The Snarky Squab

This Blog Has Moved

2010-02-21T22:45:00.003-06:00

Well, kids, I did it. I made the jump to my very own domain. From now on, you will find me at www.snarkysquab.com. I've got a fancy new site, and this will give me a little more flexibility in terms of content and organization. I moved all the old posts over to the new domain, so you should be able to find all your Snarky Squab in one handy location. (The comments, alas, could not be ported over, so they'll all end up in the great comments archive in the sky.) Anyway, I hope you'll follow me over to the new digs - it's not worth writing without you to read it!

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes

2010-02-16T14:02:00.002-06:00

So my comments system (Haloscan) went belly up, and I'm using it as an excuse to give this here tired ole blog a bit of a facelift. However, as I am strictly amateur at this interwebz design stuff, it may take a little while to work out all the glitches. Just wanted to let you know that I know the comments aren't working and it will all be good in a few days. Or so. In the meantime, have a bear hug:

Just call her Che

2010-02-08T23:04:00.003-06:00

So the Hatchling staged a coup at preschool last week. I knew I was in trouble when her preschool teacher (whom we love) came out of the classroom to where all the parents wait in the hallway, and pointing her finger successively at four of us, said, "You, you, you and you - I need to talk to you." We winced and slunk into the classroom while the other parents looked on in sympathy mixed with relief. It TOTALLY felt like getting called into the principal's office, NOT THAT I WOULD KNOW, since I was one of those kids who never GOT called into the principal's office, because my whole aim in life was to please my teachers. Because I'm an oldest kid, and we like to get approval from authority figures. UNLESS YOU'RE MY DAUGHTER. Because apparently nobody told the Hatchling this, and she and three of her favorite little playmates went completely Mutiny on the Bounty on their preschool teachers. Collectively, they refused to help clean up at clean-up time, would not join the group at group time, trashed the reading nook during snack time, and (thus) did not get to go outside and play at the end of the day. As soon as we walked into the room, the Hatchling and the other little girl in the group both started crying; they knew they were in trouble. The little boys opted for the avoidance tactic, and just looked away like they didn't even know any of these people and where were they, anyway? We spent about 10 minutes sternly exhorting our wayward progeny to clean up the mess, pronto, no I mean do it right now, RIGHT NOW, miss, you are going to get in TROUBLE, and now go apologize to your teacher and we are going to have WORDS on the way home. Sigh. Of course, their teacher was horribly sick that morning, so my theory is that they sensed weakness and went in for the kill. Which maybe makes it even worse. Honestly, y'all, I have no template for this. I was a goody-two-shoes all through school. I mean, there were MAYBE two times when I got my name up on the board for talking too much, but lawsy, that alone was enough to just about bring me to tears. I didn't even start THINKING about sticking it to the man until grad school. I am trying to look on the bright side. Perhaps she'll be an inspirational activist type! Or ... a union organizer! Yeah, that's the ticket. Alternatively, she could end up stealing hubcaps after dropping out of school at thirteen. That's parenting! Always an exciting option somewhere down the road!

I write letters

2010-02-03T20:34:00.003-06:00

Dear Molars,
You suck. Why you gotta hurt so much coming in? Moreover, why you gotta come in four at a time? That just seems like unnecessary zealousness on your part. Christ, the Sprout is only ten months old. Surely she doesn't need to get ALL of her teeth this month. Take a break, already!

Sincerely,
The Squab

Dear Evolution,
What the hell? How can it be a good idea for it to hurt like hot pokers in your mouth when your teeth are coming in? I mean, what if we were in the wild and the Sprout, distracted out of her little mind with teething pain, was unable to defend herself from ravening predators? THOSE GENES WOULD NOT BE PASSED ON, NOW, WOULD THEY? In related news, teething pain is making the Sprout so unbelievably cranky that I may soon be returning her to the wild, just so the rest of us can get a decent night's sleep. If Child Protection Services want to know who's responsible, tell them to talk to Charles Darwin.

Regards,
The Squab

An earful

2010-01-20T13:22:00.002-06:00

Mr. Squab and I both had chronic ear infections as children. When I was three I even had my adenoids taken out, and I think I had tubes in my ears more than once. So I just sort of assumed that our kids would be equally susceptible, and was pleasantly surprised when the Hatchling made it through the first three years of her life with only two mild ear infections to show for it.

Then we had the Sprout, and the Hatchling started preschool, and I don't know if either of those facts are relevant, but LORD, we cannot escape the ear infections this year. If it's not one kid, it's the other, and often both at the same time, and while the Sprout just gets kind of cranky and doesn't sleep well with hers, the Hatchling just completely disintegrates. She won't show the first sign of being ill until the pain is so bad she can't cope, and then she has a complete and total meltdown. The first time it happened was on a weekend, so the Hatchling was able to parasitically attach herself to me until the antibiotics kicked in. This time, no such luck. She started melting down yesterday afternoon and kept pathetically asking me to "sit wight here and snuggle wif me," which I mostly could not do because the Sprout is, you know, a BABY, and has not yet mastered the art of self-entertainment.

But the real pathos kicked in today. After an early doctor's appointment this morning, we went to Target to fill her prescriptions. She immediately requested to ride in the cart (unusual); did not want to get out to peruse the toy section (uncommon); did not want to get a treat while the prescription was getting filled (unprecedented); did not want to get McDonald's for lunch (unheard of); and then ASKED to go "night-night" at 11:45 am, after only about 15 minutes of Return of the Jedi (completely wackadoo). She didn't even stir when I went in to put the Sprout down for her nap a few minutes ago. She is, in fact, a pathetic specimen of a Hatchling, and I wish we could win the lottery or something so we *could* both be home and I *could* just hang out with her in the rocking chair all day. (Also, because: LOTTERY! FREE MONEY!) But alas, that winning ticket eludes us and I can only be thankful that she's passed out in her bed and not wailing for me to comfort her while I'm trying to change the baby's diaper. Speaking of which, I believe I'll go try to pass out on my own bed for a few minutes while both kids are unconscious. Here's hoping those antibiotics kick in soon!

While we're at it, I'd also like a chalet in France

2010-01-07T09:47:00.003-06:00

Recent conversation with the Hatchling:

The Hatchling: Mama, I want some CAKE.

Me: We don't have any cake, honey.

The Hatchling: But I want SOME CAKE.

Me: Honey, you only want some cake because you just saw it on Sesame Street. And we don't have any!

The Hatchling: But I NEEEEEED some CAKE! Can you get me some cake?

Me: Well, I need a million dollars. Can you get me a million dollars?

The Hatchling: TEN million dollars.

Me: Sure, that would be even better! Can you get me TEN million dollars?

The Hatchling (walking up to me, putting her hand on my shoulder, and looking at me solemnly): Now, Mama. Do you really think that's a good idea?

Well, hello.

2010-01-06T22:27:00.003-06:00

My mom says I have to put up a new post because every time she checks the blog she gets depressed about my anger issues. Fair point. Also ... uh, how is it that I haven't blogged in a month and a half? That was a longer-than-intended break! I guess traveling for Thanksgiving, hosting two Christmases (Christmasses?), traveling for New Year's, cooking a ton, making a veritable shitload of gifts by hand, shopping, finishing up classes and grading, celebrating five family birthdays, hosting out-of-town guests ... yeah, I guess I can see where the time went, after all. Anyhoo: Happy New Year! Does it bug anyone else that 2010 is being treated as the first year of the new decade rather than the last one of the old decade? No? I mean, I guess it doesn't bother me THAT much. We're not talking misusing-borrow-and-lend levels of bother. Just, you know. It's wrong. That's all. And how are you opting to pronounce the new year? Me, I'm going for the "twenty-ten" option. Goes more trippingly off the tongue.

Did anyone make any New Year's resolutions? I blow hot and cold with them. On the one hand, I hate setting myself up for failure. On the other hand, it is kind of nice to take stock once a year and think about where you want to go. This year I decided against concretely measurable goals (Read a book a week! Exercise daily! Try ten new foods!) in favor of more, uh, abstract pursuits. Basically I have one resolution, if you can call it that: to become more Zen. By which I mean, essentially, to chill the fuck out about things generally, and be kinder to myself, and be more present in the moment. Frankly, making a resolution to be more Zen is a bit oxymoronic if not just flat out moronic, but there it is. I've always been interested in Zen Buddhism and Taoism, in particular, but haven't had much time for it lately. But our pediatrician, who is this great guy with a sarcastic sense of humor and not at all the kind of person you'd think would be into eastern philosophy, is an unlikely Zen devotee, and once he found out I was also interested he started throwing vaguely Buddhist catch-phrases at me when I freak out about parenting things in our appointments. "Expect nothing" is one of his favorites. Like, when I'm all "the girls are going to have to share a bedroom and I don't think it's going to go well and they're just going to wake each other up and none of us will ever get a full night's sleep again but we don't have enough bedrooms for them not to share and what should I do?" He's all, "Expect nothing." And I'm all, "Blink." And he's all, "Just do what you need to do, find out what happens, and respond accordingly." Expect nothing is difficult for me, y'all. I EXPECT THINGS. Mostly baaaad things. Mostly in advance. And not just for myself - I can expect bad things for anyone. And WORRY about it. But I'm really trying to catch myself when I get into trouble-borrowing mode and remind myself to "expect nothing" and just do what I need to do. We'll see how it goes, but I feel like it's a resolution I can manage, that might also improve the quality of my life and the lives of those poor souls who have to live with my anxiety-ridden ass.

So ... is this post less depressing than the previous one? I better throw in a cute baby picture just in case. LOOK! A CUTE BABY!

Parenting FAIL.

2009-11-23T20:48:00.003-06:00

I have a terrible temper. No, really. I'm a pretty patient person, so it takes a lot for me to lose my temper, but when I do ... it's not pretty. I don't know if it's my Prussian forebears or just my own personal inadequacy, but it's a fault I've been working on for years and years. I'm a person of intense feelings, which can be wonderful when you're talking about joy or love or empathy, but when it comes to anger I have a difficult time regaining control once I've lost it.

I come from a family of yellers. Our anger doesn't usually last a long time (I have a hard time sustaining it longer than 30 minutes) and we're not passive-aggressive, thank Maude, but in my family, when you're mad, you yell. When I was a teenager, I had some doozies of yelling matches with my parents - fights that have gone down in family legend and probably caused all of my younger siblings to experience some level of PTSD. We all survived it, but looking back I wish we'd been able to find a way to manage those years with less screaming on everyone's part. However, we didn't, and so - like a lot of you, I'd imagine - my model of parenting consisted of spanking when young and yelling when older. I don't blame anyone for that, mind you - like most parents, my mother and father did the best they could with the tools they had available to them, and, hey, I turned out OK. I just wonder if there was another way, sometimes.

It's something I've really been trying to come to terms with as I parent my own kids. The spanking thing has been pretty easy to avoid. Not that I don't understand the impulse, but it's something we decided not to do a long time ago, and the social pressure against it (at least in our parenting and peer circles) reinforces that decision. The yelling/losing of temper issue has been much more difficult. It wasn't until sometime this last year that I even seriously considered that it might be possible to parent (mostly) without yelling. Not in a repress-your-emotions-and-go-insane kind of way, but in a head-it-off-at-the-pass kind of way. I do know that yelling is rarely effective for me. I do know that I hate to see the Hatchling mimicking my or Mr. Squab's angry behavior (with her dolls, for example). So I've been thinking about it, and trying some different techniques, and seeing what I can do about controlling my epic temper, particularly in the area of parenting.

I've been having a particularly difficult time with it this autumn, as all of our tempers have been tried by the ridiculous cycle of illness we've been experiencing, in addition to which the Hatchling is clearly entering into a "disequilibrium" phase and is trying my patience to the utmost on her bad days. This afternoon was a real nadir. Both the Hatchling and the Sprout woke up from their naps in absolutely foul moods, which in the Sprout's case manifested itself in nonstop cranky fussing, and in the Hatchling's case manifested itself in vicious temper tantrums approximately every five minutes. EVERYTHING was wrong and EVERYTHING was my fault. Make her ask for things politely? TANTRUM. Give her the snack she just asked for? TANTRUM. Ask her to pick up the toy she just threw at your head? TANTRUM. Turn on her favorite movie in the hope that it will calm her down? TANTRUM. You get the idea. Lots of "NO!" and "IT'S NOT FAIR!" and general "AAAAAAAAHHHH!" And I just ... Could. Not. Take it. I tried patient reasoning. I tried calmly giving her options. I really, really tried. And then I started yelling. And then I found myself in the kitchen, slamming the stainless steel coffee pot on the counter to relieve my feelings. And finally, I put on a jacket and put the Sprout in her warm fleece and told the Hatchling that we were going outside to wait for Daddy and she could come if she wanted. And when she started pitching a fit about getting on her shoes and jacket, I just took the baby, and walked out to sit on the back steps.

We were out there for all of about five minutes, and I left the doors open so I could hear what was going on. But oh, it felt like failure. I was sick to my stomach afterward and I still feel totally deflated and defeated. Because, you know: SHE'S THREE. Of course she's going to have bad, tantrum-y afternoons. And I know it's just because she's going through some kind of mental growth spurt, and this is how it works, and in a few weeks or (ack) months I'll have my happy girl back on a more full-time basis. She's three: she gets to act that way. Not without consequences, sure, but three-year-olds get a pass on losing control of themselves occasionally. Thirty-eight-year-olds, not so much.

Why is it so hard? What can I do to get better? I know you'll tell me to cut myself some slack, and I do - I'm not interested in being anything like a perfect parent, even if that were possible. But I really don't want to lose it again like I did today, or, god forbid, even worse. (I mean, if a three-year-old can punch my buttons this hard, what the hell will I do with two teenagers?) There has to be a better way. Anyone have any tips?

Srsly. I am not even kidding.

2009-11-20T14:46:00.004-06:00

So I was all set this morning to post something a little cheerier and, uh, less purgative (HA!) than the previous post, since all of us seemed to be well on the road to recovery after our hellish session with the zombie death flu. Mr. Squab went off to work and I was just going to take the girls for a quick check at the doctor's office to make sure there were no major secondary infections (both girls had been pretty stuffy with a nagging cough).

Turns out the Hatchling has an ear infection in her right ear.

The Sprout has a double ear infection.

And to top it off, while we were over at a friend's house for lunch trying to ignore said ear infections and enjoying the amazing weather in her backyard, the Sprout barfed - repeatedly - all over the patio. So when we thought that she had gotten off with a lighter version of the bug? Yeah, not so much.

The kicker is that while the Sprout was puking on herself, me and the patio furniture, my first reaction was not, Christ, here we go again or Oh, poor baby, or even Why does the universe hate us? but rather Hey! we're outside where we can just hose everything down! Maybe our luck is finally turning!

Y'all: when your eight-month-old ralphing on your friend's cobblestone pavers is the best thing that's happened to you in a week, you know you have seriously hit rock bottom. We are officially at the point of absurdity. Anything else is just grist for the mill.

