New post about nothing

Chickie LOVES Kitty's soccer shoes. She wears them every chance she can get

The other day I saw two attractive ladies, both with buzzed heads.  I wondered if they were recovering from cancer, but I really didn't care because I wanted to get the same haircut. 

No congratulations necessary, really.

When people say "congratulations" I usually read it as "good job, you really tried and succeeded!"  This is neither a time when I've done a good job, nor really tried to succeed.  In fact, this is the opposite, a fluke.  A blessing? Yes.  But I'm still struggling to see it as such.

Baby number 4 is on the agenda for middle October.  That's right, another one.  Just when I was certain (and I mean certain) our family was complete, we were dealt a real game changer.  If I was old before, I'm even older now.  It takes longer for this body to bounce back-- I was still working on it from nearly two years ago, so it's awesome to go through the whole thing again. It took until my first appointment to really believe it was true.  "There really is a baby in there," I said aloud, as if the vomiting and exhaustion weren't proof enough.

So when you see me around and I look just a tad more disheveled than usual, remember that I survive on a very delicate equilibrium in my life and right now it is way out of whack.  It has taken four pregnancies for me to learn this about myself.  I don't feel good so I don't shower.  I don't feel good so I don't do dishes.  I don't feel good so I wear my yoga pants for weeks on end. I don't feel good so I don't fix my hair (oh wait, that happens even when I feel ok). I don't feel good so I don't write clever blog posts.

I love my babies (and usually my children) but I don't love being pregnant, remember? I just figure this is one determined little spirit that we need in our family of determined little spirits.

So there it is, my big announcement. 

Maybe I should take a cooking class

Hello Kitty

"Maybe you should take a cooking class."

That's how Jared woke me up the other morning. I didn't know if I should be offended or offended.  He wasn't trying to hurt my feelings, in fact, I think I know his motivation.  You see, Jared has a philosophy about cooking, if you enjoy it, you will be good at it.  He knows I don't love making dinner every night and so in his caveman brain that means I must not be good at it. The problem lies in the fact that he is a picky eater and I can't always read his mind. 

This is only after I cleaned up the explosion

Regardless of Jared's intention, I stewed over the cooking class comment for days.  I decided to make his favorite cookies just to prove him wrong (technically baking not cooking, whatever). But when John and Kitty heard, they insisted I make their favorite cookies instead, and because I like their favorites better, I went with the kids. 

It was going well until we were out of brown sugar.  No problem, I thought, I'll just use regular with some molasses and call it good (I know how to cook).  And it was good until I went to the cupboard and realized we were out of molasses and that I had substituted brown sugar in my molasses holiday cookies. So... I went with Plan B: regular sugar.  Done.

I mindlessly added ingredients with expert precision telling myself I knew how to make darn good cookies, even without the right ingredients. I was lost in thought about my mad baking skills when I added the flour and instead of moving the "lock" lever on the mixer, I moved the speed lever to full blast. Flour blasted the kitchen, me, Kitty, Chickie, the dogs, everyone. It was awesome.

The cookies turned out fine, by the way.  My confidence? Better than ever.

One of my helpers

Turned my back for a second and she decided to make a baking soda mess to rival the flour.  She didn't like the taste of it.

I'm having an affair

It started years ago with "This American Life".  I would wait all week for the Sunday afternoon episode.  If I was traveling, I would desperately search for the local NPR station so I wouldn't miss anything. Life only got better as technology advanced and I could download the podcast, and eventually have access to every episode via the app.

There have been others, "Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me", "Fresh Air"... but lately it's gotten worse.  Enter Netflix.  I was officially the last person on the planet to sign up for Netflix last month and it has ruined my personal relationships, my sleep habits, my life.

"Downton Abbey" became my everything.  Only after I searched every shady internet site for free streaming of Season 2 (since Netflix doesn't have it) did I get smart and go to the source, PBS.com. I started resenting my family for making me feel more like a servant than the lady of the house.  I started wishing we would dress for dinner and go on riding parties. I wanted to send a handwritten letter on a small piece of parchment and seal it with wax.  But most of all, I studied Maggie Smith and her clever delivery of insults.Now I wait every week for the latest Season 3 episode to air and worry what I will do when the season is finished.

