The party's over. Welcome 2012!

Alllllll over. Thank god. Do you ever feel that way? My family has been in celebration mode since mid-November with a birthday, Thanksgiving, another birthday, Hanukkah, Christmas and several more birthdays.  Just when I thought we were done, and I was ready to hunker down in my sansibelt pajamas for the next few months, we were invited to a family-friendly New Years Eve party which was fun, but NOW, we're starting clean slate.  There have been too many presents, too much food, way too much alcohol, and my fingers seem to be waaay too permanently swollen.  Ugh.  It's time for water and spinach.  Happy New Year!

Eastbound and back "home"

We're back! We survived Holiday Travel, which was actually not as bad as I expected.  We totally, completely, weirdly-suspiciously-unlike us-always, lucked out by getting onto a direct flight from MO to VA, rather than the delayed stop-over in Chicago we had been booked on.  The boys behaved themselves, for the most part, and no one punched me in the face due to their occasional whining.  (A special holiday shout out to the family of two young girls seated one row behind us who beat us in the highest decibel contest.  In their defense, the cabin pressure was unbearable for a few seconds there, even for me. Those poor, poor little girls.)

Our flight back was not as wonderful, having to stop in Chicago, which never makes any sense to me.  Our layover was longer than either leg of the flight, and it's a given that meltdowns will occur if actual travel time is interrupted.  So, all we could do was walk back and forth on the flat escalators and consume 4,000 goldfish (3,764 of which were ground into the rug in our terminal. Luckily, we had our own personal janitor who followed us around with a manual vacuum, making sure crumbs didn't pile up too high.  She was also a helpful distractor because the boys loved watching her and I'm pretty sure they were dropping a Hansel and Gretel-like trail of crackers so she would follow us.  T decided he wanted to be her when he grows up so he can use that "special thing", which I told him he is welcome to use at home any time.  Also, T wants to be a shuttle driver at Dulles.  I reminded him that as long as he can support Mommy in her twilight years, he can be whatever he wants).

Overall, our trip was fairly uneventful with only one minor embarrassing incident.  Though I am fully aware that airport food is not cheap, I ordered a panini and orange juice to find out it was going to cost me $15 - literally all the money in my wallet, including change.  After a totally polite exclamation of surprise - I said $13 for a sandwich?! the guy looks at me and says, really? is that too much? all sarcastically, implying I am a loser if I don't pay it.  So, I asked him to void the sale. He tried to tell me he couldn't and that I'd have to pay.  I guess the cogs were already turning deep inside the specialty sandwich factory, which to my amateur eyes just looked like the little old lady behind him had fired up the big toaster. I was like, Seriously? You can't just take 4 steps to tap her on the shoulder and say, hey Gladys, never mind on that panini? Maybe yell out, HEY, FORGET THAT PANINI? Or how about whistle to get her attention and draw your finger across your throat? As I'm trying to help him realize that he indeed can void the numbers he just punched into the cash register, T is realizing that we might walk away from the food counter with nothing, so he begins to clutch the orange juice bottle, crazed and wide eyed yelling "No Mommy, I NEED this! I WANT this juice. THIS IS MINE."   You'd never know he'd opened hundreds of dollars of gifts in the past week.  So, cue my sweat mustache, I shove cash back into my wallet, rip the OJ from T's sweaty paws, and march/run away.  Could have been worse.

A guide to holiday travel, with kids

Beware! If you are traveling by plane for the holidays and you are one of the few who won't have children in tow, consider this fair warning. Because there will be many of us - MANY of us - sitting behind you on the plane, kicking your seat.  In fact, most of the moms in my playgroup today said they will be flying somewhere this week, so I'm guessing that every plane will be filled to the brim with wee ones, screaming, crying, flailing, and whining.  Part of me feels bad for those of you who hate traveling near children.  The other part of me laughs at you.

Look, I used to be one of you. I once preferred to sit next to someone with clean underpants (actually still my first choice).  I'd have rather not be jostled by anything else than turbulence.  However, being heartily equipped with empathy, I usually felt bad for the poor parents with the kid throwing themselves on the floor in a tantrum and always felt awful for the little infant who cried at take off because her little ears hurt.  I never understood how an old grandma could huff and puff and roll her eyes as if the crying was impossibly interrupting her SkyMall reading. Or why the guy in front of me thought it was a good idea to tell the guy behind me that he better shut his kids up...or else.  That resulted in fisticuffs over my head, which scarred me for a long time. I swore I'd never fly with kids for fear of bodily harm.

