DO WANT

When I was attending high school in Toronto, in a heavily West Indian neighborhood (and, in passing, might I say, we had *the* best dances and I learned to wine quite well. It's how I maintain some vestige of sexy after two kids), the cheapest lunch to be had was across the street at the Chinese-Canadian-West Indian market. A pattie, and a Ting. I think I probably paid $2 total, back in the early '90s, which certainly seemed like a lot when that was half a night of babysitting, AND I had to pay for my own subway tickets. Completely Dickensian childhood.

Anyway. Gene had asked for my thoughts on a pattie recipe for some friends, and after a hamster wheel web search on my behalf, because I am a serious dork, I found loads of information, as well as this article, which just makes my mouth water. The key, you see, is to place said pattie in coco bread. Taste of Heather's adolescence. And get your mind out of the gutter.

Thwarting Mommy, Beta Version

Peabo is recently 9 months old, and definitely coming into her own in terms of personality and independent streak, not to mention curiosity. She is also clearly her father's child, as evidenced by her utter and complete fascination with anything remotely of the glowing box variety: computers, TVs, phones, remote controls, power cords. And no, I do not let her play with outlets or the live ends. Settle down.

I did let her briefly explore the non-active end of Gene's laptop cord, as I was sitting right there with her, and I'm trying to look at this as brief forays into scientific experimentation, and those should be encouraged. After a minute or two, I grabbed a small basket of toys and put it between her and the cord in an effort to distract (and make myself feel less like a complete slacker mom. Next I'm letting her out in traffic). She looked at it, picked it up, and put it to the side while peering around the side to make sure the really good toy was still there. Nine months old. Already figured out the "yeah, right, lady. Try again."

Send booze.

New Diet Plan

I am going to make millions. This is what you do: forget to eat all day until 3 pm, at which point you clean out your kid's backpack and then eat the leftovers from lunch.

Can I also just say that once you get to 'real' school, a lot of detritus comes home. Methinks we need to move up a backpack size.

Okay, Seriously, Where Did The Years Go?

Because it really does not feel like 5.5 have zoomed past. The Bean starts kindergarten tomorrow morning, bright and early (yeah yeah, I know 8:24 isn't bright and early for a lot of people, but that's 8:24 DRESSED and with COFFEE and COHERENT). Hers is one of the schools in the Redwood City school district that requires uniforms of a sort, so the girls and I trucked to Target and Old Navy to amass said. Interestingly, it would seem I am not the only mother out there to leave school clothes purchasing until the afternoon prior: Target was *picked clean*. Well, we did manage to snag a few polo shirts and I think a skort. Onward to Old Navy, which was a tad better stocked and a hell of a lot less crazed. So the deal with the uniforms as such is that the kids have to wear a white collared shirt and khaki or navy bottoms. Very easy to achieve, and the aforementioned stores have uniform sections, so it's really totally idiot proof, unless of course you leave it until the last minute.

I threw everything in the wash when we got home, and just hung it all up to finish drying and be ready to go for the next few days (completely unwittingly, I managed to almost organize two of everything khaki or navy -- two navy jumpers, two khaki jumpers, two navy skorts, etc). Looking at the section of her clothes bar that I had designated 'school clothes' was both thrilling and heart wrenching. She's ready to go, she doesn't need a nap anymore, she is quite happy to be entertained for 5 or 6 hours at a stretch, she enjoys the company of other kids, she loves learning new things. But. She's so...little. Her adorable school uniforms are so *little*.

Sigh. Tomorrow is going to be an interesting day. I may not end up crying, but I am sure going to feel off kilter until 2:30. Now, granted, get back to me on Friday and I'm sure I will be singing the praises of this wonderful, magical land called SCHOOL where they take your kid for a substantial chunk of the day.

