While everyone else in the country is, at this very moment, attending Superbowl parties and consuming twelve times their daily caloric allotment in the forms of potato skins, pigs-in-blankets and Budweiser for the sake of good ol' American football, I am avoiding this temptation altogether. How, you may ask? Well of course by snuggling on my cozy living room couch in jammies with my daughter, discussing her upcoming week at school. Here is the highlight of the conversation that just ensued:
A: "Mommy, I think we are going to learn even more about the Hoolympics this week! I am so excited!"
Me: "Awesome, that will be so much fun! What have you learned already?"
A: "Well actually, we learned that after a big hockey game, a massive machine called a Zamboner comes onto the ice and cleans it all up. I wish I could ride on one, it sounds really cool!"
Me: "Wait... what is that really cool ice-cleaning machine called again?"
A: "A Zamboner."
Me: "I think you mean to say, a Zam-BONI, right?"
A: "No, a Zam-BONER. I'm sure that's what it's called."
Sunday, February 7, 2010
"When one has not had a good father, one must create one." -Friedrich Nietzsche
Just in case I haven't mentioned it lately...
I wanted to thank you Jeff, for being to our children, the quintessential father figure that you lacked as a child. It never ceases to amaze me what a remarkable, selfless, involved Daddy you have been since day one, and what a phenomenal job you are doing in fulfilling this role to our children. You have met, surpassed, and exceeded all of my expectations, and then some. How effortless you make fatherhood appear, (despite the tremendous amount of behind-the-scenes work involved in this great feat.) Our kiddos are beyond fortunate to have you for their Dad, and not a day goes by that your enthusiastic involvement in their lives goes unnoticed. You should be exceptionally proud of the man, and husband, and father you have evolved into, despite your lack of positive exposure to these roles early-on. It is beyond all comprehension how a boy without a Dad can grow to dominate this very role later on in life-- but you have accomplished it, and you are remarkable for it. Thank you for holding yourself to a standard of fatherhood that most men will never even dream of, let alone achieve. You are extraordinary, and we are so, so blessed. Friday, February 5, 2010
Willpower FAIL
Kryptonite is to Superman what these are to me:
For those of you who live under a rock and might not recognize these, they are a (half-eaten) box of my favorite Girl Scout cookie ever-- Carmel D'Lites. (Or, as I like to call them, the artists formerly known as Samoas.) Pretty much the most scrumptious 70 calorie cookie you could ever devour. They are chewy, caramel-y, coconutty, and doused in chocolate. Heaven in one flat, donut-shaped bite.
That said, I'd like to take this opportunity thank the smiley, cherubic little Daisy of Girl Scout Troop 230 for delivering to me today, and thus reminding me about the seven (7) boxes of cookies that I impulsively purchased from her weeks and weeks ago. (long before operation "lifestyle change slash get my body back" was in full swing.) Two full weeks of hard work at Zumba, yoga, and the gym, and this shows up on my doorstep:
If any of you would like to assist me in getting back on the health wagon, please come to my house, open my freezer, and help yourself to a box (or 7) or cookies. PLEASE! The happy, smily faces on the Carmel d'Lites are calling my name and it's only a matter of time....
P.S. In other news, I'll have you all know that these bad boys are up to $4 a box-- a far cry from the $1.10/box they were when I was a Daisy back in 1987. Even taking into account inflation, this is absolutely absurd...which begs the question,what the hell was I thinking?! At least they're freezable...
Thursday, February 4, 2010
The infinite wisdom of a preschooler
A: Mommy, do you work?
Me: Well, what do you think?
A: I think you do work, but you don't have to drive there like Daddy does.
Me: Exactly right. And what sorts of things do you think Mom does for work?
A: Things like make the beds, Swiffer the floors, do everyone's laundry, and be very tired.
Me: And what do you think Daddy does at work all day?
A: Well, he just does stuff like check emails, drink coffees, talk to his friends, and go poop on the potty.
Me: Well, what do you think?
A: I think you do work, but you don't have to drive there like Daddy does.
Me: Exactly right. And what sorts of things do you think Mom does for work?