Getting a Sick Day

2009-11-17T12:36:00.004-06:00

So remember back when I was bitching about how the suckiest part of being a SAHM is no sick days? Well, little did I realize that we, too, can have them, just by following these few simple steps:

Catch your three-year-old's vicious stomach virus, which turns your entire insides into liquid.
Spend evening from 5 pm to 11:30 pm violently retching every 15 minutes, incidentally scaring the bejeezus out of said three-year-old. (Hard to reassure someone that you're OK when you're puking your guts out. Hatchling: Mama, oh no! What's wrong, Mama? Me: BLAEAHHEHGHRHG. (brightly) Mama's fine, honey! Mama just feels a little sick! BLOURHGEAHRGHG. Hatchling: Mama!! (crying hysterically) Me: It's ok, honey, Mama's ok! Can you hand Mama the wipes?)
Get up approx. every 45 minutes, all night long, to, um, well, basically vomit from the other end, if you know what I'm saying.
Pray frequently for death or at least coma.
Spend next day in bed with intense body aches, a fever, and a fear of solid foods, too tired to even read. (Which, if you know me, is like being too tired to breathe or something.)

See? Just five easy steps and your longed-for sick day can actually come to pass. Though frankly, if I'm being honest, I gotta say it's not really worth it.

Sunday Recipe Blogging

2009-11-01T21:22:00.002-06:00

Things are better. I'm almost totally healthy, Mr. Squab's foot is on the mend, and the Hatchling and the Sprout are vastly improved. Plus, my team won today and I invented a really yummy soup. As a cook, I'd say that soups and casseroles are my forte - I'm a one-dish-meal kind of gal - but usually I'm working from some kind of recipe even if I alter most of the steps. This is the first time I've ever actually created a recipe from scratch, so I was quite pleased that it turned out. I loooooove pumpkin dishes, especially in the autumn, and I'm a sucker for a nice, hearty soup. Trust me, this one will definitely fill you up. Another bonus: it would be just as delicious as a vegan soup as it is with meat, so it's nice and versatile. See what you think:

Curried Pumpkin-Lentil Soup

8 cups broth (chicken, veggie, whatev.)
1 c. lentils
1 large onion, diced
1 1/2 c. sweet potato, diced (about 1 medium sweet potato)
1 1/2 c. carrots, sliced
2 15 oz. cans pumpkin
1 lb chicken breast, cubed (optional)
2 T curry powder
1 T powdered ginger
1 t garlic powder
1 T Sriracha or other hot sauce (to taste)
Sour cream for garnish

1. Put broth and lentils into a crock pot on high.

2. Saute onion, carrots, sweet potato, 1 T curry powder and 1/2 T ginger in the olive oil on medium heat until soft. Add to crock pot. Add both cans of pumpkin.

3. Toss chicken breast with remaining spices, garlic powder, and Sriracha. Saute over medium heat in the pan left over from the veggies. Add additional oil if necessary (I didn't need to, but I was using a nonstick pan.) When chicken is fully cooked, set aside.

4. Once lentils are soft, or an hour or so before serving, use an immersion blender to puree the soup until it is fairly uniform in texture. (If you don't have an immersion blender, use a potato masher - the soup will be chunkier, but that's OK. Or, you know, get an immersion blender. Seriously! They are awesome!)

5. Add chicken to pureed soup and reduce heat to low. Cook at least 1 hour or up to, I dunno, all day?

6. Serve hot with a dollop of sour cream and crusty bread on the side. SO. GOOD.

**Vegetarian/Vegan option: Use veggie broth; add all the spices and hot sauce to the onion/carrot/sweet potato mix instead of dividing them between the veggies and the meat, and if you're vegan, skip the sour cream or use a vegan substitute. Easy Peasy.

**Quick option: do it on the stovetop instead of in a crock pot - bring the broth and lentils to a boil, then reduce heat and let them simmer for about 20 minutes while you prepare and cook the veggies. By the time the veggies are done, the lentils will be soft and you can puree at will, and add the chicken as soon as it's cooked.

Clearly, we're having some karmic problems here

2009-10-25T21:28:00.003-05:00

So I've been sick for basically the last three and a half weeks, much of the time the kind of sick where you're really only fit for lying on the sofa and drinking hot tea. (I'm still not completely over it, but I have returned to functionality.) Now, usually when I get sick, I like to cut myself some slack for a few days, rest up, push fluids and recover, and then get back into the swing of things. This works pretty well for your average 5-7 day cold. Not so much with a three week fucker of a virus. This past month, even when I've been feeling my worst, I've still had to take care of the girls, ferry people around to preschool and playgroups, run errands, teach classes, go to meetings, etc. I've canceled when and where I could, but my life is currently arranged such that there's not a lot of wiggle room for cancellations. I have, in other words, been "pushing through" and "soldiering on," even though I am really not a "soldiering on" kind of squab. More of a "civilian-ing off" kind of one, actually.

The unpleasant side-effect of this unwonted stoicism has been that I've been madder than a wet hen pretty much all month. I mean, ANGRY. Angry about everything. Angry that I can't get un-sick, angry that the weather is so damn cold and wet, angry that we don't have any money and the kids need winter coats and boots and none of my shoes fit since the baby and all my clothes are cheap and ill-fitting, angry that being tired and sick all the time makes me an ill-tempered and impatient parent, angry that I haven't gotten any writing done in weeks and months, angry that I don't get any sick days, angry that I feel like I'm half-assing everything I do, as a parent, as a wife, as a teacher, as a friend, angry that I'm being whiny and annoying all the time, angryangryangry. And I guess maybe anger is a better response to crap than depression, but not by much.

So as I usually do when I'm having a problem, after stewing on it unproductively and no doubt alienating my friends with my bitching, I talked about it with Mr. Squab. "I'm angry all the time," I said, "and I know it's not fair, because you're already doing more than your share, and I feel terrible about that all the time too, but I can't keep being angry like this." And we talked about ways that I could get some kind of break if I really need one, and things to do to make me feel less crazy, and Mr. Squab said all the things that truly superior partners say and I felt like, okay, I can make it through this. I can't be sick forever, and things will be all right.

The next night (Friday) Mr. Squab sprained his ankle trying to avoid stepping on the cat.

Saturday the Hatchling had a complete breakdown while we were at an out of town birthday celebration, and we spent two hours at a local urgent care clinic diagnosing a raging ear infection.

Today I woke up with the entire right side of my head stuffed up, and the Sprout is either coming down with something or teething.

Breaks. I would like one.

Friday Poetry Blogging

2009-10-16T08:20:00.001-05:00

Halloween's coming ...

Macbeth, Act IV, Scene I
by William Shakespeare

The three witches, casting a spell

Round about the cauldron go;
In the poison’d entrails throw.
Toad, that under cold stone
Days and nights hast thirty one
Swelter’d venom sleeping got,
Boil thou first i’ the charmed pot.

Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.

Fillet of a fenny snake,
In the cauldron boil and bake;
Eye of newt, and toe of frog,
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog,
Adder’s fork, and blind-worm’s sting,
Lizard’s leg, and howlet’s wing,
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.

Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.

Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf,
Witches’ mummy, maw and gulf
Of the ravin’d salt-sea shark,
Root of hemlock digg’d i’ the dark,
Liver of blaspheming Jew,
Gall of goat, and slips of yew
Sliver’d in the moon’s eclipse,
Nose of Turk, and Tartar’s lips,
Finger of birth-strangled babe
Ditch-deliver’d by a drab,
Make the gruel thick and slab:
Add thereto a tiger’s chaudron,
For the ingredients of our cauldron.

Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.

I write letters

2009-10-12T15:24:00.003-05:00

Dear Minnesota,

WTF, Minnesota? Really? Snow TWICE before the first two weeks of October are up? That's how you're gonna play it this year? It wasn't bad enough to have one of the coldest summers on record, you gotta fuck up autumn, too? You KNOW autumn is everyone's favorite season. Don't give me that look. You know exactly what you're doing. You like making me crazy, don't you? Last winter nearly killed me what with the pregs and the toddler and ALL THE FUCKING SNOW but I thought, hey, this coming winter is supposed to be mild! Surely this godforsaken state can give me a goddamn break just ONCE in the weather department. But no. You've made your position plain. There will be no breaks. There will only be cold. And snow. And freezing winds. And chilling damp. You don't want me to live here, do you? I'm getting your message, loud and clear: MOVE SOMEWHERE ELSE, BITCH. Well, you know what? Right about now, nothing would make me happier, but financial reasons prevent me from making it so. Also, I happen to have a lot of wonderful friends and family members here and a great moms-network and ties to the local theatre community and I will move on MY OWN TIME, not yours, you stupid arctic tundra of a has-been territory. So knock it the fuck off, or so help me, I will CUT YOU.

Sincerely yours,
The Squab

Friday Poetry Blogging

2009-09-25T14:49:00.001-05:00

In honor of autumn:

These Green-Going-to-Yellow
by Marvin Bell

This year,
I'm raising the emotional ante,
putting my face
in the leaves to be stepped on,
seeing myself among them, that is;
that is, likening
leaf-vein to artery, leaf to flesh,
the passage of a leaf in autumn
to the passage of autumn,
branch-tip and winter spaces
to possibilities, and possibility
to God. Even on East 61st Street
in the blowzy city of New York,
someone has planted a gingko
because it has leaves like fans like hands,
hand-leaves, and sex. Those lovely
Chinese hands on the sidewalks
so far from delicacy
or even, perhaps, another gender of gingko--
do we see them?
No one ever treated us so gently
as these green-going-to-yellow hands
fanned out where we walk.
No one ever fell down so quietly
and lay where we would look
when we were tired or embarrassed,
or so bowed down by humanity
that we had to watch out lest our shoes stumble,
and looked down not to look up
until something looked like parts of people
where we were walking. We have no
experience to make us see the gingko
or any other tree,
and, in our admiration for whatever grows tall
and outlives us,
we look away, or look at the middles of things,
which would not be our way
if we truly thought we were gods.

Cats, man. Cats.

2009-09-23T15:07:00.002-05:00

Two tewtelly ass-ome cat videos, introduced to me by my students.

Munchkin Cat. OMG teh cutes will killz u.

Kittens Inspired by Kittens. This is totally something I can see the Hatchling doing in about a year.

There. YOU'RE WELCOME.

Preventing sexual assault: Tips guaranteed to work!

2009-09-22T13:33:00.002-05:00

Love this.

Please distribute this list. Put it up in your place of work, in your university’s library or wherever you think they might be read:

1. Don’t put drugs in people’s drinks in order to control their behavior.

2. When you see someone walking by themselves, leave them alone!

3. If you pull over to help someone with car problems, remember not to assault them!

4. NEVER open an unlocked door or window uninvited.

5. If you are in an elevator and someone else gets in, DON’T ASSAULT THEM!

6. Remember, people go to laundry to do their laundry, do not attempt to molest someone who is alone in a laundry room.

7. USE THE BUDDY SYSTEM! If you are not able to stop yourself from assaulting people, ask a friend to stay with you while you are in public.

8. Always be honest with people! Don’t pretend to be a caring friend in order to gain the trust of someone you want to assault. Consider telling them you plan to assault them. If you don’t communicate your intentions, the other person may take that as a sign that you do not plan to rape them.

9. Don’t forget: you can’t have sex with someone unless they are awake!

10. Carry a whistle! If you are worried you might assault someone “on accident” you can hand it to the person you are with, so they can blow it if you do.

Via. (h/t to my mom)

Bedtime Stories

2009-09-20T21:46:00.003-05:00

Last night. Bedtime. Had battled various bugs in the bedroom earlier in the day and Mr. Squab had to get rid of a spider on the ceiling right above the bed just before we got in. I have a bug phobia.

Me: Can I snuggle with you? (Mr. Squab lifts arm to make the snuggle niche available.) Ummmm ... can you tell me a story?

Mr Squab: (rolls eyes) What are you, five? Why?

Me: I don't want to dream about bugs!! I need some other images in my head!

Mr. Squab: (pause) Once upon a time there was a little boy named Harold who liked to poop in people's yards ...

Me: (snorting with suppressed laughter) What the hell kind of story is THAT? I don't want to dream about poop, either!

Mr. Squab: You asked for a story.

Me: (pause; can't help self) Well, what happened with Harold? Why did he poop in people's yards?

Mr. Squab: If he liked you, he'd leave a log in your yard.

Me: But what did the neighbors say?

Mr. Squab: They didn't say anything. (long pause)

Me: But ... that's not a story! What happened after THAT?

Mr. Squab: Harold died.

Me: Of what?

Mr. Squab: Constipation.

Me: (nearly helpless with laughter, as is Mr. Squab) Oh, my god. That is the worst story ever. There is something wrong with you.

Mr. Squab: Sweet dreams.

Friday Poetry Blogging

2009-09-11T14:10:00.003-05:00

There was a time, both on this blog and on past efforts, when I regularly posted a poem on Fridays. Cos I like poetry, and it's fun to share my favorites. I think I stopped from sheer inertia, but today I was going through some boxes of old stuff and found the book eWAC made for me for my 18th birthday, which has a lot of great poems in it, so I thought I'd maybe start up again. The poem below is posted in honor of our dear Governor Tim Pawlenty, who indicated in a conference call yesterday that he may invoke the 10th Amendment to prevent any of Obama's healthcare reforms from taking effect in MN. Glad to know you, Tim.

Go West Young Man
by James Laughlin

Yessir they're all named
either Ken or Stan or Don
every one of them and
those aren't just nick-
names either no they're
really christened like
that just Ken or Stan or
Don and you shake hands
with anybody you run into
no matter who the hell
it is and say "glad to
know you Ken glad to
know you Don" and then
two minutes later (you
may not have said ten
words to the guy) you
shake hands again and
say "glad to have met
you Stan glad to" and
they haven't heard much
about Marx and the class
struggle because they
haven't had to and by
god it makes a country
that is fit to live in
and by god I'm glad to
know you Don I'm glad!

File this under "Things That are Awesome"

2009-09-09T14:06:00.004-05:00

Picked up the Hatchling from her second day of preschool this morning (verdict: still loving it), and as soon as the Sprout saw her big sister, her face totally lit up with a HUGE grin. Then they spend virtually the entire ride home just looking at each other and laughing, while the Hatchling kept saying, "I so glad to know you're here!"

Hoo. That's the good stuff. Now here are some cute pictures:

The First Day of School

She just at a lot of cookie dough. Sugar high?

I find that having two small girls on the counter is a real aid to cookie-baking

Here's a little video of the Sprout in her bouncing contraption. MAN, I wish they made these for adults.

Steal This Message

2009-09-07T22:03:00.002-05:00

My friend J.B., father and longtime Democratic operative, is sending his kids to school tomorrow with the following permission slip:

"Despite the warnings of right-wing radio hosts, and fully cognizant that my daughter risks learning a lesson in civics, I, nonetheless, grant her permission to watch a televised address by the duly-elected leader of these United States, President Barack Obama, on the controversial subject of the importance of school."

I so wish my kids were old enough that I could steal this for them.

School Daze

2009-09-03T21:59:00.003-05:00

The Hatchling is starting preschool next week; this week she visited her class and met her teacher on Tuesday, and today there was a 1-hour "practice" session so the kids could get used to getting dropped off and the whole class routine. There were lots of nervous/excited parents and a couple of freaked out kids, but mostly it was a festival of cute. The Hatchling was very excited to get there and seemed OK when I left; I took the Sprout on a little grocery trip, and then headed back to the school to pick the Hatchling up. Got there and the classroom doors were still closed, lots of parents milling about in the halls. The doors open, and the teacher (Miss Jenny) comes out and says, "normally we'll just send them out to you, but they're pretty overwhelmed today, so if you want to come in and get them, you can." There's a surge of anxious kids out the door looking for their parental units ... No Hatchling. The Sprout and I make our way into the class, and way over in the corner farthest from the door sits the Hatchling and a little boy in earnest conversation.