What You See Is What You Get

This morning, I went from hair halfway down my back to about chin length. It was mostly a functional issue, as I have pretty curly hair and a grabby 9 month old: not a good combination if the former is long and tempting sticky little fingers. I was also getting sick of having to always pull it into a ponytail or bun (because seriously, what can say "tired mummy" more than that?); so it was definitely time for a change.

I'm not really sure how to describe my hair although this was the desired result. Granted, I don't look quite as good as the model, heh, but the hair is pretty cute. It feels sort of saucy and 1930s, which is fun. It also made me realize, though, when you have short hair, you have to suck up the confidence. If you have short CURLY hair, you really have to get behind the self worth train. There is no hiding behind a wall of hair, no yanking anything back or up to alter presentation. What you see is what you get. All in all, not a bad metaphor for the 30s. My 30s, not the 1930s.

Plus now I can wear cloches with abandon. Kicky!

Cross Bitch!

I just got a book from my sister: "Subversive Cross-stitch: 33 Designs for Your Surly Side".

How can I describe this gem of a book? Let's just say "Bite Me" with lovely side designs is one of the more gentle offerings. Does she know me, or what?

I am in love.

Who Writes This Stuff?

One of my recent areas of expertise is in kids' music, played ad nauseum (though thank god, Bean is now old enough to dig more grown up music, for which I had lit many candles). We have a wonderful CD by The Persuasions called "On The Good Ship Lollipop", and while the music itself is loads of fun, they have included a rendition of "Teddy Bears' Picnic".

Have you ever listened to the words of this? Here's a choice excerpt:

If you go out in the woods today,
You'd better not go alone.
It's lovely out in the woods today,
But safer to stay at home.

Uh. That's exactly what I want my kids to take from this, the notion that given half a chance, their stuffed animals are going to gang up and MAUL them when they aren't looking. Here are the lyrics in full. You be the judge, but I'll freely admit that I skip that song quite regularly on the iPod. It's the same reason I don't sing about babies falling out of damn trees in their cradles. I want my kids to be brave, but that's just wack.

Age of Pisces

We have been taking the girls to swim lessons for about two months; Bean is rather fond of the water, but has had a hard time relaxing enough to let me help her kick or paddle, Peabo is just sure that we're torturing her with a huge, loud bath.

However. Breakthrough was achieved yesterday on both fronts. Peabo's lesson is first, and then an hour later, Bean's. I am pretty much a raisin by the time I get out at 5 pm. Anyway, Peabo mildly freaked out initially, but as the half hour wore on, realized that maybe it was more entertaining to play with the water toys, or point at other babies. She has maybe a little crush on a slightly older man named Ezra, and pointing at him and gurgling worked wonders for her mood. She even let go of her death grip on me (at least one hand) to poke at a ball floating around, not to mention letting us submerge her face numerous times with no coughing. Good times.

Then it was Bean's turn. We had gotten her a pink neoprene shortie in hopes of keeping her a bit warmer in the pool; she is so skinny the teeth begin chattering after 15 minutes, even with a 90 degree water temperature. That and pigtails look darn cute, I can assure you. Anyway, I had been trying the baby trick of blowing on her face right before submerging it to get her to hold her breath; figured it was time to up the ante a bit. Well, we count 1, 2, 3 and in she goes...no problem. Granted, I did the turbo-merge, but still...progress. Let's try a second time. No problem. Third time? At the count of "3", she squinched up her eyes and closed her mouth tight in total and complete anticipation. It was an amazing moment, to see that leap of understanding. Did sit-jumps off the wall, counting to three, same deal. Tried again from in the pool. Same deal. The best part was putting pink goggles on her as it seemed her eyes were getting a little sensitive. Pink goggles, pigtails, pink wetsuit. You can imagine.

And for the record, Bean is in fact a Pisces, so it was about time we figured out this water thing.

So You Want To Be A Rock & Roll Star

I have *the* best husband in the *world*. You may remember my previous post about going to the Police concert and desperately wanting to be cool enough to have an electric guitar.

My birthday present came home early today.

