boingerhead

the end

2012-12-19T07:11:00.000-06:00

I'm taking this blog down on Jan 1.

New project in the works.

If you are interested in what comes next, please email me at:

boingerhead at (gmail)

Thank you to all of you, for listening and interacting and just plain existing.

the posts i don't write

2012-12-09T15:44:00.000-06:00

for every high, there is a low
for every to, there is a fro
for every suck, there is a blow
(those are lyrics, right?)

I struggle sometimes with this blog. Finding the time, sure, but also, topics. What is this place? It started out as a way to keep in touch with family while we lived in Chicago and wanted to share our pregnancy experience with them. Now, it's just all over the place. Social issues, comics, funny stories, half-ass crafting and cooking, oh my. It's just a mess here. I guess that's all right - it works for me - but then there comes a time when I want to write about something, and I can't. I don't.

Is it topical? Is it what my readers want? Is it too personal, too private? Would it turn someone away? Do I really want it out there? Is this something I would be able to handle speaking to if someone I actually knew read it and broached the subject in person?

How badly do I need to say this? What good is it for me to say it? My daughter reads this blog, I know she does. (Hi, Isa. Did you switch your laundry yet?) My husband, my in-laws, some friends. A former co-worker who lives in Finland (Hey, Brian, how is that citizenship test going?)

I'm not hiding here. I'm not difficult to find. Search my name and here I am. Boingerhead. A name I love, an identity that means a lot to me. But I'm not exactly high profile, either. It's easy for me to forget that people read this.

Until that once in a while happens. That out of the blue moment. That oops, those interwebs are a real, living, breathing thing. The boy my best friend had a crush on in 8th grade popped up on a social networking site as a potential contact. Seriously, wtf.

A person who may or may not be reading this post keeps popping up in my virtual world. She emailed me when she "found" my blog, and it was a letter of apology that I pointedly ignored. My writing suffered then - I stopped writing as often or as sincerely. Most recently, she began following my pins. And I am sorry to say this, but when I saw that I seriously consider cutting the cord and removing myself from the whole thing. The idea that someone I've uninvited from being a part of my life can yet monitor me and be a part of my world is bothersome.

I was prepared to lose anonymity when I began blogging (hell, I was one of the first OpenDiary accounts, this isn't my first hoedown) - but.

But.

This other side of the coin stinks.

If you think I am talking about you, you're probably right. Things happened, and I wish you peace. Please just let us co-exist in complete ignorance of each other so I can have some peace, too.

diy activity advent calendar

2012-12-03T22:20:00.000-06:00

bah humbug. I'm not in the holiday mood. The spirit hasn't moved me. :/

But Christmas isn't for me - it's for the children, and the children are very aware that there are presents soon to be had. In our family, we've been very up front that Santa is not a present-giver. He is a miracle-bringer. Mommy and Daddy work hard to bring those present and goddamn it, no fur-trimmed sled-jockey is going to steal what little genuine gratitude my kids have during this. most. wonderful. time. of. year. There is no "elf on the shelf" - there is only me, the Mom, and I am the judge and jury. The kids know I will totally eat all their candy and read their books before they can.

Because I am decidedly not in the mood to make merry, I decided it was time to incorporate some new traditions. This is our first Christmas in the new house-that-we-bought-so-it-really-is-ours-and-some-bank-in-Finland. I know that every "first" is important because from here on out, if we don't do it right now then any time I want to do something new or fun all I will hear it "but we never did that before!"

I came up with 25 traditions that sounded fun after two hours of spiked coffee craft-shaming on Pinterest. Because I am stupid, that's why. Also, a glutton for punishment, stress, and exhaustion. I worked it out so that what we'd start with was our first Advent Calendar. Only it wouldn't be some chumpy little chocolate kiss calendar, it would be a really cool one with activities (those 25 traditions!) and it would be AWESOME.

I did what I best, which is half-ass crafting. As in, let's gather a bunch of stuff we already have and see what we can do, and call that very good enough. I found:

we will have fun even if i have to assign
it like homework! dammit!

Two leftover backboards from IKEA bookcases I didn't use
Decoupage glue and brushes leftover from Isa's Hunger Games party
Wrapping paper
Cardstock, which I used to create number art and craft notes
Elastic fishing line
Individual photo holder tab things
Velcro sticky picture hanger things

And away we went. First, I broke the boards in half so I had a sorta-square. Then, I drew an outline of a tree over the four pieces. At this point the twins found me and I set them to ripping up bits of double-sided wrapping paper. Once I had enough bits and pieces, they helped me place them on the glued surface. I then shoo'd them away in an unsuccessful bid to keep the glue mess to a minimum. Throughout, this conversation kept happening:

Me: Isa, come help me. This is fun!

Isa: Nah.

Me: Are you sure?

Isa: Yeah.

Me: It's really fun, look at how cool this is turning out.

Isa: mmmm...

Eventually, I ended up with a pretty cool tree in two different blue patterns. I then realized I didn't have an appropriate stabbing tool to bore holes through the trees to run the fishing line. The idea was to string the number art and craft notes in a garland fashion. So I used some nail scissors and teal duct tape to string up 4-5 garlands in preparation. I then flipped the boards over and set up the velcro sticky paper hangy stuff, and when it was ready I stuck it to the wall.

At this point, when I literally had only the trunk of the tree left to decoupage, the following conversation took place:

Isa: Oh, Mom! That's so cool. Can I try?

Me: No.

Isa: Mom! Let me, pleeeaase? [reaching for the brush]

Me: Are you out of your mind? I've been asking you for the past half hour to come do this with us, but noooo you've got some Latvian anime person to talk to instead.

Isa: That's Hetalia.

Me: Whatever

I ignored my eldest's please to be a last-minute crafter because this is what she does: wait until the last minute, does a few passes with a brush, declares the art hers, and then when I say "but you barely did anything!" she then walks away saying, "then I shouldn't have to help clean up." She is crafty, all right.

Once I had my boards in place, I strung my cards (which you should hole punch instead of puncturing with nail scissors and a dull darning needle like I did.) and voila! DIY Activity Advent Calendar. A list of the activities I chose is at the bottom, along with a picture of Van in a tutu because why not? The whole thing took about two hours, if I include the 45 minutes I spent making the number art and shooing the twins away from the glue. The card on top merely says, "Love."

that crappy part on the bottom was totally isa's work

craft = make ornaments

high school yearbook photo, here i come!

In no particular order:

Look at Christmas lights!
Color a Christmas picture
Write, produce, and perform a Christmas-themed play
Go visit Santa
Decorate the tree
Create a holiday playlist
Make a Christmas card for servicemembers
Holiday Movie-a-Thon
Go out for a Christmas treat
Make ornaments
Write a holiday newsletter
Decorate the front window
Hang paper snowflakes
Camp out under the Christmas Tree
Deliver cookies and treats to your local fire station, police department, and even the staff at your local hospital.
Skype with Aunt C
Go downtown and visit Detroit’s City Tree
Go sledding, ice skating, or other outdoor winter activity with your family.
Make reindeer food for Christmas Eve
Read The Night Before Christmas at bedtime.
Call Grandma and Grandpa and sing a Christmas carol
Track Santa’s progress across the globe on NORAD.
Decorate the front window with paint and snowflakes

the bitter taste of if-only

2012-11-09T11:07:00.000-06:00

from the early journals of le boingerhead...

September 4th, 2002

He is already so big I could cry. I feel his warm little body snuggle up against mine, and I could cry at the trust. I cry thinking, my little girl will never be this small again. I miss the smell of her milk breath. I miss the predawn peace of the two of us, lying awake with each other, listening to Dad breathe next to us.