"Hi, Boo!" I say. "Whatcha doing?"

"Um, I'm just talkin' about dinosaurs wif my friend, Mama."

Well, OK then. After showing me the entire classroom and reluctantly agreeing to leave the dinosaurs and the magnifying glasses and the toy trucks at school, the Hatchling was persuaded to leave the room. On our way out, I asked Miss Jenny how the Hatchling had done. Miss Jenny rolled her eyes and laughed. "Oh, she's going to be FINE. Totally made herself at home."

That's my girl.

Funny. Gross, but Funny.

2009-08-13T13:22:00.004-05:00

So the Hatchling is, for all intents and purposes, potty trained. Which: THANK GOD, because if I'd had to keep her home from preschool for still being in diapers, we both would have lost it. But I must say, it's engendered some interesting conversations. For one thing, poop is now, like, the funniest word/concept/joke EVAR. Asked what her baby doll's name was this morning, she responded "Poo-poo!" and laughed like a maniac. Oh, the hilarity.

And then there was this gem: she'd gone #2 in the downstairs porta-potty, so after we wiped and pulled up her underwear, I went to grab the potty so I could go upstairs and empty it in the toilet. The Hatchling, however, was not having any of it. SHE would carry the poop. Only SHE could do it. So, okay, we go to the stairs and I have several heart attacks as she precariously makes her way up, but she does it, and then she goes over to the toilet, dumps the poop in, leans over, looks down, and says, "THERE! Now you can swim!"

I don't even want to KNOW the mental process, y'all. I don't even want to know.

Well, there goes my mother of the week award.

2009-08-10T14:07:00.003-05:00

You know how, when you have a baby, there are all these WARNINGS about things? Most of which involve never leaving your child unattended? Especially when they're infants? Because they might fall? But of course when they're newborns they can't really move at all so you sort of can leave them unattended even though you shouldn't, and maybe you kind of push that luck a little too long and your 5 month old thrashes around until she sort of slides/falls out of the chair you had her propped up in? While you were (arrrgh) checking your email!?!?!!

Yeah. That might have happened to me today.

(Good thing babies have such hard heads.)

Sunday Fluff

2009-08-09T22:19:00.002-05:00

So something about the death of director John Hughes really feels like the end of an era for us Gen X'ers. I mean, the man's movies pretty much defined "cool" for most of us, and I can still personally quote entire scenes from Sixteen Candles and Ferris Bueller's Day Off. So I started thinking about other movies that significantly contributed to my ideas of what teen life could (or should) be. I limited myself to movies that were released before I graduated from high school (1989). Here are my top ten, in no particular order:

1. Meatballs
2. Caddyshack
3. Sixteen Candles
4. The Breakfast Club
5. Ferris Bueller's Day Off
6. Vacation
7. Say Anything
8. Dirty Dancing
9. Pretty in Pink
10. Grease

What's on your list?

Tab Dump

2009-08-07T14:03:00.004-05:00

Some interesting stuff from around the interwebs, aka LazyBlogging:

This is the kind of thing I think the internet was designed for. Beautiful.

The Carnival of Feminist Parenting.

A beginning annotated bibliography of Doubt.

This is EXACTLY what I think about the Harry Potter movies.

Speaking of which, these are the best damn interviews with the Harry Potter cast EVER. So lovely.

This makes me so angry I could cry.

An online gallery for the British Library? Yes, please.

John Hughes' teenage pen-pal recalls his correspondence.

Tired.

2009-08-06T09:14:00.004-05:00

Well, hello. Ahem. Anybody still out there? Soooo ... it's been awhile. I guess I needed a break or something. Actually, that would be "or something" because it's not so much that I needed a break from blogging (I mentally narrate my day in blog posts; it's sad) as it is ... other stuff. Part of it was the realization that many of my posts were causing concern among certain friends and family members as to my mental and emotional stability. I mean, I don't want to make people think I'm about to go over the edge, here! And part of it was the realization that lately I've been feeling a lot like I'm about to go over the edge, here.

My stock answer when people ask me what it's like, having two kids, is "It's kicking my ass!" This is said - and meant - semi-jocularly, but the fact of the matter is that it's also objectively true about 75% of the time. I constantly feel frazzled, stretched too thin, unfocused, inadequate, lacking direction, dysfunctional, and frustrated. In short, I am a BUSHEL BASKET OF FUN these days. Whoo. During one of my recent meltdowns, I explained to Mr. Squab that I don't feel like I'm living up to my own (dwindling) standards in any aspect of my life right now: I'm not being the kind of mother I want to be, I'm not being a good partner to Mr. Squab, I'm completely overwhelmed even by minimal housework, I'm not making any progress in my professional life, and god knows I'm not taking great care of myself. My inner honors student is appalled at my inability to Get. Anything. Done. And while cognitively I'm aware that this, too, shall pass, I've been spending too much time lately feeling hopeless and dissatisfied. Which, let's face it, is not the most fun way to be in the world. Also it is booooorrrrrriiiiiiiiinnnnnnggggg to talk about.

Mr. Squab, who I should say right now is basically a saint, pointed out that almost all of my funk can be traced back to one overarching cause: the lack of sleep. The Sprout, like her sister before her, wakes up every two hours all night long. Every night. Sometimes even more often than that. During the day, she takes wee naps in the morning and then a longer nap - as long as three hours, sometimes - in the afternoon, while the Hatchling sleeps. Which means that for the last five months I have not slept for longer than maybe three hours at one go ... uh, at all. When the Hatchling was this same age, I was also profoundly sleep-deprived, but at least I could sleep whenever she did all through the day if I was really out of it. No such luck with two! And as any veteran parent can attest, after a few months of completely inadequate rest, you start to get a little psycho, and the worst of it is that you're too tired to remember that fatigue is the source of your misery. I casually mentioned the Sprout's poor sleeping habits at my weekly playgroup recently, and everyone immediately offered sympathy, remarking on how rough it is, how much you lose your mind, how everything goes all to hell when you're so, so, so, so tired. It was like a revelation: Oh, yeah! That IS why I feel so shitty! Because I NEVER GET ANY SLEEP. It's not that I'm an inadequate person! I'm just an inadequately rested person!

This realization does not, of course, help me get any more sleep - that will have to wait for sleep training in a month - but it does make me feel a little bit better about being such a mess. Because, really, I'm doing fine: I have lovely children and a wonderful partner and a good support system and a roof over my head and enough to eat etc., etc. I'm just bloody tired, is all.

Preschoolers: adding surreality to every waking moment.

2009-07-16T14:34:00.003-05:00

This morning, the Hatchling was playing with a friend in the friend's backyard, which is dominated by a very large maple tree. "Oh, wookit," said the Hatchling, gazing fondly up the enormous tree trunk. "Monsters."

"Wow, there are monsters in that tree?" I reply. "Cool. How many monsters are there?"

"Dey up inda TREE, mama. Wookit. Dere's some bones, and dere's some bodies, and dere's some healthy snacks!"

Status updates I have considered putting on Facebook today

2009-07-07T21:23:00.003-05:00

Elise has really had it.

Elise swears to god, if she hits one more red light she is going to hurt someone.

Elise is reaching the end of her tether.

Elise would sell her ovaries for a kid who sleeps and/or does not scream at pitches just below what only a dog can hear.

Elise is about to pull a Nora.

Elise would just like to be able to DRIVE somewhere ONCE without needing EARPLUGS to block the SCREAMING.

Elise is DONE. DONE, I tell you.

Elise would like to know just who she pissed off, so she can tell them she's sorry already!

Elise is getting her ass handed to her on a plate by two girls who can't read or use a toilet.

Elise wishes she was handling things better. Or at all.

Love this.

2009-06-23T22:40:00.001-05:00

via Shakesville.

Sweet Tap-Dancing Jesus, this is awesome

2009-06-20T13:22:00.003-05:00

Someday, when my children are teenagers and start wondering aloud why I'm so weird all the time, I will show them this video. Because, frankly, once you've seen a musical version of Star Wars starring Donnie and Marie with cameos by Redd Foxx as Obi-Wan, Kris Kristofferson as Han Solo, Paul Lynde(!) as Grand Moff Tarkin, the actual Chewie, C-3PO and R2-D2, and a chorus line of Storm-Troopers and their Fem-Bot counter parts, you understand a helluva lot more about growing up in the late 70s. Srsly. So grab a Fanta, plop down in your beanbag chair, and enjoy ten minutes of jaw-dropping vintage weirdness. Because when *I* was a kid, *this* was prime-time television. (thanks to cwethern for the link!)

Christ, how did it get to be Friday already?

2009-06-19T11:04:00.002-05:00

The house is a mess, they're doing road work so the water is turned off all day, the kids are extra cranky, it's like a sauna outside, and all I really wanna do is take a long nap in my air-conditioned bedroom.

Oh, plus I wanna move to France. Via Kevin Drum:

Matt Yglesias translates some questions from Le Bac, France's college admission test/high school leaving exam. These are from the philosophy test:

— Does objectivity in history presuppose the impartiality of the historian?

— Does language betray thought?

— Explicate an excerpt from Schopenhauer’s The World as Will and Representation

— Are there questions that are un-answerable by science?

I mean, I know I'm an elitist liberal pinko commie treehugger, and I know comparisons are odious and all, but honestly: can you IMAGINE such questions on any kind of high school test in the US? 'Cause I sure can't.

Apparently my life is currently incompatible with blogging

2009-06-15T20:40:00.005-05:00

It's not like things haven't been happening. The Sprout turned 3 months old, the Hatchling is coming up with new catchphrases and other awesomeness all the time, Mr. Squab and I celebrated our 7th anniversary, I finished rereading the entire Harry Potter series - I mean, the days are filled. Just not so much with the blogging. However, I know I need to post a 3 month letter for the Sprout, and we also have some lovely videos in the hopper, so, um ... stay tuned!! Look! Cute pictures!

Daily Inventory

2009-06-03T13:14:00.002-05:00

So far today, the Hatchling has:

1. Pushed one of her friends at playgroup;

2. Thrown sand in the face of another friend;

3. Pitched fits about various trivial things;

4. Peed through her pull-up and all over Mr. Squab's recliner (the fourth such incident in two days).

I think the age of three is trying to kill me, y'all.

Recap of our trip to the grocery store with the baby, aka the first time the Hatchling has been out of the cart the whole time

2009-06-02T13:03:00.004-05:00

Me: OK, now, remember, the Sprout has to ride in the cart so you get to walk and help Mama with the groceries. You have to stay with Mama, OK? NO running away, right?

Hatchling: OK, Mama. I helpa get gwocewies.

Me: Right. You help.

Sprout: A-bah.

Me: OK, let's see what we need for fruit ... do you want some bananas? (She's only been asking for them 10 times a day since we ran out.)

Hatchling: Ummmm ... no fanks. Oh, WOOK! Tomayoes!

Me: (grabbing bananas, distracted) Uh-huh, that's right - ok, put it back, Boo. Put it back on the pile.

The Hatchling puts the tomato back on the top of the heap, and it rolls down and falls on the floor.

Hatchling: Uh-oh.

Me: That's ok ... (surreptitiously places it back on the pile) ... Now don't touch anything, OK? Just look. No touch.

Hatchling: Wookit, Mama! Apple! (She holds out a pomegranate.)

Me: No, that's a ... never mind. Put it back. No touching, right? Just LOOK.

Sprout: MAH!

Hatchling: OK, Mama. I get-a bwoccoli. I be riiiiight back.

Me: Honey, don't - you really want broccoli, huh? Well, I guess that's a good thing to want. OK. Look, don't touch all of the - just bring me that one. THAT ONE. (The Hatchling walks towards me with a clump of dripping wet broccoli.) Good, good job. Here, I'll take it.

Hatchling: NO! I PUTTA INDA CART!!

Me: Honey, we have to put a bag on it first.

Hatchling: INDA CART!!!!!!

Me: Yes, we'll PUT it in the cart, but FIRST we have to put a bag on it. See? It's all wet.

Hatchling: All wet!

Me: Thank you. OK, now we need to go down this way for some cereal ...

Hatchling: I WUV ceweal!

Me: I know you -

Hatchling: Oh, WOOK! BAWOONS!

Me: Boo, stay here! We'll look at the balloons later! Honey ... (grabs cereal, parks cart and Sprout in corner) Come on, Boo. You have to stay with me, remember? (Hatchling darts through flag display, I knock it over trying to reach her) Ack! (grabs Hatchling with one hand, picks up flags with the other) Now come on. We'll look at the balloons when we're all done. Let's find the milk, OK?

Hatchling: What's dat?

Me: That's crackers.

Hatchling: Get some?

Me: Uh, yeah, I guess we do need some crackers.

Hatchling: What's dat?

Me: That's gouda. It's a kind of cheese.

Hatchling: I WUV-A CHEESE! Get some?

Me: No, you don't like that kind. Come on, here's the milk. (grabs milk, tries to head back to registers)

Hatchling: What's dat?

Me: Those are lightbulbs, honey. Come on, it's time to go pay for our stuff.

Hatchling: What's dat? What's dat WIGHT DERE, Mama?

Me: (increasingly beleagured) I don't ... those are cookies, honey.

Hatchling: COOOOOKIES. (She says this exactly like Cookie Monster) Getta some coooooookies, Mama? Get some wight DERE? I WUV-A coooooookies.

Sprout: Ga gooo. Ggggoo.

Me: Fine. (grabs cookies, dumps in cart) Now let's GO. Come on! (enticingly) Let's go look at the balloons!!

Hatchling: (brightly) OK! (runs off in the direction of the balloons)

Bag Boy: Wow, she's a real cutie. How old?

Me: (smiling, fatally turning attention away from the Hatchling) She's three, and the little one is two months. (notices Hatchling completely entangled in various balloon strings) Honey ... argh ... (leaves cart and Sprout at register) come here, let's get you untangled ...

Hatchling: I stuck, Mama.

Me: No kidding. OK, now let's go get our groc-

Hatchling: I NEEDA BAWOON!! MY BAWOON, MAMA!! (Grabs four graduation themed balloons tightly in fist.)

Me: Christ. Look, how about we get this one? Just ONE, ok? And put the rest back.

Hatchling: (brightly) OK! (Marches back to cart with her rainbow happy birthday balloon in hand.)

Grocery Clerk: (smirking) One balloon, then?

Me: (sheepishly) Yeah. Thanks.

Hatchling: OK, Mama! Time to go to car. Say bye-bye!

Sprout: geh-GA.
**********************

Final Score: Hatchling = Eleventy Billion, Me = Zero. Once the Sprout can play I am truly doomed.

Happiness is ...

2009-05-30T22:31:00.003-05:00

1.) Taking the kids on a nice walk to a fun family event in the beautiful morning weather.

2.) Getting to see a great movie, on opening weekend, in 3D, with your favorite date.

3.) Having friends who are big enough suckers to agree to watch both your 3 year old and your 2 month old while you attend said movie. And who are awesome enough to cope with an infant freak out and live to tell the tale. (It is soooooooo nice having friends with kids the same age as yours.)

