For those readers who don't know, my husband is in the process of being recruited to work for a law firm in New York City. He is paid a large salary, given an office with a gorgeous view, taken to lunch every day, driven around in a Lincoln towncar, flown first class to Latin America, and taken on a number of outings to show him just how fabulous his life with be if he works for this law firm. The law firm is doing a pretty good job of recruiting him: He's developing a palate for the finer things in life, if you know what I mean.
They're not doing the best job recruiting me. Most law students in the United States are single, childless, religiously unaffiliated, and in their mid-twenties. The law firms use that demographic to plan the summer activities so significant others are not really part of the plans. Children are definitely not part of the plans. As a result, I have not seen my husband for four days because he's been in Colombia. He just returned an hour ago. Tonight, he's feeling bad about missing a party to which I am specifically uninvited. I'm having trouble feeling bad for the poor lawyers who want to party with my husband after feeling lonely for him for four days.
Admittedly, when he told me that he had the chance to go to Colombia, I told him that it sounded like a great opportunity and I would be fine on my own for a few days. Also, I have almost always encouraged him to network in unstructured situations with the other attorneys at his firm. I think that it's my past life as a law student that makes me extra supportive of my husband's legal career. Maybe I shouldn't be though. Maybe I should assert my interests as a stay-at-home mom more. He's never pressured me to contribute to the family finances by workng away from home. Should I refrain from pressuring him to spending more time with his kids? Something tells me that the two responsibilities aren't even comparable, but I haven't really figured out how it all fits together.
In the meantime, yes, complaining about it does help.
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
D is for Discipline
So here's a problem:
My baby likes to bite me while I'm nursing him. He has eight beautiful, sharp baby teeth. It is every bit as painful as you might imagine, and I'm having trouble making him stop. The problem is that discipline is based on repetition: he gets some negative consequence each time he engages in the naughty behavior. You know what else is based on repetition? Humor. Especially one-year-old humor. When I tried saying "no" loudly every time he bit me, he was startled and upset the first couple of times, but then he thought it was a hilarious game and he would purposely bite me and giggle every time I said no. Then I tried flicking him on the nose. I don't think he liked it, but he soon realized that Mom's humor is just as funny when it hurts a little. What was I supposed to do? Make it hurt a lot?
Then yesterday when I was feeding Baby his Cheerios, he learned that he could reach in his mouth and take his Cheerios out to enjoy them twice. Mom wasn't happy about that, so she tried her disciplinary tactics on this behavior as well. Baby was delighted: every time his stuck his finger in his mouth, he could depend on Mom frowning and pulling his hand out. It got ridiculous really fast. Fingers in, pull them out, fingers in, pull them out.
Imagine the cutest baby in the world, laughing his head off, and then imagine flicking him on the nose and saying "no, stop laughing!" Think you can do it? Good, you're hired. I'll take him back when you're done.
My baby likes to bite me while I'm nursing him. He has eight beautiful, sharp baby teeth. It is every bit as painful as you might imagine, and I'm having trouble making him stop. The problem is that discipline is based on repetition: he gets some negative consequence each time he engages in the naughty behavior. You know what else is based on repetition? Humor. Especially one-year-old humor. When I tried saying "no" loudly every time he bit me, he was startled and upset the first couple of times, but then he thought it was a hilarious game and he would purposely bite me and giggle every time I said no. Then I tried flicking him on the nose. I don't think he liked it, but he soon realized that Mom's humor is just as funny when it hurts a little. What was I supposed to do? Make it hurt a lot?
Then yesterday when I was feeding Baby his Cheerios, he learned that he could reach in his mouth and take his Cheerios out to enjoy them twice. Mom wasn't happy about that, so she tried her disciplinary tactics on this behavior as well. Baby was delighted: every time his stuck his finger in his mouth, he could depend on Mom frowning and pulling his hand out. It got ridiculous really fast. Fingers in, pull them out, fingers in, pull them out.
Imagine the cutest baby in the world, laughing his head off, and then imagine flicking him on the nose and saying "no, stop laughing!" Think you can do it? Good, you're hired. I'll take him back when you're done.
Shopping blues
I went shopping with my baby yesterday at a really crowded department store. The line for the fitting rooms was long and I didn't think that I'd be able to fit a stroller in with me once I got there anyway, so I decided to just eyeball the sizes on my clothes.
Actually, what I'd originally decided was to try on the clothes in the aisle of the department store. It's amazing how comfortable I am doing really undignified things ever since Baby came bouncing into my life. Don't get the wrong idea: I wasn't standing there in my underwear; I was just discretely slipping a skirt on over my dress. Not in a shoplifting kind of way, but in a will-this-waistband-reach kind of way. Anyway, apparently customers are not supposed to try clothes on unless they're in the fitting rooms, no matter how long the lines or how un-stroller-friendly the fitting rooms may be. So, I used my 14 years of experience buying my own clothes to see if they would fit.
I chose well for two of my items, but I was way wrong on one. I am writing this post while squeezed into a shirt that is way too small for me. It might, just maybe, fit my eleven-year-old sister. That's always depressing when you think something will fit you with room to spare and it actually is uncomfortably tight. I'd like to think that I'm actually thinner than I think I am, but it turns out that I'm fatter. And it's not just baby weight at this point, it's just me. So I guess it's back to the crowded department store for me to exchange the shirt for a larger size. Hmmph.