But the sounds now are not bad. Just different. Little Ike and I stagger out to the armchair in the living room, watch the sun begin to streak across the neighborhood. We listen to Dad's breathing, barely audible from the back of the house. We hear Isa's snoring, which is comically audible from her room.

I try to remember what it was like in the beginning before we arrived at today. Today, with police and hysterical parents and convoluted stories that couldn't possibly be about my son (oh, but they are.) Today, where I spend hours on the phone to professionals and am told point-blank by my dearest friend, the one who has called bullshit on me since we were 14, "you need help. lots of it. and now."

Today, where I learn (once again) that as low as I think things can go, they can (and will) go lower. And lower. And lower. Until I'm sinking.

Until I am drowning.

Ike, as you know, is a special kid. He requires a lot of attention. A lot of patience. More than you could imagine a reasonable normal child should. And I guess that is the crux of the problem. Ike isn't normal. He doesn't make mostly good decisions and need some gentle guidance when he makes a wrong one. Ike is a serial bad-decision maker. If I presented him with a good choice and a bad choice, and the good choice was lit up in neon with cookies stuck to it, he would make the bad choice every time.

I guess you could make the case that who on earth would eat cookies that had been stuck to neon?

I remember some horror stories my former mother-in-law told me about her son's childhood, the things he did and the decisions they made. I remember judging her. I remember thinking, I would never send my son away. I would never do that, or this, or whatever. Not my baby.

But the fact is that I get it now. I see what kind of impact a child like Ike can have on a household and it is so easy for me to see how things could be better and different. If he were an only child, or one of us could stay home. If we finally figured out the right combination of vitamins. If the school would just listen. If we were different. If we'd done this. If we'd stop doing that.

If he went away to a school designed just for him.

If.....if.....if....echoes in my mind like a clock clanging the midnight hour...and time is running out. Running out for the magic answer to How To Make Ike Be a Good, Normal Boy Who Never Causes Trouble Ever. Ike is a hairsbreadth from expulsion and see this right here? This is a wit. See the end? That's where I am.

that time I found my dead grandfather

2012-10-26T09:35:00.002-05:00

I would know it was almost Halloween even without a calendar or a craft-shaming explosion of orange and black DIY on Pinterest. The anniversary of my grandfather's death falls on Oct 25th and since that is the first time I saw a dead body followed by the first time I saw a ghost, I usually have a subconscious eeeee feeling pretty much all week.

It goes like this:

When I was nine years old, my grandfather was living with us. He was very ill with stomach cancer and emphysema, and the sound of his breathing treatments and wheezing is a sound I will always associate with that time in my childhood. Other things I associate with my grandfather: checkers, baseball, and burnt Spaghettios. Also, burnt eggs, burnt grilled cheese, and burnt oatmeal. My grandfather would start to cook something, then forget about it. The piercing sound of the fire alarm often woke us up in the middle of the night.

One day, shortly before Halloween, I went to take my grandfather his dinner plate. I knew the instant my mom handed me the plate that something bad had happened. I had to force myself to go to the doorway of his room. I stood there, staring at him. I don't remember if I called his name or not, but I remember his face, in profile. He looked cold. I went back to my mother and said, "Grandpa won't wake up." I remember her trying to take the plate back from me and having to pry my fingers open. Then it was a flurry of my mother, crying, on the phone to 911, sending us across the street to a neighbor's house, my uncle picking us up, then my dad, who helpfully informed me that my grandfather was dead (in case the dead body hadn't tipped me off.)

I'm not sure which is more creepy:
finding my grandfather's gravestone online
or the fact that I actually looked for it

So, nine years old, dead body, check.

A few days after the funeral, we were all awakened by scent of burnt toast and the smoke detector going off in the middle of the night. A fluke, my dad said. The batteries need changing. Everyone went back to bed. But I couldn't sleep. I had to go back downstairs.

I padded down the steps, taking care to avoid the squeaky middle section, and slowly advanced once more on the kitchen. I peeked around the corner. And there, hunched over the sink as he did so many times before, with the window open and faint moonglow streaming around him, was my dead grandfather.

He said, "Hell-o, little one" in that way that he had, his tones vaguely reminiscent of his younger days in New Jersey.

And then he was gone.

Over the next few months, the smoke detector would go off now and then, and once we all smelled the odor of burnt eggs. But I never saw his ghost again. I sometimes wonder why he appeared to me when we were not especially close (I would be hard-pressed to produce a single memory where he wasn't dumping a bowl of food on my head) but I guess maybe he felt bad that I was the one to find his body.

And that is my ghost story.

foto friday: wtf

2012-10-12T14:02:00.001-05:00

You're Welcome.

potluck: where food is actually mentioned

2012-10-08T06:40:00.000-05:00

I have a reputation at work. Apparently, I am "noisy, nosy, and bossy." I'm also hyper-organized, efficient, and extremely capable. How do you do it, how do you do it all? one might ask...I'm certain at least one person somewhere is. Statistically speaking, it is possible that in the 18 hours most people are awake, of the 500 or so people I've met in the last two years who may have some recollection of who I am, it's possible that at least one of those people have at some point thought, how does she do it?

The top three secrets to my success at work:

1. Manageable Lists

2. Constant re-prioritizing

And, shamefully:

3. My home life suffers, either because I am tired, worked too many hours, brought work home, or just lost track of something.

I can't flip #3 around and allow my professional life to suffer, but I have taken steps to reduce the impact work has on the children. This week, I'm going to start utilizing some of my work secrets at home. I start with making my cooking initiative a real thing, and not just a one-off "Remember that time that Mom cooked four days in a row? Neither do I" thing.

Lessons learned from my cooking binge:

The kids hate casseroles.
The Crock-Pot is my friend
Planning menus ahead of time DOES work!

And so, as I was flipping through the October issue of a famous cooking magazine run by a perky brunette, looking for easy make-ahead recipes, I was pleasantly surprised to run across a review of new food planning apps. The two I tried are now permanently on my Droid's home page. One is Fooducate, which grades snacks and things according to healthfulness and recommends better alternatives. The other is Pepperplate. It is, in a word, freakingamazing. I put a little button on my menu line, and then I can add recipes directly to Pepperplate for easy sorting, categorizing, and creating menus. It creates my shopping list, too. It's the bee's knees.

Sunday: Shrimp and Corn Pasta
Monday: Beef and Broccoli Bowl
Tuesday: Slow Cooker Pork Chops with spicy carrot spread and rice
Wednesday: Roasted Chicken and Cauliflower (one skillet meal)
Thursday: Tuna Sliders with potatoes and salad
Friday: Crepes
Saturday: Easy Pleas'n Chili

Au had been sick with a nasty cold and as a result, her hair was what one might refer to as "deathbed chic" - it was matted, sweat-stinky, and very dull. So yesterday, when she was much closer to 100% than 104deg, I put her in the tub and gave her a good scrubbing. When she was all sparkly clean and her lovely brown hair brushed into a shining mass of curls and waves, I made homemade window paint and set the twins loose on the front window.

And then we had to take another bath. :/

From Hedi, in response to My Husband Is A Thief And A Liar, this made me laugh and aww at the same time:

"my husband is extra romantic when he is sleeping..any move i make ..he will try to get me in his arms..if i just sit in bed.. he'll be like trying to make me lie in his arms the fastest possible..he is not like that in the day usually.."