Let me also add that those of us flying with kids do not want to be flying with kids. Air travel with children is one of the most stressful things I have ever done.  I once flew alone with both boys, 9 months and 3 yrs, from VA to CA with a layover in TX.  You do not. know. stress. until you have made this trip. I was drenched in sweat for 12 hours straight as I tried to not lose my children. THAT was my goal. Not to make sure others had a pleasant trip, but to make sure I arrived from point A to point B with the same number of bodies - alive- that I left with.

Oh, you curmudgeons might say "Well, why don't you stay home?" or "Learn to control your kids in public!"  But I don't care.  I want to be with my family for Christmas and my money is as good as yours.  And trust me, I do try to control my kids in most instances, but at 30,000 miles above sea level all control is out the window (hopefully not literally -har har)  I cannot make my 16 month old sit completely still.  I can only try so many times to get my 4 year olds finger out of his nose and to stop screaming about wanting more M&Ms, but I have to pick my battles.  And to me, boogers are not worth it.

So don't turn around and give me a rude look every time my kid makes a sound or jumps around due to his sugar high.  That's the nature of air travel.  I suggest you bring your earphones and jack your Ipod up as high as it can go, have cash on hand to purchase mini bottles of alcohol, and remember that your flight will be over in just a couple hours (unless we sit on the runway for hours).  That's my plan too.

Personal appearance

Dear Santa/Hanukkah Harry,

Please bring me a new wardrobe. Besides not having the money to go purchase the few things I need just to update my look for 2012 (or even to catch up in 2011), I just don't have the energy.

I'm so disappointed in myself - the girl (lady?! ugh) who used to browse every fashion magazine on the block and could put an outfit together like nobody's business, if I do say so myself. Though I swore it wouldn't happen, motherhood has made me leave the house unwashed, unshowered, unmatching, unwearing something not made of sweatsuit material, and most scary, uncaring - most of the time.  But today, as I ventured out to get some Sudafed to alleviate the symptoms from the 43rd cold T has brought home from preschool (why does my husband never catch anything?!), I saw two moms pushing strollers with teeny, tiny babies in them (= they've gotta be up more hours of the night than me, right? Or was that just my kid who never slept for the first nine months of his life?) and they looked GREAT.  Sassy shoes, hair artfully tousled, makeup tastefully applied, and they looked fabulous. I was embarrassed to get out of the car because I was wearing the same shirt I'd worn the night before and then slept in and kept on all day. Kind of gross, I know, but so comfortable! I waited until they passed for fear they'd look at me and think "Oh, I am so glad I took a shower today and that I don't have horrible crows feet like that sad, dumpy lady. Or maybe she just has newborn quadruplets at home".

So, I made a decision.  As soon as I got home I put on makeup and a cute ("cute") outfit, just to go to my mother-in-laws for Sunday dinner.  I felt like an imposter, especially when I put on lipstick, which I haven't put on since my wedding in 2006.  I added some dangly earrings and totally felt like some hipster poser, but I tried to fake it.  Really, I did.  My husband said nothing after his initial double-take at my outfit change. G couldn't stop staring at my sparkly pink lips. And trying to rip my earrings out.  And T just took the tube of gloss and applied it to his moustache area, looking very pretty himself.  When I walked into my MIL's she complimented me appropriately, probably thinking it was weird that I was out of sweats for the first time since we moved to KC in August.

Maybe I just need to do it more often? To try a little harder a couple times a week so it feels more natural? Maybe I can manage to upgrade the sweats to leggings a few times a week. Because I can't continue down this road.  I'm only 34, and the wrinkles are only going to get worse.  I KNOW I've still got it in me...right? Why didn't I appreciate my wardrobe and smooth skin 10 years ago? Why didn't I open a separate savings account when I was in my 20's to be put only towards Botox, Spanx, and skinny jeans in the years to come? Let this be a lesson to those of you who still have the chance to prepare yourselves.

