I baked a batch of anise biscotti this morning, wrapped a dozen in parchment, tied it with twine, and stuck a few sprigs of holly berries from my neighbor's bush in the knot - very festive. One teacher gift down (Seg's preschool), and only three of Primo's teachers (more biscotti), the mailman and the baby sitter (fudge), and the coffee shop (probably fudge as bringing them biscotti is like bringing coals to Newcastle...), to go.
*********
I promised the boys I would put the lights on the tree today so we could decorate tonight. H brought home an adorable, chubby little, short little tree - the Janeane Garofalo of Christmas trees. I generally prefer Kate Winslet trees - bountiful and healthy and slightly taller. (You can keep your skinny little vacuous Uma Thurman trees - not interested here.) But Janeane smells wonderful.
*******************
I sent out my Christmas cards this morning - via email. If you didn't get one and want one, shoot me an email and I'll do what I can.
************
I am almost finished pulling up the carpet in the office. The floor under is completely trashed, so it's a good thing we didn't harbor visions of gleaming hardwood. I have a couple of area rugs we'll throw in there, and the bunk beds should cover the worst spots. Because it would suck to have to make the boys wear shoes in their own bedroom...
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The funniest Christmas card I have ever received was from my high school boyfriend. On the front was a typical cartoony drawing of a man in a nightcap leaning out the window looking for Santa and the reindeer, captioned: "Away to the window I flew like a flash, tore open the shutters, and threw up the sash..."
Inside was written, "I probably shouldn't have eaten so much sash."
Juvenile, I know, but it STILL makes me smile.
********
You know that line in "The Night Before Christmas" about settling in for a long winter's nap? I am about ready for mine.
**************************
* "The Night Before Christmas," by Clement Clark Moore
Showing posts with label Terra Incognito. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Terra Incognito. Show all posts
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Sunday, December 16, 2007
"O Lord, our God, arise, Scatter thine enemies, And make them fall..." *
When I was a younger teenager, I read this book to death. It was so funny and REAL, and I desperately wanted to be friends with Meg and her family, if not just like them. I read it so many times, my copy was in tatters.
The sequel, White House Autumn, was just as good, and developed the characters of Meg and her family further by exploring what it would be like to have your mother become the first woman President of the United States, and then having to cope with Presidential things like inaugural balls, State of the Union speeches, Secret Service agents, and oh, yes, assassination attempts.
I was worried that the third book, Long Live the Queen, could not possibly stand up to the other two. It was much darker (Meg is kidnapped by terrorists), but Meg’s indomitable, wry sense of humor shone through. She rises above her own expectations and proves to be brave, determined, and resourceful. In other words, even MORE likeable. It was suspenseful and harrowing, but also ridiculously funny, smart, and insightful.
I read some of Ellen Emerson White’s other books, and while they were good, none of them captured my heart and soul the way the Meg books did. (Although a character in the latest apparently features in a previous book, which I must go back and read now.) Meg was just so COOL, and I wanted to be her friend. I wanted her to like me. Can you really give a higher compliment to a YA novel’s protagonist?
Today, just before [media frenzy] THE SNOWSTORM OF THE CENTURY[/media frenzy], I braved all the crowds stocking up on toilet paper and milk, and went to B&N with several coupons clutched in my frozen little fingers.
I wanted to buy the First Anti-Coloring Book for my nephew, and some more Christmas books for the boys (Diego Saves Christmas for my little Seg, and Ezra Jack Keats’ Little Drummer Boy for Terzo, my Snowy Day fan). And ever since I had noted a comment about it on someone’s blog, I wanted to buy the fourth in the series of Ellen Emerson White’s Presidential series, the brand-new (well, October) Long May She Reign. The saga of Meg and her family in the White House continues, TWENTY YEARS LATER. My God. What took so damn long?! It’s a thick paperback (with a really boring cover), but I dove in pretty much as soon as I got home, a cheese sandwich and an apple balanced on my stomach, and only stopped to take a brief nap.
Meg is eighteen now, dealing with the aftermath of her horrific hostage experience along with the usual college/becoming-an-adult traumas, and oh, yes, her mother is still Leader of the Free World. The writing is for slightly more mature audiences, and just as funny, if the humor is slightly sharper in tone (which is saying something, as Meg has from the first book been the queen of deadpan sarcasm). I LOVE it and am sure I will reread it over and over again, just as I have the other three volumes. I was up till waaaaaay too late last night reading.
For just a little bit, I am sixteen again – totally in a good way.
***************
* "God Save the Queen"
Friday, December 14, 2007
"Despite years of personal development, she still turned into her mother." *
Right now my two older boys share a room. Terzo has his own room across the hall. All three of them would like to be in the same room, and crazy as that will make an already crazy bedtime, I find it adorable that they want to be together (never mind that we live in a six-bedroom house…and I will stuff all three of my children in one…)
So about a month ago, I started shifting everything out of the big back room that we had been using as our TV room and office, into my bedroom. The TV had been moved, months ago, despite my vociferous opposition, down to the living room (into a nice, enclosed armoire, at least). It seemed silly to use the biggest room for…the computer. Especially since I only ever use my laptop, and almost never in that room. All the books and the computer and the dog crate can just as easily fit into the smaller front room where the boys are sleeping presently.
The back room needs to be painted – it remains a vibrant turquoise from the previous owners, and still sports nasty tan shag carpeting. I was under the delusion for the longest time that I was going to paint it, pregnant belly and all, but I finally came to my senses and decided to get our window-rebuilder-guy to paint it for me. He can’t fit us into until after the first of the year, so we sort of slacked. And then I realized the other night that the absolute mess of piles of books, various pieces of furniture, and odds and ends that don’t go anywhere else, all heaped in my bedroom, was making me nuts.
I was starting to feel like a cross between a bag lady who actually has a home, and my mother, whose house was crammed so full of crap that I took to staying in a hotel when I visited. And I mean true crap – not Antiques Roadshow contenders - piles of junk mail and unopened bills, plastic bags full of twisty-ties, tupperware containers, and more plastic bags, empty egg cartons, rinsed-out jars of all sizes and shapes, every catalog and magazine she had ever received, as well as all the Franklin Mint figurines and dolls and plates she had frittered away money on for years, still in their packing boxes…child of the Depression, coupled with some serious clinical depression, is my layman’s diagnosis.
After taking a month to clear out her house, I learned a valuable lesson, and I am relentless in throwing stuff out. I make weekly trips to the recycling center, have a monthly almost-standing appointment with the Vietnam Vets’ pickup truck, and routinely post stuff on Freecycle.
But when Terzo pushed one of my favorite mugs off the coffee table onto the tile fireplace hearth yesterday, and I picked up the chunks to throw them away, H stopped me: Wasn’t that your dad’s mug?
Yes, it was, and I loved it, but it’s broken.
Well, why don’t you glue it together, and find some use for it even if you can’t drink out of it anymore? he asked.
I looked at him like he was insane. What is the point of a coffee mug if you can’t drink coffee out of it?
Well, except that my dad died when I was seventeen, and I don’t have many things of his, and the mug makes me happy. He worked for RCA for years, and the mug sports the dog-and-gramophone RCA logo, and something about the Trident submarine translator with which RCA was involved, somehow. Maybe in the communication systems? I don’t know. It had a cool squared-off handle, and was shorter but wider than your average coffee mug. It was second in my affections only to my Philadelphia Flyers mug.
But then, of course, I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away, and it sits on my kitchen window sill awaiting copious application of Crazy Glue. And now I am off to pull up carpeting in the back bedroom, under the theory that the painter can paint around the boys’ bedroom furniture just as easily as he can paint around the bookcases and dog crate and computer equipment, and so I can get the rest of the piles of STUFF out of my bedroom. So I can sleep at night again, knowing that I dodged at least ONE becoming-my-mother bullet.
*****************
*refrigerator magnet, from this site
So about a month ago, I started shifting everything out of the big back room that we had been using as our TV room and office, into my bedroom. The TV had been moved, months ago, despite my vociferous opposition, down to the living room (into a nice, enclosed armoire, at least). It seemed silly to use the biggest room for…the computer. Especially since I only ever use my laptop, and almost never in that room. All the books and the computer and the dog crate can just as easily fit into the smaller front room where the boys are sleeping presently.
The back room needs to be painted – it remains a vibrant turquoise from the previous owners, and still sports nasty tan shag carpeting. I was under the delusion for the longest time that I was going to paint it, pregnant belly and all, but I finally came to my senses and decided to get our window-rebuilder-guy to paint it for me. He can’t fit us into until after the first of the year, so we sort of slacked. And then I realized the other night that the absolute mess of piles of books, various pieces of furniture, and odds and ends that don’t go anywhere else, all heaped in my bedroom, was making me nuts.
I was starting to feel like a cross between a bag lady who actually has a home, and my mother, whose house was crammed so full of crap that I took to staying in a hotel when I visited. And I mean true crap – not Antiques Roadshow contenders - piles of junk mail and unopened bills, plastic bags full of twisty-ties, tupperware containers, and more plastic bags, empty egg cartons, rinsed-out jars of all sizes and shapes, every catalog and magazine she had ever received, as well as all the Franklin Mint figurines and dolls and plates she had frittered away money on for years, still in their packing boxes…child of the Depression, coupled with some serious clinical depression, is my layman’s diagnosis.
After taking a month to clear out her house, I learned a valuable lesson, and I am relentless in throwing stuff out. I make weekly trips to the recycling center, have a monthly almost-standing appointment with the Vietnam Vets’ pickup truck, and routinely post stuff on Freecycle.