Can you find Lola? This is Ike's room. It's pretty bad, even by post-sleepover standards. In fast, I am pretty sure I have a Lego-sized light saber embedded under my pinky toenail. I'm also pretty sure that all the answers to life, the universe, and jimmy hoffa's death are somewhere in this mess.

I feel so sad for the person who found me searching for:

"broken heart tattoo hanging in tree"

And now, your Monday Moment of WTF:

http://fordmodels.tumblr.com

Have a great week!

i kin cook: no, really

2012-09-23T18:32:00.003-05:00

from Disney's Family.com

You know I can't cook, not really. No, really, I can't. I give you the rubbery shrimp and the 3am peanut butter frosting debacle and worm-free sausage.

This week, though, I am going to give you.....(drum roll).....Boingerhead: Batch Cooking for Dummies!

A Definition of Terms
Let's be clear on a few things. First, I am not going hay-wire assembly-line, freezer-filling, food-for-come-what-may, three-day-binge-cooking type of cooking. That just would never happen. For one thing, my God. No. For another, I don't have that kind of time, money, or freezer space to start. A more appropriate title would be "Boingerhead: Half-Ass Batch Cooking." Here is how it shakes out:

I'm only cooking for seven days worth of dinners at a time. I think some people just call that "planning ahead."
One of those days is a Leftover Night and another is Baby EV's first birthday party, for which I am only responsible for margaritas and leading children's games (you read that right.)
I'm starting with two very easy casseroles and one very easy slow cooker recipe. I am only freezing one of the casseroles, too.
I'm missing ingredients for just about every recipe I decided on. It's too late to be running out to the store, so I instead will rely on AllRecipe's Commom Substitutions Chart. I am certain that I will discover a way that lemon juice can be substituted for paprika.

So, off we go!

The Menu:

Monday: Slow Cooker Pork Chops from AllRecipes, with couscous and a green veggie side
Tuesday: Baked Ham with sides (this was going to be ham and potato casserole, but Husband bought a raw ham....it's his day off, so yum. Baked ham.)
Wednesday: Chicken and Rice Casserole of my own design
Thursday: Amy's Easy Taco Casserole from Disney's Family.com
Friday: Leftovers for sure, or grilled cheese
Saturday: Baby EV's birthday party
Sunday: Slow Cooker Beef Stew of my own design, with drop biscuits and lots of wine*

*The wine is because it will be time to cook again for the next week.

We Start:

First things first: I google "batch cooking sucks" and "i hate batch cooking" and "OAMC is for jerks" and come up with nothing, which means only one thing:

If I fail, I am the only one!

No pressure.

I compile my ingredients, my shorthand recipe notes, and proceed to the kitchen. I am immediately swarmed with restless natives chanting, "cookies! cookies!" but I am able to put them off with promises that Daddy is bringing home the cookies. I make a mental note to text Daddy the news.

I start with the chicken and rice casserole because that is throwing stuff in a pan and then throwing the pan in the oven. I can work on the other casserole while it bakes.

So Easy A Dodo Could Do It Chicken and Rice Casserole:
Ingredients: uncooked rice, uncooked chicken breasts, cream of chicken soup, dry onion soup mix.4
Method: layer the bottom of a 9.5in pan with dry rice, then cover with dry chicken breasts. Mix cream of chicken soup to directions, pour over chicken and rice. Sprinkle chicken breasts with onion soup mix (or make your own with some beef bouillion, onion powder, and pepper); seal pan tightly with aluminum foil, bake until chicken is done and rice tender.

Let cool completely before freezing.

The inspiration behind the batch cooking is multiple. With the advent of school, the Bigg'ns and I are up by 6:15 so they can catch the bus. I have a good half hour before I have to leave for work. Besides leaving a gap in my day, this also means the kids are up earlier than normal and have a longer day. Waiting until I get home between 6:30 and 7 for dinner isn't healthy. They are eating snacks until I get home and then not eating dinner, even if it is take-out. So, instead of filling my "spare" time reading magazines or working on my book, I'm going to spend it on mealtimes. Mom of the year, I know.

Once the chicken and rice is in the oven, I start this week's new recipe.

Amy's Easy Taco Casserole (How it is supposed to be done):

Ingredients: 1 lb ground turkey (beef or chicken), 2 cups shredded cheddar, 2 cups mild salsa, 2 cups corn kernels, 1 bag corn tortilla chips (8 ounces)

Method: Brown ground meat and drain. Mix with corn and salsa. Layer half of the chips on the bottom of a lightly greased 9x13 pan. Top with half of the meat mixture and half of the cheese. Repeat the layers and cover with foil. Freeze at this point, if desired. Bake at 350 degrees F for 30 min. (if not frozen) until the casserole is bubbly and cheese is melted. If previously frozen, bake at 350 degrees F for about 50 minutes or until bubbly and cheese is melted.

eat me

How I actually do it: once I've defrosted a brick of ground beef, I realize it is badly freezer-burned and yucky looking. I supplement with a chunk of ground turkey and declare it to be good. I mix up taco seasoning and skip the corn (because my children are prissy as hell) and then begin to layer. Also, I'm out of corn chips so I break up a package of hard taco shells I find in the back of the cupboard.

It looks nothing like Amy's, but still infinitely edible. My kids won't eat the Mexican rice or salad I'll have the nanny make to go with it, but I will have a clear conscience that all the food groups were at least presented.

And that is that. All in all, it took about an hour if I include interruptions to make Spaghettios, pick graham cracker crumbs out of Au's hair, make soup, kibosh some highly inappropriate turtle humor, and then make biscuits because Spaghettios, soup, and graham crackers were a bust.

Same time next week?

foto friday: bedhogs

2012-08-31T15:54:00.002-05:00

knock knock

who's there?

babies in your bed

babies in your bed who?

us, that's who!

----

i was up at four am this morning because there was just

not

enough

room

for

mom

hunger games link round-up

2012-08-26T14:13:00.000-05:00

In the course of planning Isa's 12th birthday party, I came across a ton of great Hunger Games party ideas and just things. Here is a round up of the things I loved best.

Printables, Graphics
Neatorama's Round Up: I love the fan art depicted here. There are so many gifted artists out there. Jealous!
Amy Locurto's Graphic Pack: we gave the bookmarks as gifts, too
ForeverYoungAdult's tongue-in-cheek cross stitch patterns and her video tutorial for screenprinting.

Clothing, Make-Up
MakeUpGeek.com Katniss Braid Tutorial (but if you are like me and only have super short poof hair, go to InStyle's digital makeover studio and fake it here.)
Charm Jewelry (by Patty_O_Furniture)
Incredible Nail Art Tutorial: I almost never do my nails, but this girl makes me want to want to.
Hunger Games Wedding Photo Shoot: very pretty and inspired
Hunger Games Fandom's inspired-by clothing collection page
Sparkle On and Wear Bows post of inspired-by fashions

Food, Drink
Betty Confidential Hunger Games Cocktails: Not for Isa's party, but I think I'll hold an adult viewing party at some point and these will come in handy
Fictional Food: I probably lost four hours of my day just going through all of her incredibly inspired recipes and ideas. She clearly tries to get inside the character's life when she recreates the dish and it makes a difference.
MyRecipes.com Hunger Games Feast: Simple recipes even I could probably only ruin a little

For Sale
Hand-painted Mug
Real or Not Real set of rings
Arrow Bracelet
I Sponsored Finnick button :)
A t-shirt I would actually wear

Music
The "Safe & Sound" station I created on Pandora is my new favorite. I also found this hauntingly beautiful fan rendition of "The Hanging Tree."