A: Things like make the beds, Swiffer the floors, do everyone's laundry, and be very tired.
Me: And what do you think Daddy does at work all day?
A: Well, he just does stuff like check emails, drink coffees, talk to his friends, and go poop on the potty.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Out with the old...in with the tears?!
Who would have thought that getting rid of your old fridge would be such an emotional journey? Not me, that's for sure. Yesterday, at approximately 3pm, two very sketchy, sub-contracted Sears appliance delivery guys rang the doorbell, had me sign on the dotted line, and hauled away our old Amana, (replacing her with a beautiful, brand spankin' new, black, water-in-the-door Kenmore Elite), before I even had a minute to say my goodbyes. As I watched them aggressively toss the old fridge into the truck and abruptly drive away, I cried.
(Rewind 5 years...)
It was a sweaty, humid July morning in 2005. Out our bare, curtain-less living room window, I watched neighbors (who I had yet to meet) mowing lawns, moms filling plastic kiddie pools with hoses, and dogs laying under trees for shade. Yes, it was only nine-thirty AM, but it was already 88 degrees outside. (This was "the hottest summer in a decade," according to the news for weeks now.) But summer wasn't the only thing in full bloom; I was seven months pregnant, expecting our first child-- a little girl-- in September. I was quickly approaching the point in pregnancy where my ankles were swelling daily, rolling over in bed required assistance, and urinating was my most frequent pastime. And this heat didn't help my cause at all. "Ughhhh," I thought to myself, "looks like another day in the house."
Jeff had already left for work at his new job in Cambridge, and so I was alone in this barren, empty, echoing shell of a house, contemplating the best use of my day. The possibilities were truly endless, as we were brand new, first-time homeowners and there was still plenty of unpacking/organizing/cleaning to be done. Sure, we had brought a few of 'the basics' to get us through the first week in the new house-- toilet paper, a few articles of clothing, our mattress, toiletries, and some limited paper goods- but beyond this, the house was completely bare. Bare to the point that every ring of the phone, every dropped penny, every cough, and every sneeze echoed as it bounced off the hardwood floors onto the naked walls. The smell of polyurethane still lingered heavily from the floor-refinishing a few weeks prior, and because of this I had the windows open and the central air cranked on-- something that Jeff probably would have loved to reprimand me about daily, were it not for my pregnant circumstance. But these days, he just wanted to see me comfortable, and if this meant a massive dent in our electric bill (and oodles of wasted cold air, quite literally, out the window,) then so be it. As my pregnant belly groaned and sloshed with hunger pangs, interrupting my thoughts, I instinctively opened the refrigerator door: Creeeeeeak. But the blank, empty shelves in the fridge just taunted me more. And this fridge, let me tell you, was quite the sight for sore eyes; almond in color, wood-paneled handles, and some very interesting stains, dents, and scratches throughout. The deli & vegetable drawers wouldn't open or close properly, always getting hung up on the sticky, uneven metal glides; the grill at the bottom of the fridge was completely broken off, nowhere to be found; and-- the cherry on top? The previous owners never so much as cleaned it out before handing the house keys over to us. Which meant sticky areas of ketchup, chocolate rings under the spot where the Hershey's syrup must have lived, and white flaky debris from the milk cap, still fresh and abundant. It was louder than any appliance I had ever experienced, and would erupt in a ceremonious "hummmmmmmmmm, hummmmmmmmm, buzzzzzzzzzz" chant every other hour or so. In retrospect, I was now wishing that we had it written into the P & S last month that the fridge must be GONE by the time we moved in, but alas it was a fridge, which was better than no fridge at all. And so, with our purchase of the house, we were now the proud new owners of this refrigeration masterpiece. ("...but just for a year or so, til we can afford to replace it," we told ourselves. Ha! Famous last words...)
"Today's mission," I thought to myself, "will be to clean out this gross fridge, top to bottom, and have it stocked with tons of food by the time Jeff gets home at 5. He'll be proud of my ambition to take on such a production and maybe I can squeeze a pedicure out of the deal!" And off to work I started. Rubber cleaning gloves, every Clorox product imaginable, bleach, Lysol wipes, scrubbing bubbles, 2 new sponges, a bucket of hot water, and 3 hours of sweaty, "my pregnant belly's in the way" hard work later, and she was as "pretty" as she was going to get. Still embarrassing, still noisy, still circa 1979, still the color of a Caprice Classic station wagon-- but at least she was clean. And she was ours.