Actually, what I'd originally decided was to try on the clothes in the aisle of the department store. It's amazing how comfortable I am doing really undignified things ever since Baby came bouncing into my life. Don't get the wrong idea: I wasn't standing there in my underwear; I was just discretely slipping a skirt on over my dress. Not in a shoplifting kind of way, but in a will-this-waistband-reach kind of way. Anyway, apparently customers are not supposed to try clothes on unless they're in the fitting rooms, no matter how long the lines or how un-stroller-friendly the fitting rooms may be. So, I used my 14 years of experience buying my own clothes to see if they would fit.
I chose well for two of my items, but I was way wrong on one. I am writing this post while squeezed into a shirt that is way too small for me. It might, just maybe, fit my eleven-year-old sister. That's always depressing when you think something will fit you with room to spare and it actually is uncomfortably tight. I'd like to think that I'm actually thinner than I think I am, but it turns out that I'm fatter. And it's not just baby weight at this point, it's just me. So I guess it's back to the crowded department store for me to exchange the shirt for a larger size. Hmmph.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Banged up
With one notable exception, I've never lived in an apartment that wasn't painted landlord white. In this apartment, the paint is particularly boring because we don't have much furniture. We got it unfurnished, and we've only added what we plan to use during the next six weeks or so. As I got out of the shower this morning, it crossed my mind that the most colorful things in the apartment were the bruises on my legs. I think I get a new bruise every time I carry the stroller up or down the subway stairs, so by now I've acquired quite a collection: nineteen little dime-shaped bruises on my right leg (I carry the stroller on my right side) in various shades of green, yellows, pink, and purple.
It just goes to show that if/when we move here for good, I'll definitely need to paint my apartment.
It just goes to show that if/when we move here for good, I'll definitely need to paint my apartment.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Chewing Cigars
I watched Gigi for the first time in a long time yesterday. I hadn't seen it since I was a little girl, but I watched it a LOT when I was a little girl, so I thought I remembered every scene, every line of dialogue.
But I didn't. I had misheard so many lines in that movie. The most obvious mistake was the line where Aunt Alicia (sp?) says "You must learn to choose cigars." I had heard that line a hundred times, always hearing it as "You must learn to chew cigars." Gigi's disgust made perfect sense to me. Then, years later, I hear it again and realize that I had been wrong all along and Aunt Alicia's suggestion wasn't quite so gross.
This happens to me all the time. Sometimes it's because I learned the sexual humor or the literary allusion or whatever during the interim. And sometimes I don't know why I heard it one way over and over again before and realized it so obviously later.
It makes me want to rewatch all of those old movies and reread all of those books that I overwatched and overread when I was younger. I don't know if it would be worth it to sit through "The Buttercream Gang," but I could go for a walk down memory lane with "Pipi Longstocking."
But I didn't. I had misheard so many lines in that movie. The most obvious mistake was the line where Aunt Alicia (sp?) says "You must learn to choose cigars." I had heard that line a hundred times, always hearing it as "You must learn to chew cigars." Gigi's disgust made perfect sense to me. Then, years later, I hear it again and realize that I had been wrong all along and Aunt Alicia's suggestion wasn't quite so gross.
This happens to me all the time. Sometimes it's because I learned the sexual humor or the literary allusion or whatever during the interim. And sometimes I don't know why I heard it one way over and over again before and realized it so obviously later.
It makes me want to rewatch all of those old movies and reread all of those books that I overwatched and overread when I was younger. I don't know if it would be worth it to sit through "The Buttercream Gang," but I could go for a walk down memory lane with "Pipi Longstocking."
The continuum between tourist and native
Last night we welcomed our first overnight guests to our New York apartment, which, for me, is a major turning point because we have made part of that transition. I still feel like a wide-eyed country mouse, but it cannot be denied that my little family has a residence and a job and experience here in the city. Granted it's just a little residence, job, and experience, but it's better than nothing, and plain old New York tourists have none of those things. As of last night, we also have had guests, another major step on the path from newcomer to old-timer.
It's also a reminder of the things that we haven't done yet in the city that we need to do before we leave. I'm to the point where I don't go out touring all day every day. I spend my time living more like a native: keeping up with errands and cleaning the apartment, maybe with a quick trip to the park. Being a long-term tourist is tiring. After weeks and weeks of waking up every morning to plan a new itinerary, figure out the transportation, work out the logistics for feeding, napping, changing, and sunscreening my baby, etc., I start to get really worn out. More and more, I find myself wanting to stay home rather than push the stroller through another world-class art collection. Still, on the days that I do yank myself and my baby out of the apartment and go somewhere, I'm almost always really glad I did. It's probably always worth it to stay a little bit of a tourist.
Yesterday my husband called at 2:30 to tell me that he had gotten Yankees tickets for that night. That gave me four and a half hours to get organized, go home, get ready, hoof it to Hubby's work, and take the train to Yankee Stadium. I was stressed the whole four and a half hours and really regretting my decision to go to the game as I jogged across Times Square during rush hour with an enormous baby strapped to my chest. But when we sat down in the stadium and got our hotdogs and watched Derek Jeter hit a homerun, it was absolutely worth it. Absolutely. And that's why, when my husband calls tonight and tells me that we have free tickets to Carnegie Hall, but I need to find a babysitter, change into a dress, pick up his suit from the dry cleaners, and meet him at work with a to-go dinner to eat on the subway, I will say, "sounds fantastic--let's do it."