You know, I take the wardrobe request back, Santa/HH. I want Botox. And a personal trainer and personal shopper. And the energy to drive myself to wherever you go to get Botox.

I can see clearly now

Rocking the popcorn ceiling



Chair rail down, popcorn gone, chandelier hanging (dangling?!)



New ceiling, new walls, awesome table

It's amazing what clean windows can do for a room! Actually, these are brand new windows and most likely the cleanest they'll ever be. They went in yesterday, after sitting out on our porch for two frigid and busy weeks, on a blessedly warm winter day.  The room looks so clean.  Now, we just have to mud, tape, and paint - kind of a grayish blue is what I'm thinking.  My husband likes the idea of blue after learning years ago on the Today show that blue suppresses the appetite.  As if he needs to watch his weight.  Huh, so, does anyone know if white makes you eat hordes of Christmas cookies and candy? Because that's what this white sheetrock seems to be forcing me to do.

the right side of the brain

In my ArtEd classes we were taught that it's best to guide young children in drawing, not tell them how to do it.  Of course they need direction, and some kids are more likely to do well if you can give an example first, but after teaching high schoolers I think that mostly applies to older kids. Older kids are more worried about new stuff because they don't want to get it "wrong", and don't want to look stupid in front of their peers.  That always made me sad to see how uncomfortable some of my students got in a class that was only supposed to be fun. It's Art, I'd say! There is no wrong way to do it! (Unless you are carving inappropriate words into the tabletop with an X-acto knife.  Or throwing the X-acto into your seat mate's thigh, causing the need for 4 stitches. True story.  And then, my teenaged friend, you are waaaaay off base.)

Preschoolers are so imaginative! T is almost open to trying something new.  He usually asks, what does it mean?, when I say Let's paint by numbers, but he jumps right in, nowhere near actually using a paint brush correctly. But I want him to try however he wants.  So, I've been really hesitant to show him how to draw things when he asks for help.  I don't want to lead him to only draw houses made of squares with triangles on top, yellow circles in the sky and horizontal green lines on the paper below. (Because that is how I still draw houses). I mean, I know, this is how 3 year olds are able to representationally draw a house, using shapes they know, but I want him to try to figure it out on his own.

 Rainbow

 Our house

My favorite, our family. The dog gets me every time. Is he the next Calder?

Amateur Photographer

Last year, T got a camera for Christmas. One of those heavy-duty plastic ones for kids, made to be dropped, stepped on, and flung across a room during a temper tantrum (which it has been). Its batteries had been dead since before we moved to KC, and after a lot of begging, I recently put new ones in. After T snapped a few pics, we realized that the memory card was full, so, begrudgingly, I found the cord and uploaded all of the images on to my computer to free up space.

Out of the 840 (!) images on there, about 800 of them were of the floor or ceiling. Or me, close up, looking really annoyed. Oh, and one was an extreme close-up of me nursing G. That one took me quite a while to figure out what I was looking at. The other 39 actually had a person of interest in some part of the frame. The camera does have a flash, but no other adjustments can be made as he takes pictures, so most of them are blurry but actually kind of cool - very pictorial. And I like the fact that T took them all during a time when I was too exhausted to document the no-sleep hell I was living in. (If I included any of the ones he got of me, you'd see a crazed look in my eye. Zoomed in. Like, pupil close.) And that these pictures were taken almost exactly a year ago, with teeny G making his holiday debut, is a cool comparison to the large child who now often out eats me at dinner, which really is a feat.

Here are a few of my favorites. (Sorry, the nursing picture didn't make the cut.)

All I want for Kwanzaa is my 7th tooth

G's wish came true. So, naturally, he ate his first apple. And loved it!

I love pie

We hosted our first Thanksgiving! 25 people, including kids. I did no cooking except for pies - a pecan, a chocolate pecan (the winner of the evening) and a salted caramel apple which was a total bummer, despite its delicious and exotic-sounding name (booooo Food Network magazine. This was the second loser I've made from your pages).

