbrella and looked longingly at the other umbrellas in my midst: bright chartreuse green; sleek black with a reinforced top; sassy clear plastic with a bold black graphic; larger than life picnic umbrella. None of those had holes in them, I'm sure.
Yes, while other blogs give you hilarious commentary, adorable photos, and thought-provoking tidbits about daily life, you come to The Creamery for a beleaguered and whiny treatise on the sad shape of my umbrella. What can I say - it's all about the QUALITY HERE.
I'm very happy it's Thursday, because it means we're one day closer to the weekend.
Thankful for: cold noses on warm kitties; slices of cheddar cheese with Newman's pretzels; a warm blanket to snuggle into tonight.
Waiting for a light to change, I cowered under my swiss cheese umbrella and looked longingly at the other umbrellas in my midst: bright chartreuse green; sleek black with a reinforced top; sassy clear plastic with a bold black graphic; larger than life picnic umbrella. None of those had holes in them, I'm sure.
Yes, while other blogs give you hilarious commentary, adorable photos, and thought-provoking tidbits about daily life, you come to The Creamery for a beleaguered and whiny treatise on the sad shape of my umbrella. What can I say - it's all about the QUALITY HERE.
I'm very happy it's Thursday, because it means we're one day closer to the weekend.
Thankful for: cold noses on warm kitties; slices of cheddar cheese with Newman's pretzels; a warm blanket to snuggle into tonight.
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
a partridge in my favorite kind of tree
I've been visited by the Pear Fairy twice in the past week.
Last Tuesday L gave me a pear. Because she had had two of them ripening at home, and thought I'd like one. I had not mentioned this incident to her, and none of my co-workers read my blog, yet somehow SHE KNEW.
On Monday night, Chip and I went grocery shopping with strict instructions to one another that we NOT buy anything on impulse (a huge problem - on a regular basis we go out to buy paper towels and come home with lots of ...other stuff). The rules were simple: we could get it only if it was on the list. Lo and behold, guess what I DIDN'T get on Monday night because they were not on the list? Yes: PEARS. And I pouted about it all the way home, even as Chip OFFERED TO TURN THE CAR AROUND AND GET ME SOME PEARS. Begging off as "illogical", I said no - and then STILL POUTED. Because I'm twisted and evil that way. (The Chip must love me fiercely because Pregnant Whimsy is also Insane Whimsy.)
So yesterday rolled around and I was sitting at my desk when K walked toward me, a pile of holiday-esque boxes in her arms. "Someone sent this to me - and I've already taken the box of chocolates, but thought you might like the rest?" as she sets down the tower of gifties from Harry & David. I was skeptical, thinking that I didn't really need the fancy mixed nuts, the block of cheese, or the candy-coated dried cherries. (I actually have a whole sub-beef with this as a gift. I mean, I just don't understand giving a block of cheese and a salami to someone for Christmas. Usually the items are over-priced for their quality. And we're not fancy nuts people anyway. Planters? Yes. Something else that I can't pronounce? Not so much. Maybe some people LOVE the cheese/salami combo - but I'm not sure if I've met them. You can see by K's reaction what people really will take from these food gifts: they keep the chocolate and chuck the rest.) Then K says, "We really don't eat pears at my house, so..." My eyes glaze over, eyeing the LARGE BOTTOM BOX and speculating on its inherent pear goodness. Thank you! Yes! I'll gladly take these off your hands! Hand over the cheese, salami, nuts - whatever, JUST GIVE ME THE PEARS!
I'll let you imagine Chip's reaction last night when I walked into the kitchen and handed him a block of cheese. I dove immediately into the LARGE BOX.
I had quite the pear-fest, let me tell you. It was mildly disturbing; I enjoyed the pears so much - juice dripping down my chin, soft flesh literally melting in my mouth. So. Stinking. Good.
Last Tuesday L gave me a pear. Because she had had two of them ripening at home, and thought I'd like one. I had not mentioned this incident to her, and none of my co-workers read my blog, yet somehow SHE KNEW.