It's also a reminder of the things that we haven't done yet in the city that we need to do before we leave. I'm to the point where I don't go out touring all day every day. I spend my time living more like a native: keeping up with errands and cleaning the apartment, maybe with a quick trip to the park. Being a long-term tourist is tiring. After weeks and weeks of waking up every morning to plan a new itinerary, figure out the transportation, work out the logistics for feeding, napping, changing, and sunscreening my baby, etc., I start to get really worn out. More and more, I find myself wanting to stay home rather than push the stroller through another world-class art collection. Still, on the days that I do yank myself and my baby out of the apartment and go somewhere, I'm almost always really glad I did. It's probably always worth it to stay a little bit of a tourist.
Yesterday my husband called at 2:30 to tell me that he had gotten Yankees tickets for that night. That gave me four and a half hours to get organized, go home, get ready, hoof it to Hubby's work, and take the train to Yankee Stadium. I was stressed the whole four and a half hours and really regretting my decision to go to the game as I jogged across Times Square during rush hour with an enormous baby strapped to my chest. But when we sat down in the stadium and got our hotdogs and watched Derek Jeter hit a homerun, it was absolutely worth it. Absolutely. And that's why, when my husband calls tonight and tells me that we have free tickets to Carnegie Hall, but I need to find a babysitter, change into a dress, pick up his suit from the dry cleaners, and meet him at work with a to-go dinner to eat on the subway, I will say, "sounds fantastic--let's do it."
Saturday, June 09, 2007
Another NY Observation
My highs are higher and my lows are lower than they ever used to be. I think this is a combination of having a baby and of moving to New York. I think I said in a previous blog that this is something that happens with marriage too, but I'm pretty sure I'm used to being married at this point.
Babies are powerful little squirts, let me tell you. Pretty scary to think that my sticky little 30-pounder has such insane abilities over my emotions. If Baby's having a good day, the whole world is happy, and if Baby's sad, take cover.
And the New York thing, I don't know. For some reason when a good thing happens here, it's better than when a good thing happens in Provo, and bad things can be just absolutely devastating. Hot dogs are more savory, the heat is more oppressive, flowers are more colorful, etc. I remember a little of this when we lived in Washington DC for the summer too. Maybe I'm feeling this way because I'm away from home and I'm separated from the usual soures of comfort. I have independance on one hand so small things seem more exciting, but I'm also feeling vulnerable, so small things can also be really painful. Or maybe New York is a mystical magical place.
As my last blog indicated, I had a really, really bad morning today. I thought I would update by saying that my day completely turned around and I feel 90% better (not quiet a full recovery since I'm still sniffly). It's amazing what a whirlwind clean-up, a shower, and--most of all--a nap in a quiet apartment while Husband Dearest takes Baby Dearest out for the day can do to cheer up even the whiniest, miserablest Mama. I'm feeling good. Bring it on.
Babies are powerful little squirts, let me tell you. Pretty scary to think that my sticky little 30-pounder has such insane abilities over my emotions. If Baby's having a good day, the whole world is happy, and if Baby's sad, take cover.
And the New York thing, I don't know. For some reason when a good thing happens here, it's better than when a good thing happens in Provo, and bad things can be just absolutely devastating. Hot dogs are more savory, the heat is more oppressive, flowers are more colorful, etc. I remember a little of this when we lived in Washington DC for the summer too. Maybe I'm feeling this way because I'm away from home and I'm separated from the usual soures of comfort. I have independance on one hand so small things seem more exciting, but I'm also feeling vulnerable, so small things can also be really painful. Or maybe New York is a mystical magical place.
As my last blog indicated, I had a really, really bad morning today. I thought I would update by saying that my day completely turned around and I feel 90% better (not quiet a full recovery since I'm still sniffly). It's amazing what a whirlwind clean-up, a shower, and--most of all--a nap in a quiet apartment while Husband Dearest takes Baby Dearest out for the day can do to cheer up even the whiniest, miserablest Mama. I'm feeling good. Bring it on.
Down Day
I so got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. I'm pretty much hopping mad at the world right now--or I would be if I had the energy to hop. I'm so tired, and I'm sick, and my laundry is all dirty, and my bathroom is disgusting, and I haven't taken a shower yet, and my baby has decided that today will be a hold-me-at-all-times-or-I'll-scream-day. Maybe he's sick too, I don't know. I don't care. Leave me alone. Bah!
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
Mama Mia problem
So, I saw "Mama Mia," the musical on Broadway a couple of weeks ago, and I'm still wearing my happy 70s dancing pants. Does anyone have a cure for getting ABBA music to stop playing over and over again in their head? I know, you're saying to yourself, why would anyone want to stop ABBA music, but believe me, this is getting ridiculous.
But that's not why I'm writing this post. I have a problem with the ending of the musical. What started as a little niggling annoyance is now really bothering me. Even more than the endless repetitions of "Take a Chance on Me" in my head. I guess I should make a spoiler alert at this point (as if anyone is going to see "Mama Mia" for the plot). All the same, SPOILER ALERT. Anyway, the musical ends with the main character, a twenty-year-old, deciding last-minute that she's to young to get married and instead she will go backpacking across Europe with her boyfriend. This is supposedly the joyful dance-in-the-aisles ending to an exuberant musical.
Maybe I'm an old-fashioned prude or maybe I'm an old-fashioned romantic, but since when did the last-minute refusal to get married constitute a happy ending? As far as I could tell, marriage was the next obvious step for the romantic leads in this show. They were both good people, they respected each other, and they were in love with each other. The only reason they gave for not getting married was that they had their whole lives ahead of them. What was that supposed to mean? That it's unwise to make a commitment when you have so much time in which to undo that commitment? That being married will make backpacking through Europe impossible because only single people can do something so crrrrazy? So dumb.