But when Terzo pushed one of my favorite mugs off the coffee table onto the tile fireplace hearth yesterday, and I picked up the chunks to throw them away, H stopped me: Wasn’t that your dad’s mug?
Yes, it was, and I loved it, but it’s broken.
Well, why don’t you glue it together, and find some use for it even if you can’t drink out of it anymore? he asked.
I looked at him like he was insane. What is the point of a coffee mug if you can’t drink coffee out of it?
Well, except that my dad died when I was seventeen, and I don’t have many things of his, and the mug makes me happy. He worked for RCA for years, and the mug sports the dog-and-gramophone RCA logo, and something about the Trident submarine translator with which RCA was involved, somehow. Maybe in the communication systems? I don’t know. It had a cool squared-off handle, and was shorter but wider than your average coffee mug. It was second in my affections only to my Philadelphia Flyers mug.
But then, of course, I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away, and it sits on my kitchen window sill awaiting copious application of Crazy Glue. And now I am off to pull up carpeting in the back bedroom, under the theory that the painter can paint around the boys’ bedroom furniture just as easily as he can paint around the bookcases and dog crate and computer equipment, and so I can get the rest of the piles of STUFF out of my bedroom. So I can sleep at night again, knowing that I dodged at least ONE becoming-my-mother bullet.
*****************
*refrigerator magnet, from this site
Thursday, December 13, 2007
"...the fastest college-level reader will read, at best, twice as fast as the slowest college-level reader." *
I feel like I have been reading and reading and reading, but I suppose not really. I have only finished a few books in the past two weeks. Which is odd for me. However…
In no particular order, books I have been reading:
Outside In – Courtney Thorne-Smith. Yes, she of the dazzling white teeth and manly jaw. I was a devotee of “Melrose Place” AND “Ally McBeal.” (I am almost too ashamed to reveal this, but H and I once had a gigantic, screaming, howling (on my part) fight because he FORGOT TO TAPE ALLY MCBEAL FOR ME WHILE I WAS AT WORK. I know. Call the domestic abuse hotline! What can I say, I was a child bride in many regards.) Anyhoo – C T-S has written a novel about – surprise, surprise – a television actress. And you know what? It’s GOOD. Good as in, I stayed up way too late last night because I was really caught up in the story, good. She can actually write. She has an endearingly self-deprecating sense of humor, and a finely tuned sense of the ridiculous. I laughed out loud many times. I liked her sympathetic characters, hated the villains, and enjoyed the story.
Terra Incognita - Sara Wheeler. Entertaining, in a weirdly fragmented personal way, but also chockfull of bits of Antarctic history, biography, exploration, and geography.
Man Walks Into a Room - Nicole Krauss. Remember how much I loved History of Love, once I finally got into it? I love this book, too. Krauss is such an elegant writer. You want to savor each page. It begins with vaguely the same sort of premise as the mind-numbingly dull Echo Maker: man loses his memory…but under Krauss’ deft hand, you begin to understand how the main character begins to view this as a blessing, and you can’t wait to see what he does with his newfound freedom. How many of us haven’t at some point or another thought, “What if I just drove off and became someone else? Left everything behind and started over?’ Well, this book lets you explore that possibility (without having to suffer the brain tumor that afflicts the protagonist). I am not finished it yet, but if it really disappoints in the end, I’ll let you know. Somehow I don’t think I’m in any danger.
Mr Golightley’s Holiday - Salley Vickers. Suse turned me onto Vickers, and I am eternally grateful. Her books are just a little odd, and sort of hippie-dippie metaphysical, but also so true to life, so viscerally empathetic. This one has a twist that the flap copy of my edition totally gave away, so don’t read ANY reviews or the flap copy if you want to read this and get the whole experience. I enjoyed it despite my knowledge of the twist. And now I can say no more.
The Winter Rose - Jennifer Donnelly. Somehow I wound up with a review copy of A Northern Light’s author’s second novel. It’s a big, fat, sprawling epic which I don’t want to put down.
Mommies Who Drink - Brett Paesel. Did I forget to tell you guys about this book? Gina recommended it to me, and it was everything the sadly disappointing Confessions of a Slacker Mom was NOT. Paesel is hilarious, and even though I was never so wild that I snorted cocaine off naked men in the back of limos (I am not sure Paesel was either, honestly), I still could totally relate to her funny, somewhat bittersweet, and honest book about how much your life changes post-child.
Letters from Father Christmas - JRR Tolkien. One of you Aussie types turned me on to this, and I ordered it after last holiday season, so…I just now pulled it out. ‘Tis the season and all…it’s a fun book. The illustrations are amazing and charming and I am thoroughly enjoying myself. I can’t read it when the boys are around, however, since they still believe in Santa (of course) and so I can’t risk Primo reading it.
Books I have purchased:
Terror by Dan Simmons (to add to my always entertaining Ant/Arctic collection), Truth and Beauty by Ann Patchett (although I found Autobiography of a Face (the book written by Lucy Grealy, whose complex and at times difficult friendship Patchett discusses in T&B) whiny, self-absorbed, and disappointing), and…I was sure there were more…maybe not. I bought Primo a couple of books for his birthday, so maybe that’s what threw me…oh, and George Carlin’s When Will Jesus Bring the Pork Chops? for H for Christmas (but I am hoping to read it before I give it to him.)
Books I have given up on:
Mr Dixon Disappears - Ian Sansom. I wanted to finish this, but I just found Israel tiresome and pathetic (and not in the endearing way of the first book), and the plot line completely unbelievable, and so I stopped.
Books sitting in the TBR pile:
Restless - William Boyd, and Origin - Diana Abu-Jaber.
And damn that Lazy Cow, now I have to go request some MORE books from the library!
********************
from "The 1,000-Word Dash" by Timothy Noah, Slate magazine
In no particular order, books I have been reading:
Outside In – Courtney Thorne-Smith. Yes, she of the dazzling white teeth and manly jaw. I was a devotee of “Melrose Place” AND “Ally McBeal.” (I am almost too ashamed to reveal this, but H and I once had a gigantic, screaming, howling (on my part) fight because he FORGOT TO TAPE ALLY MCBEAL FOR ME WHILE I WAS AT WORK. I know. Call the domestic abuse hotline! What can I say, I was a child bride in many regards.) Anyhoo – C T-S has written a novel about – surprise, surprise – a television actress. And you know what? It’s GOOD. Good as in, I stayed up way too late last night because I was really caught up in the story, good. She can actually write. She has an endearingly self-deprecating sense of humor, and a finely tuned sense of the ridiculous. I laughed out loud many times. I liked her sympathetic characters, hated the villains, and enjoyed the story.
Terra Incognita - Sara Wheeler. Entertaining, in a weirdly fragmented personal way, but also chockfull of bits of Antarctic history, biography, exploration, and geography.
Man Walks Into a Room - Nicole Krauss. Remember how much I loved History of Love, once I finally got into it? I love this book, too. Krauss is such an elegant writer. You want to savor each page. It begins with vaguely the same sort of premise as the mind-numbingly dull Echo Maker: man loses his memory…but under Krauss’ deft hand, you begin to understand how the main character begins to view this as a blessing, and you can’t wait to see what he does with his newfound freedom. How many of us haven’t at some point or another thought, “What if I just drove off and became someone else? Left everything behind and started over?’ Well, this book lets you explore that possibility (without having to suffer the brain tumor that afflicts the protagonist). I am not finished it yet, but if it really disappoints in the end, I’ll let you know. Somehow I don’t think I’m in any danger.
Mr Golightley’s Holiday - Salley Vickers. Suse turned me onto Vickers, and I am eternally grateful. Her books are just a little odd, and sort of hippie-dippie metaphysical, but also so true to life, so viscerally empathetic. This one has a twist that the flap copy of my edition totally gave away, so don’t read ANY reviews or the flap copy if you want to read this and get the whole experience. I enjoyed it despite my knowledge of the twist. And now I can say no more.
The Winter Rose - Jennifer Donnelly. Somehow I wound up with a review copy of A Northern Light’s author’s second novel. It’s a big, fat, sprawling epic which I don’t want to put down.
Mommies Who Drink - Brett Paesel. Did I forget to tell you guys about this book? Gina recommended it to me, and it was everything the sadly disappointing Confessions of a Slacker Mom was NOT. Paesel is hilarious, and even though I was never so wild that I snorted cocaine off naked men in the back of limos (I am not sure Paesel was either, honestly), I still could totally relate to her funny, somewhat bittersweet, and honest book about how much your life changes post-child.
Letters from Father Christmas - JRR Tolkien. One of you Aussie types turned me on to this, and I ordered it after last holiday season, so…I just now pulled it out. ‘Tis the season and all…it’s a fun book. The illustrations are amazing and charming and I am thoroughly enjoying myself. I can’t read it when the boys are around, however, since they still believe in Santa (of course) and so I can’t risk Primo reading it.
Books I have purchased:
Terror by Dan Simmons (to add to my always entertaining Ant/Arctic collection), Truth and Beauty by Ann Patchett (although I found Autobiography of a Face (the book written by Lucy Grealy, whose complex and at times difficult friendship Patchett discusses in T&B) whiny, self-absorbed, and disappointing), and…I was sure there were more…maybe not. I bought Primo a couple of books for his birthday, so maybe that’s what threw me…oh, and George Carlin’s When Will Jesus Bring the Pork Chops? for H for Christmas (but I am hoping to read it before I give it to him.)