On Monday night, Chip and I went grocery shopping with strict instructions to one another that we NOT buy anything on impulse (a huge problem - on a regular basis we go out to buy paper towels and come home with lots of ...other stuff). The rules were simple: we could get it only if it was on the list. Lo and behold, guess what I DIDN'T get on Monday night because they were not on the list? Yes: PEARS. And I pouted about it all the way home, even as Chip OFFERED TO TURN THE CAR AROUND AND GET ME SOME PEARS. Begging off as "illogical", I said no - and then STILL POUTED. Because I'm twisted and evil that way. (The Chip must love me fiercely because Pregnant Whimsy is also Insane Whimsy.)
So yesterday rolled around and I was sitting at my desk when K walked toward me, a pile of holiday-esque boxes in her arms. "Someone sent this to me - and I've already taken the box of chocolates, but thought you might like the rest?" as she sets down the tower of gifties from Harry & David. I was skeptical, thinking that I didn't really need the fancy mixed nuts, the block of cheese, or the candy-coated dried cherries. (I actually have a whole sub-beef with this as a gift. I mean, I just don't understand giving a block of cheese and a salami to someone for Christmas. Usually the items are over-priced for their quality. And we're not fancy nuts people anyway. Planters? Yes. Something else that I can't pronounce? Not so much. Maybe some people LOVE the cheese/salami combo - but I'm not sure if I've met them. You can see by K's reaction what people really will take from these food gifts: they keep the chocolate and chuck the rest.) Then K says, "We really don't eat pears at my house, so..." My eyes glaze over, eyeing the LARGE BOTTOM BOX and speculating on its inherent pear goodness. Thank you! Yes! I'll gladly take these off your hands! Hand over the cheese, salami, nuts - whatever, JUST GIVE ME THE PEARS!
I'll let you imagine Chip's reaction last night when I walked into the kitchen and handed him a block of cheese. I dove immediately into the LARGE BOX.
I had quite the pear-fest, let me tell you. It was mildly disturbing; I enjoyed the pears so much - juice dripping down my chin, soft flesh literally melting in my mouth. So. Stinking. Good.
Monday, December 3, 2007
my wild kingdom twin, catering to the commenters
Last night we were watching Planet Earth, perhaps one of the COOLEST documentaries about our planet, like, ever made. John gave us the series on DVD, but somehow, even when it’s on TV, we still watch it. It’s just breathtaking and freaky and mind-blowing in all the best ways that a nature documentary SHOULD be, you know? Add this to the fact that I just feel like a smarty Fancy Pants while watching it… (just kidding!)
As we were watching the Fresh Water episode last night, I spied with my Whimsy-shaped eye, my wild kingdom twin, the freshwater seal. A couple of days ago I was trying to describe to Chip just what I felt like. I came up with this gem: a bulbous torpedo. Sort of rounded on the ends, but fatter in the middle. There isn’t a lot of bending for that there bulbous torpedo. But even better, in the case of the freshwater seal, I have my true compatriot, my sister, my true twin: the Nerpa. I know I'm just pregnant, not fat. It's something temporary - and I'm actually enjoying most of this pregnancy stuff, even if I COMPLAIN ABOUT IT HERE ALL THE TIME. What has taken me by surprise the most is my lack of bendiness. It’s the weirdest thing, this inability to bend and grab things off the ground without making elephantine grunting noises. And the wheezing and breathlessness! I’ve been assured, by the pregnancy books, that this is a side affect of the increase in lung capacity, but on more than one occasion, when I’ve been trying to keep up with a swifter companion, I’ve seen the look of dude, what’s wrong with you? Hello NERPA. I may not be very agile on land, but watch my incredible skill under water!
In other news, we've got hardwood floors! And cats that are no longer hiding under the bed! And properly-placed furniture! And a refrigerator in its true home: the kitchen! We also have green-spotted carpet, but I just tell myself that it will continue to be a funny story until we replace it sometime in 2012.
There have been a few questions about Fergus' feet, Phoebe's digestion, and other items recently covered. For your reading pleasure, I've created a well-organized list of answers (LOVE ME A LIST).
