Perform random acts of pieness.*

January 23 is National Pie Day here in the States. It's a little-known holiday to most, but to bakers in general, and to me in particular, it is a sacred obligation. (OK, I made up that part, or at least the part about to other bakers.) I have long been on record for my love of all things pie, but it never hurts to remind everyone now and again.
Because pie ROCKS.

H has flown off to California for five days, so I can bake whatever I like best and not worry about his tastes. Which means I am making a coconut custard pie for ME. There are exactly two other people in this world who I am aware of liking coconut custard pie - my father-in-law who is currently in Florida, and my friend P who is in California and whom H will be seeing Saturday evening. I will tell H to taunt P with the idea of my coconut custard pie. (Of course, P is the sort of guy who might just hop a plane to get himself a piece of pie.)

Impossible Coconut Custard Pie

4 large eggs
2 cups milk
1/2 cup Bisquick
1 tsp vanilla
1/2 cup sugar
2 TBSP butter, softened
Coconut to taste (I only use Baker's)

Mix all ingredients in blender till smooth (I throw in a handful of coconut here, too.
Pour into a 9" or 10" pie plate (preferably one with 2" sides).
Sprinkle generously with grated coconut.
Bake about 45 minutes at 350 degrees, until done. Coconut will brown slightly, and a thin knife blade inserted in the middle should come out clean.
Cool on rack, and do not cut until completely cool.
Refrigerate after serving (if there's any left!).
Yummy cold, for breakfast, lunch, dinner, or late-night snack.


And this chocolate pie from James Villa's never-let-me-down-yet cookbook My Mother's Southern Desserts will be baked up for the boys who are chocolate fiends. I was initially looking for a basic chocolate pudding icebox sort of pie, but then decided this sounded too good and too easy not to try. I have never baked anything from this cookbook that was not delectable.

Plain Ole Dixie Chocolate Pie

1/2 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
1/4 cup cornstarch
4 large egg yolks
1/8 tsp salt
1-1/2 cups sugar
2 cups milk
2 tsp vanilla
1 prebaked 9" chocolate wafer pie shell (recipe below)
1 cup heavy cream,, whipped to stiff peaks

In large heavy saucepan, combine cocoa, cornstarch, egg yolks, salt, and sugar.
Beat well with a whisk till blended.
Over low heat, gradually add milk, whisk till smooth, and cook slowly until thickened, stirring constantly.
Remove pan from heat, add the vanilla, stir, and let cool.
Pour the mixture into the prepared pie crust.
Chill till slightly firm but not hard.
Serve topped with whipped cream.

Chocolate Wafer Pie Shell
1-1/2 cups finely crushed chocolate wafer crumbs (I may use chocolate grahams if I can't find the Nabisco wafers I like.)
1/2 cup butter, softened
1/4 cup sugar

Preheat oven to 350.
Grease 9" pie plate.
In medium bowl, mix wafer crumbs, butter and sugar, and mix till well-blended and crumbs are evenly moistened.
Press into bottom and sides of pie plate.
Bake till firm, about 10 minutes.
Allow to cool completely before filling.

Go forth and bake pie.
Or at least eat some.
We will be. And we can't do ALL the work. Some of us are very pregnant and need some help eating pie.

Oh, and here's your bonus pie track for the day: the delectable Ralph of Ralph's World, with Peggy's Pie Parlor Polka. (Follow the link, scroll down, and click on the appropriate player for "Peggy's Pie Parlor Polka.")

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*American Pie Council

You're 18, you don't know what you want. And you won't know what you want 'til you're 45, and even if you get it, you'll be too old to use it.*

Steph at Crooked House (in my opinion one of the most under-rated/read bloggers going - so go check her out NOW) has tagged me.

Here are the rules, which I am supposed to post:
- Link to the person that tagged you.
- Post the rules on your blog. - Share six non-important things/habits/quirks about yourself.
- Tag six random people at the end of your post by linking to their blogs.
- Let each random person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their website.

Six Not-so-terribly-fascinating Things about Me

1) I am currently engrossed in my January/early February binge eating of those hard little cinnamon hearts that are sold only around Valentine’s Day. Yes, they turn my lips and tongue bright red (not to mention my fingertips and therefore the pages of any book I happen to be reading), and give me heartburn, and make my jaw ache – yet every year for about six weeks I buy and eat bags and bags of them.

2) I HATE to wear socks and/or shoes. The minute I get in my house, regardless of the outside temp, I kick off my shoes and rip off my socks and wander around barefoot, even if the rest of me is layered in wool sweaters and thermal undies. Even the Uggishs have not cured me of this habit.

3) I love snow. Not necessarily going out in it, although I do enjoy a good run in the falling snow, and I love to ski – but just the fact of snow. It’s like I have license to hang around the house and do nothing all day. Well, you know, as much nothing as I can get away with…

4) I really hate to throw things away. You never know when you might need x, y, or z…that said, I JUST pitched all the sympathy cards from my dad’s death (20 years ago) and my mom’s death (10 years ago). I felt coldhearted, but c’mon….what am I gonna do with them, use ‘em for craft projects with the kids?

5) I am vaguely ashamed of the fact that I am very interested in religion. Not just in an academic way, although had I gone to grad school for English lit, my dissertation topic would have had something to do with the direct influence of the church on the literature of 17th century England (yes, I adore John Donne). But in a more visceral way – although my brain argues there is no God, I can’t get past eighteen years of indoctrination and I still firmly believe in God, Heaven, and Hell. Not that I have the foggiest idea what exactly I think about all of them at the moment, other than I am meant to be writing a Lenten meditation for our church brochure and am totally stymied.