Books I have given up on:
Mr Dixon Disappears - Ian Sansom. I wanted to finish this, but I just found Israel tiresome and pathetic (and not in the endearing way of the first book), and the plot line completely unbelievable, and so I stopped.
Books sitting in the TBR pile:
Restless - William Boyd, and Origin - Diana Abu-Jaber.
And damn that Lazy Cow, now I have to go request some MORE books from the library!
********************
from "The 1,000-Word Dash" by Timothy Noah, Slate magazine
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
"Well...in Who-ville, they say, that the Grinch's small heart grew three sizes that day!"
Yesterday was Primo’s seventh birthday. The cupcake party for the family wrapped up almost a week of celebrations: birthday party for friends (skating), family dinner, school treats, and finally the immediate family dinner, presents, and cupcakes yesterday. People, I love Primo but I am thrilled for it all to be over, and today we began tentative Christmas prep.
I pulled out the Christmas books, adding the new ones (a musical Jingle Bells (for Terzo who loves the song) and Grumpy Santa, for me) to the basket; I taped the handprint-Christmas tree and cutout gingerbread men paintings onto our front door, and positioned my soft trees from dear Suse in their tableau on the mantel with the reindeer. There is a cinnamon candle burning on the entryway windowsill. The received Christmas cards reside in their gold and silver sleigh basket next to the answering machine.
H will bring me home a tree sometime in the next week or so, and I will festoon it with unbreakable ornaments. The gorgeous glass balls and intricate crocheted ornaments will remain packed away until, oh, retirement or such time as we do not have three rambunctious boys playing catch in the living room; two crazy cats who have been known to knock over trees; or one clueless dog who might eat something tasty-looking like a silvery, sparkly, spiky snowflake.
I am not sending mailed cards this year. If I have your email, I will be sending e-greetings with photos of children (preferably mine). I tell myself I am saving the environment, but really, I am just lazy.
I have already turned down five invites to various holiday functions: cookie exchanges, potlucks, cocktail parties. I will continue to turn down invites to, oh, anything we don’t care to attend. Crazy idea, hmmmm?
The strands of lights wrapped around the front porch columns will get taped into place as soon as there’s a dry day. The wreath is already hanging in the entryway.
Most of the boys’ presents are bought, and my niece and nephews apparently desire only gift cards, which are easy-peasy AND add to my FuelPerks from the grocery store.
I used to make fifteen different kinds of cookies. But then I also weighed fifteen (or more) additional pounds. This year, it will be a pan of chocolate chip cookies for the boys, a batch or two of anise and almond biscotti for H, a batch of rum balls for my older brother who is coming here for Christmas, and my favorite no-bake oatmeal cookies for me. I confess I have laid in a supply of Trader Joe’s Candy Cane Jo-Jos, which are like peppermint Oreos, but better. I will throw together a few loaves of cranberry walnut bread to have on hand for visitors, and I will probably make a few batches of (delicious but easy) fudge to give to teachers and mail carriers and garbage men, oh my.
Christmas pageant dress rehearsal is this Saturday. Four years of conservatory theatre training stood me in good stead as the costumer – tonight I will festoon the Angel Gabriel’s halo with some silver stars and garland and call the costumes complete. I can’t even tell you how much fun this was. Seriously, the kids are so cute and excited, and most of the costumes consist of draped fabric and lots of shiny gold or silver cord and tinsel. I love the Christmas Eve service at church, with the pageant and the carols and the candles.
So, hey, haul out the holly, ring those silver bells, and, um, cue the boys of the NYPD choir…
I pulled out the Christmas books, adding the new ones (a musical Jingle Bells (for Terzo who loves the song) and Grumpy Santa, for me) to the basket; I taped the handprint-Christmas tree and cutout gingerbread men paintings onto our front door, and positioned my soft trees from dear Suse in their tableau on the mantel with the reindeer. There is a cinnamon candle burning on the entryway windowsill. The received Christmas cards reside in their gold and silver sleigh basket next to the answering machine.
H will bring me home a tree sometime in the next week or so, and I will festoon it with unbreakable ornaments. The gorgeous glass balls and intricate crocheted ornaments will remain packed away until, oh, retirement or such time as we do not have three rambunctious boys playing catch in the living room; two crazy cats who have been known to knock over trees; or one clueless dog who might eat something tasty-looking like a silvery, sparkly, spiky snowflake.
I am not sending mailed cards this year. If I have your email, I will be sending e-greetings with photos of children (preferably mine). I tell myself I am saving the environment, but really, I am just lazy.
I have already turned down five invites to various holiday functions: cookie exchanges, potlucks, cocktail parties. I will continue to turn down invites to, oh, anything we don’t care to attend. Crazy idea, hmmmm?
The strands of lights wrapped around the front porch columns will get taped into place as soon as there’s a dry day. The wreath is already hanging in the entryway.
Most of the boys’ presents are bought, and my niece and nephews apparently desire only gift cards, which are easy-peasy AND add to my FuelPerks from the grocery store.
I used to make fifteen different kinds of cookies. But then I also weighed fifteen (or more) additional pounds. This year, it will be a pan of chocolate chip cookies for the boys, a batch or two of anise and almond biscotti for H, a batch of rum balls for my older brother who is coming here for Christmas, and my favorite no-bake oatmeal cookies for me. I confess I have laid in a supply of Trader Joe’s Candy Cane Jo-Jos, which are like peppermint Oreos, but better. I will throw together a few loaves of cranberry walnut bread to have on hand for visitors, and I will probably make a few batches of (delicious but easy) fudge to give to teachers and mail carriers and garbage men, oh my.
Christmas pageant dress rehearsal is this Saturday. Four years of conservatory theatre training stood me in good stead as the costumer – tonight I will festoon the Angel Gabriel’s halo with some silver stars and garland and call the costumes complete. I can’t even tell you how much fun this was. Seriously, the kids are so cute and excited, and most of the costumes consist of draped fabric and lots of shiny gold or silver cord and tinsel. I love the Christmas Eve service at church, with the pageant and the carols and the candles.
So, hey, haul out the holly, ring those silver bells, and, um, cue the boys of the NYPD choir…
Friday, December 07, 2007
"I don't know nothin' 'bout birthin' babies!" *
Let’s do some math, shall we? (Because I was first a drama major, and then a post-bacc studying English lit, and then a librarian, so I am not very good at this and could use some input.)
Counting backwards:
February 8, 2008 – My due date (more or less, based upon my best guess, and lazy record-keeping from date of last period (sorry, Joke))
January 21-25, 2008: H’s Very Important Conference in sunny California (at least a six-hour flight, not counting security, check-in, etc., or possible weather delays on this end)
October 10, 2005: Terzo’s due date, for comparison’s sake
September 27, 2005: Terzo’s actual arrival date (almost 2 full weeks early, and after a scant five hours of labor, and thirty minutes pushing, so as you can see H has not a snowball's chance in hell of getting back in time for the actual birth even if I call him the second my water breaks (sorry, Joke).)
2: Number of friends who have graciously and sincerely volunteered to come to the delivery room with me should I go into labor while H is gone (and we all know that’s EXACTLY what will happen, yes?)
1: Number of husbands who may very well be told to just remain in CA for the rest of the conference as I will be in the hospital for a few days anyway (although I suppose someone has to watch the other three...)
To be completely fair and upfront:
Dec 6 or 7, 2000: Primo’s due date (again, more or less, due to faulty recordkeeping and general slackness on my part regarding recording either/both my menstrual cycles and my sex life)
December 11: Actual arrival, after twelve hours of labor and forty minutes pushing
March 23rdish, 2003: Segundo’s due date
April 1, 2003: Arrival date, after about ten hours of labor and fifteen minutes pushing
1: Number of mother-in-laws who will NOT be called until AFTER I have given birth
1: (Realized with great relief) Number of mother-in-laws who will be in Florida from January till March
Whew!
As I read these stats:
1: Number of BabelBabes totally built for childbearing (good Eastern European peasant stock and all...)
Shame I am not as good at the actual mothering part. Oh well. That’s what therapists are for, right?
For those of you bored with me wittering away about my children (God knows *I* am...), a book post is forthcoming.
But first I get to go away from my children for something like 18 hours, as H has a gig tonight and we have a babysitter overnight. Yay, me! Would it be totally terrible to skip the gig altogether, call room service, and curl up in bed with one of the very good books I am currently reading?
****************
* Prissy, in "Gone with the Wind"
Counting backwards:
February 8, 2008 – My due date (more or less, based upon my best guess, and lazy record-keeping from date of last period (sorry, Joke))
January 21-25, 2008: H’s Very Important Conference in sunny California (at least a six-hour flight, not counting security, check-in, etc., or possible weather delays on this end)
October 10, 2005: Terzo’s due date, for comparison’s sake
September 27, 2005: Terzo’s actual arrival date (almost 2 full weeks early, and after a scant five hours of labor, and thirty minutes pushing, so as you can see H has not a snowball's chance in hell of getting back in time for the actual birth even if I call him the second my water breaks (sorry, Joke).)
2: Number of friends who have graciously and sincerely volunteered to come to the delivery room with me should I go into labor while H is gone (and we all know that’s EXACTLY what will happen, yes?)
1: Number of husbands who may very well be told to just remain in CA for the rest of the conference as I will be in the hospital for a few days anyway (although I suppose someone has to watch the other three...)
To be completely fair and upfront:
Dec 6 or 7, 2000: Primo’s due date (again, more or less, due to faulty recordkeeping and general slackness on my part regarding recording either/both my menstrual cycles and my sex life)
December 11: Actual arrival, after twelve hours of labor and forty minutes pushing
March 23rdish, 2003: Segundo’s due date
April 1, 2003: Arrival date, after about ten hours of labor and fifteen minutes pushing
1: Number of mother-in-laws who will NOT be called until AFTER I have given birth
1: (Realized with great relief) Number of mother-in-laws who will be in Florida from January till March
Whew!