I was motivated to actually put pictures up on a few walls so guests had something to look at (in most rooms). In the dining room, however, it was just sheetrock on the walls and ceiling. But that was better than dangling insulation the night before. With my brother-in-law, sister-in-law and her fiance, we were able to put it up on Tuesday night. We ooohed and aaaaahed over the gleaming, beautiful white sheetrock, which was sooooo much classier than wood paneling and wood beams. Then, my initial excitement fading, I felt like we really had no business having guests over to eat in that room. But it all turned out fine and my husband even creatively pulled out colored pencils and invited everyone to graffiti the walls before painting, which turned out to be a big hit.

Here I am looking happy because it's almost time to eat, and I've had a glass (or 2?) of wine. Thanksgod it's over!

A bust

Halloween was, that is. Both boys were sick the day of; G with hand, mouth and foot disease (which sounds way worse than I would have imagined, though the Dr. said we were lucky considering G's mouth, hands and feet were all blistered when it's not usually all three at a time) and T just feeling yucky all day, culminating with a major barf attack in his bed that night. But, we have sweet neighbors who brought candy to him so he didn't miss out. I felt it was my duty to eat most of it, however, considering he was having stomach issues and all. Don't worry, I left him a couple rolls of Smarties.

T did have fun with holiday prep a few days before, which included pumpkin painting and a witch make-up trial. The pumpkin painting came about when a playdate mom asked me what I used to teach and upon hearing art she exclaimed "how fun! you must do all kinds of fun art projects with your kids all the time!" I said "er, oh, uh, yeah, not really, I mean, sometimes" and promptly ran home to pull out whatever art supplies I could find to do something with T right that minute. Shamed, I now have a few other things in mind for the holidays (gingerbread houses = candy!).

Here's T, chillaxin' in his socks and flip-flops, rehydrating after an intense pumpkin painting session.

T enjoyed being a witch for his school holiday parade. I wanted to do more with make-up but he really only wanted the green face and I had to sneak the eyebrows on. He wore black play clothes and an old black pashmina for a cape. The piece de resistance, if I do say so, was the broom I fashioned out of a tree limb from the mulberry bush in the front yard. After sanding it and taping the edges (no sharp ends!), spray painting it and cutting up a yellow trash bag for the fringe, I showed in to T proudly. He flew into a rage, saying I ruined his "hanging stick" (wtf is a hanging stick?) and refused to use it until I threatened to give it to G to be a Sweeping Dragon instead.

My dinner

and what I'll probably be eating for the next few months, aka basketball season: one dirty martini and one bowl of generic velveeta melted with salsa alongside stale chips. I licked the bowl clean with my index finger, thank you very much. (Two martinis and I surely would not have used my finger).

And, NO, the boys did NOT have velveeta and salsa for dinner. They had highly-processed potstickers around 5pm so that I could get them to bed early so I could have my drink. Er, I mean, my dinner.

Dinner party, anyone?

Separation anxiety

For the first time since September, T has been telling us he doesn't want to go to school. When I ask him why, he says things like "beacuse I'll miss you too much, mommy", or "I just want to be with you." Nothing especially alarming, but a total 180 from the boy who couldn't wait to go back to see his friends. I should have seen it coming...

Last week he had a mini-anxiety attack over going on a play date when he realized I wasn't going to stay. Throughout the week, he's said things like "Will you stay with me forever?" I thought maybe his dad's work schedule, which often takes him out of the house on the weekends or causes him to miss family dinners, was the reason behind the anxiety. After talking to other moms of kids in T's class, it looks like its just a phase for this age, but I feel like it might be harder on me than him.

I know that at 3 1/2 he can't possibly imagine what it would be like without me, but sometimes I wonder if he's taking on my anxieties, the ones I try so hard to keep under wraps. I don't want my fears to define me as a parent, and most of all, I do not want my children to know how much I worry about them. I don't want to cross the line between normal fear and unhealthy fear, and sometimes I feel like it could happen so easily.

When T randomly asks me if I'll stay with him forever, my heart breaks a little as I tell him that I'll never leave him. I know this is a lie, though hopefully he'll be way past this phase when it happens. I know that everyone has to say goodbye to the ones they love. I know this is a lesson everyone learns one day. But when I watch T's face crumble, his lip tremble and his arms go out for a hug that promises him one last minute with me before I leave him at school, I understand to my core what it's like to know you will never see the person you love most in the world again. That's why, despite some advice I've gotten, I have no problem humoring him with just one more squeeze. Because for almost 5 years I worried that every time I gave my mom a hug goodbye, or hung up with her on the phone, it might be the last. I wanted those hugs and conversations to go on forever. And I knew when it was the last time I could tell her I loved her, though I told her even after I knew she couldn't hear me; I dreaded that day more than I thought I could. And I knew when it was the last time she would manage to say those words back to me, when she could barely talk, but she managed to say it one last time so clearly. My heart still breaks when I think about that, and I never, never wish that knowledge on my children.