4.) Enjoying an impromptu pizza on the patio in the backyard of said friends' house, watching the kids run around wearing each other out while you enjoy a beer.

THAT is a good Saturday.

I write letters

2009-05-28T13:59:00.003-05:00

Dear Teacher at the School Where Our Weekly Toddler Class Is Held,

If you see a harried-looking mother trying unsuccessfully to calm an infant who is screaming like her eyes are being stabbed out with red-hot pokers, it is perhaps not the ideal time to strike up a conversation with said mother about how cute the baby's outfit is and you assume it's a girl and what a lovely name! etc., because I DO NOT HAVE THE BRAIN SPACE to engage in social niceties while my baby girl is having a complete and total conniption fit. You absolute moron.

Warmest regards,

The Squab

I have no idea where she gets it

2009-05-24T13:09:00.003-05:00

The Hatchling has been especially dramatic lately, because, well, she's three and all, and everything is a big deal, for better or worse. A lot of the dramatics are real, by which I mean that she's really feeling INCREDIBLY HAPPY or INCREDIBLY ANGRY or INCREDIBLY SAD about something, but she's also started to do faux emotions as a kind of game or to get attention. Mostly, her father and I find this annoying and/or tiring, but sometimes it gives me the giggles.

This afternoon, for example, after we'd had a semi-exhausting trip to Target ("Want to get down, Mama? Get outta cart? Get DOWN, Mama? DOWN??? Want treat? I NEEDA treat! I NEEDAWANTA TREAT!!!!!!! etc.) she had finished lunch and it was getting close to naptime.

"Are you ready for naps, Boo?" her father asked.

"Nooooooooo, no, no, no, no." the Hatchling explained.

"Ok, well, pretty soon it's time to go upstairs for naps."

The Hatchling starts spiraling around the living room, faux crying/whimpering. Because she's so tired. And sad. And forlorn. And also tired and sad. Mr. Squab decided to cut his losses and play along.

"Awwwwww, are you so sad? Ready to go night-night?"

The Hatchling looks even more pitiful. "Okay, Daddy."

"Then go give Mama hugs and kisses."

The Hatchling approaches me with a faraway look on her face, embraces me, kisses me, and backs away slowly, sorrowfully. "Good-bye, Mama," she intones, waving her hand as if it takes the last bit of strength she has, finally turning to drift up the staircase. It was like fucking Camille in the final throes of galluping consumption. Christ.

We can only hope that she channels this ability to lucrative ends at some future point. God knows it hasn't worked for me yet.

Random Tidbits for the weekend

2009-05-23T17:17:00.003-05:00

1. The Sprout has decided to try on being a fussy baby for the last two days. The mellow thing is SO last week. Apparently. This is not contributing to a positive mental state in her mama, who is finding herself really, really, really looking forward to being a mother of two girls about three years from now.*

2. It is (finally) a GORGEOUS spring day outside, and what's more, I actually got out to enjoy it a little. Went to the plant store and got several nice perennials to put in the front yard, and a truckload of mulch. Was kicked out of the house to go on said errand by Mr. Squab on the theory that a little kid-free time amid flowers and sunshine would perk me up. And he was right, as he so often is.

3. I CANNOT BELIEVE that Adam Lambert didn't win American Idol. WTF, America? Was it the eyeliner that put you off? Or the fact that he has more talent in his manicured pinky than you have in your whole vanilla bourgeois body? Feh.

4. I will soooooo be watching Glee this fall. Cheesy? Hell, yes, but I was a big-time choir kid in high school and it's worth the cheese just for the trip down memory lane.

5. My 20th high school reunion is coming up this summer. How did THAT happen so fast? I keep getting requests to send my address to the organizers so they can send me the invitation. Which I guess I'll do, since I don't want to be anti-social, but y'all: there is NO WAY IN HELL I'm going to my 20th reunion. You don't have to go to high school reunions if you're still having the occasional anxiety dream about high school, right? That's my stand and I'm sticking to it.

6. I have officially decided that I would like to travel back in time to when your average upper-middle class family had a baby nurse to help take care of the kids until they go off to school. Possibly boarding school. Depends on when you ask me. Just thought you'd want to know that it's official.*

* It has been brought to my attention that I've tended, of late, to post updates that indicate a fairly stressed/depressed state of mind. Which, you're damn right I'm stressed! But not at a worrisome level, in part because I have a blog to vent on. So not to fret.

What you can get out and what you can't

2009-05-20T13:49:00.000-05:00

Based on my personal experience in the last two days ...

Things you can get out of the sofa fabric:
- Big black streaks of marker (thank you Crayola washable markers)
- Spit up
- Dorito "cheese"

Things that you CANNOT get out of a three-year-old's hair after an outdoor playgroup:
- Dirt
- Tree seeds (those ones that look like rolled oats)
- Tiny pieces of mown grass
- Various seed pods

Seriously. I washed her hair for about 1/2 after we got home, and she still has miscellaneous yard detritus all over. Maybe next time I should scotchgard her ahead of time. It worked with the sofa.

Two Months Old

2009-05-17T14:16:00.002-05:00

Dearest Sprout,
Well, you turned two months old on Thursday and I'm just getting to your monthly letter now. I'm guessing this is sort of the pattern with the second kid, and I hope you don't feel lost in the shuffle. Right now a lot of your life is spent getting dragged around to your big sister's activities. At some point you might object to this, but so far you're remarkably accommodating about it. We hoist you in and out of your carseat, in and out of the sling, in and out of the stroller, and you sleep or look around or eat or, pretty rarely, fuss. I am in favor of this demeanor, so please keep it up. Thank you.

This is not to say that you're not coming up with new tricks, however. This month you've added smiles and babbling to your repertoire, both of which are pretty awesome. Daddy is definitely your favorite person to communicate with - he gets the biggest grins and the longest chats - closely followed by your big sister and your other relatives, with me as a veeeerrrrrrry distant last. Which: WTF, kid? What am I, chopped liver? I only GREW you and BORE you and stuff. I mean, don't feel obligated or anything.

I really can't complain, though, because the smiles and coos are pretty adorable even when they're not directed at me. And you seem (knock wood) to have figured out your days and nights, so while we not getting tons of sleep, we are at least getting more than last month, and frankly, I'll take what I can get.

Tomorrow we'll go get you weighed and measured and see how much you've grown since the two-week mark. No telling if you'll be as off the charts as the Hatchling, but seeing as how you're already in size two diapers and 3-6 month clothes I'm pretty sure you'll get the stamp of approval. The nursing is going better too, so we're mostly just using formula for when we're out and about or if I have to leave you with Daddy for a meeting. This is especially nice at night, allowing me to nurse you without the lights on in a semi-conscious state. Mmmmm ... semi-consciousness.

And that's really about it for this month, kiddo. You're doing everything you're supposed to do. Oh, and also: You didn't poop in my mouth this month! Which is awesome. So I think we'll keep you. Now give me some smiles!

love,
Mama

Mother's Day

2009-05-10T17:30:00.003-05:00

Oof. It has been quite the week around here. Nothing terribly traumatic, but let's just say the Hatchling has begun to embrace her three-ness with a vengeance. Highlights have included a massive poop-on-the-sofa incident and the spilling of an entire glass of iced tea all over the keyboard of my laptop. (which, incidentally, appears to be relatively unharmed except for how I can't type a capital w. I love Macs!) Anyway, around about the time I was obsessively scouring the couch upholstery and wondering just which part of my graduate education prepared me for cleaning up shit, I thought maybe it would be appropriate to acknowledge some of the many, many incredible things my mothers have done for me. Here's an abbreviated list:

read out loud to me incessantly
enthusiastically responded to all my accomplishments, major and minor
sewed everything from my Halloween costumes to curtains for my house to my wedding dress and all my bridesmaids dresses
professionally edited my school papers whenever requested
provided on-call medical advice and the occasional pharmaceuticals when needed
sat with me and held me as I labored with my first child
asked about my dissertation
didn't ask about my dissertation
taught me how to cook and bake
faithfully attended all my performances, and sent me flowers for every opening night
made a welcoming home-base to return to from my travels
took me on amazing trips to Europe
spoiled your grandbabies rotten
and most of all, taught me the meaning of unconditional love

I can only hope to do so many things for my girls. Happy Mother's Day!

The physics of porridge

2009-05-04T22:37:00.002-05:00

This might be the best thing I've read on the internets all year:

The only way that the story can make sense is if, for some reason, the Mama Bear has the smallest portion of porridge. In which case, this is a story with a very different moral than the original-- it's a story about the oppression of the Mama Bear, either because the patriarchy is forcing her to eat only the scraps left behind after her husband and child have had their fill, or because the unhealthy woodland media culture has saddled her with a negative body image, leading to an eating disorder.

You really need to read the whole thing.

Comfort food posting

2009-04-30T22:30:00.003-05:00

I know, I know: Where the hell have I been? What am I, blogger or a slacker? Well, mostly I've been trying to sleep, trying being the operative word. For example, here's how nap time goes: put down the Sprout, put down the Hatchling, wash out the accumulated bottles from the morning/previous night, do a half-assed picking up of the kitchen. Start to get really sleepy, lie down on sofa, doze for 10 minutes, get up to put pacifier back in Sprout's mouth, doze for 15 minutes, hear the cat making a racket right outside the Hatchling's door (he does this on purpose), go get cat and shut gate to upstairs, lie down and doze for 15 minutes, get up to nurse Sprout, doze for 10 minutes, wake up to telemarketer phone call, curse all telemarketers, hide phone in sofa cushions, shut cat out on the back porch, put pacifier in Sprout's mouth, take deep breath, lie down, doze for 20 minutes, and then the Hatchling wakes up.

Sounds restful, don't it? I'd probably be better off not even trying to nap, but I'm too tired not to.

Anyhoo, I was all jazzed up for tonight because I was actually going to Go. Out. To A Bar. (!!!) Mr. Squab was going to watch the girls and I promised to be back before the Hatchling's bedtime. It was going to be so awesome, seeing old friends and drinking, you know, the sweet, sweet booze. But then the Sprout decided that today was projectile vomiting day, and she participated with unusual vigor. She's fine - no fever or anything and she seems to have settled down now - but I really didn't think I could leave Mr. Squab at home with a hyperactive three-year-old and a barfing one-month-old. So no night out for me ...

... which leads me to the comfort food, aka the real point of this post. Since I was home, and since we didn't have any sweet treats in the house, I whipped up some chocolate pound cake from my mother's recipe, and holy crap is it good. I frankly don't really understand why anyone makes non-chocolate poundcake, unless it's because you haven't made it with this recipe. When I was little, we used to make my mom take the cake out early so it would fall a little bit and we could eat the extra dense, moist pieces - but have no fear, it's plenty dense and moist even when it's fully baked. We like it warm out of the oven with no adornment, but then I almost always frost it with cream cheese frosting once it's cooled off. Anyway, it's a simple recipe that makes crazy delicious cake, so try it out next time you have a yen for something yummy.

Chocolate Pound Cake
1/2 c. shortening
1 c. butter
2 3/4 c. sugar
5 eggs
3 c. flour
1/2 c. cocoa
1 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. salt
1 1/4 c. milk
1 tsp. vanilla

Cream butter and shortening together. Slowly add sugar, then add eggs one at a time and beat until fluffy. Whisk flour, cocoa, baking powder and salt together, and add to shortening mixture alternately with milk and vanilla. Beat on medium for 2-3 minutes. Pour into greased and floured tube or bundt pan. Bake at 325 degrees for 1 1/4 - 1 1/2 hours. Try to restrain yourself from eating entire cake at one sitting.

Cream Cheese Icing
8 oz. cream cheese
1 stick butter
1 box powdered sugar
6 Tblsp cocoa
1 tsp vanilla

Whip it all together and slap it on the cake. Or eat it directly from the bowl, whichever.

Tell it!

2009-04-24T14:49:00.002-05:00

So, it's Friday afternoon, and I'm sitting at the dining room table pumping out some extra milk while checking blogs, and I come across this post on babble which almost makes me stand up at the table and shout YESSS! only I don't because that might wake up the baby and WE DO NOT WAKE UP THE BABY. Anyhoo, it's this essay about breastfeeding and cultural attitudes thereon, and you really SHOULD read the whole thing, but the part that made me want to jump up and yell was this:

We tell women that breast is best, we tell them to breastfeed exclusively for the first six months, we even tell them it will raise their kid's IQ (and we should give that a rest), and then we send them home with formula samples, or with a baby whose throat is too sore to suckle, or a mom whose milk is delayed because of surgery, and we don't teach technique, and we are offended when a woman breastfeeds in public, so we make her feel housebound, and we don't give a mother and her partner paid leave, and we send her to go back to a workplace without on-site childcare, and so her only alternative to formula is to plug her nipples into a machine, and if she's lucky she gets periodic breaks and a "non-bathroom lactation room" in which to pump, and if she's not she gets a toilet, and so on and so forth.

It's no wonder women are ready to burn their nursing bras.
But it's not that these public health recommendations are grounded in some return-to-the-1950s conspiracy, as Rosin suggests; they're grounded in physiology. And science is validating the physiology of the mother-baby dyad — that is, both are healthier when they remain close to each other during the first several months postpartum. It's not simply the milk that's inimitable; it's the mothering. (Indeed, "We actually don't know if feeding infants human milk has the same benefits as breastfeeding," says Labbok.) And mothering is something that our culture does not value enough to support. It is this dissonance between physiology and culture that has women so frustrated, and feminists like Rosin grasping at the bottle as a proxy for equality.
But is that really what we want? Powder rather than real power? In a brilliant New Yorker piece about the rise of the breast pump, Jill Lepore questions the direction of breastfeeding advocacy, which seems to be settling on the pump as a compromise to this conflict, with tax incentives for businesses with "Mother's Rooms" in which babies are explicitly not welcome ("pump stations," Lepore calls them) and Baby-Friendly hospitals sending women home with manual plastic pumps, and the president of the National Organization for Women calling for more "corporate lactation" programs. "It appears no longer within the realm of the imaginable that . . . 'breastfeeding-friendly' could mean making it possible for women and their babies to be together," writes Lepore. "When did 'women's rights' turn into 'the right to work'?"

What a great question. Why did American feminism evolve in such a way that we think of biology as destiny, and that destiny as a prison? Why are we so willing to surrender the parts and processes that makes us female rather than demanding that society support them? We've broken down doors and cracked glass ceilings, when what we need to do is redesign the building.

YEEEEESSSSSSSSSS. How can we get policy makers to hear this and understand it? How can we get the medical establishment to give breastfeeding and mothering in general more than just verbal support? (Did anyone ever mention to me that my c-sections were likely the reason my milk took so long to come in? No. And have I told you about the crazy night nurse who told me I shouldn't breastfeed my baby or hold it for too long?!!?) Breast is best: OK. We get it. But it's also goddamnmotherfucking HARD for a whole lot of us, for a whole host of reasons. Maybe it's time for the people pushing the breast-is-best message to stop using it to make mothers feel guilty and start using it to push for social changes that will actually enable families to breastfeed if they can or find optimal alternatives if they can't. For chrissakes.

Oh, and on the same topic - this post has some interesting information, too.