Next step: off to Shaw's! And so I went, pulling 2 full carriages and spending $400 on our first grocery order for our first house. (don't judge- it really adds up quickly when you need to buy all kinds of food plus every basic thing imaginable; spices for the spice rack, salt & pepper, baking goods, all paper goods, etc...) I felt such a sense of pride as I drove home, SUV bursting at the seems, to unload all of the goods. This was unequivocally the first step to transforming this shell of a house, to a home, and I couldn't wait to get started...
The unloading process took me three hours that day. THREE HOURS! Picture a wobbly, round, swollen, pregnant me, and enough bags to fill an entire SUV....now add excruciatingly humid weather, and you can understand why. I did treat myself to many "mini-breaks," while I unloaded the car to snack on my latest pregnancy addiction-- Kit-Kat bites. (Basically, kit-kat bars chopped into bite-sized morsels of chocolate-y, wafer-y goodness. I was immediately in love.) I shamelessly finished half of the bag that day, and placed the remaining 1/2 a bag in the newly clean freezer. By four-thirty in the afternoon, I had completely finished Operation-Clean-and-Stock-Fridge. I was quite impressed with myself as I stared inside the fridge, finally bearing stocked shelves, overflowing drawers and compartments erupting in a colorful rainbow or yummy goodness.
When Jeff walked in the door about a half-an-hour later, he immediately noticed the pleasantly bleach-y, clean smell in the kitchen. "Uh-oh, what'd you go and clean now?" he asked, raising his eyebrows at me as he hung up his work badge on the key-hook. And like a kindergartener at show and tell, I excitedly motioned towards the fridge with my head. When Jeff opened the fridge (Creeeeeeak!) and saw the sparkling condition of the inside, as well as the abundance of food, he grinned a huge smile from ear to ear, and then hugged me. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!!!" he said. "But you shouldn't have done that, that was a lot of work for you guys!" With that, he rubbed my belly and said his typical hellos to his daughter, using my bellybutton as his microphone into her amniotic-fluid filled world. That night, we cooked our first meal together in our house-- spaghetti and meatballs-- with a yummy green salad on the side. And garlic bread. Scrumptious. I can still picture us sitting at the kitchen table that night, walls echoing as our forks and knives clanked the plates in that bare, bare house. It truly seems like yesterday...
And so today, as I sit here in my cozy living room recliner typing this, I look around in amazement that somehow over the past 5 years, our walls are no longer bare; they are painted, and warm, and inviting, decorated with framed photographs of our wedding, our children, our friends, and construction paper preschool artwork of giraffes and candy canes. Five years later, and the polyurethane smell from those shiny, new floors has all but disappeared, (and their once pristine, glossy condition now bears "character" blemishes, dents & scratches that only we would be able to explain) Five years-- five years of anniversaries, birthdays, play-dates, friends, family, backyard barbecues, laughter, tears, the little moments, and big ones... Five years later, and that growing bulge in my belly from that hot July day is now a self-sufficient, walking, talking, articulate, silly, hula-hooping, joke-telling ballerina who loves Barbies and her little brother. Five years, and those neighbors mowing their lawns and filling up pools have become like family to us, exchanging Christmas cookies, crock-pot recipes, and eventually, tears over glasses of wine. Five years....and this house, with all of its imperfections and glitches, has become a home. Our home.
So in conclusion, this silly little memory of that one particular hazy summer day-- of sweating more than I've ever sweated, and scrubbing more than I've ever scrubbed, all for the purpose of cleaning out a 30-year old fridge with yucky, sticky ketchup remnants from the previous owners- may seem trivial to all of you. But to me, it encapsulates a very precious sliver of time in our lives together- before the chaos & craziness of children, before the sleepless nights, before we were in permanent auto-pilot mode living off Hazelnut K-cups & a Keurig machine. That fridge-cleaning milestone was truly the first step in turning this house into a home, and it is absolutely unbelievable to me that 1/2 a decade has passed here already. Thank you, Amana 18, for unintentionally inciting a trip down memory lane, and for the five wonderful years of fridgedom that you bestowed upon us.