No more suburban slummy mummy! I am a...a...COOL MOM. Well. I have the props, at least.

Miss Thang

It's a Fender. It's a Stratocaster. I am delirious with happiness.

Seasonsick

You know how every so often, you hear a song that just grabs your brain and heart and you can't stop listening to it even though maybe the kids are about ready to rip out their ears and/or pummel you with sippy cups? Yeah. So my latest is "Valley Winter Song" from Fountains of Wayne's 2003 album, Welcome Interstate Managers. At first I just really dug the tune, but after a second listen, it struck me that hey, this was winter like I remember it. And like I kind of miss, at times, these days. That day long falling snow, the "pottering around in a dark house", but also the weird coziness inherent. Anyway, here is a video someone put together to the song:

http://youtube.com/watch?v=Ctu406Wa2Ik

And the best part about playing guitar? Saying, oh, hell, I bet I can find the chords for this. And doing so. And being able to play it for myself. All the damn time.

Molasses

In January, that's me with the blog updates. Quite honestly, things have happened, or I've been struck by events recently that made me think, oh, hey, blogging time. Have I acted on said? I have not. So I apologize to the three people who read this blog faithfully, and I thank you.

Speaking of molasses, I think we're finally detoxing from all the delicious and calorific Southern repasts out east. I admit that I wish we had biscuits just up the road that could be walked to on a Saturday morning, but I guess I could actually make my own, something which I have also thought on quite a bit and not acted upon. There's just something about summer vacation which makes execution of anything past the day to day a bit rough. Even that, at times, gets onerous. Shower? Why? Eat real meals? Why? Oh relax, I bathe and feed the KIDS. We've been doing swim lessons, to mixed reviews, but the light at the end of the tunnel is starting to flicker gently, at least for Peabo. Bean is always pretty good with the water, and both of them are allowing their faces to be submerged at least briefly. Baby paddles.

One of the more interesting things from our trip out east was spending time with Gene's aunt and uncle, and getting some family history to flesh out Gene's natal tree; I had been feeling faintly guilty that the girls would grow up with gobs of genealogy from my side (probably too much, if you really think about it...after a while it's just nostalgic masturbation), and little to none from Dad's side. Well, not only did Aunt Jo and Uncle Rex add a few names, what did we get in the mail the other day but a pile of pictures with notations on the back. It's not generations upon generations, but it's sure more than we had, and a great jumping off point for further research, not to mention a road trip to south Georgia. Yep. Gene's grandfather was from Wiregrass country...he's a cracker! Believe you me, I have been getting no end of amusement out of that one. I snottily informed him that my own WASP credential that showed up on the shores of Plymouth Colony in 1621 aboard the "Fortune" helped to balance that out...nostalgic masturbation!

Oh, I'm kidding y'all. Well, not about the facts, but trust me, I could give a toss beyond the historical fun inherent in knowing these threads. Great, my ancestors, at least some of them, were humorless, flinty eyed, intolerant Puritans. I think we NEED the crackers to balance that out for our kids. It got me thinking though, about the whole immigration debate and hooha that is currently raging. I suppose you could argue by this point I am nothing but American; on the other hand, part of the whole genealogy crap is finding out from whence your family originally hailed. If we are so thrilled about our own origins, why not be thrilled about modern day immigration? Oh, the illegal stuff? Yeah. Um. I'm not sure the Native Americans in 1621 had balloons and a glass of Madeira waiting for my antecedent (though in passing, I did discover he had been fined for 'hosting a Indian without leave'...rock on!)...it's all so very stupid. I taught a lot of kids who I'm quite sure had less than impeccable paperwork on their side, but I can assure you that none of their parents were leeches on the government system or whatever the current argument is. I know I'm just blithering here but it's something that just infuriates me to no end.

I once had a class where we tried to figure out what meant "Canadian". I'm kind of thinking that what means "American" is that initially you came from somewhere else. Even Native Americans wandered over the Bering Straits.