Crafts
Pendants & Keychains by G*Rated: we did this at Isa's party and it was a hit
How To Draw A Mockingjay: so easy!
Mockingjay Pin T-shirt Tutorial: iron-on technique, but she also links to a freezer-paper methodology
Hunger Games DIY Pencils!

Misc
Everything The Movie Left Out
That is Ma-hog-any!
An Interview with Jennifer Lawrence
Hunger Games - Train Like a Tribute

the hunger games: birthday party

2012-08-26T12:39:00.002-05:00

Isa has had her heart set on a Hunger Games party for her twelfth birthday. I will admit that I was not thrilled at the idea when she first proposed it. I'd just finished the third book and watched the first movie and I will make a little confession here.

Few books affect me as profoundly as The Hunger Game did. The imagery, the characters, the storyline...all of it rolled around in my head for days, weeks after I put the books down. Why? Possibly because I can see it happening in our lifetimes? Possibly because I see aspects of it happening around me already? I'm not sure, but the idea of having a party based on the Hunger Games seemed vulgar to me. Like, maybe the point was missed?

But, I got over it. Apparently I was the only one who felt that way as one only has to Google "hunger games party ideas" to see an amazing amount of creativity and healthier(?) perspective. We dug in and began to plan.

The Creative
I asked Isa to go online and send me ideas that she liked. She sent me this screenshot:...

...which I later found out via DismountCreative.com was sold through this etsy shop, but is no longer available. But she found that out through someone else, and there my willingness to continue chasing it down ended. I put together a based-on-but-not-the-same-style invitation and sent it to Isa, who replied, "Mom, why do you ask me what I want if you're just going to change it?"

Through the cutting fog of her tween disdain, I sensed that she wanted me to copy the exact poster. While my artistic style and sense of how lame is that cried a little, I did just that (kinda) and sent her this:

the font is "champagne & limousines"

All of what came next was based on this design, with some changes. I found a "Hunger Games" font and used that on the banner and food tags. Then my printer ran out of ink and I had to use a black Sharpie for everything else.

The Costumes
Here is my sad tale of The Effie That Could Have Been. There is a Salvation Army between my office and my home, and I have discovered that it seems like a lot of plus-sized ladies donate there. I went with the intention of outfitting Ike as Peeta (black tee and cargo pants, done!) and Isa as Katniss the Hunter, and myself as Effie: The Donut Years. I found for Isa: greyish skinny jeans; forest green t-shirt; a men's small tan jacket; knee high brown boots. For myself, there was a greenish-teal dress that could be something like Katniss's mother wore in her apothecary days, and a bright tealish-green dress that Effie could wear to a garden party. The puffed sleeves! The bows! The ruffles! The bustle! It was a-mahhzing!

It was way too small. A size 10, easily. I could barely get my arms through the sleeves. But I thought...maybe...I could pop a few seams at the arms and it would work over the mom dress. It was possible. But at $9, it was at the high end of the Salvation Army spectrum and it really was too small. I could't do it.

But I couldn't stop thinking about it. There was a sequined bow on a ruffle in the bustle. There is a song somewhere in that.

I went back the next day and it was GONE. I wandered around the store for a solid hour in a daze of who the hell else would buy such a garment?! So I ended up being Katniss's mom. The dress is actually pretty cute, I think, and I would show you but the only pictures of me at the party are where I am bending over (thanks, Dad.)

But Isa looked great:

she has worn those boots for
36 straight hours.

And so did her friends:

how sweet are these outfits? i loved the galoshes girl,
you can't see her make up, but it was very clever

The Food
We all know that I heat and reheat like a champ, and in the realm of "rinse and trim" there is no other like me. I told Isa up front there would be no lamb stew with dried plums or frothy raspberry soup. Instead, we'd be doing this Half-Assed Mom style:

"sleep syrup" aka root beer...and an apple with two bites from a "district 12 rat"
(pick a twin)

katniss's nightlock and wild strawberries

coal cakes and cupcakes, mmm!

because why not?

goat cheese is really fucking expensive, by the way

i burned it just like peeta

I also made Gale's Squirrel Bites (popcorn chicken and Mr. Mellark's Sugar Cookies following this "Easy Sugar Cookie" recipe from Allrecipes.com. Turns out by 'easy' they meant 'ha ha ha use up all your butter and then good luck!' because what I had was a bowl full of sugar and flour butter crumbles that in no way was going to "spoon easily onto ungreased baking pan." I had to google 'fix my crumbly sugar cookie batter' to fix it. They turned out all right, but ugh. In the middle of ~~reheating~~ cooking other things, that stunk to deal with.

The Arena
I asked Isa if she wanted to do a craft or an obstacle course and she chose both (of course she did) sooo...I made an obstacle course in the back yard. I need to cut down those trees anyway.

The tributes changed out of their fancy Capitol clothes and gathered at the cornucopia, where following a count down they grabbed a weapon and a bomb and then dashed off to complete the course, find their parachute, and make it back to the cornucopia in one piece.

i turned the bags inside out, strung paper cones with fishing line, and
filled them with candy

i then hung them from various shrubberies.

these girls were not messing around

ok, there is one photo of me not bending over
ike takes his one and only shot at his sister as she
makes her way to the target

grandpa (a licensed firearms safety instructor) upgraded katniss to
19th century weapons technology (bb guns)

they were supposed to 'ride' this plastic horse
down the long grass...

...but isa declared she'd been "sponsored" and
rode her bike instead!

uncle lawyer waits with fireballs (water balloons)

isa/katniss makes it thru!

whoot!

and then, we got crafty

they turned out all right

I set up an empty metal ice cream bucket from a broken ice cream maker I threw out earlier this summer as "tesserae." Slips were entered when the girls arrived, when they got food, when they finished the obstacle course, and when I arbitrarily felt like they had done something clever or funny. At the end, we had a drawing for a $25 gift card to a local salon. Blue Dress Girl won, but after she left I realized I hadn't checked the balance on it (just to be sure.)

We gave gift bags filled with other printables, candy, and either Skull Candy earbuds or a keychain Simon Says game:

bookmarks

book recommendations

The End

It was, all in all, a very fun time. Aunt Lawyer got a crash course in Hetalia, which as best as I can make out is Anime meets Every Stereotype, Ever. Baby EV made adorable faces and dropped blueberry spit bombs all over the house. My dad enjoyed showing the kids some gun safety. I was happy they ate all the food. When they left, oxygen levels returned to normal. I think Isa had a good time.

If I'm being completely honest...I had a blast. I'm thinking about putting on the Haymitch version for 21 and older only.

Sources:
www.dafont.com, for the "Champagne & Limousines" font by Lauren Thompson
www.dafont.com, for the "Hunger Games" font by Jordan Seth
Cupcakes by The Cupcake Station
Craft idea and printables from G*Rated
Bookmark printables from Living Locurto
Book recommendations from 2 Busy Brunettes

i am the fat mom

2012-08-15T23:39:00.001-05:00

Nyeh, Nyeh. Nyeh

I have a crystal clear memory of my mother coming to my third grade classroom to drop something off for me, and my crush turning to me to say, "Your mom is really pretty."

And just like that, I didn't care that my mom never made things for the bake sale, couldn't go on field trips, never volunteered to be room mother, and wore her bathrobe to take me to school when I inevitably overslept or missed the bus on purpose because oh my God, I hated school.

I actually want these for my garden

My mom was pretty. She had worth. She upped my school standing by being slender, and pretty. In those days, my sister and I would clamor to watch her apply make-up ahead of a 12-hour shift at the hospital. She would get out her foundation, Cover Girl blusher, blue eye shadow, and mascara. She had several lipsticks, but never wore too much.