I'm not saying that marriage wouldn't completely change the universe for any twenty-year-old because it does. I'm not saying that getting married shouldn't mean that you'll never be romantically in love with anyone else because it should. I'm just saying that backing out of a wedding is not a happy, exuberant ending. It's just . . . an ending. Giving up a marriage to someone you love and respect is giving up an adventure with higher emotional highs and lower emotional lows than you ever thought possible when you were single. Come on, musical, get it right! Surely whoever realized that a curtain call is best when done in florescent jumpsuits must be wise enough to know that.
But that's not why I'm writing this post. I have a problem with the ending of the musical. What started as a little niggling annoyance is now really bothering me. Even more than the endless repetitions of "Take a Chance on Me" in my head. I guess I should make a spoiler alert at this point (as if anyone is going to see "Mama Mia" for the plot). All the same, SPOILER ALERT. Anyway, the musical ends with the main character, a twenty-year-old, deciding last-minute that she's to young to get married and instead she will go backpacking across Europe with her boyfriend. This is supposedly the joyful dance-in-the-aisles ending to an exuberant musical.
Maybe I'm an old-fashioned prude or maybe I'm an old-fashioned romantic, but since when did the last-minute refusal to get married constitute a happy ending? As far as I could tell, marriage was the next obvious step for the romantic leads in this show. They were both good people, they respected each other, and they were in love with each other. The only reason they gave for not getting married was that they had their whole lives ahead of them. What was that supposed to mean? That it's unwise to make a commitment when you have so much time in which to undo that commitment? That being married will make backpacking through Europe impossible because only single people can do something so crrrrazy? So dumb.
I'm not saying that marriage wouldn't completely change the universe for any twenty-year-old because it does. I'm not saying that getting married shouldn't mean that you'll never be romantically in love with anyone else because it should. I'm just saying that backing out of a wedding is not a happy, exuberant ending. It's just . . . an ending. Giving up a marriage to someone you love and respect is giving up an adventure with higher emotional highs and lower emotional lows than you ever thought possible when you were single. Come on, musical, get it right! Surely whoever realized that a curtain call is best when done in florescent jumpsuits must be wise enough to know that.
For Want of a Suitable Medium
To make up for my recent cyber-silence, I'm going to try to post a bunch of entries today. Baby is being particularly good-natured, so I think I've got a good 15 minutes or so before he realizes that I'm not giving him my full attention.
At this stage in my life, I find my brain is just teeming with Interesting Ideas, but I've had a difficult time finding an outlet. Even though Baby's getting ridiculously large, he still demands about 95% of my time and attention, and it's hard to record Ideas when I need to have my eyes, my nose, my voice, both arms, and (let's face it) a breast directed toward Baby. Typing on a computer is not an easy task because it means that I need to be watching the screen and using both hands at the same time. When I'm desperate for computer time, I can hold Baby on my lap with one hand and type with the other, but this is slow and often results in Baby inflicting some kind of punishment on my computer (soymilk in the keyboard, broken network cables, entire laptop thrown off the table, etc.). Amazingly, even though I can't seem to multitask between nursing my baby and typing on my computer, Baby can nurse and produce the mischief of his choice.
Just think of all of the profound insights from nursing mothers that have gone unrecorded. It would be fascinating to know what my favorite thinkers throughout history thought about while they nursed--an activity that leaves a mother with nothing much to do but think. These probably brilliant, funny, spiritual ideas were all lost to sleepless nights and exhausted memories. So so sad.
Maybe I'll teach this Baby shorthand over the next year or so. Then he can be my little scribe while I'm nursing my next baby. Maybe I'll even get him his own little laptop.
At this stage in my life, I find my brain is just teeming with Interesting Ideas, but I've had a difficult time finding an outlet. Even though Baby's getting ridiculously large, he still demands about 95% of my time and attention, and it's hard to record Ideas when I need to have my eyes, my nose, my voice, both arms, and (let's face it) a breast directed toward Baby. Typing on a computer is not an easy task because it means that I need to be watching the screen and using both hands at the same time. When I'm desperate for computer time, I can hold Baby on my lap with one hand and type with the other, but this is slow and often results in Baby inflicting some kind of punishment on my computer (soymilk in the keyboard, broken network cables, entire laptop thrown off the table, etc.). Amazingly, even though I can't seem to multitask between nursing my baby and typing on my computer, Baby can nurse and produce the mischief of his choice.
Just think of all of the profound insights from nursing mothers that have gone unrecorded. It would be fascinating to know what my favorite thinkers throughout history thought about while they nursed--an activity that leaves a mother with nothing much to do but think. These probably brilliant, funny, spiritual ideas were all lost to sleepless nights and exhausted memories. So so sad.
Maybe I'll teach this Baby shorthand over the next year or so. Then he can be my little scribe while I'm nursing my next baby. Maybe I'll even get him his own little laptop.
Sunday, May 20, 2007
Potpourri
It really hard not to have my own computer all day, every day. Mine is out of commission right now--I'd go into details, but computer-related details are boring--so I'm using Hubby's. He couldn't be more accommodating, but even the most accommodating husband's computer is not the same as having your own. Law school spoiled me on this, I guess. I forgot how to share.
So that's part of the reason that it's been a while since my last post. Another part is that I just haven't. Sorry.
New York is still busy being awesome. Yesterday we had a family outing to Teddy Roosevelt's birthplace, and on the way, we walked through a huge street fair on 9th Avenue where we blew all of our money on really delicious Greek, Argentinian, Venezuelan, Korean, Turkish, and American food. The problem with eating so many new foods so fast is that you don't remember the names of anything, so you don't know what to order when you actually visit a Greek, Argentinian, etc. restaurant.