Plaything for a dud economy

2009-04-21T20:59:00.002-05:00

Uses to which the Hatchling put a single piece of tissue paper over the course of an hour this evening:

1. Baby blanket for her doll.
2. Pillows for her head and her doll's body as they lay on the carpet in a meditational pose. (Me: "What are you doing, honey?" The Hatchling: "I just wistening to my music."
3. Changing pad/diaper, again for her doll.
4. Drape for Daddy's foot.
5. Toreador-style hankie to wave in the air.
6. Thing to stuff up her shirt, look in the mirror, and try to find it again.
7. Sculptural material for found art project involving carefully removing tiny shreds of the tissue, balling them up, and placing/stacking them around/on the bigger sheet.
8. Elephant Man-style face mask, looking through the holes torn for the art project above.

And I probably missed some uses. I mean, christ: why did we spend all that money on awesome birthday presents when we could've just gotten her a damn box of kleenex?

Happy Earth Day

2009-04-21T15:19:00.002-05:00

Three things:

1. Not to harsh your enviro-buzz, but check out this post by Kevin Drum. Really puts all that recycling you're so committed to in perspective, don't it? (Not that I'm going to quit recycling or anything. But perhaps some legislative oversight is in order, no?)

2. This is a damn good op-ed.

3. Go look at this blog, and crack up. I can SOOOO see the Hatchling doing something like this.

Now go do something tree-huggy.

Three Years Old

2009-04-19T16:33:00.004-05:00

Dearest Hatchling,
Boy howdy. You turned three years old yesterday, and what a year it has been! I thought the difference between one and two was big, but the difference between two and three is ... also big! This year has been all about growing up, physically, emotionally, verbally, mentally - you've been covering all the bases. You're wearing 5T clothes and toddler size 11 shoes, and you dwarf every other kid your age at school or on the playground. At some point in the future your Viking-like proportions may be a hurdle to get over, but right now you don't see anything odd in being a good head taller than your peers, and neither do they. Here's hoping that lasts.

But your physical prowess is not limited to growth - oh, no! You also are really good at playing catch - I mean, you actually catch the ball a lot, which is pretty good for age three - and you have a scary throwing arm. Perhaps softball is in your future? But then, we wouldn't want to deny your possibly greater talent for the terpsichorean arts. You've loved to dance pretty much since you could walk, but you've now reached a point where you can incorporate others' choreography (you're particularly fond of the "dancey-dances" from Yo Gabba Gabba) in addition to creating your own. Often, this past winter, as soon as Daddy got home from work, it was dance time for the whole family. You'd spend maybe 10 minutes carefully explaining and teaching us new moves ("Ok-ok-ok, now how you do DIS one is, hands WAAAAY uppa dee air! Good job, evvyone!") and then it was follow-the-leader time in a joyful free-for-all. Sure, sometimes you look more like you're channeling Elaine on Seinfeld than Leroy from Fame (Original Fame reference! HOLLA!), but either way the result is purely awesome to behold.

Verbally, you've expanded your vocabulary by leaps and bounds, and if you're still not *quite* as articulate as a lot of kids your age, it certainly doesn't stop you from communicating with us. Sure, your pronunciation often verges on Swedish Chef, but your dramatic arts are Sarah Bernhardt all the way. The gestures! The expressions! The condescending smiles! The vehement stomping of feet! At our weekly parent and kid class, the teacher refers to you as "exuberant" and that pretty much sums it up. You have big feelings, big reactions to things, and that is both wonderful and exhausting.

Speaking of wonderful, you've been a real trouper throughout the whole pregnancy/birth/baby invasion process. Having a little sister is a beautiful thing, but it's also a biiiiiiiiig change from being the center of attention all the time, and I'm frankly bowled over by how generous you've been with the transition. You love to hold and kiss the baby, and you're the first person to alert us if she cries or seems at all unhappy. The other day after a tiring morning out, you were on the verge of a major tantrum, but when the Sprout started crying you stopped and said "help baby sister, Mama," so I'd be sure to know it was OK to tend to her first.

In fact, you're regularly willing to step aside, stand back and wait for the baby to be cared for before asserting your own needs, and this makes me a little bit sad - because who likes making the switch from star to co-star? - but mostly enormously proud. I know lots of parents who mourn the passing of babyhood or toddlerhood, who miss the previous stages as much as they look forward to the coming ones. I've never really felt that way, because you just keep getting better and better with each year. You're an amazing big sister and an amazing kid, and your daddy and I know we're so lucky to have you for our oldest daughter. Here's to another wonderful, exhausting, exuberant year.

love,
Mamala

The image of grace and dignity

2009-04-15T13:40:00.002-05:00

You know what makes an outing to the park on an absolutely lovely spring day somewhat LESS enjoyable? When your nearly-three-year-old makes one of her patented breaks for freedom combined with an attempt to steal another kid's ball, thereby making it necessary for you to leap up, nursing baby still attached to your left boob, yelling COME BACK HERE RIGHT NOW and mouthing "I'm so sorry" to the other kid's mom, at which point the baby comes unattached, leaving your boob right out there for the whole park to see.

Not that I'm particularly modest or anything. But still. It's a little wearing.

One Month Old

2009-04-14T14:00:00.004-05:00

Dearest Sprout,
Holy hannah, I cannot believe that it's already been one month since we welcomed you into the world! I'm going to do my best to write you monthly letters for the first year, just like I did for your big sister, but let me apologize in advance if I don't make it every month. I had no idea how EASY it was with only one kid until I had two.

I must say that, overall, your birth was a lot more relaxing than your sister's. Sure, you came two days early, but you timed it for when our doctor was on call and Daddy was already off work, so we can't really complain. My, but you were (are) a big baby, though! Almost three whole pounds bigger than your sister was. Way to raise the level of competition from the get go. It took the medical team quite some time to get you out, even with the C-section, and there was an audible reaction to your size as soon as everyone laid eyes on you. "Oh, that one's at LEAST 5 pounds," joked the nurse anaesthetist, and then everyone started laying odds on how big you really were. (The OR nurse called exactly at 10 pounds, 5 ounces.) You dwarfed the other babies in the nursery, and wowed all your visitors with vivid impressions of a grumpy sumo wrestler.

So: one month seems to be treating you pretty well, though as I recall it's the second month that started getting rough last time, so don't think you're off the hook or anything! So far you're an amazingly mellow and sweet little babysquab, happy to sleep and eat and stare around, only crying when you're hungry or gassy or way past needing a new diaper. To say that your place of residence is a little more chaotic than when your sister was a month old would be a vast understatement, but happily you've taken it all in stride, snoozing away while the Hatchling shrieks or dances or pitches fits in the background.

On the one hand, I feel bad that you'll never get the exclusive, undivided attention that your sister got when she was your age. On the other hand, I'm much more relaxed about my ability to parent you, so the attention you are getting is probably less likely to send you into therapy in later years. It all comes out in the wash, right?

Already this month, you've tackled learning how to nurse (still working on that one), getting a bath (hated the first one, loved the second one), getting your nights and days mixed up (you could stop that now, if you wanted), and, oh yes, shooting poop into your mama's face. You've been busy! As for the rest of us, we've been pretty busy, too, adjusting to this new addition to the household. I can say pretty confidently that all four of us are pretty tired and overwhelmed, working on getting more sleep and settling into a more normal routine. But the most important thing, as your father observed the day we brought you home from the hospital, is that "our family feels complete now." Thanks for completing us, baby girl. Now quit pooping in my face.

love,
Mama

There are good moments

2009-04-12T22:25:00.003-05:00

Today, I was changing the Sprout's diaper and the Hatchling came up behind me to watch.

"Oh. POOOOP," she observed knowledgeably.

"Yep, I'm changing the baby's diaper. Gotta get that poop off her butt."

The Hatchling patted me on the back approvingly, and then asked, "Scwatchy back?"

"Sure!" I said, "I love having my back scratched."

A brief but pleasurable back scratching occurred; then the Hatchling noticed the Sprout's old diaper, wrapped up and sitting on the arm of the sofa.

"Oh! I take-a diaper, frow in garbage," she said helpfully, and proceeded to do just that.

"Thank you, honey!" I said, "that was very, very helpful!"

"OK," the Hatchling said. You know, like: no big deal, mom.

Those big-sister instincts are definitely kicking in.

I write letters

2009-04-09T09:09:00.002-05:00

Dear Sprout,
For your information, the hours between 2 and 5 am are generally considered ideal for SLEEPING, unless you are an owl, a bat, or a college student. As you do not fall into any of these categories, it would be greatly appreciated if you would desist from your nocturnal wakefulness. We enjoy hanging out with you, but if you don't let us get some sleep we may have to consider selling you to the highest bidder.

Sincerely,
your exhausted parents

Seriously?

2009-04-06T20:55:00.002-05:00

The Sprout is (knock wood, throw salt over shoulder, sacrifice to the gods, etc.) an extremely mellow and easy going baby, which is a good thing considering the major conniption fits her older sister is giving me lately, but last night she got me but good in a manner that demanded to be blogged:

So all the houseguests have gone to bed, the Hatchling has finally quieted down and gone to sleep, and it's just me and Mr. Squab waiting for the Sprout to settle down so we can go to sleep. I figure I'll change her diaper so she'll feel all nice and clean, so I put her down on the sofa and get started. She's had a terrible diaper rash so once the, um, area is all prepared, I get some ointment out and lean in to make sure I apply it in all the correct places. I've applied maybe 1/2 of the salve when the Sprout ... well, I'm not sure what to call what she did. Projectile shitting? A shart? The unholy marriage of gas and excrement? You get the idea. Did I mention how I was leaning in at the time? Yeah. You don't know from bad parenting moments until your infant child has SHOT LIQUID POOP ALL OVER YOUR FACE. And yes, my mouth was open, since you ask. "Thank god you had your glasses on," was Mr. Squab's response (after running into the kitchen to get paper towels and water to help me clean up).

I tell you what, there is no way to prepare for something like that. But you can be damn sure I'm keeping my distance in all future ointment applying situations.

Still here

2009-03-24T16:10:00.002-05:00

Whew - sorry for leaving that depressing blog post up for so long. I have to say, you guys leave some damn good comments. Most of the ones to the last post made me cry, sure, but they were tears of being understood and supported, you know? I've been thinking a lot about the whole feeding issue and hierarchies of motherhood in general, and there's a blog post on that a-coming, but probably not for a bit. (I feel a little odd asking Mr. Squab to go on double kid duty so I can blog.) We're getting into a workable rhythm with the newly expanded family, so now if we can just win the lottery so Mr. Squab doesn't have to go back to work everything will be fine! Y'all let me know if you have any tips for that. Mr. Squab goes back to work on Monday; I have various relatives in town until April 8th to help make the transition, for which I am BEYOND grateful, but ooooooh I still wish we lived in a world where Mr. Squab got three months of paternity leave. Or, like, a year of paternity leave. Or that winning lottery thing. Do you think he could get transferred to France or some Scandinavian country before Monday?

Kids = Stress, Parenting = Anxiety

2009-03-19T21:40:00.003-05:00

OK. So, we're back home and starting the process of getting used to being a family of four. The good stuff: I totally missed the Hatchling (and the feeling was definitely mutual) so it's been good to be back at home and get some snuggle time with my first baby. Baby 2.0 - let's call her Sprout, shall we? - is (so far) an extremely mellow baby, sleeping like a champ, only cries when she's hungry or needs her diaper changed, and is generally a very sweet little girl. The weather is getting warmer, we have lovely friends and relatives bringing us food and helping us out - I mean, objectively speaking, things are going pretty well.

So why do I feel like such a basket case? OK, some of it is post-partum hormones. Seriously, I could weep at the drop of a hat these days. It's annoying. And some of it is cumulative lack of sleep and the whole recovering from major surgery thing. But also, Sprout is having some eating problems and it's kind of making me want to stab my eyes out with a fork. Those of you who've been reading this blog since the early days will remember that the Hatchling had myriad problems on the nursing front, starting with being tongue tied and compounded by my low milk-supply and other fun. We had to supplement her with formula from the get-go and never managed to get her completely on the breast, though we did get into a decent groove with it and I nursed her until she was 14 months old. I had a lot of friends who had similar difficulties getting started with breastfeeding, and many of them had it much easier the second time around - copious milk supply, easy nursing, etc. And I had convinced myself that I'd be the same - you know, I put in my time in with the first one, this one would be easy sailing!

I should have known better. Now, Sprout isn't tongue-tied, and she knows how to nurse. But she is also an extremely big baby, and my supply is not keeping pace with her dietary needs. So we're supplementing again, which feels like failure. Sometimes she gets so mad that the milk isn't coming out fast enough that she won't even nurse. When I had to resort to putting droppers full of formula on my boobs while nursing so she'd keep sucking - something we had to do with the Hatchling - it REALLY felt like failure. Sprout had her first doctor's appointment today, and she's not gained any weight, so the doctor says we need to supplement even more, which at this point I'd be happy to do, only for the last day and a half she's been so sleepy it's hard to get her to eat anything at ALL. At a rational level (not a place I'm having an easy time getting to today) I know that this is something that we'll work out, we'll get past it, if I can't nurse her it's not the end of the world, etc., etc. But it's driving me nuts. I'm not enjoying the really excellent baby she is because I'm feeling so bad about not being able to feed her. (Also feeling bad about: the upheaval to the Hatchling's life; being a basket case all the time; not drinking enough water - yeah, we've hit absurd levels.) I HATE that I feel like a failure for the nursing not coming easily. I hate how much it will bother me if I end up not being able to nurse Sprout. I hate that I'm feeling so anxious when I really thought that the anxiety would be better this time around - when it SHOULD be better this time around. I hate that I'm already projecting that things will always suck when chances are that next week or even tomorrow I'll probably feel much better. Argh. I also hate that I can't write a more engaging damn blog post. OK. Sorry for the venting. Here are the positive things I'm trying to focus on when I feel fail-ey:

1. Look, she's really damn cute, OK? I mean, she is a Very. Cute. Baby.
2. Having had feeding problems before, we're at least prepared with all the techniques, so I have some idea what to do in response.
3. The Hatchling is being a total trouper even though all this is clearly stressing her out.
4. Mr. Squab continues to be a tower of strength.
5. This baby actually sleeps in the car, something the Hatchling never quite grasped.
6. My mother-in-law is here, cooking and taking care of us, and she brought a huge batch of my favorite molasses cookies with her, one of which I am going to go eat.

Just ... remind me to focus on this list, ok?

Robinson 2.0

2009-03-15T21:56:00.002-05:00

Elise and I are happy to announce Sylvia Charlotte Robinson to the world. She was born on Saturday March 14 at 9:36am, coming in at a whopping 10 lbs 5oz and 21 inches long. Mom and baby are doing very well, Ellie and I are doing our best to keep up. Posting will be light until Squab gets back up to speed.

Right. A little early, then.

2009-03-14T06:02:00.004-05:00

OK, so these are definitely contractions. Finally called the docs at around 5:30am and they said to come in. Looks like this little one wants to get here a couple of days early. OF COURSE. On-call sister is on her way over to the house and as soon as she gets here we're heading to the hospital. We'll keep you posted (if you're on facebook, check there for more prompt updates).

The Final Countdown: T minus 2 days

2009-03-13T20:57:00.002-05:00

1. The headcold rages unabated. In retrospect, purchasing stock in Kleenex about three months ago would have been a good move.