My mom was pretty. That meant that I had sudden potential. Me, the chunky, chubby, awkward, crazy-haired nerd with no friends and no sense of cool. I went from slug to caterpillar. Simply because of a 30-second glimpse one popular, cute boy had of my thin mom with her waves of dark hair spilling over her nurse's uniform.

Stupid, But Well-Meaning Intentions

When I had Isa, I decided that I wasn't going to be "the fat mom." I was 21, very unhappily married, and I was sure that her birth was the catalyst for Many Life Changes. In many ways, she was. I was going to grow up and be a very serious adult. I was going to balance my checkbook every month, clip coupons, start college savings accounts, eat right, exercise, and be a very good person. And I was not going to be fat. I was not going to have PTA shelf-butt, no bingo wing, no saggy kanga-pouch. I was going to fit at least one cheek onto those kiddie chairs, damn it.

I never did balance my checkbook, but I did manage to go from a pre-pregnancy weight of 185 to a 15-month post-pregnancy weight of 160. I felt very healthy and fit, and pretty. Then, I got pregnant again. No problem! I did it once, I'll do it again.

Except I didn't. I never lost the weight from carrying Ike, and I gained an additional ten pounds. Here is where I really seemed to lose it as far as common sense goes: not only did I place most of my value as a mom on whether or not the other kids thought I was pretty, I blamed my weight for the problems in my marriage.

If I was the hot wife he'd "always dreamed of having" then he wouldn't play video games 36 hours straight. If I was pretty, he wouldn't be so mad at me all the time. If I wasn't fat, I'd magically be able to figure out why my world was spinning out of control. If I wasn't such a goddamned pig, if I had self-control, if I was disciplined, if I wasn't so disgusting...it was endless. It went on and on.

I Am My Worst Enemy

And it went on like that for years. Even after I left him, after I went back to school, after I lost a little weight, after I had a plan and goals. After I met Bryan. After I moved to Chicago and got a career going. After I made so many wonderful friends and traveled, had two more amazing babies and dropped to a size 14 for the first time since 8th grade.

I still had the little voice in the back of my head saying, "that was great, but if you weren't fat, you could have done even better." It didn't help when I gained it all back and then some once I stopped breastfeeding.

Last summer, I was flying solo for the first time since I was 20. No kids, no man. I was in Chicago on my own. I had surpassed my heaviest weight of 225 and was probably about 230 if not more. I was just huge. No energy, no ego. I decided that if I was ever going to lose it, it was now. No kids, no husband, no excuses. I'm the only one cooking for me. Nothing keeping my ass on the couch.

I went walking. I got my bike fixed up. I ran a little. I ran a little more. I ran a mile without stopping. I lifted weights. I started doing the routines I'd been clipping from magazines. I started to shed weight.

One day, my pants slipped so low they almost fell off my hips. That was a good day. I had just gotten under the 200 mark and as you know, that is a very significant milestone for any woman! Then I got hit by a car and messed up my knee and now I am right fucking back to square goddamn one!

I'd also like these pretty toes, while we're at it

Now What?

I don't know what to do. The two things that have proven to help me lose weight are breastfeeding and walking. I'm not having any more babies and I can't walk more than a half mile before my knee blows up.
I've taken the drastic step of starting a weight loss challenge at work. Seven co-workers and I are doing a "Biggest Loser" type challenge for the next 60 days. I weighed in at 210, which means I am right back to where I was this time last summer. My strategy is going to hinge on diet and weight lifting, short walks, and isometrics that don't involve my knees or much of my lower body.

Does anyone have any tips for strengthening the lower body without stressing the knees at all? A magic wand will do, too.

tattoo art

2012-08-06T11:50:00.000-05:00

Every once in a while, when I see art like this, I consider it...

Apparently, I gravitate toward feathers. I wonder what that means, if anything?

homemade play-doh is one of those things that even i can do

2012-07-30T04:52:00.000-05:00

Atermoyer's Law
According to WordReference.com, the most name-like translation for "procrastinate" is the French atermoyer. Where this applies to my blog post is that I hereby coin a new phrase, "Atermoyer's Law," which states that the longer you put something off, the more likely your children are to get mixed up in it somehow.

For example, the twins came across a box of toys that I absolutely intended to Craigslist, but never did. So they pulled out all of the empty Play-Doh* canisters - Play-Doh being the kind of thing you gift parents that you don't like - and demanded Play-Doh. Their cries became higher and higher pitched until I finally cracked. I thought to myself, "Self," - I used to call myself Rachel, but now it's my best friend's kid's middle name - "you don't need no stinkin' Play-Doh. You can be a crafty dame sometimes. Be crafty!"

I Googled* "easy homemade play doh recipes" and came across KristanLynn's blog and promptly veto'd her recipe. She made it look so very easy and her Play-Doh looked great, but if there is one thing I understand about myself it is that I don't live in a World Market* world. I live in a Save-A-Lot world, and Save-A-Lot doesn't carry Cream of Tartar.

Shuffle the results...and we have a winner! KiddinAround.com, thank you for this just-good-enough recipe! As soon as I read the words, "doesn't last as long as cooked recipes" I knew it was the one for me. It would work for exactly how long I want it to and when the children aren't looking, I will sweep all the crumbs up and throw it in a flowerpot for a yet-to-be-determined use later on. I've been using the same pound of flour for six years, so it should probably be used up soon anyway, right?

To Do:
Gather ingredients (wine optional, but I find it helps most recipes)

1/4 c Water
1 c Flour
1/4 c Salt

So, I found right off that the ratio here is way off. I had to keep adding a little flour and a little salt, then a little water, then a little flour and a little salt, rinse and repeat, until it finally melded together properly.

again, a little wine never hurt anything

so, mix

um, keep mixing

still mixing...
this where I realized the ratios were way off

add paint

and voila!

aub doesn't really like play-doh so much as she likes messing with her brother...

...who takes his play-doh very, very seriously

End Result:

An afternoon well-spent, if I do say so myself.

*If someone doesn't step up to sponsor me soon, I am going to start making up Hooked On Phonics* style names for brand names.

*Sponsor Me!

my husband is a thief and a liar

2012-07-27T18:49:00.001-05:00

My Husband is a Thief and a Liar.
Bryan recently posted a photo on Facebook and tagged me in it:

can you believe this ish?

The thing for you to understand is that he is a LYING LIAR WHO LIES. This illustration, the origin of which I am uncertain, is absolutely the opposite of what is right and true. What really happens is that my husband, in addition to being the real bedhog, has a carefully wrought plan whose sole purpose is to rob me of a restful night of sleep. It is time-tested and finely honed to get maximum results with minimal effort, and he is a fucking pro at it.

For example, my husband knows exactly which corner of the comforter he can pull to roll me half out of my cocoon so I nearly land on the floor. "I need some covers, too," he will say, and you might agree, dear reader, except he doesn't actually use my comforter - no, he only sleeps with one particular blanket that we shall refer to as Christopher. Why Christopher? Why not. Christopher is so close to achieving personhood status in our house that I am certain he is a Romney campaign donor. Christopher has a place of honor on our bed when it is made, no one is allowed to play with him, and no one is ever allowed to soil, sully, or insult him. When Husband doesn't feel well, he turns to Christopher. When he is bored and wants to chill out, nothing would do but for Christopher to be there. On cold nights, Christopher is who gets my husband's lwarm arms.