As I read these stats:
1: Number of BabelBabes totally built for childbearing (good Eastern European peasant stock and all...)
Shame I am not as good at the actual mothering part. Oh well. That’s what therapists are for, right?
For those of you bored with me wittering away about my children (God knows *I* am...), a book post is forthcoming.
But first I get to go away from my children for something like 18 hours, as H has a gig tonight and we have a babysitter overnight. Yay, me! Would it be totally terrible to skip the gig altogether, call room service, and curl up in bed with one of the very good books I am currently reading?
****************
* Prissy, in "Gone with the Wind"
Wednesday, December 05, 2007
"So somewhere in my youth or childhood, I must have done something BAD." *
I have no idea why there was not a school delay this morning. Or, you know, barring that, how about sending out the random salt truck or snow plow? Nice to see my tax dollars being used for…wait? What ARE they being used for, then? I ask, as I slide through an intersection…
Why are all three of my children obsessed with putting their feet on me? I am NOT an ottoman or a footstool. It makes me INSANE. Not to mention I have cute little toe-shaped bruises all over my rib cage.
I am watching my friend’s dog for her today and both dogs are conveniently lying in front of my entryway door, effectively blocking any drafts. I wonder if I could market this idea, somehow...the dogs are much more attractive, if slightly more work, than one of those bean-filled fabric tubes...
I am currently addicted to Trader Joe’s potato latkes – they come frozen, in a pack of eight, for 2 dollars. You heat them up in the oven, and they are downright yummy. I am having some (um, make that all as I just ate the last one) for lunch, with sour cream. It didn’t occur to me until later last night (duh!) that perhaps they are seasonal...must go stock up, I suppose. Just like their Candy Cane Jo-Jos, which are like peppermint Oreos but better.
Why must I tell my children Every. Single. Morning. what they must do to get out the door? We do the same EXACT thing every morning – dress, eat breakfast, brush teeth, put lunches in backpacks, put on jackets. Do they really need me to run through this litany every single goddamn morning? Must they really be reminded to put on their shoes? Do they really need me to tell them to put on their coats, hats, and gloves, as it is currently snowing and 25 degrees outside, a fact readily observable by looking out the window? (I am talking mostly about my almost-seven and almost-five-year-olds here, not Terzo.) And this morning I reached the point where I thought, if your hands were that cold, you would remember where the hell you left your third pair of mittens THIS week, and I sent them to school with no mittens. And some minor shrieking about how I don’t want to live my life like this either, so why are they making it so difficult, and what did I do to deserve children who never listen to a (horrible, shrieking, shrewish) word I say? (Hmmm, I wonder...also, one of those must be CYS-call-worthy.)
***************
* paraphrased from "Something Good," from The Sound of Music
Why are all three of my children obsessed with putting their feet on me? I am NOT an ottoman or a footstool. It makes me INSANE. Not to mention I have cute little toe-shaped bruises all over my rib cage.
I am watching my friend’s dog for her today and both dogs are conveniently lying in front of my entryway door, effectively blocking any drafts. I wonder if I could market this idea, somehow...the dogs are much more attractive, if slightly more work, than one of those bean-filled fabric tubes...
I am currently addicted to Trader Joe’s potato latkes – they come frozen, in a pack of eight, for 2 dollars. You heat them up in the oven, and they are downright yummy. I am having some (um, make that all as I just ate the last one) for lunch, with sour cream. It didn’t occur to me until later last night (duh!) that perhaps they are seasonal...must go stock up, I suppose. Just like their Candy Cane Jo-Jos, which are like peppermint Oreos but better.
Why must I tell my children Every. Single. Morning. what they must do to get out the door? We do the same EXACT thing every morning – dress, eat breakfast, brush teeth, put lunches in backpacks, put on jackets. Do they really need me to run through this litany every single goddamn morning? Must they really be reminded to put on their shoes? Do they really need me to tell them to put on their coats, hats, and gloves, as it is currently snowing and 25 degrees outside, a fact readily observable by looking out the window? (I am talking mostly about my almost-seven and almost-five-year-olds here, not Terzo.) And this morning I reached the point where I thought, if your hands were that cold, you would remember where the hell you left your third pair of mittens THIS week, and I sent them to school with no mittens. And some minor shrieking about how I don’t want to live my life like this either, so why are they making it so difficult, and what did I do to deserve children who never listen to a (horrible, shrieking, shrewish) word I say? (Hmmm, I wonder...also, one of those must be CYS-call-worthy.)
***************
* paraphrased from "Something Good," from The Sound of Music
Tuesday, December 04, 2007
" I don't want a pickle, just want to ride on my motorsickle." *
This meme is sweeping the blogosphere. Ok, not really, but it provides content when I am feeling too lazy to think of actual things I want to say. Cut me a break. I'm PREGNANT. (Although I am ALWAYS lazy...)
What kind of soap is in your bathtub right now?
Soft Soap milk-and-honey. Thank you, Badger. I have never looked back.
Do you have any watermelon in your refrigerator?
No. It’s December.
What would you change about your living room?
I would like to finish and hang the curtains, and get the gas fireplace functional.
Are the dishes in your dishwasher clean or dirty?
Dirty. I just unloaded last night’s clean ones and started loading today’s dirty ones…
What is in your fridge?
Milk, eggs, breads, cold cuts (salami, provolone, American cheese, and cracked pepper turkey breast.) Beer (Guinness and Yuengling). Celery, carrots, apples, leftover Middle Eastern food (mostly baba ghanoush), yogurt, cider, apple juice, and OJ. A doorful of condiments, sesame seeds, salsa, pickles, etc. A thawing hunk o’ beef for stew.
White or wheat bread?
Wholegrain white for the boys, oatnut for me and H, English muffins and bagels for all of us.
What is on top of your refrigerator?
A basket of cereal boxes (you know, full of their cereal).
What color or design is on your shower curtain?
Clear but with prism-y designs on it.
How many plants are in your home?
I have a vase of dried hydrangea on the mantel. That’s it. I have a black thumb when it comes to houseplants.
Is your bed made right now?
Not yet. I am changing sheets, and so am waiting for my favorites to finish drying.
Comet or Soft Scrub?
Soft Scrub, orange scent only.
Is your closet organized?
As organized as I get.
Can you describe your flashlight?
I know we have a real one but I can only ever seem to find the boys’ flashlights, which are shaped like tigers and growl when you click them on.
Do you drink out of glass or plastic most of the time at home?
Depends on what I am drinking.
Do you have iced tea made in a pitcher right now?
No. It’s DECEMBER.
If you have a garage, is it cluttered?
No garage. No shed. My basement is a wreck.
Curtains or blinds?
Both, or none, depending.
How many pillows do you sleep with?
Three. I want another, but four for one person seems….unnecessarily decadent.
Do you sleep with any lights on at night?
A nightlight in the bathroom. Not that this stops the boys from peeing all over the seat anyway.
How often do you vacuum?
A few times a week.
Standard toothbrush or electric?
Standard upstairs, an old electric in powder room downstairs. I love my electric toothbrush but I was burning through thru batteries too fast.
What color is your toothbrush?
Standard is pink; electric is turquoise and white.
Do you have a welcome mat on your front porch?
Just some black runners so you don’t slip and kill yourself on the wet wood, and a matching mat in front of the door for same purpose.
What is in your oven right now?
Nothing. But lasagna for dinner soon.
And maybe a cake since the Madeira cake I baked Friday is almost all gone already.
Is there anything under your bed?
Some boxes of stuff from the office, since we are shifting the bedrooms. Normally, nothing other than dust bunnies and the cat. Have I mentioned my OCD?
Chore you hate doing the most?
Vacuuming. And carrying the laundry up from the basement.
What retro items are in your home?
Half my furniture is flea market stuff. Plus all my grandmother’s Depression glass.
I like old stuff, and shop at thrift stores and flea markets by choice.
Do you have a separate room that you use as an office?
Yes, although as mentioned previously, we are in the process of shifting rooms so thank god for the laptop…
How many mirrors are in your home?
Um. Hmmm. Eight. But not because I am vain. I just like the pretty, old fashioned frames.
What color are your walls?
Different color every room pretty much.
Do you keep any kind of protection weapons in your home?
Does a baseball bat count? Or the dog?
What does your home smell like right now?
Hot cocoa.
Favorite candle scent?
I don’t really care for scented candles.
I normally buy unscented ones.
What kind of pickles (if any) are in your refrigerator right now?
Gherkins and dill hamburger slices.
What color is your favorite Bible?
Um, this is such a weird question that I am skipping it. Although I do own about half a dozen different Bibles, various translations.
Ever been on your roof?
Yes. Who else do you think scraped, recaulked, and painted all the second floor windows?
Do you own a stereo?
Yes. Several, in varying degrees of functionality, including one turntable the boys use to play H’s old albums.
How many TVs do you have?
One.
How many house phones?
Three.
Do you have a housekeeper?
Yes. Me.
What style do you decorate in?
Wahahahahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!!!!!
Um, seriously? Anything that will withstand three boys. My house is very…eclectic.
Do you like solid colors in furniture or prints?
Solid. Although the editor in me is dying to pick apart the grammatical incorrectness of this question…
Is there a smoke detector in your home?
Yes, a couple. And they routinely go off when I am baking.