Cats
Fergus' feet - (or peet if you are my niece C and it’s 6 years ago): Are doing better. The green rubber is an interesting and startling shade of electric blue on his little brown foot pads. He has freed the fingers (or pingers if you are, once again, my niece C and it’s 6 years ago) on one front paw, but the other paw is still fused together. They assure us that this will come free in time.
We're still giving them the cat laxative, or attempting to, at least. Phoebe loves it. Fergus does not. What’s not to love in cod-liver oil infused brown goo that we squeeze from a tube? The kid is PICKY. I’ve also tried some unholy smelling pink pellet-things that are also helpful with the digestion, but after eating them once, Fergus has decided that these, too, are simply beneath him. Anyone have some good suggestions for cat laxative products for picky cats? He’s sort of a texture freak, mostly just eating crunchy things. I know that I’m a pansy and I’m totally spoiling him on this front, but I’ve already tried the smear-it-on-his-flurps routine, as well as the jam-it-down-his-throat method. This is Spockgus we’re talking about here – my little brown stripey baby – and he’s been ANGRY AT THE WORLD since this all began last Wednesday. I’m not sure if I can deal with him HATING me anymore. I’m worried about the access he has to my cereal while I’m at work – and I don’t want to find any special sauce in there, if you know what I mean. So I’m wimping out and looking for alternatives. Any suggestions?
Magic Salad
This one is just for Tessie, though it’s not entertaining in the least. In! The! Least! The magic salad came into my life about 4 months ago, when I couldn’t stand the thought of eating much of ANYTHING. One day I stumbled upon the concoction of romaine lettuce, carrots, cucumbers, red peppers, a few slices of hardboiled egg, sunflower seeds, and one of various dressings – ranch, Italian, or balsamic. Not very imaginative, but I also know I can’t deviate from this recipe. If I add chunks of turkey, it is no longer the Magic Salad. And the Magic Salad is a cure-all for me. When everything else seems Yuck, the Magic Salad does the job. Fantastic.
Naming the Bean
I just know I'm reopening a weird topic here, but we’re still working on a name for this kid. We've got it down to two options, and that's where it ends. When I last brought up the Name Game, I floated the idea that I was going to answer the helpful HAVE YOU CHOSEN A NAME? question with something along the lines of “We’re not sure yet.” Swistle wisely suggested that doing so would have people thinking we’re idiots – WHAT DO YOU MEAN, YOU CAN’T THINK OF A NAME FOR YOUR FUTURE CHILD? I’m happy to report that this is EXACTLY what’s been happening. I’m just trying to spare you other ladies from the humiliation – don’t use the “we haven’t come up with one yet” as a way to get out of answering the question. People really do think you’re totally inept. And then they go on to suggest a million names you could name your kid. Which – how do you respond to the suggestions, “thanks”? “we’ll give that one a try”? “yes, that’s nice, but we aren’t particular fans of naming our kid after poultry”? Instead, Swistle suggested that we use, “We’re keeping it a surprise.” Which is also wise, because people don’t respond well to “We’re not telling anyone.” Even though you say that, what they hear is this: “We’re not telling YOU. We’re telling everyone else, just not YOU. Because we don’t like YOU.” It’s like Swistle has done this before, or something.
This week: THE EPIC SEARCH FOR A CAR SEAT. Do you think I can practice by strapping Spockgus in there and feeding him his Cat-Lax?
As we were watching the Fresh Water episode last night, I spied with my Whimsy-shaped eye, my wild kingdom twin, the freshwater seal. A couple of days ago I was trying to describe to Chip just what I felt like. I came up with this gem: a bulbous torpedo. Sort of rounded on the ends, but fatter in the middle. There isn’t a lot of bending for that there bulbous torpedo. But even better, in the case of the freshwater seal, I have my true compatriot, my sister, my true twin: the Nerpa. I know I'm just pregnant, not fat. It's something temporary - and I'm actually enjoying most of this pregnancy stuff, even if I COMPLAIN ABOUT IT HERE ALL THE TIME. What has taken me by surprise the most is my lack of bendiness. It’s the weirdest thing, this inability to bend and grab things off the ground without making elephantine grunting noises. And the wheezing and breathlessness! I’ve been assured, by the pregnancy books, that this is a side affect of the increase in lung capacity, but on more than one occasion, when I’ve been trying to keep up with a swifter companion, I’ve seen the look of dude, what’s wrong with you? Hello NERPA. I may not be very agile on land, but watch my incredible skill under water!