Teddie Roosevelt's birthplace was neat-o too. I'm seriously considering becoming a TR-head (like a Dead-head, not like a Potato Head). I don't freak out about history, but pretty much everything about Teddie Roosevelt is fascinating, so I wouldn't mind making an exception for the particular subject of him.
I've found that it's easy to make false assumptions about New Yorkers. First of all, a large number of the people you see are tourists, so their weirdness should not be held against the natives. Second of all, there are so many people that you're bound to run into a few crazies every day, and it's easy to project your daily experience with a crazy person on the rest of the people you see. You have to tell yourself, no, of the 2000 people I've seen today, only one of them has been a complete wacko, so that does not mean that New York attracts more crazies than the rest of the country.
The one observation that I think is definitely true about New Yorkers is that they love babies and they are fantastic about helping out with getting strollers up and down stairs in the subway and giving up their seats for young moms such as myself. This is a good thing.
So that's part of the reason that it's been a while since my last post. Another part is that I just haven't. Sorry.
New York is still busy being awesome. Yesterday we had a family outing to Teddy Roosevelt's birthplace, and on the way, we walked through a huge street fair on 9th Avenue where we blew all of our money on really delicious Greek, Argentinian, Venezuelan, Korean, Turkish, and American food. The problem with eating so many new foods so fast is that you don't remember the names of anything, so you don't know what to order when you actually visit a Greek, Argentinian, etc. restaurant.
Teddie Roosevelt's birthplace was neat-o too. I'm seriously considering becoming a TR-head (like a Dead-head, not like a Potato Head). I don't freak out about history, but pretty much everything about Teddie Roosevelt is fascinating, so I wouldn't mind making an exception for the particular subject of him.
I've found that it's easy to make false assumptions about New Yorkers. First of all, a large number of the people you see are tourists, so their weirdness should not be held against the natives. Second of all, there are so many people that you're bound to run into a few crazies every day, and it's easy to project your daily experience with a crazy person on the rest of the people you see. You have to tell yourself, no, of the 2000 people I've seen today, only one of them has been a complete wacko, so that does not mean that New York attracts more crazies than the rest of the country.
The one observation that I think is definitely true about New Yorkers is that they love babies and they are fantastic about helping out with getting strollers up and down stairs in the subway and giving up their seats for young moms such as myself. This is a good thing.
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
New Yo-erk
So, to make a long story short, here I am in New York City. Hubby, Baby, and I are subleasing an apartment in the Theater District for the summer. I will spend my summer touring the Big Apple with Baby in tow, while my sweet husband works for a law firm.
The long story that I shortened involved an excrutiating move from Provo to NYC, the birth of my newest nephew (a New York native), and a rollicking case of upset tummy for the whole family.
One thing that's cool about New York is that when you do something or go somewhere good, it's very likely to be famous. So, say your husband picks up dinner from a little place called Ruben's Empanadas. It's a great privately owned little restaurant that sells these sort of hot pocket dealies from Argentina. They're really good, and they cost about $2.50 each. There are similar places in Provo, but the Provo places don't have websites and guidebook entries devoted to them. It's really fun to go to Ruben's Empanadas and then read about it in "The Slow Food Guide to New York City," my favorite eating guide by far.
I'm sure I'll be writing a lot about NY over the next few months, but here are a few of my favorite NY moments so far:
The birds that live in the JFK airport
The dozens and dozens of people who have stopped me to tell me how delicious my baby is
The saxophonist in Central Park
Every blessed hotdog stand in the blessed city
The big boats near the Fulton Fish market
The long story that I shortened involved an excrutiating move from Provo to NYC, the birth of my newest nephew (a New York native), and a rollicking case of upset tummy for the whole family.
One thing that's cool about New York is that when you do something or go somewhere good, it's very likely to be famous. So, say your husband picks up dinner from a little place called Ruben's Empanadas. It's a great privately owned little restaurant that sells these sort of hot pocket dealies from Argentina. They're really good, and they cost about $2.50 each. There are similar places in Provo, but the Provo places don't have websites and guidebook entries devoted to them. It's really fun to go to Ruben's Empanadas and then read about it in "The Slow Food Guide to New York City," my favorite eating guide by far.
I'm sure I'll be writing a lot about NY over the next few months, but here are a few of my favorite NY moments so far:
The birds that live in the JFK airport
The dozens and dozens of people who have stopped me to tell me how delicious my baby is
The saxophonist in Central Park
Every blessed hotdog stand in the blessed city
The big boats near the Fulton Fish market
Monday, April 16, 2007
Muscle Momma
I accidentally left my cell phone in the car with my husband and baby, so I am impossible to reach right now, except by e-mail. It's a pretty cool feeling, just sitting in my blue chair and listening to the sounds of the teenagers downstairs who are supposed to be in school right now. I think I'll take a long shower after I'm done with this so I won't even be available over e-mail. Hmm...
So, I've been pumping iron this morning (another reason I could use a shower). I'm pretty much a lean mean mom-machine.
Actually, nothing makes me feel more weak than lifting weights at the gym. I can't lift much weight, and when I get home, I have trouble even opening my laptop.
I thought that I was getting incredibly strong from schlepping my baby around. I think that I probably got strong in the beginning, but then I started figuring out creative ways to conserve energy and he started to be able to shlep himself around a little more. I wonder if anyone's ever studied exactly which muscle groups are affected by being the primary caregiver for an infant. Probably not. Experts are interested in every tiny change in a gestating female's body, but once that baby's out, Mama's gotta figure it out on her own.