2. To be honest, if anyone said the phrase "the power of positive thinking" to me right now I would probably kick them in the nards, but there *are* some things making me happy right now, namely:
a) my new spring purse, courtesy Questionable. (The one on the left.) It is so springy and stripy. It defies the weather.
b) It's supposed to be almost SIXTY degrees on Monday! Sure, I'll be drugged up and in the hospital the whole day, but still!
c) Tonight, the Hatchling, after commanding her father to sit next to her on the sofa, sidled up to him, batted her eyelashes and said "Hey, baby."

3. I think I might be having the occasional contraction, mostly in the evenings the last three days. I say "I think" because I don't actually know what normal contractions or Braxton Hicks feel like. When the Hatchling was born, I had nothing in the way of contractions until I was induced, and lemme tell ya, Pitocin-contractions are undeniable. You KNOW you are having one of those. And then you KNOW you are getting an epidural. But this - it just feels kind of like a tightening, sometimes verging on crampy, not lasting or regular, just sort of unsettling and a pain in the ass. Or thereabouts. Thoughts from readers who've done this the natural way before? I go in for a regular monitoring appointment tomorrow so I'm sure they'll pick up on it if anything is going on.

Final Countdown: T minus 3+ days

2009-03-12T17:25:00.002-05:00

Under normal circumstances, I think I'm a fairly patient, even easygoing, person. However, as has been extremely well-documented on this blog, normal circumstances do not include the late stages of the third trimester. Which is why if I ever chance to meet Fate in a dark alley, that motherfucking bastard had better WATCH HIS STEP, because giving me a full-blown head cold this morning? NOT. COOL.

Final Countdown: T minus 5 days

2009-03-10T19:45:00.002-05:00

Daily Index:

Watching - American Idol. Because my brain is just that fried.
Eating - What have you got? No, seriously. WHAT HAVE YOU GOT.
Reading - Bridge of Sighs by Richard Russo. Because my brain isn't that fried. Although I can only manage about 10 pages before I fall asleep.
Wearing - only stretchy jersey-type fabrics. In XXL. Don't judge.
Hearing - the harmonious sounds of my almost-three-year-old daughter making up nonsense songs, repeatedly requesting to play with my iPhone or watch a "bideo" on the computer, and running/dancing around the living room with just her diaper on.
Cursing - the fucking SNOWSTORM currently raging outside my windows. Also the fact that the high tomorrow is supposed to be, like, 5 degrees. At least it's supposed to warm up again by the weekend.
Loving - that my long-suffering husband, when he comes home and I'm all pregnant-pissy-cannot-be-pleasant, instead of shooting me the evil eye gets on the phone and orders me my favorite take-out pasta and plays with the Hatchling to get her out of my hair.

The Final Countdown

2009-03-09T19:16:00.002-05:00

One week to go, y'all. Which is good, because my ability to perambulate is decreasing by the hour. Think of a lame penguin crossed with an ungainly whale/african elephant mix and you'll get some idea. I caught sight of a reflection of myself walking from my doctor's appointment this morning and just about died of laughter. Things that would make this last week a lot more bearable:

1. A Lark.
2. A catheter/pee bag combo. SO SICK OF PEEING.
3. Some kind of weightless sleeping system. A flotation tank, maybe? One of those really expensive Tempur-pedic beds?
4. An elevator, or alternatively a one-story home.
5. Some kind of evolutionary development that eliminates all acid from my stomach. Temporarily.
6. A personal assistant/court jester/masseur/housekeeper combo to cater to my every need.

So, you know. Those should all be manageable, right? Someone get on that.

Two Things

2009-03-05T21:06:00.003-06:00

Item one - Conversation between me and the Hatchling this afternoon, as she's running around with her superhero "cape" on (a big silk scarf she ties around her neck):

Hatchling: I superhewwo!

Me: You are a superhero.

Hatchling: Fwy weawwy fast.

Me: You sure are flying fast. Go, go, go!

Hatchling (stopping and looking right at me): I BATMAN.

Me: You're Batman?!

Hatchling: Yeah, dat's wight. I BATMAN!!!!

Her father is so proud.

Item Two - I've been scanning in some old family photos just so I have them digitally, and I came across this one of me and my parents circa 1972. I'm not normally at a loss for words, but ... wow. Kind of explains a lot, doesn't it?

Not fit for public consumption

2009-03-02T21:02:00.002-06:00

Oh, y'all. I am so bitchy and irritable. Today marks the two week countdown: assuming nothing happens early, we'll be greeting kid 2.o sometime around 1pm two weeks from today. Which means I should be seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, right? The pregnancy is almost over! I should be happy about that! And I would be, except the heartburn and the sleeplessness and the sheer inability to MOVE is making me a total crabass all the time. Everyone and everything is just getting on my last nerve, which makes me SO MUCH FUN to live with. Gah. I don't even like living with myself right now. I'M GETTING ON MY OWN NERVES. What's the cure for that, I'd like to know? So, anyway: blogging may be light, unless I can think of anything worthwhile to say that doesn't involve being annoyed by everything.

Friday Video Blogging

2009-02-27T14:38:00.001-06:00

TGIF, y'all. In honor of the weekend, here's a little Hatchling video of a game she and her BFF invented Wednesday at playgroup. It's SO TOTALLY HILARIOUS ... if you're almost three. But it's pretty funny even if you're older.

The Kissing Game from Squab on Vimeo.

Calgon, take me the fuck AWAY

2009-02-25T22:17:00.002-06:00

So the stomach bug recurrence only lasted 24 hours, thank Maude, which meant that after an evening's hard labor cleaning the public areas of the house, the Hatchling and I were able to host playgroup this morning, and very much enjoyed a mellow morning with some of our favorite moms and toddlers. (Well, the moms were mellow. The toddlers, not so much.) It was nice and thaw-y today, the house is clean, I was feeling good! Then I heard the damn weather report, which is predicting a possible EIGHT INCHES of snow starting around noon tomorrow and going through the night. GOD, this is why I hate February and March. You get these tantalizing glimpses of warmer weather, a few stolen days here and there where boots and mittens are not required, and then WHAMMO! Mother Nature is all, "psych, bitchez!" and throws down with a damn blizzard. This winter has already sucked, weather wise, and I am just. So. Over it. I need a cruise. Or a beach vacation. Or ... I dunno, a pina colada and a tanning bed. I'M GETTING DESPERATE.

No, no, no, no, NO

2009-02-24T08:43:00.002-06:00

You must have misheard me. I said "NO MORE viruses", not "Please send me a recurrence of the stomach bug." You have to LISTEN.

My kingdom for a main floor bathroom. Argh.

Liveblogging Oscars 2009

2009-02-22T18:58:00.017-06:00

Right: time for the show itself. We've been promised some innovations. I remain skeptical. However, spending 3 hours with Hugh Jackman in a tux can't be all bad, right?

7:30 - Oooh, sparkly. I like sparkly. Ok, I'm amused so far. HJ totally has the chops to do a musical revue. Who knew Anne Hathaway could sing? Damn, girl. Don't hide that light under a bushel. Dude. That was a GREAT opener. Nicely done!

7:40 - Oops! Technical glitch. You know a director is in a booth somewhere freaking out. So this is the presentation conceit: get past winners to announce the nominees. I like it! Impressive star power. Plus, more TILDA! Ooh, everyone's gonna start crying. Even better. I'm a sucker for that shit. However: Goldie: HIKE UP THE DRESS. BOOOOBS. Meanwhile, I could listen to Tilda Swinton read the freaking phone book and love it. Best Supporting Actress: WHOA!!! Penelope Cruz? Where did THAT come from? Holy left field. Well, that's one I missed.

8:00 - Tina Fey + Steve Martin = holy comic goodness. Such a good idea to have writers presenting the writing award. And Milk gets it for Best Original Screenplay. Good for him. Sweet speech. Yay gay rights! Best Adapted ... I like Frost/Nixon, but I bet it goes to Slumdog. Yep. The first of many, I'm sure.

8:05 - Whoa. Jennifer Aniston isn't wearing black. Alert the press! Best Animated goes to ... drumroll ... DUH!! I mean, Wall-E! I'm betting the Best Short one will go to Presto. No! Pixar denied! I actually kind of love that.

8:18 - Hoots-Jessica Parker is back. I think she has a cute escort, but I'm too distracted by her BOOOOBS. Art Direction goes to: Benjamin Button. Another surprise! Damn, I'm not doing too well with my predictions this year. Costumes: I'm calling this one for The Dutchess, because the Academy usually goes for the obvious, unsubtle one in this category. Aaaaand, yes. Dude, the guy accepting the award looks like he's about to cry! Cheer up, boyo! You just got a major award! Makeup: tough call. Ima say Hellboy. And boy, was that the wrong choice. Dude, Benjamin Button was mostly CGI! That's not makeup!

8:27 - I heart Amanda Seyfried. She is just as cute as a button. The romance montage is dumb, but at least they were homo-inclusive.

***Pause for putting toddler to bed.***

Best Cinematography - Again, love, love, love Natalie Portman's dress. Ben Stiller's Joaquin Phoenix impression is AWESOME. Lessee ... we'll pick Slumdog for this one. Indeed. Umm ... what is going with Slumdog-dude's pocket handkerchief? Is it trying to escape? Did he USE it? Is he REALLY wearing white shoes?

Jessica Biel looks like a big satin bow just vomited all over her dress. And is now assimilating her into its freaky satin-bow collective.

OK, I know the pothead skit was a one-joke wonder, but ... heh heh heh. I totally thought it was hilarious.

Best Short Film - Someday, I'd like to see these. For now, I'm going with The Pig, because I like that title best. Which is why I'm almost always totally wrong on this category all the time. Sigh.

Yay! HJ does Fred Astaire! And every other musical! A la Busby Berkeley! Love-love-love it!

Best Supporting Actor - well, I think this one's in the bag for Ledger, but I'm loving the actor to actor intros. So much more meaningful than the usual video clip. And it goes to Heath. I'm totally nervous for the speech. God, I hope they've prepared. They look pretty. Brief and to the point - nicely done.

Documentary Feature - I called this one for Man on Wire, but the Katrina one might beat it. Uh, Bill Maher's suit looks like it's made out of rubber. Not in a good way. Yay, called it! Documentary Short - Not even going to guess. Smile Pinki is a happy name. The filmmaker has a pretty dress. I don't have a lot to say about this.

Visual Effects - s'gotta be Benjamin Button, right? Riiiiiiight. Sound Editing - another one for Slumdog? No, Dark Knight. Well, I'm glad it got more than just the Supporting Actor award. Sound Mixing - Slumdog for this one? Yessssssss. OK, these guys are stinkin' cute. Love the crazy-pleased expression on Danny Boyle's face. Film Editing - I'm going out on a limb and saying Frost/Nixon. And I'm falling off the limb into the slums of Mumbai. Maybe I'll get a curry.

Humanitarian Award - I liked the recent New Yorker article on Jerry Lewis - I hadn't realized before that what an innovator he was behind the camera. However, amazing charity work aside, he still seems to be kind of a pain in the ass as a person, so I'm wondering what the speech will be like. Style kudos for wearing a real bowtie. Huh. Surprisingly low key. I'm a little disappointed. Where's the drama?

Original Score - That's the prettiest I've seen Alicia Keys look, like, ever. Slumdog picks up another one. I gotta say, they have nice acceptance speeches. Original Song - I predicted "Jai Ho" for this one, and of the three nominees I like Peter Gabriel's song from Wall-E best, but I still say there's no valid winner in this category. This was Bruce's award, dammit!

Foreign Language Film - Oh, Liam Neeson. We'll always have Paris. I called this for Waltz with Bashir. AND WAS DENIED. Man! Awesomely assertive acceptance speech, though. I-AM-HERE-BECAUSE-OF-FILM!

In Memoriam - I kind of love having Queen Latifah singing to the dead people.In fact, scratch "kind of" - I just love it. But here's a quandary - why no Heath Ledger in the montage?

OK, now we get the big awards - but first, what the HELL is Reese Witherspoon wearing? She usually looks so stylish and chic, but that dress is a mess, her hair is a mess, her makeup is weird ... What up, Reese? Director: I guessed Boyle, but it would be fun if there was an upset. Alas, no. I can't hate on the Boyle, though. I mean, he just BOUNCED. In the spirit of Tigger! Plus the accent! Love!

Best Actress - C'mon, Kate, c'mon, Kate, c'mon, Kate ... OK, Sophia Loren's dress is objectively awful, but DAMN, do I love it on her. BRING IT, Sophia. Also, if I had Marion Cotillard's bone structure I could die happy. Also I would charge admission to look at me. Meryl looks a little afraid of Sophia. As we all should be. She might be ninety years old (give or take) but she could still totally take you down. I want to like Nicole Kidman's dress, but I'm concerned about the odd growths spurting from her bosom. YAY, KATE!!! WOOOO! OMG, could her dad be ANY CUTER? Love the speech. Love.

Best Actor - OK, I know that Sean Penn is probably going to win this, but it would be so much more fun if it were Mickey Rourke, y'all. Also if Sean Penn has to win, please let him give a decent speech. FOR ONCE. I admit I would also be pleased if Frank Langella won. I love me some Frank Langella. DAMN. Penn gets another one. At least the speech is OK. Oh, nice shout out to Mickey Rourke. Well done. But, uh, where's the love for the wife?

Best Picture - It'll be Slumdog. Yawn. And it is.

Summary: I really liked the changes they made to the telecast this year - it was actually mostly fun to watch. I hope they keep it up next year. HJ was a great host. No real craziness this year, either in fashion or in the speeches, but no massive gaffes, either. Did you make it through the whole telecast? What did you think?

Liveblogging Oscars 2009: Preshow

2009-02-22T17:12:00.017-06:00

OK, keeds. It's that time of year, and since we once again did not get our acts together in time to have an Oscar party, I will be liveblogging the awards. Keep hitting that refresh button for new injections of snark!

First, here are my predictions for some of the major categories:
Original Score: Slumdog Millionaire
Original Song: "Jai Ho" from Slumdog. But only because Bruce was ROBBED.
Art Direction and Cinematography: Dark Knight
Foreign Language: Waltz with Bashir
Documentary: Man on Wire
Animated Film: Uh, Wall-E. DUH.
Best Actress: Kate Winslet. It's her year, dammit!
Best Actor: Mickey Rourke. Yeah, he's a freak, but it was really an amazing performance, and I'm kind of over Sean Penn.
Best Supporting Actor: the inevitable Heath Ledger win.
Best Supporting Actress: I want it to be Marisa Tomei, but I'm guessing it will go to Viola Davis.
Best Director: Danny Boyle
Best Picture: Slumdog Millionaire

Now on to the snark!

5:27 - When did Zac Efron start looking so skeezy all the time? Is it just that he needs a haircut? Also, could Ryan Seacrest be MORE of a tool? No. The answer is no.

5:40 - Um, is that a necklace on Amy Adams, or a BREASTPLATE? Nobody better try to attack that girl with a spear, I tell you what.

5:45 - Um, the Slumdog kids are pretty much the cutest ever. Even the Seacrest cannot spoil their cute. In other news, Melissa Leo looks gorgeous, in a shade of bronze that would make me look like I was wearing pure baby poo, but makes her just light up. Well played, Ms. Leo. Meanwhile, the E! commentators are all gushing over Taraji P. Henson's ensemble, but my personal response to it is: Meh.