So, I have to help T get through this normal phase of development, without holding on to those anxieties, without projecting my fears back onto him, without making a big deal out of just one more hug, while I get through it myself. Beacause we'll have many more years to hug each other and the ones who are most important to us.

Halloween prep

We went to a Halloween street fair and T was obsessed with getting his hair sprayed green. After waiting in line forever, he decided to go with rainbow. It was the highlight of his weekend.

His go-to outfit is Pirate, which is what he was last year when I forced him to go door-to-door until I was satisfied with the candy assortment, which I ate most of myself. This year he's been saying he'd like to be either a knight, a witch, or a princess. I'm fine with any of those, but we really don't have much of a princess selection. He finally decided to go with Witch for the school parade and party tomorrow (yes, candy!). I just spent the evening crafting a child-sized broom for him, so he better not change his mind. Pics to come!

lotta stuff

We've had bunches of things going on, including out-of-towners. My sister-in-law and her fiance were here at the end of September for almost a week. The weather was beautiful and we played alllll day, every day. Pics above are from a cool and free play area call Kaleidoscope which is where Hallmark sends leftover materials from their manufacturing plant for kids to make art with. It's a little too advanced for G, but T liked the glow-in-the-dark paint room, and there was a fun dance booth where we danced with Aunt L and Uncle D until we were tired of techno and Bollywood beats. Plus, the whole place had an Alice in Wonderland vibe.

Then, one my favorite younger sisters came to visit with my sweet nephew H! It was kind of crazy with 3 kids all on different schedules, but we made it work, hung out, and drank lots of dirty martinis - a special family recipe. R's trip went by way too fast, but it'll get me to December when we go back East for Xmas to see my other favorite younger sister and sweet nephew F. Yay!

I took lots of pictures, but they all were blurry - boo. Maybe because these little boogers never sat still?

There was a little girl who had a little curl

right in the middle of her forehead. And when she was good, she was very good indeed. And when she was bad she was HORRID.


With three daughters, my mom must have recited this Henry Wadsworth Longfellow poem to us out loud at least once a day. Probably more in her head. I often singsong it to myself in my head, wishing there was the boy poem counterpart. Is there?


I feel like I have *kind of* figured our day's schedule out, 2 months into this stay-at-home gig. It could always vary, but here's an example: Arise (lately around 7:30-8:00 am which is a miracle, people! considering G didn't start sleeping through the night consistently until about 9 months), change diaper, dole out milk (which is like crack to my children. Was it the breastfeeding?), have breakfast and play. Around 9 am it's either playgroup with both boys or school for T. If he's in school, G and I may run some errands, play, and/or I'll try to get things done around the house. Doing extensive chores doesn't usually work out for me, and I'm most often found on the floor, coffee cup nearby but out of little hands reach, reading stories, snuggling, and wishing G would take a nap. (Is that bad?) Sometimes he naps for 3 hours (yes!), sometimes for 10 minutes (noooooo), and then we wait until it's time to pick T up from school.


I'm always very excited to see T when we pick him up. 4 1/2 hours is the right amount of time apart. His eyes light up when he sees me, he runs to me and tells me he missed me and shows me his projects. But here, as we walk out of the classroom, the day can go in several different directions...


T is like the hardworking dad who needs a gin and tonic the minute he walks through the door. Except he needs milk. Occasionally, I'll be uber-prepared and come with a cup for him to sip on during our walk home. If I don't, I know we have to walk quickly before meltdown. Sometimes I can distract him from thinking about his shaking hands by yelling out "wow! look, a brown rock!" or "do I hear a helicopter?!" I've been known to do a crazy dance in the middle of the street just to delay whining. But, on the bad days, the dark days, our two minute walk home becomes excruciatingly long and painful, with little G staring up at his older brother in horror.