6) I have been pregnant four times – given birth three times – and I am still not sure, until my water breaks, if I am in labor or not. Pathetic, no?

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*Walter Stratford, in "10 Things I Hate About You" (a movie which I really need to own, I realize)

"It sometimes happens, even in the best of families, that a baby is born." *

I finished The Virgin of Small Plains in less than 24 hours. It was a good, if ultimately throwaway, mystery/suspense novel. I have read all of Nancy Pickard’s Jenny Cain mysteries and enjoyed them for what they were – straightforward mysteries with likeable characters and always a twist at the end. I am really glad I did not buy this as I am trying to cut back on my book-accumulating (haha!), but I am glad I read it. It was just what I needed to take my mind off the gross goings-on in my household. (Rebecca – I liked it, but depending on the subject matter of your new book, you may not need to change your title. Virgin’s getting a lot of word-of-mouth press, but it’s not like it’s a new Atwood or Byatt; it’s a serviceable, enjoyable mystery novel.)

I am about halfway through Philip Pullman’s The Ruby in the Smoke and while I must say to Lazy Cow that you are seriously smoking crack if you think these are better than the Northern Lights trilogy (not that I adore you any less…), I am enjoying them. Shades of Mary Russell, shades of Nancy Drew – Fun. Predictable. I am looking forward to the next one. Which is waiting for me downstairs as I requested all of them at once from the library.

I also picked up Loving Frank on the recommendation of a bookseller at B&N whose taste I trust, and The Friday Night Knitting Club (Amy, I’ll be sure to let you know what I think. Do I EVER hesitate to do that? : )). My Favorite Librarian left me a note on my stack of holds advising me to get Gods Behaving Badly, so I requested that. I do love that woman. Quid pro quo, I told her to read Haven Kimmel’s The Used World. I am clearly thrilled to death about my “discovery” of Kimmel and wish to spread the gospel to all the world.

Josh Swiller’s The Unheard: A Memoir of Deafness and Africa started out whinier than I cared for, but quickly ramped up into a fine read. I appreciated his honest take on life as a Peace Corps volunteer in Africa – he tried to romanticize the experience but eventually saw that he couldn’t and was very straightforward about his disillusionment. And I really found interesting his assertion that being a white man in Africa essentially removed his handicap, and he could then experience life as a hearing person. Since language was a barrier anyway, and the Africans were careful to speak slowly, simply, and straight at him, he could experience what it was like to just be a normal hearing person, to a certain extent. Fascinating observation. Because H was a Peace Corps volunteer in Africa in the eighties, I find these sort of memoirs interesting, but this is the first one I have actually enjoyed. Not that I have the faintest desire to visit Africa.

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In other exciting news, my little brother and his wife had their second baby this weekend, a little girl. Everybody’s doing great, although my brother *sounds* like he’s been run over by a truck. Is my husband the only new father who goes home, has a nice dinner, showers, and sleeps – while he can?

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*
"...This is not necessarily cause for alarm. The important thing is to keep your wits about you and borrow some money."
- Elinor Goulding Smith

"Maybe we were just lucky!" *

What's next - LOCUST?

Don't ask. Just know that if you need me, I'll be curled up in bed, head under the covers, whimpering.

(The baby is fine. It's nothing dire, just disgusting, and one more fucking thing.)

*****************

* from "Locusts: The 8th Plague"

"Ooooh - oooh- ooohh, Mr Kotter, Mr Kotter!" *

Connie Willis has a new short story/novella anthology, collecting her work from the past twenty years or so. I know how my other B&N gift card is being spent...

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* Horshack, in "Welcome Back, Kotter"

I get crazy in a bookstore. It makes my heart beat hard because I want to buy everything. *

Upcoming/new books which interest me:

January 2008
Touchstone – Laurie R. King. I STILL haven’t read Art of Deception…and yet…
The Chameleon’s Shadow - Minette Walters. This is out already and getting good reviews.
The Knitting Circle - Ann Hood. How did I miss a new book by Ann Hood? I like her.
People of the Book - Geraldine Brooks. Had this in my hand today. Put it back. Second time I’ve done that - March was SO disappointing that I worry…
The Anatomy of Deception - Laurence Goldstone.

February 2008
Incomplete Revenge - Jacqueline Winspear. I like me some Maisie.
Remember Me? - Sophie Kinsella. Fluff, but fun.
Deep Dish - Mary Kay Andrews. Ditto. Andrews is usually hilariously funny.
Tall Grass - Sandra Dallas.
Schuyler’s Monster: A father’s journey with his wordless daughter - Robert Rummel-Hudson.
Redeemed: A Spiritual Misfit Stumbles Toward God, Marginal Sanity, and the Peace that Passes All Understanding - Heather King. You know me and crazy religious people.

March 2008
11 - Dreamers of the Day - Mary Doria Russell.

April 2008
Certain Girls - Jennifer Weiner. Hope it’s better than Goodnight Nobody which I found superficial and disappointing.
Unaccustomed Earth - Jumpha Lahiri. Yay!
Olive Kitteridge: A Novel in Stories - Elizabeth Strout.
Of Love and War: The Civil War Letters and Medicinal Books of Augustus V. Ball. Because I am weird.