At this point, it is still early and he is direct. He accuses me of sleeping on his side of the bed, hogging all the covers, and conspiring to knee him in the kidneys. For the record, he hasn't actually gotten into bed yet. He's just standing there, holding my blankets hostage, getting ready to start to get into bed. I haven't done anything to him or his side of the bed, or his covers or his pillows.

But he isn't done. When he wages a campaign, he is in it for the long haul. If I need to reposition pillows, make a concerted effort to get my covers back, or otherwise stake a claim on my half of the bed, he retaliates by turning on the television and catching up on texts and emails, or doing some kind of alligator-spinny move that not only sucks up all of the linens, but leaves me a solid six inches left to sleep on.

Then there are the times I am awakened by a gentle prodding that quickly turns into a ferocious "hint" to massage his overdeveloped calf muscles, which tend to cramp at night. Which is fine, except it is usually 2am and I've got one hour until Van finds his way into our room. "No, stop, I don't want to!" I moan as I fend off his clenched muscle assault on my shins and ankles. But it is inevitable, so I grudgingly swat at his legs until he relaxes and I can curl up into a cold, pitiful ball of exhaustion.

Please note that he is absolutely on my side of the bed while all of this is happening.

Depending on how his day goes, on a given night I can be awakened multiple times by either his big mouth or guerrilla cuddling.

Once, he woke me up by hitting me really hard in the face with a pillow.
I sat up and sputtered, "What the-?!" and he glowered, "Just so you know."
"Just so I know what?" I cried. His voice dropped to a menacing growl.
"Just...so...you...know!"And then he went back to sleep and when I told him about it the next morning, he accused me of making up stories.

Another time, I woke up choking because he had me in a headlock (a.k.a. "a hug") and I couldn't breathe. He denies this, too.

He Cheats, Too.
Around 4am, Husband has generally dropped into a deep enough sleep that his secondary offenses are triggered. In marches Van, blanket and bear in hand. I put him back in his own bed just in time for his sister to come padding down the hall and scream like a banshee when she realizes she has missed the window and Operation Bed Share has been called off.

I tuck them back into bed with a kiss and a hug and a promise that there will be breakfast as soon as the sun rises. It is still citydark outside; I can get two hours of sleep and function well if everyone cooperates and stays in bed from now on.

Alas. Van and Aub are stubborn and the will to destroy my rest is strong with these two. They are wily, and flow into our room like some kind of many-tentacled toddler mutant, flowing around my body until I am in their grips. They are so quiet that I often sleep through their initial invasion. It isn't until my arms are screaming from loss of blood flow and my hair has been entangled in tiny fingers that I realize there is a problem.

Bryan sleeps through it all and I am left to struggle on my own. By the third or fourth trip I am to the point where I just throw their blanket over their tear-streaked faces and tell them that if they don't stay in bed I will let the basement troll eat all of their Quaker Oats.*

Sometimes I just give up. I leave them asleep in a happy tumble next to their dad and I get dressed, go downstairs, and work for a while. Then, with impeccable timing, they choose the precise moment I am putting on my shoes to walk out the door to appear, sobbing because I haven't gotten their juice or toast or Cheerios* or sliced a strawberry into a rosebud for them.

Is it any wonder I feel like five whole bucks when I walk out the door on any given day?

And my husband has the gall to come down the stairs as I'm walking out, yawning with eyes still half closed from sleep, and say, "I'm tired."

a.k.a. TRUTH

Your turn to share - are you able to get a decent night's rest? How do you and your spouse deal with bedroom real estate issues? Have either of you ever moved to another room to get some sleep?

*Hi, Quaker Oats! Hi, Cheerios! Totally available for sponsorship! You know you want me!

boingerhead the comic

2012-07-23T21:03:00.000-05:00

Have a nice night...I'm going to try to!

van keeps licking me and it makes me want to sell him

2012-07-18T21:13:00.002-05:00

I apologize in advance for the excessive use of italics AND CAPSLOCK.

It Starts Innocently Enough.
Van sits on my chest. He weighs about 200* pounds so we're talking only a 60% reduction in lung capacity. He is talking - incessantly, which is the only way he knows how - and I finally break in long enough to whisper that most seductive of phrases:

I know a secret.

*he doesn't really weigh 200 lbs

His blue eyes brighten and his blond curls bounce as he hops back a few inches onto my bladder. What could it be? What delicious rumor? What titillating tidbit? What juice, what morsel, what cupcake of information? The genetic predisposition toward gossip is strong with this one. What secret?

I lean forward and whisper, "I am your mother."

"Butterfly!" he exclaims.
"No, I am your mother," I whisper again.
"No way! I'm going to lick you!"

And he does.

Licking Is Gross.
Of all the phases my children have gone through, licking is the worst. I got through the hitting, pinching, biting, kicking, pushing, unauthorized affection, run-and-headbang-dad-in-the-crotch-with-your-giant-toddler-head-so-he-thinks-he-doesn't-have-to-make-dinner-anymore, and the bubble-under-the-tongue trick.

I can stand shout-something-embarrassing-really-loud-at-the-store. I think run-naked-onto-the-porch-when-the-city-inspector-comes-by is adorable. I made it through pretend-mommy-is-beating-me-when-we-pull-alongside-a-cop-in-traffic (although the children nearly did not.) We've been through I-only-pee-for-Daddy and I-only-poop-when-Mommy's-running-late-and-SHEISTHEONLYONEWHOCANWIPEMEWAHHH!

I made it through only-talk-like-PeeWeeHerman-although-I-don't-know-who-that-is/was and only-laugh-like-Woody-Woodpecker-hahaha!-I-said-pecker.

I'm not sure I'm going to make it through I'm-almost-a-teen-and-WORSTLIFEEVERWAAHHH!

But I am certain - certain - that of all these phases, licking is the one most likely to get someone's milk teeth backhanded out of their perfect little rosebud mouth. Because I fucking hate it. Hate it. Nothing makes me feel skeevier or more irritable than being licked. It doesn't matter who does it. Kids, dogs, husband, stranger on the bus. It's all the same level of WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!

I've tried to think back to an event that brought me to this level of ick toward licking. Like, I know I am irrationally afraid of getting soap in my eyes because when I was four my older sister shut the bathroom light off when I was taking a bath, and I got soap in my eyes and it burned and no one came to help me and I cried. So that's on her. I know I can't stand the sound of people eating cereal, a lifelong sensitivity that became full blown because my college roommate (aka Aunt Lawyer) used to wake me up on the weekends by sitting in my room and slopping down a bowl of Kashi.

I dimly recall a date trying to convince me to let him lick my eyeball. I remember thinking, "so it's going to be an early night" but not "ohmygodewww" which is how I would react now.

I don't know where this visceral reaction toward licking comes from. I just know that every time someone licks me, my reaction is pretty close to Brad Ferro's was to Snooki in his face:

It isn't reasonable, for crying out loud. Of all the bodily functions and fluids I have been exposed to since I became a mother, licking really doesn't stack up. I know I don't need to go into details, but I'll just remind you that I have two sons and pee tends to naturally arc toward white pants and open mouths.

But there it is. Licking. I cannot stand it. And Van loves to do it.

He Even Tricks Me.
"I lick you!"
"No licking!"
"No, I lick you!"
"No, you don't!"
"Yes, I do!"
"Do what?"
Sigh.
"Love you."

Oh. Well..ok. As long as you don't...

"LICK YOU! HAHA!"

via Craigslist....

Free kid - You pick up (backyard)

Date: 2012-07-18, 9:27PM EDT
Reply to: zxx6k-254789561@sale.craigslist.org ^{[Errors when replying to ads?]}

Free kid. Relatively cute and housebroken.
Up to date on shots, but might need a flea bath.