P.S. and just in case you were curious? Yes, that is in fact the bag of Kit-Kat bites that I devoured 1/2 of that July day. I had a few the day that I went into labor with Ava and just never threw them away, so now they are a decorative, nostalgic, permanant component of our freezer :-)
(Rewind 5 years...)
It was a sweaty, humid July morning in 2005. Out our bare, curtain-less living room window, I watched neighbors (who I had yet to meet) mowing lawns, moms filling plastic kiddie pools with hoses, and dogs laying under trees for shade. Yes, it was only nine-thirty AM, but it was already 88 degrees outside. (This was "the hottest summer in a decade," according to the news for weeks now.) But summer wasn't the only thing in full bloom; I was seven months pregnant, expecting our first child-- a little girl-- in September. I was quickly approaching the point in pregnancy where my ankles were swelling daily, rolling over in bed required assistance, and urinating was my most frequent pastime. And this heat didn't help my cause at all. "Ughhhh," I thought to myself, "looks like another day in the house."
Jeff had already left for work at his new job in Cambridge, and so I was alone in this barren, empty, echoing shell of a house, contemplating the best use of my day. The possibilities were truly endless, as we were brand new, first-time homeowners and there was still plenty of unpacking/organizing/cleaning to be done. Sure, we had brought a few of 'the basics' to get us through the first week in the new house-- toilet paper, a few articles of clothing, our mattress, toiletries, and some limited paper goods- but beyond this, the house was completely bare. Bare to the point that every ring of the phone, every dropped penny, every cough, and every sneeze echoed as it bounced off the hardwood floors onto the naked walls. The smell of polyurethane still lingered heavily from the floor-refinishing a few weeks prior, and because of this I had the windows open and the central air cranked on-- something that Jeff probably would have loved to reprimand me about daily, were it not for my pregnant circumstance. But these days, he just wanted to see me comfortable, and if this meant a massive dent in our electric bill (and oodles of wasted cold air, quite literally, out the window,) then so be it. As my pregnant belly groaned and sloshed with hunger pangs, interrupting my thoughts, I instinctively opened the refrigerator door: Creeeeeeak. But the blank, empty shelves in the fridge just taunted me more. And this fridge, let me tell you, was quite the sight for sore eyes; almond in color, wood-paneled handles, and some very interesting stains, dents, and scratches throughout. The deli & vegetable drawers wouldn't open or close properly, always getting hung up on the sticky, uneven metal glides; the grill at the bottom of the fridge was completely broken off, nowhere to be found; and-- the cherry on top? The previous owners never so much as cleaned it out before handing the house keys over to us. Which meant sticky areas of ketchup, chocolate rings under the spot where the Hershey's syrup must have lived, and white flaky debris from the milk cap, still fresh and abundant. It was louder than any appliance I had ever experienced, and would erupt in a ceremonious "hummmmmmmmmm, hummmmmmmmm, buzzzzzzzzzz" chant every other hour or so. In retrospect, I was now wishing that we had it written into the P & S last month that the fridge must be GONE by the time we moved in, but alas it was a fridge, which was better than no fridge at all. And so, with our purchase of the house, we were now the proud new owners of this refrigeration masterpiece. ("...but just for a year or so, til we can afford to replace it," we told ourselves. Ha! Famous last words...)
"Today's mission," I thought to myself, "will be to clean out this gross fridge, top to bottom, and have it stocked with tons of food by the time Jeff gets home at 5. He'll be proud of my ambition to take on such a production and maybe I can squeeze a pedicure out of the deal!" And off to work I started. Rubber cleaning gloves, every Clorox product imaginable, bleach, Lysol wipes, scrubbing bubbles, 2 new sponges, a bucket of hot water, and 3 hours of sweaty, "my pregnant belly's in the way" hard work later, and she was as "pretty" as she was going to get. Still embarrassing, still noisy, still circa 1979, still the color of a Caprice Classic station wagon-- but at least she was clean. And she was ours.