Today I bought Allegra Goodman’s The Family Markowitz and Haven Kimmel’s (my new love) Something Rising (Light and Swift).

I picked up from the library books 2 and 3 of Philip Pullman’s Sally Lockhart series, The Unheard, and a Paul Auster (City of Glass) (having read the Siri Hustvedt and liking it so much, decided I should try her hubby’s books…) Also a nonfiction book called Body of Work about an anatomy lab.

I requested a bunch of books – mostly suggestions from you guys and the bookstore lady: Loving Frank; The Virgin of Small Plains; The Friday Night Knitting Club; The Wednesday Wars; The Heroines. (I am STILL waiting on my requests for I Am Legend and Foreskin’s Lament.) Apparently I am laboring under the delusion that I will have time to read in the next month or so…

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* Reese Witherspoon
(I KNEW I liked that girl.)

"It's not easy being a mother. If it were easy, fathers would do it." *

Oh people. My brain has decided it’s time for this parasi—er, baby to win.

I spent HOURS yesterday formatting an APA bibliography for a new client, only to realize at 10 pm that she needed it in MLA. Which incidentally is NOT a format I can do in my sleep. And her fellowship proposal is due tomorrow. I nearly vomited. I am terrified to hear from her. No news is good news, and all that. Fortunately, she had already done most of the hard work and really did not even need me, except for some hand-holding. Needless to say, I will NOT be charging her.

But it’s time for me to put my editing empire on hold and concentrate on getting through this pregnancy and those sleep-deprived first months without losing any old clients. Someday my brain will function again. I think.

In the meantime, the boys are in their new room, more or less. No bunkbeds yet, which means Terzo is still in a room by himself. But we are moving the office/computer room upstairs, as soon as the cable company comes to move the data line, and H is moving his bed downstairs into the smaller back bedroom where his guitars can live comfortably in the closet year-round, and the baby will sleep in the front bedroom, when s/he gets around to actually sleeping in his/her own room. I am recycling and Freecycling and throwing stuff out, and giving stuff to Goodwill, and generally just clearing clutter. Maternity clothes – mostly gone. Class notes from undergrad AND grad school – gone. Reams of crinkled paper and used coloring books – gone.

Oh, and I did ten loads of laundry yesterday. I am woman, hear me whimper.

On a happier note, I have been reading some awesome books, dudes.

What I Loved - Siri Hustvedt. This book took an unexpected turn at the end, but it worked out all right. Mostly I loved the first half, and read the second half to find out what happened to everyone. It was worth it.

The Solace of Leaving Early - Haven Kimmel. It would be hyperbolic for me to say that Kimmel is one of today’s most underrated writers. But my personal opinion is that it would be verging on truth. Her writing is considered (without being painful or self-conscious), intelligent, and multilayered. Her characters are wonderfully real. I look forward to reading anything she writes next, and to what she’ll be writing in twenty years. Like David Mitchell, her early work is exciting and inventive (Kimmel isn’t as quirky as Mitchell, though), and I can’t wait to see what they come up with after a decade or two of writing under their belts.

The Ivy Chronicles - This was a throwaway I picked up at Goodwill for a buck, about a woman who launches a kindergarten-prep business for the millionaires of Manhattan. It was funny and light and entertaining. Not a bad way to spend a Saturday night.

I am still plodding along with What Was She Thinking? (Notes on a Scandal), and read almost half of the quiet but engrossing Septembers of Shiraz last night (after the MLA/APA debacle was fixed). I have some requests waiting at the library, and just requested Philip Pullman’s Sally Lockhart series, too. I have to have books on hand for when I go into labor – gotta have stuff to read at the hospital. I am as excited for this hospital time as I used to be for vacations to the shore or to Paris. Ok, well maybe not Paris.

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* Dorothy (Bea Arthur), on "The Golden Girls"

"Chicken. Which is so ironic, considering that I'm a vegetarian." *

They say bad things happen in threes.
Let's hope it's not fours.
I really don't think I can cope with more right now.Maybe next week...

Bad Thing #1:
On Wednesday evening Primo got the staples out of his scalp. Two came easily; the third had been put in incorrectly at the ER, and so his ped had to shoot his scalp full of Novocaine to wrench the damn thing out. That's one white uniform shirt that will go directly into the rag pile, do not pass Oxy-Clean, do not collect two hundred dollars. It was NOT a pleasant evening, much as I adore my pediatrician.

Bad Thing #2:
Stupid male OB/GYN freaking me out about the fetus. See here.

Bad Thing #3:
Chicken pox.
Yes, you heard me correctly.
Chicken. Pox.
For which all three of my children have been vaccinated, per the AAP's recommended vaccination guidelines. And which are required for Pittsburgh public schools.

This was not a break-through case, like you might have a month or so after your vaccine. No, this was a bona fide case. Seems the vaccine has about a 3% failure rate. And Seg just got lucky. Lucky middle child syndrome, we call it around here.

So now he is in the bathtub full of warm water and baking soda, and daily ingesting huge amounts of some antiviral stuff that is meant to stop the pox in their trax (see how I did that? Clever, huh?)