In other news, we've got hardwood floors! And cats that are no longer hiding under the bed! And properly-placed furniture! And a refrigerator in its true home: the kitchen! We also have green-spotted carpet, but I just tell myself that it will continue to be a funny story until we replace it sometime in 2012.
There have been a few questions about Fergus' feet, Phoebe's digestion, and other items recently covered. For your reading pleasure, I've created a well-organized list of answers (LOVE ME A LIST).
Cats
Fergus' feet - (or peet if you are my niece C and it’s 6 years ago): Are doing better. The green rubber is an interesting and startling shade of electric blue on his little brown foot pads. He has freed the fingers (or pingers if you are, once again, my niece C and it’s 6 years ago) on one front paw, but the other paw is still fused together. They assure us that this will come free in time.
We're still giving them the cat laxative, or attempting to, at least. Phoebe loves it. Fergus does not. What’s not to love in cod-liver oil infused brown goo that we squeeze from a tube? The kid is PICKY. I’ve also tried some unholy smelling pink pellet-things that are also helpful with the digestion, but after eating them once, Fergus has decided that these, too, are simply beneath him. Anyone have some good suggestions for cat laxative products for picky cats? He’s sort of a texture freak, mostly just eating crunchy things. I know that I’m a pansy and I’m totally spoiling him on this front, but I’ve already tried the smear-it-on-his-flurps routine, as well as the jam-it-down-his-throat method. This is Spockgus we’re talking about here – my little brown stripey baby – and he’s been ANGRY AT THE WORLD since this all began last Wednesday. I’m not sure if I can deal with him HATING me anymore. I’m worried about the access he has to my cereal while I’m at work – and I don’t want to find any special sauce in there, if you know what I mean. So I’m wimping out and looking for alternatives. Any suggestions?
Magic Salad
This one is just for Tessie, though it’s not entertaining in the least. In! The! Least! The magic salad came into my life about 4 months ago, when I couldn’t stand the thought of eating much of ANYTHING. One day I stumbled upon the concoction of romaine lettuce, carrots, cucumbers, red peppers, a few slices of hardboiled egg, sunflower seeds, and one of various dressings – ranch, Italian, or balsamic. Not very imaginative, but I also know I can’t deviate from this recipe. If I add chunks of turkey, it is no longer the Magic Salad. And the Magic Salad is a cure-all for me. When everything else seems Yuck, the Magic Salad does the job. Fantastic.
Naming the Bean
I just know I'm reopening a weird topic here, but we’re still working on a name for this kid. We've got it down to two options, and that's where it ends. When I last brought up the Name Game, I floated the idea that I was going to answer the helpful HAVE YOU CHOSEN A NAME? question with something along the lines of “We’re not sure yet.” Swistle wisely suggested that doing so would have people thinking we’re idiots – WHAT DO YOU MEAN, YOU CAN’T THINK OF A NAME FOR YOUR FUTURE CHILD? I’m happy to report that this is EXACTLY what’s been happening. I’m just trying to spare you other ladies from the humiliation – don’t use the “we haven’t come up with one yet” as a way to get out of answering the question. People really do think you’re totally inept. And then they go on to suggest a million names you could name your kid. Which – how do you respond to the suggestions, “thanks”? “we’ll give that one a try”? “yes, that’s nice, but we aren’t particular fans of naming our kid after poultry”? Instead, Swistle suggested that we use, “We’re keeping it a surprise.” Which is also wise, because people don’t respond well to “We’re not telling anyone.” Even though you say that, what they hear is this: “We’re not telling YOU. We’re telling everyone else, just not YOU. Because we don’t like YOU.” It’s like Swistle has done this before, or something.
This week: THE EPIC SEARCH FOR A CAR SEAT. Do you think I can practice by strapping Spockgus in there and feeding him his Cat-Lax?
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