For now I have "Mad Men" to fill my time.  I spend every waking moment thinking about when I can sneak in another episode. I am ashamed to say that I dragged poor Chickie into this one.  I cue up an episode every time she's up in the night. She's come to expect it, pointing to the wii remote the minute I sit down in the dark room to rock her back to sleep. I won't be surprised if she starts wanting to smoke and pour a drink every time she starts a conversation. In fact, if you are trying to quit drinking and smoking (or if you don't want to start) I don't recommend watching.  Oh, that Don Draper... so troubled and complex...

And with "Breaking Bad" lined up in my instant cue the obsession is sure to continue.

Chickie's Shoes Series 1

Someone likes to play with my phone...

More Pinterest Peeves

It's sad when all I write about is Pinterest...

I can't really blame Pinterest, it is the people who promote various pins that are partially to blame, but mostly it's the blogosphere that is the problem. Who are these people anyway?  I promise, despite the fancy photos, perfect crafts, and clever titles, they are not much different than you and me.  I am in my pink bathrobe surrounded by toys with a white chinchilla plotting my demise from his cage behind me, just like everyone else.

I remember being a teenager reading the magazines, taking the quizzes, and coming to the realization that I had just as much expertise in the "Is he digging you or your best friend?" arena as the people who wrote that crap.  But did that stop me from finding out "What's your party personality?" Nope.  The authors knew all the burning insecurities on every young girl's mind and provided a way to appease/feed them.

Pinterest is the Seventeen of the modern housewife. Everywhere you look there is a solution to your problems. 

Want to lose weight and look like you have the fakest boobs on the planet? Drink ice water!
Don't know how to discipline? Follow this simple flowchart!
At a loss for words for your daughter? Here are 10 things you have to say or she'll never amount to anything!
What about your son? Keep him "good" by following these three tips!
Your house is a mess? Put a cute basket under the sink!
Laundry overwhelming? Follow this simple (ground breaking) plan: sort, wash, fold, put away
What to get more done during the day? Sleep more, plan ahead, make a list, and stay focused!

Here's my favorite tip (feel free to pin it): Want to be more productive? Get off Pinterest!


Chickie in her skinny jeans that made her walk like Kramer in that one Seinfeld episode. 

My favorite is the pin that says "Organize your entire life" and when you actually read the post it's a joke. Soooo many people have repinned it thinking she has the answers to all your problems. Click through before you pin people!

I could write this stuff! It's all fluff, but we feel inadequate so we read it.

On a serious note...

In the wake of the Connecticut tragedy I have vacillated between deep sorrow and sadness, confusion, anger, and despair.  Friday morning I dropped the kids off at school in the carpool lane and realized Kitty forgot her coat, so I pulled along the side of her and tossed her coat out the window.  I said good-bye and as I pulled away I thought, "I can't believe I just drive away without watching her go into the building, I must really trust the school."  I am not kidding, I had that thought. I remembered that thought all that day as I watched the news and wished that I had stopped and at least watched her go in.

As much as I need the break that school provides, I often stop throughout my day and miss my kids.  It makes me a little sad to think that I can't observe or see what they are doing at any given moment in the day.  I think that is what's most painful, those poor parents weren't there to protect or comfort their children. 

We haven't discussed the news with our kids.  Jared and I decided to keep the news off and let the first few days of media overload pass without our participation.  I am sure they will hear about it through the grapevine and I plan to bring it up when it dies down a bit.

Portrait of a boy, 11/2012 by John

Here's the thing though, I just read this and realized that I am also coming to grips with my perspective from the other side of the issue. As the parent of a child with mental illness (there, I said it) I don't know what needs to change. While my experience is not as serious as the author's, when you live with it everyday the line between normal and abnormal becomes fuzzy. One thing I know, parents love their children.