And everyone we know is freaking out.
Do you remember how when WE were small, your parents WANTED you to get chicken pox, to get it the hell out of the way?
I never actually attended one, but I have heard tell of "chicken pox parties," thrown by the lucky first victim, to infect all the other kids and get it over with. I recall having chicken pox in my mouth and up my nose and in my ears and between my toes; I was miserable and itchy, but that's about it. My brother had it even worse; he had pox, um, up his butt.

Now though? I mean, I am not sending Seg to school or anything crazy, but seriously, I am sorta shocked no one's come to fly the plague flag from our porch. Sheesh. Everybody's been vaccinated, and most people my age have had chicken pox, and still you'd think we were infected with bubonic plague or worse. So we are just hunkering down and keeping Seg comfy, and waiting for his pox to scab up; Primo and Terzo had boosters, just in case.

If you aren't itching by now, just from power of suggestion, you are probably the only one.

*********************

* Phoebe, on "Friends," episode: "The One with the Chickenpox"

“Gynecologists: perhaps the most ignorant class of men, when it comes to knowledge of women, in the country.” *

When I chose my ob/gyn practice fifteen-plus years ago, I chose a practice based primarily on one thing: I wanted women doctors. Yes, I was interested in medical credentials and personalities, but mostly I wanted someone who COULD experience anything I might – whether or not they actually had was irrelevant. I felt that a woman doctor could best understand any symptom or feeling or fear I described, and be able to better empathize than any male doctor, regardless of how kind or gracious or experienced. (In fact, this theme has followed through my PCP, dermatologist, dentist, and therapist. Call me crazy, but I am just much more comfortable with female doctors.)

I stayed with the practice through my original doctor leaving the practice and several shifts in personnel. I became intimately – and I mean intimately – acquainted with every doctor in the practice throughout two years of infertility worries, and then three pregnancies and deliveries. Yes, I had my favorites among the five doctors and one nurse-practitioner, but I felt comfortable with all of them, and supremely confident in their abilities and willingness to listen to me, empathize, advise, and keep in mind my needs and wishes with regards to birth control, birth plans, and all other manner of female stuff. Truly, I could not have been happier with my doctors.

Then two months ago, squarely (or should I say roundly?) in the sixth month of my pregnancy, not one but two of the doctors dropped the I’m-leaving-the-practice bombshell. And why? Some scheduling/flexibility issues – all of my doctors have youngish children - but mostly because the higher-ups (assuredly all men) at the hospital had decided to merge my group with another practice – one with three male doctors and one woman doctor (who would not actually practice at the office to which I go). Said higher-ups saw no reason whatsoever (according to two of my doctors with whom I discussed my concerns) why any woman would prefer an all-female-doctor OB/GYN practice. So this change took effect at the end of the year, leaving me with a practice of two women doctors whom I know, and three male doctors, none of whom I have ever even met and don’t really want to meet.

And yet, today I met the first male doctor.

Who, not promisingly, spent the first four minutes in the room explaining how his name is pronounced (it’s an Indian name but not terribly complicated and I had greeted him with it, pronounced properly, when he came in), joking about how the fact that I was a librarian made me assuredly very interested in breaking down words and figuring out how to pronounce things properly. Uh, ok.

Then he told me I had an internal exam due to see if I have begun dilating. I had spent some time the night before considering this; I knew it was probably coming. And call me a Puritan or tell me I am acting like some fundamentalist crazy woman, but I don’t want a male I don’t know probing around my reproductive parts. I am not a prude; I enjoyed a healthy and perhaps overactive or even indiscriminate sex life in my youth. But, again call me crazy, but having sex (fun! exciting!) with someone you barely know is very different from being closely, clinically examined by someone you barely know. And I know plenty of you fine upstanding citizens would think it would be the other way round, but for me, in my fuddy-duddy middle-aged years, it’s not. I’d like to keep my private regions’ viewings restricted to my husband and my female doctor. Dr Pronounce-my-name-right seemed a little put out (but at the tender age of what? maybe 24? Doogie would have to learn to cope). I assured him that while I was certain he was a very fine doctor, I really was not comfortable with a male OB/GYN, and in fact, once the baby was delivered, chances were excellent that I would be following one of my old doctors to her new, all-female-doctor practice. Nothing personal. He seemed compelled at this point to explain that no one PLANNED this merger months ago and it certainly wasn’t intended to make me feel uncomfortable – all of which I acknowledged politely and stuck to my guns.

So after a few seconds’ stand-off, he decided to measure my belly and listen to the heartbeat. And then he said, “Hmmm, I see here you started this pregnancy at 190. And now you weigh 186.” (And there I was, pleased that I had put ON two pounds in the past two weeks.) I explained the whole I-vomit-continuously-almost-the-entire-pregnancy (um, all FOUR of them) predicament to him, and assured him I was indeed eating, just stuff like fruit and eggs, not burgers and fries and pounds of chocolate – very unlike me (in fact, H has threatened to search the basement for pods lately...) And I also explained that at 5’8” and 190 pre-pregnancy, I certainly had some poundage to lose, if necessary. AND all through the previous eight months, all the doctors (his now esteemed colleagues) had made sure the baby was growing properly, that the heartbeat and movement were good, that my measurements were right on, and I had had two previous ultrasounds, all of which confirmed the health of the baby.

Still he looked concerned. “I’d feel better if you were to get another ultrasound,” he said. He measured my belly again. “Hmmm. You seem to be measuring a little...small.” Oh. OH. Shit. “I am concerned that the placenta may not be feeding the fetus properly.” He furrowed his young brow.