5:55 - OK, I never thought I'd say this, but Heidi Klum actually does not look that amazing tonight. I mean, she can pull off anything but the top of that red dress is just not doing anything for her. Or me. Am I wrong? ... Viola Davis: How are you not gonna love her?

Right: switching over to the Baba Wawa special. OK, the Jonas Brothers aren't actually nominated for an Oscar, are they? Did I miss something? Why are they on this show? Actually, why are they, period? This is a phenom I do not get.

6:20 - Yeah, can't take it anymore. Back to E! Have Sarah Jessica Parker's boobs gotten bigger? Why won't they show us her whole dress? Oooh, Natalie Portman is wearing fuschia. I love the color!

6:37 - Back to Baba Wawa, in time to catch the quote of the night: Mickey Rourke on winning the Oscar: he'd be very honored and touched to win it, but at the end of the day you can't "eat it, fuck it, and it won't get you into heaven." (Mr. Squab: "I am so using that for my yearly review.")

6:45 - Yowza. Those are some GREEN earrings Ms. Jolie is sporting this evening. Kind of like small earring-shaped aliens are colonizing her head. Oh, Kate Winslet is stunning. Hair, dress, the works. Totally dressed to win. (Mr. Squab: "I would do her in a SECOND." She's totally on his list.)

6:47 - Back to Baba Wawa. Y'all, I just loooooove Hugh Jackman. It's not just the looks and the accent and the biceps and the rawr. It's the awesome dadness and the fabulous wife and the diversity of talent and ... mmmm. He's on MY list. Also that story about his dad? Sooooo made me tear up.

7:00 - OK, now over to the official preshow. Can they just have Tim Gunn do ALL the preshows? He is so much less annoying than any of the other hosts. Diane Lane's dress = Boooorrrring. Still not loving Amy Adam's jeweled neck brace. OK, I can finally see SJP's whole dress. I like it. I don't LOVE it, but I like it. Matthew Broderick, dude, loosen UP. ... I'm still "Meh" on Taraji Henson's dress, but her hair is fabulous. Awwwww ... Frank Langella brought his daughter! Love it!

7:05 - Can someone please explain to me why Brangelina won't talk to anyone on the red carpet? Tim Gunn practically had to waylay them just to tell them they looked good. I mean, really, if you don't want to talk to anyone, don't do the red carpet. It's not required. You can just go right in.

7:10 - See, and now we learn a little bit about Valentino. Tim Gunn makes the preshow fucking educational, y'all. Whoa. Mickey Rourke went for the white-gambling-formal-cowboy-gangster look this evening. If he and Tilda Swinton would just start dating, how sartorially AWESOME would it be?

7:14 - What THE FUCK is Miley Cyrus wearing? Here's a little tip for all you kids out there: if you have to ask whether it's couture or layer cake, DO NOT WEAR THE DRESS.

7:21 - Feeling the love for Richard Jenkins. Just had to share. OK, Jack Black: I'm guessing you are at a point in your career where you can afford shirts and ties that, like, actually fit around your manly neck. Yes? Perhaps the Oscars would be a good time to try that out. ... Marisa looking lovely. I'm kind of tired of the whole fishtail silhouette, but she's pulling it off. Lesley Mann, on the other hand ... no, girl. No. Say NO to the chainmail dress. No one is going to pierce you with a lance on the red carpet, I promise. Although I kind of want to after seeing that dress.

OK! Time for the show!

I'm just saying ...

2009-02-21T15:52:00.002-06:00

Look: I don't know who dropped the ball on this one, but can we all agree that there should be a rule that if you're pregnant - or at least more than, say, 5 months pregnant - you DO NOT get sick? That seems like a no brainer, right? Yeah. Tell that to the stomach bug that's been going around and that got our entire family over the last three days. Fortunately it was fairly short-lived, but MAN. I have not slept so many hours in a row without being drugged in I can't remember when. That makes the second crappy virus I've had in the third trimester. Can we just call it quits with the contagious diseases for the next couple of months?

Shake it

2009-02-19T08:47:00.001-06:00

Mr. Squab's mom was in town briefly this week, and the Hatchling always likes to provide guests with the latest in toddler entertainment. Here's a little sample of the show she put on. Yeah, the lighting is crappy, but you CANNOT DENY THE MOVES.

Dancing Ellie, February 2009 from Elise Robinson on Vimeo.

Gah. Busy.

2009-02-17T22:49:00.003-06:00

Relatives in town.
Prepping for Kid 2.0.
(One month left. ACK.)
Trying to catch up on teaching stuff.
Would prefer to be sleeping, eating or peeing most of the time.

NO TIME FOR BLOGGING.

I will post a cute video tomorrow, I promise.

In the meantime, is it just me, or does "the Island of Sodor" sound a lot like it should be a locale in the evil part of Middle Earth? I mean, "Sodor" is kind of a creepy name, right?

OK. I'm going to take a shower, pee, and go to bed. May your evening be equally satisfying.

Happy Valentine's Day

2009-02-14T08:29:00.001-06:00

I know it's all chic and cool to hate on Valentine's day, but fuck it: any holiday that includes nice flowers and the consumption of good chocolate is A-OK with me, fabricated or not. However, just because I like V-day doesn't mean I don't have a sense of humor about it:

Don't be a whore, kids! Enjoy that chocolate! (Thanks to Sally for the image.)

Just another literary evening in the Squab household

2009-02-12T22:36:00.003-06:00

Should I be concerned that my almost-three-year-old chooses more heavyweight reading material than I do?

The Natural

2009-02-11T20:12:00.002-06:00

Today we had our regular Wednesday playgroup with a group of moms and kids that we enjoy hanging out with. This week, for whatever reason, the Hatchling was the only girl for the first half of the group - it was just her and four other little boys. At this age, the whole gender thing doesn't make much of a difference when they're playing (thank goodness) but today all the little boys seemed to have spring fever or something and there was a lot of bickering and fighting going on. When we went into the dining room for snack time, there was only enough room at the little kid's table for three; the three oldest boys took those seats, the baby sat with his mother, and the Hatchling chose to sit at the big table with the Mamas. It wasn't long before a major quarrel erupted at the kids' table (someone's plate was touching someone else's, if you can believe it) and the recriminations started to get a little deafening. The relevant moms wearily moved to intervene, but before any of them could reach the table, the Hatchling got down from her chair, went over to the boys and in a loud, authoritative voice said "HEY! Hey, guys! What's goin' on?" She put her hand on the back of one of the boys and started to babble something that we couldn't totally understand, but was clearly intended to mediate between the squabblers. (It sounded kind of like "ashabba boogaba dashalso FOOD baggabagaa YOU PLAY.") The boys sort of stopped, and the Hatchling calmly returned to her seat and resumed snacking. We parental units were having a fit of the giggles. She did it again when another fight broke out, and then sat back down at the table with a distinctly smug look on her face. I have never seen her do anything like that before, but I tell you what, she handled it like a pro. Her future sister is screwed.

Random Tidbits

2009-02-09T20:53:00.002-06:00

1. How much did you love Obama's press conference tonight? Mr. Squab turned to me and said, "It's weird having a president who ... like ... actually knows what he's talking about and answers the questions that are asked, with no creepy chuckles or smirks." Indeed. Me likey.

2. Why, Birmingham, WHY????

3. How psyched am I that I can finally sync my Google contacts and calendar on my iPhone? Way too psyched.

4. The Hatchling's two new favorite phrases: "Oh, MAN!" and "Oh my god!" It's like having a pint-sized teenager in the house, except for the diapers and the spontaneous displays of affection.

Have some tissues ready

2009-02-08T21:45:00.000-06:00

In case you haven't already seen it.

"Fidelity": Don't Divorce... from Courage Campaign on Vimeo.

"A" is for Answers meme

2009-02-06T12:12:00.000-06:00

Because, like Christopher says, hell if I'm going to do this and not re-purpose it for blog-fodder!

Rules: It's harder than it looks! Copy to your own note, erase my answers, enter yours, and tag 10 people. Use the first letter of your name to answer each of the following questions. They have to be real. . .nothing made up! If the person before you had the same first initial, you must use different answers. You cannot use any word twice and you can't use your name for the boy/girl name question.

Have Fun!!

1. What is your name: Elise
2. A four Letter Word: Uh ... eff-off? exit?
3. A boy's Name: Ethelred
4. A girl's Name: Esther
5. An occupation: Elevator operator
7. Something you wear: elbow patches
8. A food: eclairs ... emmenthaler ... eggs ... mmmmmm
9. Something found in the bathroom: epsom salts
10. A place: entryway; England
11. A reason for being: esprit; elan; ephemera
12. Something you shout: Egads! (no, really; I shout that sometimes)
13. A movie title: Ever After
14. Something you drink: Evian; egg creme; Everclear (shudder)
15. A musical group: Eurythmics
16. An animal: Elephant
17. A street name: Emerson
18. A type of car: Edsel. Sadly.
19. A song title: Every Breath You Take
20. A verb: evince

Consider yourself tagged.

Well, it is one of his favorite topics ...

2009-02-05T13:59:00.002-06:00

Yesterday the Hatchling was playing "phone" with the TV remote up to one ear and the telephone up to the other ear. The conversation was ... interesting:

Hatchling: Oh, hi, Daddy! Yeah, yeah, ok-ok-ok. Vewwy good, vewwy good. Oh, I fine, I fiiiiiiiine, how YOU? Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know, Daddy. Oh? Oh, no. Ohhhhh, nooooo, pooooop. Dat's gwoss, Daddy. Oh, yucky poops. Vewwy yucky poops, Daddy.

Me: Are you talking to Daddy about your poop?!?

Hatchling: Dat's right, Mama! Vewwy good!

So, to sum up: potty training? No way, no how. Extended one-way imaginary conversations about excrement? Absolutely.

One of us needs a strong drink.

2009-02-03T13:10:00.002-06:00

The Hatchling got up FIVE TIMES last night. And then I had to get up at 6am to go get my semi-weekly ultrasound and monitoring. Leaving me with about 2 hours of sleep, total.

Mama is TIRED.

It just keeps getting BETTER

2009-02-02T15:04:00.002-06:00

I had thought that, what with the anti-nausea drugs and all, I would not actually feel sicker as the pregnancy progressed, but apparently I'm just hopelessly naive, because for the past two days: siiiiiiiiiick. I know there's some kind of stomach bug going around, so maybe that's the culprit. Whatever it is, it doesn't respond to my Zofran, which really seems unfair. So anyway - not really in the right frame of mind for lighthearted snarky posting. Hopefully tomorrow will be better.

IT IS SO TRUE

2009-01-30T13:34:00.002-06:00

Ha! Got this from my friend Alex. Had to share. Thanks for the home remedy suggestions! I will try them all.

more music charts

Feh.

2009-01-29T22:08:00.002-06:00

I'm still #$*()#@$#&! sick. I no longer feel like death warmed over and I've been able to sleep a little the last two nights, but I'm sure as hell not healthy. Twice today I had a coughing fit so hard that I puked. Fun times. I've also had four, count 'em, FOUR doctor's appointments this week, because the fetus hasn't been cooperating properly with the damn monitoring. Nothing to worry about, she's totally fine, I just have to keep going in. It's a pain in the goddamn ass.

The Hatchling is doing better but her sleep schedule is all fubar, a usual side-effect of illness with a toddler. Today, for example, she did not take a nap. Under normal circumstances this would have pushed me right over the edge, but my resistance has been so weakened that I've moved beyond aggravation to resignation. We played with her new legos and I gave her a pedicure.

Hope your week has been less diseased than ours. Anyone know any non-medicinal methods for mucous eradication?

Well, this just makes me feel like an underachiever

2009-01-26T20:53:00.002-06:00

RIO DE JANEIRO, Brazil (AP) — Catriona Matthew, the 39-year-old Scot five months pregnant with her second child, won the inaugural HSBC LPGA Brazil Cup by five shots over Kristy McPherson of the United States on Sunday.
[...]
"When you play well you don't feel tired," Matthew said. "Maybe tomorrow I will feel it a bit."

Lessee, at five months I was ... oh, yes, I was considering it an achievement to get dressed before noon. Or to wake up without ralphing in the bathroom sink. I think that might make me the Sarah Palin to Ms. Matthew's Barack Obama.

(via Shakesville)

My weekend is full of ARRRGH

2009-01-25T19:38:00.003-06:00

The Hatchling and I both have horrible colds. The Hatchling came down with hers last Sunday, and I started feeling bluggy on Thursday night, and we're both in pretty pitiful shape. A lot of hacking, wheezing, endless blowing of noses - you get the picture. But here's what sucks extra about having a cold in the third trimester: THERE IS NO WAY TO SLEEP. If I lie down in a way that's comfortable for being a junior whale, I can't breathe. If I lie down in a way that I can breathe, my back hurts so much that it wakes me up. If I go semi-recumbent with a ton of pillows, I can breathe and my back is OK, but I get raging heartburn. I CANNOT WIN. I got up at 4 am this morning because I just could not take it, so I was exhausted and cranky all day, which is just delightful for everyone, especially the equally sick and cranky toddler in my care. And then there's the thing where I'm pumping all the fluids I can get into my system, which when combined with my increasingly tiny bladder basically means that I'm either actually peeing or feeling like I need to pee all. The. Time. Who the hell is in charge of this stuff? Why do they hate me? When will I get a sense of perspective and quit whining about the small stuff? Only time will tell.

This one's for you, Dad

2009-01-23T14:24:00.005-06:00

(Thanks, Lori!)

This week's pregnancy lesson

2009-01-22T15:10:00.001-06:00

If you're in the third trimester and vaguely resemble a beached whale in profile, it is perhaps not the wisest move to lie down on your back so you can zip up your recently washed jeans. This is true because:

a) What the fuck are you still trying to wear jeans for? You're in the THIRD TRIMESTER. You should be wearing something stretchy that closely resembles pajamas at all times.

b) Even if you do manage to get the zipper up with this technique, you will then remain stranded on your bed, much like a tortoise on its back, flailing around from side to side in an effort to regain uprightness, for approximately five minutes. Your toddler will think this is funny. ("What doing, Mama? I try? You help-a me?") You, however, will not.

Thus endeth the pregnancy lesson for the week.

This is the kind of thing that can make a squab come over all patriotic

2009-01-20T22:09:00.002-06:00

If you haven't seen this video of Bruce Springsteen, 89-year-old Pete Seeger and Seeger's grandson leading hundreds of thousands of people on the National Mall in "This Land is Your Land," you really need to watch it right now. It's my favorite inaugural moment - first, because Pete Seeger is one of my personal heroes, second because I grew up singing this song at school, in church, at home and at political rallies, and third because they sing ALL the verses, and if you aren't familiar with the lyrics, let me tell you, it is one pinko commie leftist subversive song, and you know I mean that as the highest praise. Really, watch: it will make you feel all warm inside.

Quote of the day

2009-01-20T12:14:00.001-06:00

Atrios on the former (yesssss!) VP's formal entrance onto the inaugural platform:

"Who invited Mr. Potter?"

Thoughts on watching the Inauguration

2009-01-20T10:48:00.004-06:00

1. Holy Shit, that's a lotta people.

2. Rick Warren sux.

3. OMG, is that bow eating Aretha's head?!?!

4. It cannot be easy to play a stringed instrument in that kind of cold weather.

5. It is hard to concentrate on Obama's speech when you have a toddler in the background repeating "watch Sesame Street? Elmo dinosaur?" over and over and OVER. Christ, kid. Appreciate the historic moment.