In case of fire, what are the items in your house which you’d grab if you only could make one quick trip?
My children, the cats, and yes, even the dog. The folder of important docs like passports, etc. The photo albums from before I got my digital camera (three or four). My laptop. But then my boys would probably make me put everything down to carry their Pokemon cards and stuffed animals.
*******************
* Arlo Guthrie
What kind of soap is in your bathtub right now?
Soft Soap milk-and-honey. Thank you, Badger. I have never looked back.
Do you have any watermelon in your refrigerator?
No. It’s December.
What would you change about your living room?
I would like to finish and hang the curtains, and get the gas fireplace functional.
Are the dishes in your dishwasher clean or dirty?
Dirty. I just unloaded last night’s clean ones and started loading today’s dirty ones…
What is in your fridge?
Milk, eggs, breads, cold cuts (salami, provolone, American cheese, and cracked pepper turkey breast.) Beer (Guinness and Yuengling). Celery, carrots, apples, leftover Middle Eastern food (mostly baba ghanoush), yogurt, cider, apple juice, and OJ. A doorful of condiments, sesame seeds, salsa, pickles, etc. A thawing hunk o’ beef for stew.
White or wheat bread?
Wholegrain white for the boys, oatnut for me and H, English muffins and bagels for all of us.
What is on top of your refrigerator?
A basket of cereal boxes (you know, full of their cereal).
What color or design is on your shower curtain?
Clear but with prism-y designs on it.
How many plants are in your home?
I have a vase of dried hydrangea on the mantel. That’s it. I have a black thumb when it comes to houseplants.
Is your bed made right now?
Not yet. I am changing sheets, and so am waiting for my favorites to finish drying.
Comet or Soft Scrub?
Soft Scrub, orange scent only.
Is your closet organized?
As organized as I get.
Can you describe your flashlight?
I know we have a real one but I can only ever seem to find the boys’ flashlights, which are shaped like tigers and growl when you click them on.
Do you drink out of glass or plastic most of the time at home?
Depends on what I am drinking.
Do you have iced tea made in a pitcher right now?
No. It’s DECEMBER.
If you have a garage, is it cluttered?
No garage. No shed. My basement is a wreck.
Curtains or blinds?
Both, or none, depending.
How many pillows do you sleep with?
Three. I want another, but four for one person seems….unnecessarily decadent.
Do you sleep with any lights on at night?
A nightlight in the bathroom. Not that this stops the boys from peeing all over the seat anyway.
How often do you vacuum?
A few times a week.
Standard toothbrush or electric?
Standard upstairs, an old electric in powder room downstairs. I love my electric toothbrush but I was burning through thru batteries too fast.
What color is your toothbrush?
Standard is pink; electric is turquoise and white.
Do you have a welcome mat on your front porch?
Just some black runners so you don’t slip and kill yourself on the wet wood, and a matching mat in front of the door for same purpose.
What is in your oven right now?
Nothing. But lasagna for dinner soon.
And maybe a cake since the Madeira cake I baked Friday is almost all gone already.
Is there anything under your bed?
Some boxes of stuff from the office, since we are shifting the bedrooms. Normally, nothing other than dust bunnies and the cat. Have I mentioned my OCD?
Chore you hate doing the most?
Vacuuming. And carrying the laundry up from the basement.
What retro items are in your home?
Half my furniture is flea market stuff. Plus all my grandmother’s Depression glass.
I like old stuff, and shop at thrift stores and flea markets by choice.
Do you have a separate room that you use as an office?
Yes, although as mentioned previously, we are in the process of shifting rooms so thank god for the laptop…
How many mirrors are in your home?
Um. Hmmm. Eight. But not because I am vain. I just like the pretty, old fashioned frames.
What color are your walls?
Different color every room pretty much.
Do you keep any kind of protection weapons in your home?
Does a baseball bat count? Or the dog?
What does your home smell like right now?
Hot cocoa.
Favorite candle scent?
I don’t really care for scented candles.
I normally buy unscented ones.
What kind of pickles (if any) are in your refrigerator right now?
Gherkins and dill hamburger slices.
What color is your favorite Bible?
Um, this is such a weird question that I am skipping it. Although I do own about half a dozen different Bibles, various translations.
Ever been on your roof?
Yes. Who else do you think scraped, recaulked, and painted all the second floor windows?
Do you own a stereo?
Yes. Several, in varying degrees of functionality, including one turntable the boys use to play H’s old albums.
How many TVs do you have?
One.
How many house phones?
Three.
Do you have a housekeeper?
Yes. Me.
What style do you decorate in?
Wahahahahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!!!!!
Um, seriously? Anything that will withstand three boys. My house is very…eclectic.
Do you like solid colors in furniture or prints?
Solid. Although the editor in me is dying to pick apart the grammatical incorrectness of this question…
Is there a smoke detector in your home?
Yes, a couple. And they routinely go off when I am baking.
In case of fire, what are the items in your house which you’d grab if you only could make one quick trip?
My children, the cats, and yes, even the dog. The folder of important docs like passports, etc. The photo albums from before I got my digital camera (three or four). My laptop. But then my boys would probably make me put everything down to carry their Pokemon cards and stuffed animals.
*******************
* Arlo Guthrie
Monday, December 03, 2007
"I used to do my homework at one end of the kitchen table while [my grandfather] cooked at the other end." *
I just was compelled to clean the accumulated goop of a year out of the grout of my tiled kitchen table with a butter knife.
Either I need to up my Zoloft dose, or I am nesting.
******************
* Vincent Schiavelli
Either I need to up my Zoloft dose, or I am nesting.
******************
* Vincent Schiavelli
Saturday, December 01, 2007
"Proper names are poetry in the raw. Like all poetry they are untranslatable." *
In case the fourth is a girl, by some odd twist of fate:
Abigail? I know an Abby I dislike, and several I like. Anne. I like Agnes, but only pronounced the French way, which isn’t going to happen here. Antonia (in homage to AS Byatt)? Amy? (I cannot see myself as the mother of an Amy.) Amanda. Wow, I sorta like Amanda.
Bertha? Beth? Britney! Blech.
Clare. “Clare – it’s a fat girl’s name” (I LOVE that movie.) I like Catherine, too, and it has the added appeal of being my grandmother’s name.
Diana? THE girl name in H’s family, for girls of his generation. I think there are six of them.
Eleanor. Ellen (No. Does anyone else remember Ellen Tebbits?) Elizabeth (one of our top choices for a while there.) Elise?
Frances. No. H’s first girlfriend was a Frances. Of course, my first boyfriend was a Francis. And that’s our boy middle name. Shhh, don’t tell.
G. Gloria. Pretty in theory. I used to adore Geraldine, can anyone tell me WHY?
Helen? No, H’s college girlfriend was a Helen. Crazy, neurotic, psychotic wench.
Igraine. Whoo hoo. Isabella? VERY popular these days. Most of the I names seem to be variations on Isabella. Except for Inez.
Jane. Like the name, but H does not. I think he’s right. Jessica is pretty. But I also cannot see myself as the mother of a Jessica. Jennifer? Does anyone name girl babies Jennifer anymore?
Kara. For Rogue Librarian’s sake, absolutely not.
Loretta. Look out, Loretta! Laura/el/en. Letitia. Lucinda (I LOVE, H hates.)
Merle. Mairead. The poor girl would never make it out of kindergarten. Madison, like the rest of the planet (I actually despise this name - forgive me if you named your daughter that, but I think it’s hideous. It’s like naming your kid Detroit. Or Pittsburgh.)
N. There are no decent N names. Think about it. Nancy. Nan. Nellie. Nettie. Nicole. Nothing. I got nothing. My next-door neighbor says Neveah is very popular right now. Yeah, well, so is Taylor and I am not going there either. But since we’re on that train of thought, why not Nivea? Neutragena? Noxzema? I mean, really, why the hell not?
Octavia. I really dig this name, but no, can't use it. For the same reason the CAT, and not one of my boys, is named Septimus.
Petrova, after my favorite character in Noel Streatfield’s Ballet Shoes.
Q. Are there any good Q girl names? The website lists Queen, Quiana, and Quinn. The answer would be NO.
Riley. Reid. They sound like boy names. And Rachel and Rebecca don’t do a whole bunch for me. Too…Biblical. Or something. Which is downright laughable if you know my boys’ real names.
Susan? While I know and love several people named Susan, I don’t actually care for the name. And Sophia got knocked out of the running when it skyrocketed in popularity these past few years (Primo was Sophia, had he been a girl.)
Theodora. Teresa (too religious, although Tess is nice. However, we know a Tess whom I like very much, but too close.)
U. Una? Isn’t there an Una somewhere in children’s lit that I like? Sounds familiar. Maybe in the Anne books?
Valerie. Not.
W. Winnie. Wilhelmina. Wacky.
Xenia. I used to go to church with an old lady named Xenia.
Yvette. Yvonne. Y not?
Z…..Zoe…zzzzzzzzzzzzz…………..
Girl names are MUCH harder than boy names, there are many many fewer ones that I like.
*******************
*WH Auden
Abigail? I know an Abby I dislike, and several I like. Anne. I like Agnes, but only pronounced the French way, which isn’t going to happen here. Antonia (in homage to AS Byatt)? Amy? (I cannot see myself as the mother of an Amy.) Amanda. Wow, I sorta like Amanda.
Bertha? Beth? Britney! Blech.
Clare. “Clare – it’s a fat girl’s name” (I LOVE that movie.) I like Catherine, too, and it has the added appeal of being my grandmother’s name.