On a good day we'll make it home, have a snack and play, play, play. On a bad day, I drag T home to throw himself on the floor until he feels ready to play, play, play. And then, on either type of day, DONG, DONG, DONG. 3pm, the witching hour falls upon us... Nap time is over, it's too early to start dinner (or is it?), and we're sick of playing. We're sick of looking at each other. I lay on the playroom floor, children crawling over me, sometimes sitting on my head, while I dream about what kind of cocktail to start with at the stroke of 5. (Actually, I don't usually start with drinks until after bath time. I need my wits about me while bathing two crazy, slippery boys.) And as my sweet T laughs in my face when I try to put him in time out, and G throws himself on the floor crying because I won't let him play in the toilet, I start reciting, "There was a little girl, who had a little curl...."

(G has curls in the back of his head, though.)

h-a-t-e

These a**holes are all over my front porch. I HATE them. They make big, horrible webs on the windows, on the porch light, on the steps, on the stroller I leave outside overnight. This picture does not accurately show the awful disgustingness of them.

One of my (many insane) fears is that I'll be walking along, pushing G, wind blowing through my unwashed hair, and I'll look down and see my child encased in a web. Or, at the very least, with a large, gross, slimy spider on his head. What will I do? Will I be able to get it off? Will I be able to find a long stick quickly? Will I find the inner strength to use my hand? Or will I scream and run away, leaving him on a sidewalk, rolling downhill because I didn't think ahead to put the brakes on as I sprinted off?

(Quick side story - the other day, as I was cupping my hands to peer into the window of Restoration Hardware, salivating over an awesome chaise that I will never, ever be able to afford, I was alerted by a homeless man, who I'd just told I had no money ((totally true, btw)) that G was indeed rolling down a hill backwards in his stroller. I felt like I should have paid the guy something for his help, but again, I had nothing in my wallet.)

A occasionally uses the shop-vac to suck them up, but I get nervous that he might forget to empty it out before bringing it back inside. I mean, he might as well deliver a spider nest into my bed, you know? Do you see the anxiety these spiders bring into my life? And I do not need any more anxiety, thank you very much. Is there a way to get rid of them? Or just embrace them as part of our Halloween decor?

Was I always this awkward?

Tonight I went to a Happy Hour for new members of the neighborhood mom's organization I am a (paying) member of.  I was late because T's new phase is one in where he is afraid I might leave him forever, even if I am just walking out to the mailbox.  And honestly I am fine indulging this phase because I am sensitive to this issue myself. (Though it is rare that I actually step the 2 steps out to the mailbox by myself. Someone under the age of 4 is usually with me.) I noticed this starting when he got upset that I was 10 paces ahead of him on a walk with the dog, saying we had to stay together in case he lost me.  I'm thinking I may have brought this on when I recently tried to give the Don't Go With Strangers Talk.  The Don't Talk To Strangers Talk has already happened.  He didn't understand why he would go with a stranger if I was there, and I gave the example "If we're out on the porch and I go in to answer the ringing phone and a stranger asks you to help find his puppy, say no".  This example backfired though because he asked way too many extraneous questions and finally just screamed "Why don't you just already have your phone out here with you?!" Smart question, actually.  Was this conversation was too advanced for 3 1/2? Or too below him? Anyway, all that came of our talk was a paranoid little boy whose side I couldn't leave tonight, at least not without catching the 2,436 kisses he blew to me as I walked out the door.

I digress...

So I was late getting to the bar.  I walked in to see a table of about 15 women I assumed had to be the group.  They were right near the door, probably saw me coming, sweat moustache glinting in the dim light.  I stood at the end of the table for what felt like a really long time, waiting for a break in conversation when a couple of gals pitied me, stopped talking and looked up, I'm sure expecting me to say something normal. And I did.  I waved like a total dork and squeaked, "Hi.  Are you guys moms?" I seriously felt like a few crickets chirped while they silently thought, oh this poor, poor girl.  And then some sweet soul said, yes we are, and pulled out a chair for me.  I sat down, wiped away my facial perspiration, had a beer, and settled in for a hour of chatting with very nice people about pediatricians.

Happy New Door!