Thoughts on watching NBC's coverage of pre-Inauguration activities

2009-01-20T09:02:00.001-06:00

Peggy Noonan makes me want to barf.

It's Sunday; eat some chocolate

2009-01-18T23:00:00.004-06:00

For Christmas I got a Hershey's recipe box so now I can have one recipe box for savory and one for sweet. I was browsing through some of the recipe cards that came with the box, and this one for marbled cherry brownies looked, um, GOOD, and I had all the ingredients on hand. If you like cherries and chocolate, you will like this.

Marbled Cherry Brownies
adapted from Hershey's

Ingredients:
Cherry Cream Filling (below)
1 cup (2 sticks) butter or margarine, melted
2/3 cup cocoa
4 eggs
2 cups sugar
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1 cup all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt

Directions:
1. Prepare Cherry Cream Filling; set aside. Heat oven to 350°F. Grease 9x13 baking pan. Stir butter and cocoa in small bowl until well blended; cool slightly.

2. Beat eggs in medium bowl until foamy. Gradually add sugar and vanilla, beating until well blended. Stir together flour, baking powder and salt; add to egg mixture. Add cocoa mixture; stir until well blended.

3. Spread half of chocolate batter into prepared pan; cover with Cherry Cream Filling. Drop spoonfuls of remaining chocolate batter over filling. With knife or spatula, gently swirl chocolate batter into filling for marbled effect.

4. Bake 40-45 minutes or until brownies begin to pull away from sides of pan. Cool; cut into squares. Cover. About 32 brownies.

CHERRY CREAM FILLING
1 package (8 oz.) cream cheese, softened
1/2 cup sugar
2 eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/2 teaspoon almond extract
1 cup chopped maraschino cherries, well drained

Beat cream cheese and sugar in small bowl on medium speed of mixer until blended. Add egg, vanilla and almond extract; beat well. (Mixture will be thin.) Stir in cherries.

Will blog for beach house

2009-01-16T16:42:00.003-06:00

What's that you say? It's Friday and where the heck have I been all week? FREEZING MY ASS OFF, that's where. Jesus tap-dancing Christ, it's been cold this week. Like, cold enough to kill you in a matter of minutes. Or, if you're me, cold enough to make you want to kill someone. Every year there are one or two weeks like this in winter, weeks where it's so cold you start to think longingly of those days when it was a balmy 25 degrees. I *always* hate these weeks, but this year my hatred is particularly deep and abiding. Maybe it's the pregnancy, maybe it's trying to get not only myself but also my cold-hating toddler sufficiently bundled up before walking the fifty feet to the car (and let me just be up front: when it's -20 degrees outside, NO amount of bundling is sufficient), maybe it's the anticipatory dread of having to do this next winter with TWO kids ... I don't know exactly, but I am just DONE with this cold crap. Human beings are not meant to live in this climate! I think this must be added to my REJECT list for the year. Cold: I reject it.

In other news, drink some coffee, already.

Not as rejuvenating as I would have thought

2009-01-12T21:44:00.003-06:00

I had a lovely weekend with my chicas, doing nothing but listening to music, playing board games, eating, reading and sleeping. (Also engaging with the red squirrel who had taken up residence at the cabin and was damned if he'd leave his warm winter home just because *we* were there, but that's another story.) I enjoyed every minute of it, especially the sleeping in part, but am feeling surprisingly un-rested now that I'm back. As in, not so much rested at all. Which is weird. And also kind of sucks a little, because tomorrow I have to start the day off with a bang getting a biophysical profile at the hospital at 7:30 am (GAH) and then jaunt off to an all-day "faculty development" seminar. This means I have to take a shower tonight and look kind of presentable tomorrow. I kind of feel like lying down and dying just thinking about all the energy the above items will take. THERE IS NOT ENOUGH COFFEE IN THE WORLD, Y'ALL.

Oh, and? It's the coldest week of the year. With a vengeance. Have I mentioned how much I hate this stupid state in the winter?

P.S. The Hatchling remains resolutely un-potty-trained. Do they make diapers big enough for college students, do you think?

Heading Out

2009-01-09T10:17:00.002-06:00

I'm leaving at noon today for my annual Estrogen-Weekend up north. (Mmmmm ... estrogen.) We'll have pillow fights in our skimpy baby-doll pajamas, paint each other's nails, and engage in group massages. At least that's what Mr. Squab would like to think. Send supportive thoughts to Mr. Squab, who has indicated that he is going to attempt to potty-train the (completely uninterested) Hatchling while I'm gone. Please, Lord, let it be so.

Have a happy weekend!

Reticence is not her problem

2009-01-08T14:53:00.004-06:00

Yesterday the Hatchling and I went to tour a possible preschool for her for fall (because, yes, you have to start at LEAST this far in advance if you want to get your choice, which is kind of giving me hives. Not to mention figuring out how we'll pay for it, which is also giving me hives.) It was a great place, very welcoming and kid-friendly, a really nice director, great activities, etc. - I hope we can swing it, because the Hatchling would just thrive on it and it might keep me from losing my mind. Anyhoo. We we touring with another mom and little girl and let me tell you, they were a study in contrasts. The other girl, Grace, was very nice and friendly, but she also was perfectly happy to stay close to her mommy for the duration of the tour, a concept which the Hatchling completely fails to grasp. From the Hatchling's perspective, this was clearly a place designed with her in mind, so why would she have any qualms about, you know, just joining in? She wouldn't! We visited one classroom where they were having story time, and I whispered to the Hatchling that she had to be very quiet in this room, because other kids were listening to the story. Riiiiiiiight. She marched right up to the back of the group, sat down on the mat next to the nearest kid, and in her usual enthusiastic voice, said, "Hi, kids! What's goin' on?" I went over to try and shush her, and the little kid sitting next to her asked the teacher "Why are there some kids in here who don't belong?"

I got her out of there without too much further disruption, and in the next room we visited, they were having open playtime, with lots of different stations for the kids to choose from. It was nicely chaotic and I imagine most normal children would have opted for Grace's strategy of watching the action safely by her mother's side. I, however, do not have a normal kid. The Hatchling zipped right into the middle of the room where a teacher was preparing some craft supplies, took the cup of glue and paintbrush out of the teacher's hands, and started making her own collage. She was perfectly polite about it, she just wasn't at all shy. The teacher looked up at me and said "she seems to be right at home!" and indeed, she did. It didn't make for the most, uh, relaxing tour of the facilities, and I think Grace was appalled, but I guess it was good to see that the Hatchling would fit right in. I'm glad that she's so outgoing - makes it easier to make friends - but I don't know whether to be hopeful or fearful of the inevitable time(s) her friendly overtures are rejected. I don't want her to steamroller over the other kids, but I know her little heart will be broken if someone doesn't want to make friends with her. Sigh.

Question

2009-01-07T22:55:00.002-06:00

Why is it that they can make perfectly acceptable artificial cherry, grape, orange, lemon, strawberry, lime, etc. beverages, but artificial apple beverages universally taste like ASS?

Enquiring minds want to know.

New Year's Rejections

2009-01-06T22:11:00.002-06:00

So, while I get the principle of New Year's resolutions, they mostly make me feel like a failure at some point during the year, and lord knows I don't need any help with THAT. I'm having a bit of a downer of a week anyway, partly trying not to get freaked out about the second kid, partly money worries (join the club!) partly that I've been on a Nick Hornby streak lately, and while the dude can definitely write and is often funnier than hell, he's not always exactly uplifting. Also: this FUCKING MINNESOTA WEATHER. Christ, I hate the cold and the snow. And I hate it even worse when I'm responsible not only for moving my own fat pregnant ass around but also a squirming, slightly rambunctious toddler, size XL.

But I digress. The point is, I decided it would make me feel better to list the things I plan on rejecting in 2009. So here's a list of things that will be getting a big ole middle finger accompanied by several rude noises in the coming 12 months:

1. Dieting. Rejected totally, comprehensively, and absolutely. 'Cos it doesn't work, one, and it's bollocks science, two, and it sucks, three.

2. People dying. Yeah, I know it will still happen, but I REJECT IT.

3. Feeling like a failure either professionally, maternally, socially, or otherwise. I will do the best I can on all fronts, and people will just have to DEAL.

4. Bigotry. One of these days I'm going to be behind a car with a "Yes on Prop 8" or those stupid mudflap girls or, hell, even "Bush/Cheney '04" and I am just going to REAR END IT. Consider yourselves warned, people who almost certainly do not read this blog.

5. Shitty TV/Movies/Music. Unless it's the good kind of shitty. Because life is just too short.

Whew, that feels better. Join me in some negativity, won't you? What do you reject this year?

Gestational Update

2009-01-05T13:36:00.003-06:00

Well, it's officially ten weeks from today that the newest member of the Squab family will make herself known. Somehow ten weeks sounds like an awfully short amount of time. Shorter even than 2 1/2 months, which also sounds really short. There is a slight undercurrent of panic running through the household - I mean, not that we didn't know this day was coming and all, but FUCK! TWO KIDS!

On the other hand, if there were an option to have someone else handle the last ten weeks of gestation, I would so be at the front of the line to sign up for THAT. This whole peeing-every-half-hour, can't-get-comfortable, no-sleeping, still-nauseated, back-aching, ligament-pulling CRAP was getting old like a month ago, and I will not miss it ONE. BIT.

I also had an unpleasant reminder that I'm in the high-risk category of expecting mothers at my OB check-up today. Nothing scary or dangerous, but starting this week they want me to come in twice a week for a fetal non-stress test (where they count the baby's kicks and monitor its heart rate) and an ultrasound (where they check the baby's movements and measure the amount of fluid in the uterus). Twice a week. And these aren't little five-minute things, either - we're talking a good 30-45 minutes per procedure, not including the time it takes to get to and from the hospital and wait in the waiting room. Oh, and plus I still have my regular OB visits to add in there. Gah. I had to do the same thing last time, but only once a week. When I asked if there was any especial cause for concern or reason why they wanted to see me so often this time, my doc said not really, they're just being extra cautious because of the hyptertension and the gestational diabetes and the insulin dependency and and and and ... The last time around this freaked me out, all this talk of increased risk of stillbirth and labor complications and such, and I guess maybe it should be freaking me out this time, except, you know, last time everything turned out just fine and I really feel like it will this time, too. Not that I wouldn't rather NOT have all the complications, but it seems like this is just how my body does the gestation thing, and as long as I'm doing my part to miminize the complications, things will be OK. Which is great as a positive mental attitude, but doesn't do squat for finding me childcare or helping me juggle my schedule to accomodate these appointments. Sigh. It will all work out - Mr. Squab will adjust his schedule some, and some friends have said they'll watch the Hatchling whenever needed, and somehow it will get done, but - have I mentioned how this pregnancy has only confirmed our decision to quit after two kids? Yeah, you can add this whole post to the growing list of reasons why two will be PLENTY.

This just in: The birds at our birdfeeder are retarded.

2009-01-02T15:50:00.002-06:00

We don't get the pretty, showy birds at our feeder; it's more of a proletariat smorgasbord of miscellaneous sparrows and chickadees. Which, no biggie, they gotta eat, too, but sweet fancy MOSES, are they stupid. Here's the pattern:

1. Assemble in branches of fir tree adjacent to feeder.
2. Swoop down en masse and lustily attack the feeder and often each other for about 5 seconds.
3. Get startled by the, um, NOTHING that is walking by, and feverishly flock back to the safety of the fir branches. For another 5 seconds.
4. Remember, hey! There's food down there! For free! We should look into that!
5. Repeat steps 2-4 ad infinitum.

It is seriously giving the cat whiplash. Not being much of a bird person, I'm sure there could be some rational explanation for this, you'll excuse the pun, flighty behavior, but for the life of me I can't figure out what it would be.

Good Riddance, 2008!

2009-01-01T22:06:00.003-06:00

Looking back, I have to say that 2008 was not exactly a banner year. We had a break in and robbery, both cars broke down and had to be replaced, lots of pregnancy-related ill health, grandma going crazy and then dying - not to mention the economy going to hell and all kinds of political craziness. There were good things, of course - getting back in touch with old friends, my sister having her first baby, the Hatchling getting more and more interesting and fun(ny), satisfying projects around the house, etc. But overall, I'm not really sad to see the year go, you know?

Lately I try not to make uber-specific New Year's resolutions on the principle that they just make me feel like a wanker when I don't achieve them, but here are my sort of generalized ones:

1. Write more. In any area (blogging, academic, personal, etc.)
2. Keep working on being a more chill, zen-type person instead of the anxiety-ridden freakazoid that my genetic background wants me to be.
3. Find ways to enjoy being healthier.
4. Learn to say no without feeling guilty.
5. Breathe deeper and enjoy the ride.

Frankly, I'll be happy if I can achieve (1) at any level. The rest is just gravy. How about you?

Oh, and a little post-Christmas cheer: here's the Hatchling opening presents on Christmas Eve.

Opening Presents - Yo Gabba Gabba (Xmas 2008) from Squab on Vimeo.

The Snarky Squab

This Blog Has Moved

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes

Just call her Che

I write letters

An earful

While we're at it, I'd also like a chalet in France

Well, hello.

Parenting FAIL.

Srsly. I am not even kidding.

Getting a Sick Day

Sunday Recipe Blogging

Clearly, we're having some karmic problems here

Friday Poetry Blogging

I write letters

Friday Poetry Blogging

Cats, man. Cats.

Preventing sexual assault: Tips guaranteed to work!

Bedtime Stories

Friday Poetry Blogging

File this under "Things That are Awesome"

Steal This Message

School Daze

Funny. Gross, but Funny.

Well, there goes my mother of the week award.

Sunday Fluff

Tab Dump

Tired.

Preschoolers: adding surreality to every waking moment.

Status updates I have considered putting on Facebook today

Love this.

Sweet Tap-Dancing Jesus, this is awesome

Christ, how did it get to be Friday already?

Apparently my life is currently incompatible with blogging

Daily Inventory

Recap of our trip to the grocery store with the baby, aka the first time the Hatchling has been out of the cart the whole time

Happiness is ...

I write letters

I have no idea where she gets it

Random Tidbits for the weekend

What you can get out and what you can't

Two Months Old

Mother's Day

The physics of porridge

Comfort food posting

Tell it!

Plaything for a dud economy

Happy Earth Day

Three Years Old

The image of grace and dignity

One Month Old

There are good moments

I write letters

Seriously?

Still here

Kids = Stress, Parenting = Anxiety

Robinson 2.0

Right. A little early, then.

The Final Countdown: T minus 2 days

Final Countdown: T minus 3+ days

Final Countdown: T minus 5 days

The Final Countdown

Two Things

Not fit for public consumption

Friday Video Blogging

Calgon, take me the fuck AWAY

No, no, no, no, NO

Liveblogging Oscars 2009

Liveblogging Oscars 2009: Preshow

I'm just saying ...

Shake it

Gah. Busy.

Happy Valentine's Day

Just another literary evening in the Squab household

The Natural

Random Tidbits

Have some tissues ready

"A" is for Answers meme

Well, it *is* one of his favorite topics ...

One of us needs a strong drink.

Well, it is one of his favorite topics ...