So. What to do but say, “Fine, ok, I will be happy to go have another ultrasound.” And leave the office, prescription clutched in hand, and despite the rational part of my brain – you know the part that remembers this is my fourth, very normal pregnancy and that, up to this point not one other doctor has been anything but reassuring that the baby is fine, in fact, perfect - telling me that everything is just fine, I call H to whom I sob that the baby is not right and I have apparently been STARVING my poor little fetus.

You see where this is going, don’t you? Of course you do. You are probably well-rested, and not eight months pregnant, and fully caffeinated. (Plus, you probably are not half as defensive as I am on any given day, about any given issue. Years of therapy, I tell you...)

The baby is FINE. Perfect, even. The ultrasound tech, who has been doing this for 23 years, used those exact words. “Perfect.”

And then she said, “Why did your doctor want you to have this ultrasound?”
So I explained that I was apparently measuring a centimeter or two small, and she LAUGHED. And told me the baby weighs six pounds, and if he continues to grow at this rate, I will be giving birth to an 8-pound, 3-ounce baby.

Well, at least he’s not an alien, right?

So then of course, I spent the afternoon wondering if this was Dr. Mister’s way of asserting his male power. Or just his inexperience showing. Or what. And I decide I don’t care. I am giving birth to this child (hoping that I pull one of the female doctors whom I know – because don’t even get me started on my fears of unnecessary c-sections or episiotomies), and getting my tubes tied, and then switching practices, so as to be comfortable revealing my private parts as necessary to any doctor in my chosen practice.

And just for your edification, when I stopped at the Chinese take-out place for my daily fix of fried rice, the little old lady there looked at me and said, "Hmmm. You having boy." And here *I* thought I was having pork fried rice and an order of hot and sour soup.

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* HL Mencken

Anyone who has ever slipped a foot inside a warm, cozy Ugg boot cannot dispute the comfort factor.*

I did it. Just like everyone else. (See, Mom? Off the bridge I go...)

I bought a pair of Uggs - well, in my case, Uggs knock-offs.
Steve Madden, to be precise.
On clearance at Famous Footwear, less ten bucks with my January coupon.
Beige, with a sort of sweater top on top of the typical suede foot part.

I thought, Wouldn't it be nice to remove even a single step from my crazed morning routine? There will be no searching for socks - just pull on my boots and off we go. As if I am that sporty...

And dudes, they might be sorta ugly but ohmigod, my feet are in heaven.

I was exchanging H's sneakers - does anyone else act as their husband's personal shopper, or is just me? And so I look at these as my commission. Yeah, that's it.

Dudes, I put them on this morning and haven't taken them off yet. I may sleep in them.
And I despise shoes, and socks even more. I wear my Tevas and Crocs so far into winter, it's a wonder my toes are not routinely frostbitten.
So these ugly frumpy boots? The PERFECT solution. Ahhhh.

Color me conformist.

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*Link

“I don't have pet peeves, I have whole kennels of irritation” *

Everybody else (if by everybody else, I mean two other bloggers - oops) is doing it, so why not? (And yes, Mom, frankly, if everyone else were jumping off a bridge, I WOULD seriously consider it. So there. )

25 things that shit me to tears

1. Whining
2. Walmart
3. Old people at the grocery store who stand in the middle of the aisle, reviewing their coupons or whatever the hell they are doing IN THE MIDDLE OF THE GODDAMN AISLE
4. Baggers who put my bananas in with my canned goods
5. Applicator tampons
6. Birth control
7. Sock seams
8. Ultra low-rise jeans
9. Dealing with my contact lenses
10. White chocolate
11. Not having any time to myself
12. The dog
13. Babysitters who cancel at the last minute
14. Bras
15. My car’s lack of power locks
16. Hummers
17. Mitt Romney
18. Artificial sweeteners
19. Trendy books
20. Those advertising circulars that get tossed onto my lawn at least once a day
21. Jehovah’s Witnesses and/or anyone else who rings my doorbell to solicit, proselytize, or try to sell me something
22. Diaper tabs that rip off
23. Antibacterial Kleenex
24. People who don’t squeeze out the kitchen sink sponge
25. Microsoft Office 2007

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* Whoopi Goldberg
[I am sure I have used this quote before, but I don't really care, it's so fabulous.]

"What an excellent day for an exorcism!" *

The boys are out playing in our E. coli-festering mudpit of a backyard. Ok, maybe it’s not quite that bad, but until we get the fence rebuilt, the dog poops back there (which I do clean up every morning at the least, plus right after he’s gone out on the warm days), and we have NO grass because you wouldn’t have any grass either if you had three- um, make that four – hockey-mad males in your family. And it’s been raining and warm, and the Appalachian-themed dirt has become Appalachian-themed mud, ringed with the composting remnants of the magnolia tree’s leaves. I made the boys wear their Crocs so I could just hose them off when they came in. I would take a picture and show you the yard, but it’s frankly too embarrassing.

I ate half a pound of chocolate-covered raisins last night – I was reading Siri Hustvedt’s excellent What I Loved and chewing my nails and bloodying my cuticles. I decided chewing raisins was preferable to rendering my fingertips useless. But that many raisins? Regardless of whether they are coated in chocolate or not? Equals severe heartburn and tummy distress. I am just recovering, after power-napping for the past twenty minutes underneath the laundry piles (where it’s warm) on my bed. Additionally, the fourteen pounds I have lost this pregnancy are going to pack right back on with a vengeance if I continue eating chocolate-covered anything in this manner. And we do NOT want that. At least I don’t. What I do want is to read Hustvedt’s other books now. And since I took care of all the important errands on Saturday, like renewing my library card, I think I’ll scoot over to the website and request them right now.