Well that shower's calling to me. Then maybe I'll make a sandwich and read a magazine and paint my toenails and do whatever else I can remember from my prebaby days.
So, I've been pumping iron this morning (another reason I could use a shower). I'm pretty much a lean mean mom-machine.
Actually, nothing makes me feel more weak than lifting weights at the gym. I can't lift much weight, and when I get home, I have trouble even opening my laptop.
I thought that I was getting incredibly strong from schlepping my baby around. I think that I probably got strong in the beginning, but then I started figuring out creative ways to conserve energy and he started to be able to shlep himself around a little more. I wonder if anyone's ever studied exactly which muscle groups are affected by being the primary caregiver for an infant. Probably not. Experts are interested in every tiny change in a gestating female's body, but once that baby's out, Mama's gotta figure it out on her own.
Well that shower's calling to me. Then maybe I'll make a sandwich and read a magazine and paint my toenails and do whatever else I can remember from my prebaby days.
Saturday, April 14, 2007
Trizivia, Family Style
My family plays a movie trivia game that is very fun but that can only be played within our own family. It's your pretty basic movie quote game ("What's this from . . ."), but the quotes are all from the eclectic bunch of movies that we watched when we were growing up. I grew up in a household where almost all of our movies were taped off of television, usually from PBS's fundraising week or from free Disney channel week. Besides those, we had religious movies for our Sunday viewing pleasure, Feature Films for Families, and the store-bought videos that we'd get as Christmas gifts from extended family. These are the films from which the trivia must be pulled.
My family watched the same movies over and over and over again until we could pretty much quote the entire movie from start to finish, including the commercials and PBS donation promos in between. I couldn't tell you what Big Red's advertising campaign is like right now, but I can easily remember it's jingle from about 1987 ("So kiss a little longer, hold tight a little longer . . ."). In fact, all of the gum commercials from those days had pretty snappy jingles: Big Red, Doublemint, Juicy fruit, Extra, not to mention Fruit Stripes and Bubble Tape.
Anyway, the joy of the trivia game is to think of the perfect quote and to offer it in such a way that it cannot be mistaken for another movie. We have seen these movies ten million times, so it's hard to get something that not obvious. For example, "Maurice, the baguettes," is a laughably simple one from Beauty and the Beast. A better, though not perfect, quote would be "Come into the light," if you could say it with Belle's exact same inflections. The perfect quote would be one that rings familiar, but takes some thinking before you can figure out exactly who said it. A response to the perfect question should go something like this: "It's from a cartoon, post-Little Mermaid, she's in a dark room when she says it, hmm, "come into the . . . ," Oh! I know, I know! At this point, the respondent would be shushed before she blurted out the answer and spoiled the game for the other people playing.
The game gets tricky when the movie quoter starts offering quotes from movies with made-up languages, such as a popular family quote from "The Brother of Jared's Journey" that sounds something like "Boos vama nee! Boos vama nee!"
This game is pretty much impossible to replicate in written format because everything depends on how well the speaker can imitate the voice from the movie. Nevertheless, see if you can guess the following quotes from my family's illustrious VHS collection (in no particular order of difficulty):
"M-m-Merry Christmas, Papa!"
"I hope he doesn't eat any of you..."
"Hooray for me!"
"Oh well. Guess he got away."
"I respect you, Pop!"
"These are desperate times."
"They were there when he came!"
My family watched the same movies over and over and over again until we could pretty much quote the entire movie from start to finish, including the commercials and PBS donation promos in between. I couldn't tell you what Big Red's advertising campaign is like right now, but I can easily remember it's jingle from about 1987 ("So kiss a little longer, hold tight a little longer . . ."). In fact, all of the gum commercials from those days had pretty snappy jingles: Big Red, Doublemint, Juicy fruit, Extra, not to mention Fruit Stripes and Bubble Tape.
Anyway, the joy of the trivia game is to think of the perfect quote and to offer it in such a way that it cannot be mistaken for another movie. We have seen these movies ten million times, so it's hard to get something that not obvious. For example, "Maurice, the baguettes," is a laughably simple one from Beauty and the Beast. A better, though not perfect, quote would be "Come into the light," if you could say it with Belle's exact same inflections. The perfect quote would be one that rings familiar, but takes some thinking before you can figure out exactly who said it. A response to the perfect question should go something like this: "It's from a cartoon, post-Little Mermaid, she's in a dark room when she says it, hmm, "come into the . . . ," Oh! I know, I know! At this point, the respondent would be shushed before she blurted out the answer and spoiled the game for the other people playing.
The game gets tricky when the movie quoter starts offering quotes from movies with made-up languages, such as a popular family quote from "The Brother of Jared's Journey" that sounds something like "Boos vama nee! Boos vama nee!"
This game is pretty much impossible to replicate in written format because everything depends on how well the speaker can imitate the voice from the movie. Nevertheless, see if you can guess the following quotes from my family's illustrious VHS collection (in no particular order of difficulty):
"M-m-Merry Christmas, Papa!"
"I hope he doesn't eat any of you..."
"Hooray for me!"
"Oh well. Guess he got away."
"I respect you, Pop!"
"These are desperate times."
"They were there when he came!"
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Happy nine-month birthday
Today my child is nine months old. He has spent approximately as much time living as he has gestating. Unfortunately he has what I can only assume is hay fever on this momentous day, and he can't fully enjoy it. He says, "duddle, duddle, duddle."