Location: backyard
it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

PostingID: 254789651

how i feel about blogging now

2012-07-15T16:22:00.002-05:00

guilty.

mustshouldpromised....haven't.

want to....at least, when i think about it.

when i remember i used to do this a lot.

Who is reading this? Who cares?

forgot. best intentions.

(self)Censored.

tired. million and one ideas have evaporated and i

i don't miss them like i should. i didn't even notice they were gone.

sorry. i feel sorry. i let someone down? who? me? you?

"Is there anyone out there?

Nod if you can hear me."

the end of the world has come, and it smells like cheese

2012-06-30T04:12:00.000-05:00

I don't often get offers to feature things on my blog. I imagine that is because I post about as often as Eric Cantor considers the best interests of women and children before he makes yet another attempt to repeal the Affordable Care Act.

Anyway.

When I received the email offer to try eFoods for free to feature on my blog, I first thought that she might have mistaken me for someone who blogs regularly.

"Hi Natalie," Hannah started. "I hope you're having a good day!" (Okay, she knows my name) "We'd like to gift you some of our delicious and nutritious eFoods storable meals for you to review for your Boinger Head readers." She knows my name and my blog. She must mean it. Boy howdy! Free food! Delicious and nutritious?! And free! Food! Free Food! Sign me up! She went on to say some nice things about the company's mission "Our mission is to empower every family to have food security in the case of storms, natural disasters, or even financial crises like shrinking income or the loss of a job." That is so nice.

But I would be lying if I said that I thought about it again after that. This was May 14th, and not five minutes after I happily responded Yes, send me the free foods! I received a bitchy email from the landlord that made up my mind to break the lease and move before the end of the month.

Somewhere in the mess of packing and renting a truck, a packet arrived full of food envelopes. I just shoved it into the cupboard with everything else and forgot about it. After all, I had all kinds of food that was going to expire well before 2027.

You read that right. 2027. From the eFoods website:

Our greatest concern is for the nutrition you receive from your food, whether you use it for recreation, everyday meals, or in preparation for emergencies/security. Under ideal conditions, the extended shelf life of most of our products is 15-20 years. Some companies claim to get 25+ years of shelf life, but frankly, that’s not possible. In terms of flavor and nutritional value, all of our products are best when used within 25 years of storage time, although use after 15 years has no safety concerns. Shelf life is one of the foundations of our business; learn more details about the truth on shelf life.

If Something Seems Too Good To Be True...
Because I still point out all of the plot holes in The Flight of the Navigator, and space-agey type stuff puts me in a yeah, right frame of mine, I did a little more research. That is to say, I went to the eFoods website and was even more impressed/incredulous to find that eFoods products are cholesterol-free, trans-fats free, hydrogenated-oil free, MSG-free, meat-free, preservative-free, lactose-free, gluten-free, soy-free, oxygen-free, irradiation-free, full of fiber and whole grains, sodium balanced, not genetically modified, and made in the USA.

Which begs the question, just what exactly is it? Besides soy in numerous forms? Who cares? If the USDA says it's okay, that's good enough for me! (Not really)

I tried to do actual research into long term food storage, but I got sucked into a total boondoggle of end of the world nonsense. What I appreciated about eFoods is that it connects its product - freeze-dried foods packaged for long-term storage - with needs that I can actually fathom - such as camping, or not grocery shopping for two months and all my favorite delivery restaurants are closed.

And one day, need did arise (not camping) and I did break out the Cheesy Chicken Rice Casserole, and I was prepared for the protests to be loud and the negotiations hard. And they children were mad and they were sad. Food from a bag? You hag.

But regardless, they could not deny that perhaps it wasn't that bad when I went for seconds and saw this empty pot:

The Moral Of The Story

I didn't take any before pictures, and I absolutely burned the bottom of it, but you'll just have to believe me when I say it was actually pretty good. I wouldn't make it for a birthday dinner, but it was definitely edible.

You know what was really stinking good that I would totally buy more of, not even for the end of days but just because I liked it a lot? The creamy potato soup. I would eat the shit out of that in a heartbeat. Yum yum.

I'm saving the Tortilla Soup packet for 2027, at which time we'll just see about this long term storage claim. Stay tuned. I expect my then-middle aged children will have plenty to say about it.

Disclaimer: I received free food samples from eFoods Direct, and I ate it, and I liked it, too. Hannah seems really nice, and she didn't bribe me or anything, but she did offer a discount to my readers who access the site via this link: www.efoodsoffer.com so don't take my word for it. Stock up and eat up.

foto friday: in which all of my children are so damn cute they should be jailed for sucking all the cute out of the world and keeping it for themselves

2012-06-29T16:12:00.001-05:00

You spend a lifetime trying to get them off the ground.
You run with them until you're both breathless.
They crash.
They hit the rooftop.
You patch and comfort, adjust and teach them.
Finally they are airborne...
They need more string and you keep letting it out.
But with each twist of the ball of twine,
there is a sadness that goes with joy.
The kite becomes more distant,
and you know it won't be long
before that beautiful creature will snap the lifeline that binds you two together
and will soar as it is meant to soar, free and alone.
Only then do you know that you did your job.

Author: Unknown

i remembered!

2012-06-07T14:15:00.004-05:00

Guess what today is.

You'll never guess.

Go on, try.

Okay, I'll tell you.

Not even one little guess? All right!

It's our fourth wedding anniversary.

!!!

I know it doesn't seem like an amazing number or anything, but it feels forty years. Also, I remembered it! Not a big deal? Let me explain.

YEAR ONE
Our first year as a married couple was very busy. First, we had twins. That pregnancy and birth were the catalyst for this blog, so I'll leave you to the archives for more on that. Suffice to say, twins were a shock. Since we already had two of the best kids ever, this made us a family of six. We thought briefly about possibly moving back to Michigan so our posse would grow up closer to family. Instead, Husband quit his job to stay home with the children. Lots was going on with two little babies and two big babies to contend with. Our apartment building was also falling apart and there was a lot of trouble at school. I went back to work after 12 weeks of leave.

And I totally forgot about our anniversary.

YEAR TWO
My new boss at Dish and I started out very slow. I worked in a different office so we weren't really "getting" each other. By the end of the year, I'd made the suggestion that I relocate out to his office and things took off. He was incredibly demanding and volatile to work with. He was also the most driving boss I've ever had and the excellence he wrought made me the talented assistant I am today. However, there were some very stressful months where I was really sure I was going to lose my job any day because I just could not get a read on the man. I learned a lot not only about what I am capable of, but at what point I am willing to stand up and say, "No more." Husband was so supportive through these years.

Even though I forgot our anniversary again.

YEAR THREE
We had mentioned moving back to Michigan again. The Bigg'ns were going through some very rough times at school with bullying and Ike was a constant source of "what are we being called down to the office for now?" It was very hard on all of us. Plus, there were things going on in Michigan that we felt strongly we should have been closer to home for. Husband floated a resume. Then he got a job that started right away, so he moved to Michigan ahead of me, taking the children with him. That was hard. That was actually only two days before our anniversary.

So maybe I could be forgiven for remembering it a day late?

YEAR FOUR
We bought a house yesterday.

Happy Anniversary, honey!

momalom: age

2012-04-26T20:43:00.000-05:00

Today was Take Our Daughters and Sons to Work Day. I'll save you the suspense: it was a resounding success. The only kid who stuck his tongue out at me was mine, so it was totally okay when I made him drop and do twenty.