Next step: off to Shaw's! And so I went, pulling 2 full carriages and spending $400 on our first grocery order for our first house. (don't judge- it really adds up quickly when you need to buy all kinds of food plus every basic thing imaginable; spices for the spice rack, salt & pepper, baking goods, all paper goods, etc...) I felt such a sense of pride as I drove home, SUV bursting at the seems, to unload all of the goods. This was unequivocally the first step to transforming this shell of a house, to a home, and I couldn't wait to get started...
The unloading process took me three hours that day. THREE HOURS! Picture a wobbly, round, swollen, pregnant me, and enough bags to fill an entire SUV....now add excruciatingly humid weather, and you can understand why. I did treat myself to many "mini-breaks," while I unloaded the car to snack on my latest pregnancy addiction-- Kit-Kat bites. (Basically, kit-kat bars chopped into bite-sized morsels of chocolate-y, wafer-y goodness. I was immediately in love.) I shamelessly finished half of the bag that day, and placed the remaining 1/2 a bag in the newly clean freezer. By four-thirty in the afternoon, I had completely finished Operation-Clean-and-Stock-Fridge. I was quite impressed with myself as I stared inside the fridge, finally bearing stocked shelves, overflowing drawers and compartments erupting in a colorful rainbow or yummy goodness.
When Jeff walked in the door about a half-an-hour later, he immediately noticed the pleasantly bleach-y, clean smell in the kitchen. "Uh-oh, what'd you go and clean now?" he asked, raising his eyebrows at me as he hung up his work badge on the key-hook. And like a kindergartener at show and tell, I excitedly motioned towards the fridge with my head. When Jeff opened the fridge (Creeeeeeak!) and saw the sparkling condition of the inside, as well as the abundance of food, he grinned a huge smile from ear to ear, and then hugged me. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!!!" he said. "But you shouldn't have done that, that was a lot of work for you guys!" With that, he rubbed my belly and said his typical hellos to his daughter, using my bellybutton as his microphone into her amniotic-fluid filled world. That night, we cooked our first meal together in our house-- spaghetti and meatballs-- with a yummy green salad on the side. And garlic bread. Scrumptious. I can still picture us sitting at the kitchen table that night, walls echoing as our forks and knives clanked the plates in that bare, bare house. It truly seems like yesterday...
And so today, as I sit here in my cozy living room recliner typing this, I look around in amazement that somehow over the past 5 years, our walls are no longer bare; they are painted, and warm, and inviting, decorated with framed photographs of our wedding, our children, our friends, and construction paper preschool artwork of giraffes and candy canes. Five years later, and the polyurethane smell from those shiny, new floors has all but disappeared, (and their once pristine, glossy condition now bears "character" blemishes, dents & scratches that only we would be able to explain) Five years-- five years of anniversaries, birthdays, play-dates, friends, family, backyard barbecues, laughter, tears, the little moments, and big ones... Five years later, and that growing bulge in my belly from that hot July day is now a self-sufficient, walking, talking, articulate, silly, hula-hooping, joke-telling ballerina who loves Barbies and her little brother. Five years, and those neighbors mowing their lawns and filling up pools have become like family to us, exchanging Christmas cookies, crock-pot recipes, and eventually, tears over glasses of wine. Five years....and this house, with all of its imperfections and glitches, has become a home. Our home.
So in conclusion, this silly little memory of that one particular hazy summer day-- of sweating more than I've ever sweated, and scrubbing more than I've ever scrubbed, all for the purpose of cleaning out a 30-year old fridge with yucky, sticky ketchup remnants from the previous owners- may seem trivial to all of you. But to me, it encapsulates a very precious sliver of time in our lives together- before the chaos & craziness of children, before the sleepless nights, before we were in permanent auto-pilot mode living off Hazelnut K-cups & a Keurig machine. That fridge-cleaning milestone was truly the first step in turning this house into a home, and it is absolutely unbelievable to me that 1/2 a decade has passed here already. Thank you, Amana 18, for unintentionally inciting a trip down memory lane, and for the five wonderful years of fridgedom that you bestowed upon us.