Even so, nine months is a pretty darned good age for a baby. He's big enough that I'm not worried that he'll freeze or starve or sneeze his eyeballs out or anything, but he's still small enough to schlepp around when I'm in a hurry. His attention span is so short that he can lose interest in, say, an electric socket and start paying attention to a shaking rattle if he needs to. He's always up for a snuggle, but he doesn't constantly need to be snuggled. He's past the wrinkled newborn stage but not in the perpetually covered with jam stage. It's nice.
And he's just woken up from a five-minute nap. A mother's work is never done...
Even so, nine months is a pretty darned good age for a baby. He's big enough that I'm not worried that he'll freeze or starve or sneeze his eyeballs out or anything, but he's still small enough to schlepp around when I'm in a hurry. His attention span is so short that he can lose interest in, say, an electric socket and start paying attention to a shaking rattle if he needs to. He's always up for a snuggle, but he doesn't constantly need to be snuggled. He's past the wrinkled newborn stage but not in the perpetually covered with jam stage. It's nice.
And he's just woken up from a five-minute nap. A mother's work is never done...
Friday, April 06, 2007
Spring cleaning
I think I'm finally experiencing the nesting instinct that I was supposed to get nine months ago, just before I had my baby. Apparently, right before a pregnant woman has a baby, she goes through the phase of manic cleaning energy where she organizes and disinfects and "feathers her nest." I was kind of looking forward to being in the mood to do housework for the first time in my entire life, but it never happened. I came home with my baby to a cozily unorganized and undisinfected (infected?) house. He survived.
But now that spring is in the air, I've never been in such a mood to throw stuff away. It's a whole new me. I wake up, put on a springy ensemble, and, in between baby care, I de-clutter with wild abandon. Of course, there's only so much noticable progress I can make after years of clutter, but I'm having a whale of a time.
But now that spring is in the air, I've never been in such a mood to throw stuff away. It's a whole new me. I wake up, put on a springy ensemble, and, in between baby care, I de-clutter with wild abandon. Of course, there's only so much noticable progress I can make after years of clutter, but I'm having a whale of a time.
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
Cavaties
I think I have a cavaty. I felt it with my tongue this morning while I was trying to get a teensy bit more sleep after a rough night with my baby, and I got so tense thinking about going to the dentist that I couldn't go back to sleep.
I probably deserve a little tooth decay--I haven't been the best brusher since I got pregnant and had my baby, and what with my birthday just past and Easter coming, I've been kind of a candy fiend. Still, I'm not happy.
I probably deserve a little tooth decay--I haven't been the best brusher since I got pregnant and had my baby, and what with my birthday just past and Easter coming, I've been kind of a candy fiend. Still, I'm not happy.
Friday, March 30, 2007
Don't Hate Me
Whenever I tell someone about a decision I have made regarding the way that I will rear my child, I feel like I need to add "don't hate me!" to the end of the statement just in case they want to kill me because they think I'm ruining a heretofore unsullied individual:
I sometimes forget to take my multivitamin (don't hate me!).
I don't worry about using special laundry detergent (don't hate me!).
I'm still nursing every four hours (don't hate me!).
Almost all of my baby's clothes are hand-me-downs (don't hate me!).
I'm a stay-at-home mom (don't hate me!).
My baby plays with his rattle in church (don't hate me!)
I think I'm going to start letting my baby cry himself to sleep through the night (don't hate me!).
I think I've always been a little sensitive about other people's opinions and expectations of me, but I've never been in a situation where people had such strong opinions or expectations. I've also never been in a situation where I've wanted to desperately to do a good job or been so unsure that I was doing anything right. I am smart, funny, and good-looking, but if someone looks at me the wrong way because there's a poo stain on my baby blanket, I feel like the world's biggest loser and the world's worst mom. It stinks.
Luckily, as my baby grows smarter, funnier, and better-looking, I grow more confident that I'm ok. And, let me tell you, he's getting there.
I sometimes forget to take my multivitamin (don't hate me!).
I don't worry about using special laundry detergent (don't hate me!).
I'm still nursing every four hours (don't hate me!).
Almost all of my baby's clothes are hand-me-downs (don't hate me!).
I'm a stay-at-home mom (don't hate me!).
My baby plays with his rattle in church (don't hate me!)
I think I'm going to start letting my baby cry himself to sleep through the night (don't hate me!).
I think I've always been a little sensitive about other people's opinions and expectations of me, but I've never been in a situation where people had such strong opinions or expectations. I've also never been in a situation where I've wanted to desperately to do a good job or been so unsure that I was doing anything right. I am smart, funny, and good-looking, but if someone looks at me the wrong way because there's a poo stain on my baby blanket, I feel like the world's biggest loser and the world's worst mom. It stinks.
Luckily, as my baby grows smarter, funnier, and better-looking, I grow more confident that I'm ok. And, let me tell you, he's getting there.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Daytime TV
One of my biggest fears about taking up the stay-at-home mom thing was that I would become addicted to daytime television. I think I have the type of personality that is prone to addiction (maybe more later on my Spider Solitaire addiction), and I had heard that daytime TV was pretty addictive. I have to say, there was a summer when I was only working a few days a week, and I definitely developed a thing for morning shows while I made my eggs.
I'm proud to say that I am not addicted to daytime TV and I don't think I ever will be if it remains at it's currently quality. In fact, I think it's totally lame. I had to go through a 3-month phase of experimenting with it before I reached this point, but now I can honestly say that I'd prefer to do pretty much any real-life activity to watching even the most interesting daytime TV. Sometimes, however, there really is nothing to do but watch TV because I have a baby who loves to nurse, and who can't keep from grabbing anything else attached to Mom (telephone, laptop, book, mp3 player, etc). Here are the daytime TV shows that I don't mind watching in those circumstances.