Diana? THE girl name in H’s family, for girls of his generation. I think there are six of them.
Eleanor. Ellen (No. Does anyone else remember Ellen Tebbits?) Elizabeth (one of our top choices for a while there.) Elise?
Frances. No. H’s first girlfriend was a Frances. Of course, my first boyfriend was a Francis. And that’s our boy middle name. Shhh, don’t tell.
G. Gloria. Pretty in theory. I used to adore Geraldine, can anyone tell me WHY?
Helen? No, H’s college girlfriend was a Helen. Crazy, neurotic, psychotic wench.
Igraine. Whoo hoo. Isabella? VERY popular these days. Most of the I names seem to be variations on Isabella. Except for Inez.
Jane. Like the name, but H does not. I think he’s right. Jessica is pretty. But I also cannot see myself as the mother of a Jessica. Jennifer? Does anyone name girl babies Jennifer anymore?
Kara. For Rogue Librarian’s sake, absolutely not.
Loretta. Look out, Loretta! Laura/el/en. Letitia. Lucinda (I LOVE, H hates.)
Merle. Mairead. The poor girl would never make it out of kindergarten. Madison, like the rest of the planet (I actually despise this name - forgive me if you named your daughter that, but I think it’s hideous. It’s like naming your kid Detroit. Or Pittsburgh.)
N. There are no decent N names. Think about it. Nancy. Nan. Nellie. Nettie. Nicole. Nothing. I got nothing. My next-door neighbor says Neveah is very popular right now. Yeah, well, so is Taylor and I am not going there either. But since we’re on that train of thought, why not Nivea? Neutragena? Noxzema? I mean, really, why the hell not?
Octavia. I really dig this name, but no, can't use it. For the same reason the CAT, and not one of my boys, is named Septimus.
Petrova, after my favorite character in Noel Streatfield’s Ballet Shoes.
Q. Are there any good Q girl names? The website lists Queen, Quiana, and Quinn. The answer would be NO.
Riley. Reid. They sound like boy names. And Rachel and Rebecca don’t do a whole bunch for me. Too…Biblical. Or something. Which is downright laughable if you know my boys’ real names.
Susan? While I know and love several people named Susan, I don’t actually care for the name. And Sophia got knocked out of the running when it skyrocketed in popularity these past few years (Primo was Sophia, had he been a girl.)
Theodora. Teresa (too religious, although Tess is nice. However, we know a Tess whom I like very much, but too close.)
U. Una? Isn’t there an Una somewhere in children’s lit that I like? Sounds familiar. Maybe in the Anne books?
Valerie. Not.
W. Winnie. Wilhelmina. Wacky.
Xenia. I used to go to church with an old lady named Xenia.
Yvette. Yvonne. Y not?
Z…..Zoe…zzzzzzzzzzzzz…………..
Girl names are MUCH harder than boy names, there are many many fewer ones that I like.
*******************
*WH Auden
Friday, November 30, 2007
"What’s in a name? that which we call a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet." *
Social Security's website o' names
Since I am fairly convinced that this fourth is a boy (why would anything be different?), let's start there.
Atticus? Aaron. Not Adam.
Baruch? Benjamin? Berkeley (a nod to H's college days)?
Calvin? Christian? Cain? Erm, maybe not Cain.
David. No, what about Daryl? Wahahahaaaaa....
Eamon. Ethan (VERY popular. So, no.) Eli (another nod...)?
Francis. Eh. Finn? Fred (which is the damn dog's real name)?
G. G is tough. Grover? Gabriel?
Henry. NO.
Ian. Ivan. Call me Ishmael. Or not.
Jonathan, John. Jack. Blech.
Keith.
Luke. I was wrong, Luke is actually *dropping* in popularity.
Matthew. Michael. Mark. I like Mark, but there are issues with Marks we have known...
Neil. I like Neil. In fact, I really like Neil. Not as much as Luke, but a lot.
Oliver. VERY popular.
Philip? NOT Peter.
Quintin
Riley. Richard. Raphael (if we are going to look at archangels...)
Seth. I like Seth. I even know Seths that I like. Steven? Sean?
Theodore
Ulysses is the only U name I can think of.
Virgil Victor Vincent. Valentine.
William. Wyatt. Excuse me.
Xavier
Y - would you believe Yahir is a more popular name than Simon?
Zachary. Zechariah? Zeke....Zaccheus. Zaccheus was a wee little man, a wee little man
was he....
The boys all have firm opinions on names, but I don't like any of their suggestions (for example, naming the fourth after the only brother of Jesus we don't yet have is NOT acceptable to me.)
Maybe it'll be a girl, and I will have to tackle those names another day.
*******************
* Juliet, Act II, sc. ii, in William Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet
Since I am fairly convinced that this fourth is a boy (why would anything be different?), let's start there.
Atticus? Aaron. Not Adam.
Baruch? Benjamin? Berkeley (a nod to H's college days)?
Calvin? Christian? Cain? Erm, maybe not Cain.
David. No, what about Daryl? Wahahahaaaaa....
Eamon. Ethan (VERY popular. So, no.) Eli (another nod...)?
Francis. Eh. Finn? Fred (which is the damn dog's real name)?
G. G is tough. Grover? Gabriel?
Henry. NO.
Ian. Ivan. Call me Ishmael. Or not.
Jonathan, John. Jack. Blech.
Keith.
Luke. I was wrong, Luke is actually *dropping* in popularity.
Matthew. Michael. Mark. I like Mark, but there are issues with Marks we have known...
Neil. I like Neil. In fact, I really like Neil. Not as much as Luke, but a lot.
Oliver. VERY popular.
Philip? NOT Peter.
Quintin
Riley. Richard. Raphael (if we are going to look at archangels...)
Seth. I like Seth. I even know Seths that I like. Steven? Sean?
Theodore
Ulysses is the only U name I can think of.
Virgil Victor Vincent. Valentine.
William. Wyatt. Excuse me.
Xavier
Y - would you believe Yahir is a more popular name than Simon?
Zachary. Zechariah? Zeke....Zaccheus. Zaccheus was a wee little man, a wee little man
was he....
The boys all have firm opinions on names, but I don't like any of their suggestions (for example, naming the fourth after the only brother of Jesus we don't yet have is NOT acceptable to me.)
Maybe it'll be a girl, and I will have to tackle those names another day.
*******************
* Juliet, Act II, sc. ii, in William Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
"Parenting forces us to get to know ourselves better than we ever might have imagined we could." *
Monday was my SIXTH day with my family, but my first without another adult to buffer. Or schlep work off to. Or change diapers. And since it was meant to pour all day long (which it did), the thought of spending the day in my house with three hyper children, the damn dog, and probably the TV blaring all day seemed like a very very bad idea. Off to the Children’s Museum we traipsed – my membership had lapsed a few months after Terzo was born but re-upping was simple, thank you, my beloved Visa card.
After slogging through the rain and ditching our sopping jackets (after-after hitting the cash machine, because you know, contrary to my children’s firm belief, I do NOT either grow money on trees in my backyard or mint it in the basement), we started as usual in the Mr Rogers area. Better than a Valium, that Mr Rogers, how I love him. Even at almost-seven, Primo found fun stuff to do, and the two littler boys really dug the trolley, the puppets, and the sweaters (although none of them dressed up in the cardigan sweaters like Primo used to). Terzo was especially enthralled by the player piano.
I was busy trying to figure out if this fish was supposed to look like Liberace or if it had some sort of tumor.
The two older boys were too scared to go in the habitrail until The Baby blazed the way. Possibly because I told them that if they got stuck, tough luck. My seven-month-pregnant belly won’t allow me in further than the first level (sadly, I know this from experience).
I prefer my children caged, not free-range. (Just the opposite of my chicken.)
This room is a little weird, there’s lots of supernatural-ly type stuff in it, like a ghost room (reflections of other museum patrons manipulated by mirrors), a skewed sort of dollhouse, portraits whose eyes follow you around the room, and this lovely lady guarding the entrance.
These things always creep me the hell out (remember the one in “Big”? Ick.).
As did this initially.
“Hmmm, Gelfling?”
The two older ones discovered a very cool puppet-master sort of video game, and would have stood there all day changing backgrounds, switching puppets, and choreographing dance routines for them, if I would have let them. Unfortunately for them, there were other children at the museum as well (though not nearly as many as I’d feared, what with public and most private schools off for the first day of hunting season. I suppose they were all out in the deluge shooting poor innocent deer instead. VERY educational. If anyone is going to wield a gun in my family, it will be ME. So there.)
Meanwhile, I yearned for some caffeine –some other SMART mother had brought Starbucks in with her (I know, I am pathetic, I was so desperate, I photographed the damn empty cup!).
Terzo played with the cabinets while I looked at the book display. I thought this one was titled Jesus Makes Hair Gel (maybe out of wine?), a title that took up way too much of my available brain power for several minutes until I figured it out.
See? Toldja. Not NEARLY enough caffeine.
And then Terzo made me follow him into the Gravity Room (worse than a funhouse and less than half the fun) where I promptly became nauseated and had to sit down afterwards. Ugh.
I finally dragged away the boys, kicking and screaming – no, merely whining - from their puppet game, and made them stop long enough to eat some lunch, and then wandered into the physical science-y room.
Although this neato contraption does not always operate exactly as it should, I love the way the wires and cages look. Puts me in mind of Calder, whose mobiles I have always loved. That blue ball is one of Primo’s attempts to navigate the maze.
I was thrilled to discover that my children have excellent taste in cars.
(This is my midlife crisis car – you know, after I ditch the minivan, which we have not even purchased yet. So perhaps I am getting a bit ahead of myself.)