First, I asked them to draw a picture of what they think their parents do all day. This was mostly for my amusement. Most of the kids thought their parent worked on a computer all day. My son thinks I sleep with my feet on my desk and glitter glue in my hair.

Of all of the activities I planned, my favorite is the Vision Board. The idea is to think about what you want your life to be like in 20 years, and to come up with words, pictures, and symbols to inspire you to achieve those dreams.

This is very telling stuff. You learn a lot about someone from their Vision Board. On my board, I drew FAMILY in big letters, then a big house with a big tree and a swing, with a secret treehouse hidden in the branches. Boring and safe, I know, but I'm 33. I dream a little smaller these days.

On the other hand....god bless kids for not knowing any different than to dream big. The 7 year old wants to be a glittery, shiny, mosaic-tiled cat when she grows up, complete with whiskers. The thirteen year old wants to be an optometrist with a helipad and a Lamborghini. Ike drew himself in combat. Isa drew herself with a husband and children, a suitcase with lots of travel stickers on it, speaking several languages, with a house on a lake with a tire swing, lots of friends, and an MSU degree. Another ten year old wants to be a painter a la Picaso.

What most impressed me was how very clearly each kid saw their future and I knew instantly that I was never so sure of my own future.

Isa was just saying to me how sad it was that the world was such a terrible place. I agreed, but I also went on to say that it is an exciting and interesting time. We're on the cusp of something - whether it is great change or a downward spiral - and we are uniquely positioned to see it happen. She shrugged, but I went on to recount all the things that have happened in the last four years and she was impressed. That I could remember so much, on account of I am old and should have more memory loss (!)

Anyway. Age is a funny thing. It is irrelevant for so long, then it's everything. Then, I hear somewhere in my sixties it's irrelevant again. Isa thinks I am still pretty smart; Ike knows for certain I am a complete moron. Either way, I hope that they hold onto the conviction and surety of their vision for their future throughout any and all ages.*

*Mike said he was on a peacekeeping mission to protect his country, but I know what he was really thinking: "Blammo! Pow! THTHTHTHTHTHHTHHTHTHHTTHT!!!! BOOOM!!! ahhhhhh!"

momalom: pictures

2012-04-26T19:12:00.000-05:00

Have you Momalom'd today?

I know this is a clip from a PSA, but that doesn't make
it any less heartwrenching, does it?

Pictures.
I know I'm not the only mother who happily, gratefully insists on taking all the pictures so that she isn't in them. Because horrors. Documented proof that I really look this? That I really don't wear heels, I really do let my lipstick fade into the cracks of my mouth, and my hair...god, my hair. And my ass! This ass!

But here's my plea to you. Be in the picture. BE IN THE PICTURE.

Here's why. Sorry to be macabre, but one day you're going to be dead. You are going to be gone, and there is going to be so few things left that are you, your essence. So little tangible things that your babies will be able to hold onto and remember their mother. Your bathrobe will eventually lose its scent. Your clothes will eventually be donated. Your jewelry, passed on and made someone else's. Someone else is going to cook in your kitchen. Someone is going to get your laptop. Your hairbrush, your favorite wine, your books and your yoga mat. All become someone else's in essence.

But your photo. Your face. Your smile. Your spirit, your love. Take the photos for the albums and the cards and the FB newsfeed. But then hand it over. Hand it to Dad, or hand it to the munchkins.

Smile.
And when you look at it, do your children another favor and smile again. See your mother's smile in yours, your father's jawline, your grandmother's nose. Because all of those features? They're your kids' features, too. Or, one day, your grandkids. How can you expect your children to think they are beautiful when you look at the same features in your own face and frown, seeing only age and gray and not Angelina.

Also, you don't want your kids to hear you dogging yourself. They won't believe you when you tell them not to do it.

End lecture.

Say cheese!

momalom: words

2012-04-25T08:03:00.002-05:00

The things that leave me grasping for the right words.....

Why did you and B-- get a divorce?

Why did Aunt L die?

What's suicide?

Why don't I have any friends?

When will we go back to Chicago?

Why did you lie?

Why does God let bad things happen?

Why doesn't Grandma come over?

When will I get boobs?

Why does everyone hate me?

Why am I so stupid?

Does sex hurt?

I just want to have babies when I grow up, I don't want to work

I hate you!

If you hadn't had me, what do you think your other first baby would be like?

Why can't I lick my own eyeball?

How many miles would you carry me if we were running from a tsunami?

Why are you fat?

If you weren't my mommy, I'd be really sad. Actually, I wouldn't because then I'd have another mommy. But I think I'd still miss you, but I wouldn't know why.

What little gems have your little gems dropped on you? What did you say?

momalom: change

2012-04-22T21:11:00.002-05:00

This is a Momalom Five for Five post. The topic is CHANGE. You should check it out.

Time, which changes people, does not alter the image we have of them.

- Marcel Proust

I am a believer in reinvention. I believe if something doesn't fit or feel right, change it. Move on. Have a montage. I can tell you that my life took a decided turn for the better when I ditched capri pants and tortoiseshell eyeglasses for good.

I don't always cross-dress, but when I do,
I sure as hell don't win an Oscar for it.

Of course, fundamental changes take a little longer, but I am no less a believer. It took my entire 20's to learn to be true to myself and stop making decisions based on what would piss people off the least.

Chicago circa Spring 2009, we were a mess. We'd just sent out the bat signal for help - and friends responded. Again. One of them - who is without a doubt one of the most influential people in my life if for no other reason but this moment - said, "You have got to get it together. You aren't living - you're reeling from one crisis to the next. You have got to get a plan."

Word. That's what we did. We even wrote it down on the back of an overdue bill.

Those days aren't really that long ago, but they feel like a lifetime. Once Bryan quit his job and we knuckled down to living within our means, that's when I really started to get a handle on other things. Came into my own, as it were. Finances righted themselves (take that, insurance company!) and we moved to a better apartment in a nicer neighborhood. We found Nanny. Everything improved. We began to be the friends called on in a pinch. Montage.

It's sad that a lot of the people I considered vital to my life weren't really around to see it. Now that we're back in Michigan, when I see them it's like trying to speak underwater. I move my mouth and gesticulate wildly, but I'm running out of air and I don't really understand why I'm underwater in the first place. People still expect me to be a mess, but dammit, I have worked hard to be someone my children don't exactly run away from in public.

Cancerous Fuckwittery
I've come to the realization that as difficult as change is to undertake, it's sometimes more difficult for the friends and family and acquaintances who are watching the change. They don't really know what to do with the new and improved version of you. Or, when something dreadful happens, the new and embittered version of you. They try to keep pigeonholing you into a known quantity. Sometimes it is envy; sometimes it is guilt. It's almost always selfish - and it is never pleasant. I once commented on the loveliness of my bank's ATM fee reimbursement policy only to be told it must make up for all the overdraft fees.

Why is it so difficult to accept that people can change if they really want to? I'm reminded of the line in Postcards from the Edge where Meryl Streep's character tells her mother, "You want me to do well. Just not better."

How to deal with that kind of cancerous fuckwittery? I tried ignoring it. I tried calling them out on it. I tried to make it a moment of zen. I tried to examine it logically and get to the real root of the matter. I tried lots of things that all had one element in common: it required me to give a lot of credence to opinions designed to drag me down.

So my bright and shiny, patent-pending method of dealing with people who refuse to see me for who and what I am is this: I assume they were dropped on their head repeatedly and often, cannot help themselves, acknowledge the failure as theirs and not mine, and move on.

Montage.

Have you undergone a radical - or subtle - change in some way? How did people cope? How did you cope with the fact that people had to cope? How did your self-perception change?