P.S. and just in case you were curious? Yes, that is in fact the bag of Kit-Kat bites that I devoured 1/2 of that July day. I had a few the day that I went into labor with Ava and just never threw them away, so now they are a decorative, nostalgic, permanant component of our freezer :-)
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Elevator shenanigans
What better indicator of the pure, unadulterated, uninhibited mindset of a four-year old than the following anecdote:
We were on the elevator back down to the parking lot today, after Ava's (very successful, tears-free, cavity-free) dental visit this morning. She was full of post-appointment swag from the Dentist's highly coveted basket-o-goodies, ranging from a chintzy rainbow heart bracelet to an eraser in the shape of a tooth, and was pleasantly admiring them. We were only traveling from the third floor down to the first, so the whole trip was less than 30 seconds total.
As the elevator bell went "Ding!" to signify the end of our journey, and the doors opened onto floor one, a crowd consisting of a mailman, an elderly woman with a cane, and an employee of the adjacent Auto Center waited patiently for us to exit the elevator and then stepped on themselves.
The whole walk out to the car, Ava covered her mouth, giggling copiously.
"What's so funny?" I asked her once, and then again.
She answered in more giggles, which soon evolved into uncontrollable belly laughter.
It wasn't until we were in the car, pulling out of the parking lot, that she stopped giggling long enough to let me in on the hilarity:
"Momma?"
"Yes?"
"Right before we got off the elevator....I tooted. Three times! And it really really stunk!!"
We were on the elevator back down to the parking lot today, after Ava's (very successful, tears-free, cavity-free) dental visit this morning. She was full of post-appointment swag from the Dentist's highly coveted basket-o-goodies, ranging from a chintzy rainbow heart bracelet to an eraser in the shape of a tooth, and was pleasantly admiring them. We were only traveling from the third floor down to the first, so the whole trip was less than 30 seconds total.
As the elevator bell went "Ding!" to signify the end of our journey, and the doors opened onto floor one, a crowd consisting of a mailman, an elderly woman with a cane, and an employee of the adjacent Auto Center waited patiently for us to exit the elevator and then stepped on themselves.
The whole walk out to the car, Ava covered her mouth, giggling copiously.
"What's so funny?" I asked her once, and then again.
She answered in more giggles, which soon evolved into uncontrollable belly laughter.
It wasn't until we were in the car, pulling out of the parking lot, that she stopped giggling long enough to let me in on the hilarity:
"Momma?"
"Yes?"
"Right before we got off the elevator....I tooted. Three times! And it really really stunk!!"
Monday, February 1, 2010
My Little Picasso
Ava's artsy, creative side is in full bloom these days (which I am loving!) and I wanted to share with all of you a couple of her latest creations. Beaming a huge, proud, confident grin, she rolled up both pieces of 8.5 by 11 inch computer paper scroll-style (her typical presentation tactic) and awarded them to me today. Per usual, I asked her for an explanation of each creation. I always find it fascinating to hear the story behind a picture, out of her mouth. And so, in her own words, she described to me that the first picture is a "purple daisy-- or wait, maybe a pansy-- on a very tall, bumpy mountain." (*please note that this is the first flower she's ever drawn, that actually resembles a flower! I was so proud!)
And as for the second creation? Ava informed me that this little masterpiece is a picture of "a friendly, slithering caterpillar leaving the gate to go find the mushroom on the tall, tall stairs, with a four, an L, and a T in the sky..." Of course!
And last but not least, please note her very unique John Hancock; (A-V-A, always bearing a line overhead, with some dots over each letter...) What an eccentric, creative little Picasso she is evolving into, and I am loving every single minute of it :-)
And as for the second creation? Ava informed me that this little masterpiece is a picture of "a friendly, slithering caterpillar leaving the gate to go find the mushroom on the tall, tall stairs, with a four, an L, and a T in the sky..." Of course!
And last but not least, please note her very unique John Hancock; (A-V-A, always bearing a line overhead, with some dots over each letter...) What an eccentric, creative little Picasso she is evolving into, and I am loving every single minute of it :-)
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