Terzo wanted to climb to the top of the platform to launch parachutes, but the open steelwork seemed to scare him and he wouldn’t stand up. He crawled not only up all the steps but the entire time he was up there, launching parachutes, watching balls, and thinking about trying the spiral slide (he decided against it, I think because he had to stand up to get to it).
Then he played with this primitive musical instrument for something like half an hour. I thought it was really fun but its noise totally made me have to pee really bad.
So I sat in front of *my* favorite thing in the museum, legs crossed, while he played. See how the letters fall on the screen, and are stopped by the image of your body? So very cool. I want one in my bedroom. Therapeutic; soporific. But probably more expensive than Zoloft...
The traveling exhibit was the Zany Circus for Social Change, comprised of circus tricks like tightrope walking,
juggling, and stilts (which I really really wanted to try but realized before I made a total ass of my pregnant self how foolhardy that would be). 
Don't they look like FUN?
OK, explain to me why, when we have dozens of trains and hundreds of crayons at home, this is still what my children gravitate to when we are out somewhere where there are a dozen other options. Please explain it to me. Because I am at a loss.
We saved the water room till last, because, bad, unprepared mother I am, I neglected to bring either swimsuits and sandals, or a dry change of clothes.
I took photos of stuff that amused me while the three boys built dams, threw rubber fish, and floated sailboats, and got dripping, soaking, sopping wet.
And in Seg’s case, bellowed “Yellow Submarine” at the top of his lungs while plunging the little bath toy in and out and in and out of various pools.
I was both pleased at my child’s very cool taste in music (My guys were also the ones who took the microphone platform in another part of the museum and proceeded to wail “You Shook Me All Night Long” at the top of their lungs while the other children were bleating “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star”), and being embarrassed by how very freaking loud he is. I am still not convinced he is not hard of hearing...
Some of those amusing-to-me photos:
Lots of belly-up creatures of the deep.
My favorite denizen of the deep, in his natural habitat (a heavily chlorinated pool in a children’s museum).
(Never mind that the little guy is plastic…you would need your head examined as well after spending an hour and a half preventing your youngest child from “SIMMING!”) 
Was I trying to channel Andy Warhol?
We spent more than an hour in the water room, and I had to drag the kids out, to beat the Steelers traffic home. Granted, I had a mild episode of “You are horrible, ungrateful, whiny children” shouting on the way home when Primo complained that we’d had to leave at all, and Seg cried because I told him he could not have a milkshake when we got home (we’d had ice cream after lunch).
So call CYS. Go on. I’ll happily hand over my museum membership card to anyone else who cares to wrangle the three of them next time, for the entire day, in a public place. But only if you fit in the Habitrail.
***************************
* Fred Rogers
After slogging through the rain and ditching our sopping jackets (after-after hitting the cash machine, because you know, contrary to my children’s firm belief, I do NOT either grow money on trees in my backyard or mint it in the basement), we started as usual in the Mr Rogers area. Better than a Valium, that Mr Rogers, how I love him. Even at almost-seven, Primo found fun stuff to do, and the two littler boys really dug the trolley, the puppets, and the sweaters (although none of them dressed up in the cardigan sweaters like Primo used to). Terzo was especially enthralled by the player piano.
I was busy trying to figure out if this fish was supposed to look like Liberace or if it had some sort of tumor.
The two older boys were too scared to go in the habitrail until The Baby blazed the way. Possibly because I told them that if they got stuck, tough luck. My seven-month-pregnant belly won’t allow me in further than the first level (sadly, I know this from experience).
I prefer my children caged, not free-range. (Just the opposite of my chicken.)
This room is a little weird, there’s lots of supernatural-ly type stuff in it, like a ghost room (reflections of other museum patrons manipulated by mirrors), a skewed sort of dollhouse, portraits whose eyes follow you around the room, and this lovely lady guarding the entrance.
These things always creep me the hell out (remember the one in “Big”? Ick.). As did this initially.
“Hmmm, Gelfling?”
The two older ones discovered a very cool puppet-master sort of video game, and would have stood there all day changing backgrounds, switching puppets, and choreographing dance routines for them, if I would have let them. Unfortunately for them, there were other children at the museum as well (though not nearly as many as I’d feared, what with public and most private schools off for the first day of hunting season. I suppose they were all out in the deluge shooting poor innocent deer instead. VERY educational. If anyone is going to wield a gun in my family, it will be ME. So there.)
Meanwhile, I yearned for some caffeine –some other SMART mother had brought Starbucks in with her (I know, I am pathetic, I was so desperate, I photographed the damn empty cup!).
Terzo played with the cabinets while I looked at the book display. I thought this one was titled Jesus Makes Hair Gel (maybe out of wine?), a title that took up way too much of my available brain power for several minutes until I figured it out.
See? Toldja. Not NEARLY enough caffeine. And then Terzo made me follow him into the Gravity Room (worse than a funhouse and less than half the fun) where I promptly became nauseated and had to sit down afterwards. Ugh.
I finally dragged away the boys, kicking and screaming – no, merely whining - from their puppet game, and made them stop long enough to eat some lunch, and then wandered into the physical science-y room.
Although this neato contraption does not always operate exactly as it should, I love the way the wires and cages look. Puts me in mind of Calder, whose mobiles I have always loved. That blue ball is one of Primo’s attempts to navigate the maze.
I was thrilled to discover that my children have excellent taste in cars.
(This is my midlife crisis car – you know, after I ditch the minivan, which we have not even purchased yet. So perhaps I am getting a bit ahead of myself.)Terzo wanted to climb to the top of the platform to launch parachutes, but the open steelwork seemed to scare him and he wouldn’t stand up. He crawled not only up all the steps but the entire time he was up there, launching parachutes, watching balls, and thinking about trying the spiral slide (he decided against it, I think because he had to stand up to get to it).
Then he played with this primitive musical instrument for something like half an hour. I thought it was really fun but its noise totally made me have to pee really bad.
So I sat in front of *my* favorite thing in the museum, legs crossed, while he played. See how the letters fall on the screen, and are stopped by the image of your body? So very cool. I want one in my bedroom. Therapeutic; soporific. But probably more expensive than Zoloft...
The traveling exhibit was the Zany Circus for Social Change, comprised of circus tricks like tightrope walking,
juggling, and stilts (which I really really wanted to try but realized before I made a total ass of my pregnant self how foolhardy that would be). 
Don't they look like FUN?OK, explain to me why, when we have dozens of trains and hundreds of crayons at home, this is still what my children gravitate to when we are out somewhere where there are a dozen other options. Please explain it to me. Because I am at a loss.
We saved the water room till last, because, bad, unprepared mother I am, I neglected to bring either swimsuits and sandals, or a dry change of clothes.
I took photos of stuff that amused me while the three boys built dams, threw rubber fish, and floated sailboats, and got dripping, soaking, sopping wet.
And in Seg’s case, bellowed “Yellow Submarine” at the top of his lungs while plunging the little bath toy in and out and in and out of various pools.
I was both pleased at my child’s very cool taste in music (My guys were also the ones who took the microphone platform in another part of the museum and proceeded to wail “You Shook Me All Night Long” at the top of their lungs while the other children were bleating “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star”), and being embarrassed by how very freaking loud he is. I am still not convinced he is not hard of hearing...
Some of those amusing-to-me photos:
Lots of belly-up creatures of the deep.
My favorite denizen of the deep, in his natural habitat (a heavily chlorinated pool in a children’s museum).
(Never mind that the little guy is plastic…you would need your head examined as well after spending an hour and a half preventing your youngest child from “SIMMING!”) 
Was I trying to channel Andy Warhol?
We spent more than an hour in the water room, and I had to drag the kids out, to beat the Steelers traffic home. Granted, I had a mild episode of “You are horrible, ungrateful, whiny children” shouting on the way home when Primo complained that we’d had to leave at all, and Seg cried because I told him he could not have a milkshake when we got home (we’d had ice cream after lunch).
So call CYS. Go on. I’ll happily hand over my museum membership card to anyone else who cares to wrangle the three of them next time, for the entire day, in a public place. But only if you fit in the Habitrail.
***************************
* Fred Rogers
Sunday, November 25, 2007
"I felt I had every right to use the symbols of the Church and resented being told not to." *
I read Maile Meloy’s Liars and Saints on a whim last week. I vaguely recalled some fanfare about Meloy’s first novel when it came out in 2004, but the whole “saga of an American Catholic family” just didn’t really catch my interest. Besides, if you’ve read Thorn Birds, do you really need a saga of another Catholic family, American, Australian, or otherwise?
A little research revealed terrific reviews from reputable sources, and a nomination to the Orange Prize longlist. (Funnily enough, the other three books I tried to read from that same longlist – Short History of Tractors in Ukrainian, Mammoth Cheese, and The Great Stink – were disappointing.)
So I brought it home from the library where it long ago had made its way to the general fiction shelves, and started it with not much in the way of expectations. I had for whatever reason lumped it in my mind with Mameve Medwed’s innocuous, chick-litty books, so figured on a quick and possibly pleasant read.
I couldn’t put it down.
From the first sentence, when a young Yvette Grenier marries her military pilot sweetheart before sending him off to World War Two, I was completely intrigued and had to find out what happened next. Not that it was a breathless, headlong rush – no, Meloy’s prose is cool and elegant and oddly removed from its complex characters and their passion-inspired actions. Her pacing is perfect – precise details are given when needed, with Meloy expertly filling in gaps in the action to quickly reach the next important event when necessary. It’s not often that you read a three-hundred page book seamlessly covering fifty years.