Final pics to come, soon. This past week was really busy with entertaining and enjoying our first house guests and celebrating the new year with at least three different versions of matzoh ball soup (all delicious). So the door still needs one last coat.

We did manage one quick project in a couple of hours. We pried off (with difficulty) and repainted the house numbers to match the glossy black door paint. This was done quickly because A was insistent that the numbers be up at all times possible, just in case someone was trying to make a delivery. Or trying to find us. Final photos of those to come soon, too.


(The cardboard under the 8 is the packaging from a sampler of locally brewed Boulevard beer. Delicious!)

D Day!

That's Door Day! Or more like Door Week. The old door came down on Saturday and is being picked up tomorrow by a junk removal service. The new door is up and got its first coat of paint today. Not too much to say about it yet, other than painting a door is a little harder than I expected. Hopefully one more final coat tomorrow will make a huge difference to the streaky door I'm looking at right now and I'll be happy that we got talked into a high-gloss rather than a semi-gloss. Here are pictures of what's been going on:

Goodbye!

So far, I've just painted just the door, not the sidelights. I'll need some opinions as to whether we should paint them black too or leave them white. What do you think?

Love to hate GOOP

I was looking for books to put on my library hold list and NPR had recently done a review of Gwyneth Paltrow's new cookbook, so I added it. I hadn't decided if I hated her or liked her. Whatever it was, it definitely wasn't love.

She's been around forever, but I can't really think of many movies with her in it. The one where Michael Douglas is her husband and tries to have her killed because she's having an affair is always on TNT, so I've probably seen that more than twice. It's mildly entertaining on a dreary day when you're stuck inside. I'm always chuckle when she speaks Spanish (she did live in Spain with a Spanish family, didn't you know?) because she uses the Castilian lisp that most visiting Americans don't attempt. But of course GP would. She also has the British thing going on, so maybe she's just really adaptable.

Having seen lots of interviews and read articles about her, I feel like I know enough to make the following statements . I used to think she was arrogant, but now I just think she's totally out of touch with the real world. Her website is ridiculous, suggesting places to travel and hotels to stay at and restaurants to eat at and recipes to try. If you are a zillionaire, take her advice. My favorite is when she talks about the 10 clothing items to have for the season, each of which cost $500 (or more). These are must-haves for working moms, making it SO simple to get ready quickly in the morning before dashing around with your kids! She also loves to exclaim that she has to work really, really hard for her body. She doesn't get to eat whatever she wants, and she looooooves to eat, you know. And who can't identify with that? But then she goes on to talk about how she works out two hours a day with her personal trainer. And that's when I start getting annoyed, because who does she think we are? Chris Martin's wife? Who has that time and money, besides her and Madonna?

But her cookbook piqued my interest because it's based on food she cooked with her dad, who she writes was the love of her life until his death in 2002. And that loss is one I can identify with. As I read the book's forward, I softened towards her as she talked about her father's cancer. I imagined having a good cry together over a glass of Rioja while we kneaded whole wheat dough. But then she started talking about her best friends the McCartneys and Spielbergs, and how she spent her summers in Nantucket, and vacationed in Hawaii, and had cooking lessons from her friend Jamie Oliver, and how her backyard wood-burning oven was one of the best investments she's ever made. Seriously.

Conclusion: I won't be trying any of GP's recipes. I don't have any spelt flour, or barley flour, or buckwheat flour, or grade B Vermont maple syrup (unless store brand Mrs. Butterworth's, with extra hydrogenated corn syrup would work as a substitute?). And I'm certainly not going to the store (what store?!) to buy tempeh bacon or hemp milk.


PS - I'm kind of disappointed in myself for having written multiple paragraphs about Gwyneth Paltrow. Shows you what a new stay-at-home mom thinks about all day. Consider it to be a book review. I just saved you some time.

Social networking

It was a busy week for the Z family. T had school, A had work events in the evening and I forced myself to get out of the house, for my sake and the sake of the boys because they needed fresh air and it's just not healthy to be stuck inside with your significant other for too long.

I think of myself as pretty personable, but I've never been one to seek out new people for no reason and I don't really enjoy chatting it up with strangers. I'm lucky enough to have two sisters who are my best friends, and most of my other BFFs I've known forever, even back to junior high. These are girls that I may not talk to every day, but they know me well, have been through the best and worst times of my life with me, and I'd do anything for them (you know who you are). Gosh, I think the last great friend I made (and still have!) was about 5 years ago, and when you're in your 30's, I feel like it's pretty lucky to connect with someone so easily, no? But, I have to try because I need some friends!