I am concurrently reading Zoe Heller’s What Was She Thinking? Notes on a Scanda which is ok – I am sort of waiting for it to pick up; and Haven Kimmel’s The Solace of Leaving Early, which is so far just as interesting and engrossing as her other books. I have a chapter or two left in Terra Incognita, which I enjoyed very much but feel like I have been reading FORever.

Next up: a novel I picked up because (I can’t believe I am going to admit this) I liked the cover: Justin Evans’s A Good and Happy Child. I am hoping it is not just going to be a throwaway thriller. But check out those demons – don’t they bode well?




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* Pazuzu, in "The Exorcist"

"Without enough sleep, we all become tall two-year-olds." *

I have been laughing my ass off reading these.

Have also been entertained and moved by these and am compiling my own 365 list at the moment.

Last night I read straight through Sarah Addison Allen's Garden Spells. Think a slightly more contemporary Practical Magic. (Yes, it WAS almost that good.) Go read it.

Also - a very nice person (I forget who, blame it on placenta brain) emailed me personally a while ago offering me their espresso pot that they no longer use, and I neglected to reply because I am an ill-mannered person who was raised by wolves. If you are even still reading, generous person, I would LOVE your espresso pot, in hopes of perhaps saving some of the cash I spend profligately at Starbucks. And if you are still so thoughtfully inclined, email me again, and I swear I will not only reply but be very very grateful. Thank you!

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* JoJo Jensen, Dirt Farmer Wisdom

"The time you enjoy wasting is not wasted time." *

It's the 2007 BOOK ROUND-UP.
Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-ha!
Or something like that.

Number of books read:
89
(I read Austenland on NYE in one go, it was that fun. Finished it just under the wire, at 11:55.)
For a complete list, click on the "What We've Been Reading: BabelBabe" link to your left.

Number of books bought:
After a January run to Half-Price Books that totaled 43 books, and a February through April also approaching those numbers each month, I eased off considerably in the second half of the year, ending up buying no books at all in July, and only 11 from August through December.

Library books (not counting the gajillion checked out for the boys):
Approximately 90. I think I must have gotten lax about recording these though….I feel like I am constantly checking out library books and requesting library books…I just picked up an armful on New Year’s Eve.

Best books of the year (read, not necessarily published in 2007) (and I linked to my actual review where I could find it):

• History of Love – Nicole Krauss. I did not find her debut novel, Man Walks Into a Room nearly as compelling, although it started out in a very promising fashion. (Full review here.)
  
• Lost City Radio – Daniel Alarcon. Simply lovely. Mysterious yet engaging, and utterly elegant.
  
• The Girl in the Tangerine Scarf - Mohja Kahf. I think this book should be required reading for anyone who doesn’t get the need for cultural diversity in America. (Small review here.)
  
• Kaaterskill Falls – Allegra Goodman. I am rationing Goodman’s books now, like I ration Kate Atkinson’s. I have a bit of a thing for reading about extreme religion of any type – and this falls into the Orthodox Judaism niche – but not all of Goodman’s books do.
  
• The Road – Cormac McCarthy. Simply shattering. I did NOT enjoy this one bit, but oh my God, it was amazing. (Full review here.)
  
• The Book of Lost Things – John Connelly. Odd. But good. (Full review here.)
  
• Liars and Saints – Maile Meloy. Jess summed it up best: Much is left to the imagination in spare detail, but the story still has the weight of a good, satisfying saga.
  
• The Used World – Haven Kimmel. Liked it enough to make me go out and buy some of her other books. Her characters are quirky, relatable, and totally unpredictable.
  

Books I really just enjoyed, regardless of their literary worth:

• Long May She Reign - Ellen Emerson White. I waited twenty years for this, I am relieved I liked it. Actually, I more than liked it, it was more satisfying than my high school reunion.
  
• The White Darkness – Geraldine McCaughrean. Feeding my Ant/arctic obsession. (Small review here.)
  
• Popco – Scarlett Thomas. Satiric comic novel dealing with the marketing of children’s toys, although I really enjoyed the homeopathic sidebar bits as well. Thomas is so smart, she’s scary.
  
• Austenland - Shannon Hale. Fluff, but oh such fun. Made even better by the fact that the heroine feels as ambivalent about her part in the book as I did about reading it.
  
• Instances of the Number Three – Salley Vickers. Vickers writes quiet lovely little novels. This is my favorite of the three I read this year (the other two were Mr Golightley’s Holiday and Miss Garnet’s Angel). Thank you , Suse!
  
• I Know This Much is True – Wally Lamb. As engrossing as She Came Undone. I liked the main character and all his flaws and foibles – and his honesty about them.
  
• Baker Towers – Jennifer Haigh. Just a good read. Thanks, Gina!
  
• Doomsday Book – Connie Willis. The Black Plague. Need I say more? (Full review here.)
  
• Mommies Who Drink – Brett Paesel. A very honest look at life-after-children.

Books I started but simply could NOT make myself care enough to finish, much to my disappointment:

• The Emperor’s Children – Claire Messud. Oh. My. God. YAWN.
  