Daytime talk: "Rachel Ray"--too many commercials on the others
Reruns: "Gilmore Girls," "Scrubs," and "Friends"--for some reason most others make me feel like I'm getting dumber
TLC: Rarely, rarely, I sometimes tune in to "Baby Story" or "What Not to Wear"
Game shows: "Jeopardy"--It's the only one fast-paced enough for my taste
Cooking Shows: "30-Minute Meals," "Quick-Fix Meals," and "Everyday Italian"--I find watching cooking shows is a great alternative to eating if you're trying not to eat, and these are the only shows where I can remember the recipes and afford the ingredients without having to write anything down.
Soap Operas: Haven't really given any a fair chance because I feel a little ill just watching a couple of minutes. I'm open to suggestions if anyone knows of an intelligent, engaging soap opera.
Kids shows: I don't plan to watch these for a long time, as long as I have a choice in the matter, but I saw "Between the Lions" at the doctor's office once and it was good.
CSPAN: I have yet to get interested in anything on CSPAN, which is too bad because I'd really like to be the type of person who watches CSPAN, and I went to law school and such, so I sort of feel like I should be watching it. Oh well. Their fault for not making it more interesting. TV news doesn't really do it for me either. I get it faster and commercial-free online, and I don't have to listen to anything remotely related to sports.
I'm proud to say that I am not addicted to daytime TV and I don't think I ever will be if it remains at it's currently quality. In fact, I think it's totally lame. I had to go through a 3-month phase of experimenting with it before I reached this point, but now I can honestly say that I'd prefer to do pretty much any real-life activity to watching even the most interesting daytime TV. Sometimes, however, there really is nothing to do but watch TV because I have a baby who loves to nurse, and who can't keep from grabbing anything else attached to Mom (telephone, laptop, book, mp3 player, etc). Here are the daytime TV shows that I don't mind watching in those circumstances.
Daytime talk: "Rachel Ray"--too many commercials on the others
Reruns: "Gilmore Girls," "Scrubs," and "Friends"--for some reason most others make me feel like I'm getting dumber
TLC: Rarely, rarely, I sometimes tune in to "Baby Story" or "What Not to Wear"
Game shows: "Jeopardy"--It's the only one fast-paced enough for my taste
Cooking Shows: "30-Minute Meals," "Quick-Fix Meals," and "Everyday Italian"--I find watching cooking shows is a great alternative to eating if you're trying not to eat, and these are the only shows where I can remember the recipes and afford the ingredients without having to write anything down.
Soap Operas: Haven't really given any a fair chance because I feel a little ill just watching a couple of minutes. I'm open to suggestions if anyone knows of an intelligent, engaging soap opera.
Kids shows: I don't plan to watch these for a long time, as long as I have a choice in the matter, but I saw "Between the Lions" at the doctor's office once and it was good.
CSPAN: I have yet to get interested in anything on CSPAN, which is too bad because I'd really like to be the type of person who watches CSPAN, and I went to law school and such, so I sort of feel like I should be watching it. Oh well. Their fault for not making it more interesting. TV news doesn't really do it for me either. I get it faster and commercial-free online, and I don't have to listen to anything remotely related to sports.
Monday, March 26, 2007
Just a token, merely a trifle
I wonder how many blog entries begin with the sentence, "I know it's been a long time since I've posted anything, but . . ." Back in my journal writing days I started a lot of journal entries that way. A waste of time when you're going to write the date anyway, but I felt like I had to explain myself. I don't have to explain myself here, so I won't. Besides, I'm not exactly sure why I decided to take 5 months off. But I did. Hmph.
I'm trying to decide what to make for my birthday cake. My birthday party is tonight at my parents; house, and I told my mom that I'd bring the cake. I was in the mood to bake when I offered because I had just been reading "How to Be a Domestic Goddess" by Nigella Lawson (of "Nigella Feasts" fame). Then, this afternoon, I read it again, and it was a lot more satisfying to read about baking than to actually stoke up the coals and start anything. Besides, the recipe I wanted called for lemon zest, which I don't have right now. The other recipe I wanted to make called for marzipan cheese, which I never have. I think I'll just bring a box of cake mix and make it when I get there. I'm kind of in the mood for cake and whipped cream (non-dairy) and strawberries all mushed up together in a trifle. That's probably what I'll do.
I love having a March birthday. Springtime happens to be beautiful around here, and my birthday always has pretty fabulous weather. This year I had a rainbow on my birthday. That pretty much means that God loves me.
I'm trying to decide what to make for my birthday cake. My birthday party is tonight at my parents; house, and I told my mom that I'd bring the cake. I was in the mood to bake when I offered because I had just been reading "How to Be a Domestic Goddess" by Nigella Lawson (of "Nigella Feasts" fame). Then, this afternoon, I read it again, and it was a lot more satisfying to read about baking than to actually stoke up the coals and start anything. Besides, the recipe I wanted called for lemon zest, which I don't have right now. The other recipe I wanted to make called for marzipan cheese, which I never have. I think I'll just bring a box of cake mix and make it when I get there. I'm kind of in the mood for cake and whipped cream (non-dairy) and strawberries all mushed up together in a trifle. That's probably what I'll do.
I love having a March birthday. Springtime happens to be beautiful around here, and my birthday always has pretty fabulous weather. This year I had a rainbow on my birthday. That pretty much means that God loves me.
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