So during the beginning of the week I was in mental preparation for my coming-out. Wednesday night I went to a neighborhood book club/swap. Since I am great at reading I figured it would be a good way to meet ladies with similar interests and also make off with a couple books. I'm not gonna lie - it was scary to knock on the door of someone I don't know and walk into a room full of girls that all know each other. But it turned out to be fine (even though I felt like a total dork) and I scored a glass of pinot grigio, two books, and an invitation to join their Monday Morning Coffee Club.

Thursday night we had T's Preschool Open House and ice cream social. It was a little awkward, standing around in a teeny classroom with people we didn't know and feeling forced to chat about each other's kids, but a nice couple with 2 girls who live down the street invited us to dinner at their house. Friday I took the boys and met up with four other moms for a playgroup in the afternoon, and later we went to dinner with the school family. It was nice company, good food and wine, great to be out of the house, and by the time the kids were melting down, it was 8pm and we were home with plenty of time to watch four episodes of Entourage on library DVD. Call us crazy!

This weekend, there was a large home project going on (details and pics to come) but we a date, sans kids, last night with A's high school friend and wife. Needless to say, I was way too exhausted to go to church this morning.

BOO!

I thought about saving landscaping for later so that come Halloween, all we'd have to do is enter the neighborhood's spooky house contest and turn out the lights. But, I went outside earlier this week to find A tearing out the rest of the "garden" because he just couldn't take it anymore. So instead of this

we have this

The before pictures actually show a little cheerier than the yard felt. It was too overgrown and tangly, and I saw one snake and way too many spiders for my liking. The little white flowers you see are wild clematis, which smelled amazing but grew like a crazy vine and overtook the entire garden down the length of the house. While the flowers looked pretty when in bloom, the yard (complete with a lawn full of weeds instead of grass) had an abandoned house kinda feel. Every neighborhood has "that house", and we were it, but no more.

Oh, and the tree in the side yard is not actually a tree, it's a huge mulberry bush! It's really pretty and shades the side of the patio, and has lots of spiders that hang down from it at night. (Do you notice my mention of spiders? I have a gift that allows me to walk into any room and immediately direct my eyes towards any eight-legged non-friend. I need to know where my enemies are. I call it my spi-dar.) Almost every day, T asks if we can hold hands and go 'round it while singing together. So we do.

Back in the game

Our new 46" flat screen. This is extremely exciting news, people. This arrived just in time for Fall premiere season. I won't have to just read reviews or recaps. I get to have my coffee with Matt and Ann and my morning cocktails with Hoda and KathieLee.

Granted, it's in the Dining Room right now, so no sprawling comfortably across the couch to watch. And yes, that is in fact an antenna sticking up from the back of the TV because no, we don't have cable. But rabbit ears are not gonna take away from this new luxury. No, not yet they're not.

Play rooms

Right now, we have a makeshift playroom in the room that will actually be the Dining Room.  We're getting the big table that my mom had made for her kitchen shipped to KC from VA, hopefully sometime in the next month.  Until then, the amount of toys we have fit best in that room, which is also out of sight as you enter the front door - thank goodness.

I also wanted to make the boy's bedroom upstairs feel cozy and welcoming, and I think T needs a special place of his own so he can get away from his younger brother when he wants to play with small things that are off-limits to little hands.  Their room is big and used to be the guest room where we stayed when we visited A's mom.  It's painted a pretty gray, which I've decided to keep for now.  It has lots of windows (and can get pretty cold) and enough space for a bed, crib, changing table, bookshelf, glider, and a kid's table with chairs.

One of my first mini-projects was painting an old table A's mom left behind when she moved out.  It was chipped black paint with wobbly legs that I just tightened, then quickly and lightly sanded and spray painted two shades of lime green.  I thought about painting pictures on the top, or using stencils, but I found some cool transfers at the Crayola store to put on instead. 

T has been using it as his Coloring and Cutting Station, not suitable for toddlers according to him, but G doesn't agree, as you can see.