• The Inheritance of Loss – Kiran Desai. The writing in this was gorgeous: intricate and evocative; I just couldn’t care about a single character.
  
• The Echo Maker – Richard Powers.
  
• The Year of Magical Thinking – Joan Didion.
  
• The Great Stink – Clare Clarke.
  
• A Disorder Peculiar to the Country – Ken Kalfus.
  
• Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon. I may be the only person alive who did not love this book.
  
• Saturday – Ian McEwan. I WANT to love McEwan but after attempting several of his books, have given up.
  
• Mirabilis - Susann Cokal. How could I NOT love this – it had the plague, and maniacal priests, and a main character who fed an entire town from her bountiful supply of breastmilk. But I COULD NOT get through it.
  
• Bloodletting and Miraculous Cures: Stories – Vincent Lam.
  
• Special Topics in Calamity Physics - Marisha Pessl. Oh, I WANTED to love this. Pessl is so obviously bright and talented and young, what an exciting find. But oh gosh, she's so YOUNG and so is her writing. I don't blame her for her youth, we may yet see great things from her - but WHERE was her editor?

NEXT UP: What I want to read in 2008, forthcoming books to which I am looking forward, etc. Stay tuned.

*******************

* Bertrand Russell

"...now is the accepted time to make your regular annual good resolutions. Next week you can begin paving hell with them as usual." *

We had a delay this morning, and I don’t mean the fact that none of us woke up till 9:30.

I wouldn’t know, having slept through it, but apparently at 6:30 this morning, it was snowing and blowing rather fiercely, causing public schools to call a two-hour delay.

Good thing. (And I sincerely mean that, a statement which would have been met with incredulous stares and raised eyebrows not twenty-four hours ago.)

A child perpetually aware of his physical limitations, Segundo ate a hearty dinner at Grandma’s last night, had two small cookies, and immediately crumpled into my arms sobbing, “I want to go home RIGHT NOW!” Don’t need to tell ME twice – I bundled him into the car, got him home, upstairs, changed into pjs, and teeth brushed in record time, and in bed ASLEEP by 6:50 pm. In which state he remained until 9:30 this morning.

Ah, if only the other two were that simple.

In the twenty minutes it took me to accomplish the above, Primo smashed the back of his head into his grandmother’s coffee table and H had to bundle him up and drive him to Children’s to get stitches. They were home in an astounding hour and a half, complete with three staples in his scalp, some sort of numbing gel all over his hair, and blood spattered on his hockey jersey. (Is there anything cooler to have all over your hockey jersey, I ask?) By the time I got him settled and in bed, it was close to 10:00, and then he asked me to stay with him till he fell asleep. My response to that one is usually, “No WAY,” but seeing as the poor kid had just been unbelievably stoic about his head wound, I complied. (Can I just tell you, confidentially, dear ‘netties, that every time someone called to reassure me that he was fine, I found myself inappropriately wanting to warble in a really bad British accent, “It’s only a flesh wound!” See, this is what happens when you let totally ill-suited people become parents of small children…)

During the hour and a half while Primo et al. were at the hospital, Uncle D drove Terzo home and deposited him, crying and stinky, into my arms. I got him ready for bed, read him a couple of books, and got him to sleep in record time, only to have him wake up sobbing and screaming for me at 4 am-ish. He was simultaneously dripping huge amounts of snot AND completely stuffed up, plus coughing up lungs. Like the Grinch, I got him a drink and sent him (back) to bed, where he alternately slept, snoring loudly enough to wake the dead, and whimpered “Mommy, Mommy, MommyMommyMommyMommyMommyMommy” until I thought my head would explode. He finally truly fell asleep about 5:30 or so and slept till 9:30.

When *I* finally awoke at around 9:30 myself, I had one thought:

I should have eaten more of that damn Good Luck Pretzel. That’ll learn me to be rude to my mother-in-law.

*************

* Mark Twain

"They call you Lady Luck, but there is room for doubt. At times you have a very unladylike way of running out." *

This is why I hate New Year's Eve, New Year's Day, and any festivities associated therewith:

Doug Savage has hit the New Year's nail squarely on its insufferable head.

And while I'm at it, I also hate the goddamn Good Luck Pretzel and snapped at my MIL tonight when she insisted I had to eat a piece, "I don't HAVE to do anything, I'm pregnant."

2007 book roundup/2008 incoming-books posts coming soon.

*******************

* "Luck Be a Lady," from "Guys and Dolls." Comp., Frank Loesser

"Youth is when you're allowed to stay up late on New Year's Eve. Middle age is when you're forced to." *

So we were invited to a NYE party thrown by H’s wine-tasting club buddies – children invited, and perhaps even tolerated, but I know the woman throwing it, and her house? Well, I worry about the kids breaking crap in MY house and we have really nothing important left to break….and when I emailed my babysitter in NOVEMBER and by December 20th had not heard back? I rightly assumed she was unavailable (read: can babysit one or two kids who may or may not be easier than my three, for the same amount of money…) So.

Then I ran into my friend Alice in the grocery store (which is where all our social plans seem to begin, as I picked Alice up at the mall playground originally – two years ago - anyway…) and she invited us over, along with her husband’s brother and his wife and kids, and may be some other child-burdened couples, to hang out and watch movies and eat her delicious food, and then throw the kids in the guest room bed when they got tired and/or cranky…but she emailed me yesterday to tell me that the brother and wife and children had driven home, ill, to Ohio, and her husband and two oldest children were busy expelling the contents of their stomachs out both ends, and so she thought it best to cancel the festive evening. TOTALLY understandable, although if anyone now needs a drink tonight, I am sure it is Alice.