There were times when I felt that Meloy was experimenting with her medium, throwing in plot twists and events that were just strange enough to be completely true to the story (the truth-is-stranger-than-fiction mythology only aids Meloy in her endeavor), to see if the reader was paying attention, or if her characters were, or both.
When I stopped by the library to return several other books, I picked up Meloy’s sequel to Liars, A Family Daughter. I don’t want to spoil the read for anyone, but it is equally as compelling as its precursor, and its meta-ness greatly appeals to the geek in me. Meloy’s cleverness, exploring alternate realities for the same characters and playing with displaying her craft within her craft, put me in mind of AS Byatt’s Babel Tower and John Fowles’ French Lieutenant’s Woman.
Liars and Daughter were the perfect duo of books to read the same week that H and I watched Bill Murray in “The Life Aquatic.” While beautifully filmed, with some entertainingly quirky performances (especially by Cate Blanchett and Willem Dafoe), it’s a very strange little movie that could have used a stronger, defter editor’s hand and reminded me very much of a Coen Brothers outing. The conceit of making a movie within a movie was mostly stilted, and there were aspects of the filming that I am sure seemed much more clever in theory than in actual realization (the cutaway scenes of the boat, for example). But like Meloy’s novels (but not nearly so clever), the whole endeavor had a very meta feel to it, like you had opened the door into a private, unedited screening of someone’s personal journey captured on film almost accidentally, and the creator was annotating as you followed along.
So there’s my trifecta recommendation for the weekend:
Liars and Saints and A Family Daughter, coupled with “The Life Aquatic.”
I don’t think you can lose.
**************
* Andres Serrano
A little research revealed terrific reviews from reputable sources, and a nomination to the Orange Prize longlist. (Funnily enough, the other three books I tried to read from that same longlist – Short History of Tractors in Ukrainian, Mammoth Cheese, and The Great Stink – were disappointing.)
So I brought it home from the library where it long ago had made its way to the general fiction shelves, and started it with not much in the way of expectations. I had for whatever reason lumped it in my mind with Mameve Medwed’s innocuous, chick-litty books, so figured on a quick and possibly pleasant read.
I couldn’t put it down.
From the first sentence, when a young Yvette Grenier marries her military pilot sweetheart before sending him off to World War Two, I was completely intrigued and had to find out what happened next. Not that it was a breathless, headlong rush – no, Meloy’s prose is cool and elegant and oddly removed from its complex characters and their passion-inspired actions. Her pacing is perfect – precise details are given when needed, with Meloy expertly filling in gaps in the action to quickly reach the next important event when necessary. It’s not often that you read a three-hundred page book seamlessly covering fifty years.
There were times when I felt that Meloy was experimenting with her medium, throwing in plot twists and events that were just strange enough to be completely true to the story (the truth-is-stranger-than-fiction mythology only aids Meloy in her endeavor), to see if the reader was paying attention, or if her characters were, or both.
When I stopped by the library to return several other books, I picked up Meloy’s sequel to Liars, A Family Daughter. I don’t want to spoil the read for anyone, but it is equally as compelling as its precursor, and its meta-ness greatly appeals to the geek in me. Meloy’s cleverness, exploring alternate realities for the same characters and playing with displaying her craft within her craft, put me in mind of AS Byatt’s Babel Tower and John Fowles’ French Lieutenant’s Woman.
Liars and Daughter were the perfect duo of books to read the same week that H and I watched Bill Murray in “The Life Aquatic.” While beautifully filmed, with some entertainingly quirky performances (especially by Cate Blanchett and Willem Dafoe), it’s a very strange little movie that could have used a stronger, defter editor’s hand and reminded me very much of a Coen Brothers outing. The conceit of making a movie within a movie was mostly stilted, and there were aspects of the filming that I am sure seemed much more clever in theory than in actual realization (the cutaway scenes of the boat, for example). But like Meloy’s novels (but not nearly so clever), the whole endeavor had a very meta feel to it, like you had opened the door into a private, unedited screening of someone’s personal journey captured on film almost accidentally, and the creator was annotating as you followed along.
So there’s my trifecta recommendation for the weekend:
Liars and Saints and A Family Daughter, coupled with “The Life Aquatic.”
I don’t think you can lose.
**************
* Andres Serrano
Friday, November 23, 2007
"Kraft Foods, which now owns the [Stove Top stuffing] brand, sells about 60 million boxes of it at Thanksgiving." *
We are having a very low-key after-Thanksgiving day: hockey, a long walk in the snow flurries with the dog, Reuben sandwiches and veggie soup for lunch...although I suppose Thanksgiving itself was fairly low-key as well:
H took the two older boys and the dog out for a long hike in the park in the morning, while Terzo and I stayed home and puttered around doing laundry, and playing with Matchbox cars, and nothing much else.
We cleared the fridge of leftovers for lunch. (Each boy had one steamed dumpling, half a peanut-butter-and-banana sandwich, a scoop of steamed rice, some raisins, and a clementine. Nothing like a varied diet.)
My older brother opted to drive rather than take Greyhound so arrived in the early afternoon, which was great as we hadn’t been expecting him till almost 8. The boys were totally psyched to see him, and he spent the afternoon playing Stratego and Clue with them. Everybody took naps (some shorter than others) and then we headed over the river and through the woods – or at least over the railroad tracks and through the playground – to Grandma’s house where I very intelligently ate not too much.
I woke up in the middle of the night last night yearning for some more stuffing, however. I should have eaten more stuffing.
My mom never made stuffing – we had always wild rice, which was delicious but not even approaching the buttery, chewy deliciousness of a good, oniony stuffing. My mother-in-law’s stuffing is like my recipe for chicken dip – any excuse to eat a pound of butter, or in the case of the dip, cream cheese, can’t be bad. I don’t really even care that the potatoes are whipped (not mashed); the yams are gluey; the turkey cooked to within an inch of its life; or the veggies are all canned – the stuffing makes up for all of that.
**********************
Chicken Dip
1 8-oz. block of Philadelphia cream cheese, softened to room temperature
1 large can Swanson white chicken meat, drained and flaked
2-3 scallions, chopped
2 tsp soy sauce
Mash all ingredients together. Best if refrigerated overnight, but not necessary. Serve with Triscuits.
My Mother-in-law’s Stuffing
(for 20-25 lb. turkey)
1 can of chicken broth
6 loaves of bread
1 ½ lbs butter, melted
Celery, chopped
Onion, chopped
Salt
6 eggs
Cook giblets, etc., in a can of chicken broth.
Strain.
Mix all other ingredients together, then use broth to moisten.
I know she stuffs her turkey with it, but she also bakes a giant pan of it next to the bird. And that's about all I know. Except that I could happily eat the entire pan, with maybe a side of cranberry sauce (the jellied kind that comes in a can. (I know, I KNOW.))
**********************
*according to a Kraft Foods company spokesperson
H took the two older boys and the dog out for a long hike in the park in the morning, while Terzo and I stayed home and puttered around doing laundry, and playing with Matchbox cars, and nothing much else.
We cleared the fridge of leftovers for lunch. (Each boy had one steamed dumpling, half a peanut-butter-and-banana sandwich, a scoop of steamed rice, some raisins, and a clementine. Nothing like a varied diet.)
My older brother opted to drive rather than take Greyhound so arrived in the early afternoon, which was great as we hadn’t been expecting him till almost 8. The boys were totally psyched to see him, and he spent the afternoon playing Stratego and Clue with them. Everybody took naps (some shorter than others) and then we headed over the river and through the woods – or at least over the railroad tracks and through the playground – to Grandma’s house where I very intelligently ate not too much.
I woke up in the middle of the night last night yearning for some more stuffing, however. I should have eaten more stuffing.
My mom never made stuffing – we had always wild rice, which was delicious but not even approaching the buttery, chewy deliciousness of a good, oniony stuffing. My mother-in-law’s stuffing is like my recipe for chicken dip – any excuse to eat a pound of butter, or in the case of the dip, cream cheese, can’t be bad. I don’t really even care that the potatoes are whipped (not mashed); the yams are gluey; the turkey cooked to within an inch of its life; or the veggies are all canned – the stuffing makes up for all of that.
**********************
Chicken Dip
1 8-oz. block of Philadelphia cream cheese, softened to room temperature
1 large can Swanson white chicken meat, drained and flaked
2-3 scallions, chopped
2 tsp soy sauce
Mash all ingredients together. Best if refrigerated overnight, but not necessary. Serve with Triscuits.
My Mother-in-law’s Stuffing
(for 20-25 lb. turkey)
1 can of chicken broth
6 loaves of bread
1 ½ lbs butter, melted
Celery, chopped
Onion, chopped
Salt
6 eggs
Cook giblets, etc., in a can of chicken broth.
Strain.
Mix all other ingredients together, then use broth to moisten.
I know she stuffs her turkey with it, but she also bakes a giant pan of it next to the bird. And that's about all I know. Except that I could happily eat the entire pan, with maybe a side of cranberry sauce (the jellied kind that comes in a can. (I know, I KNOW.))
**********************
*according to a Kraft Foods company spokesperson
Thursday, November 22, 2007
"O Lord that lends me life, Lend me a heart replete with thankfulness." *
Let us remember that, as much has been given us, much will be expected from us, and that true homage comes from the heart as well as from the lips, and shows itself in deeds. ~Theodore Roosevelt
HAPPY THANKSGIVING!
***********************
* William Shakespeare
HAPPY THANKSGIVING!
***********************
* William Shakespeare
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