SO.

We were invited, sort of impromptu-like, to the house of other Paxson parents, with their two kids, and various other people and THEIR kids, but they are not even starting till nine or so, AND I have no intention of allowing any of my children to stay up till midnight, so while it sounded fun (and her husband is a professional chef so the food was bound to be good, AND M and I have very similar taste in books so I could have settled in for a nice chat about what we’re reading), I regretfully declined.

I offered to throw a little shindig of our own, off the cuff, as it were, but H fixed me with a beady eye and asked, “Are you INSANE?” or something along those lines. AND JUST NOW I discovered – H is going over to his friend F’s, to play guitars and drink lots. Sigh.

SO. The two older boys and I have just returned from ice skating and the library, and H and Terzo just returned from a nice brisk walk (why didn’t they take the dog? Hmmm?), and I will go throw some chicken and potatoes in the oven, and we will eat dinner and maybe I’ll let the boys watch a DVD or something, and I will put my children to bed as early as possible. And I suppose I will stay home and lie on the couch and read.

Because tomorrow? Pens play at one, and Grandma’s NY Day dinner at four, and then my children will go to bed early because Wednesday? Everyone returns to school and work. A moment for which I have been longing since about, oh, December 22.

Woot!

**************

* Bill Vaughn

"By far the most common craving of pregnant women is not to be pregnant." *

We have been painting the room that was the office and will be the boys' room, you know, the one with the cable modem and the wireless router in it, which have been unplugged for three days now. I am a very fast and good painter, but alas, *I* am pregnant and not permitted to paint. So H has undertaken the ordeal and it will look lovely but sweet Jesus, I could do three rooms in the time it takes him to do one.

How many of you thought I'd gone into labor?
Yeah, well, I have been contracting all over the place, so it wouldn't have surprised me either...I am at thirty-four weeks, so anything is possible now. And now that Christmas is survived, I don't care when it happens. Especially if it means the god-awful heartburn goes away. I was wondering if traipsing through the damn zoo lights display tonight with the boys would trigger something, but alas, no, other than some whining (on their part, mostly).

I've been mostly doing laundry and cooking nonstop. I am sick UNTO DEATH of both feeding and clothing my family.

I escaped for an hour or so this afternoon to the bookstore, where I bought Haven Kimmel's She Got Up Off the Couch because I cruised through her enjoyable The Used World last week and decided I need to give her more of my money...well, actually, more of H's money, since he gave me a VERY generous B&N gift card for Christmas (along with some smelly (nice-smelly) lotions and stuff from Bath & Body Works, and a very pretty necklace). (I gave him two ties and a George Carlin book - such inequity. It's a wonder he stays married to me. It's probably just because he keeps knocking me up.)

In other news I am reading (still) Terra Incognita, and Jennifer Neisslein's Practically Perfect in Every Way, which is pretty entertaining. I also started R8chard Russo's Bridge of Sighs, so far, so good, but not blowing me away (not that Russo writes blow-you-away sorts of books...)

So that's it. Once the room is finished, we move all the furniture out of their current bedroom and into that one, and then all the crap out of MY bedroom into what will be the office. And I will be happy once again. Connected and happy.

More later, then....

*********************
*Phyllis Diller

"The others were all brought up to be polite. I wasn't." *

You know, when we moved into this house, I thought, with its solid, double-brick-walled construction and metal-lath plaster walls, that I would not be able to hear anything between floors.

I thought that were I in the kitchen, I would not hear the boys screaming at each other in their third-floor playroom. Or if I were in the shower, I wouldn’t hear H practicing the Same. Goddamn. Guitar. Riff. over and over and over again, in the dining room. Alas, I was WRONG. Due either to the layout of the house, or the lack of insulation, or perhaps both, I can hear EVERYTHING -- EVERYWHERE.

Except, marginally, in the basement, which is where I hide, ostensibly doing laundry, when I can’t take one more minute of three-thousand-decibel level noise. Or the whining.

But Santa obligingly brought Primo a REAL, junior-size drum kit. (I know I am a fucking moron, you don't need to point that out, thankyouverymuch.) And Primo’s parents realized the most logical place for it to live, to survive the maulings of younger brothers, is IN THE BASEMENT. My sanctuary.

The kid is really talented. Like, blow-your-socks-off talented, for a seven-year-old. And I like music as much as the next person. I even like most of the music THEY like (although I could do without this new Radiohead album, frankly. Thom, darling, you disappoint).

But oh my god, WHO or WHAT did I piss off in a former life, to be condemned to life in a household of hardcore musicians? (And don’t kid yourself, they may be only 4 and 7 (and 44), but they ARE hardcore.)

And then there’s me, as tone-deaf and rhythm-less as they come.
And with serious sensory-overload issues.

Why am I being punished like this? Was I a slaveholder? The tyrannical dictator of an oppressed nation? An amoral prostitute without the heart of gold? A greedy, consuming despot’s wife with nary a care for her poor countrymen?

Whatever it is, I am SO SORRY.
I didn’t mean ANY of it.
I’ll NEVER do it again, whatever IT is.
FORGIVE ME.

Or have Santa bring me some heavy-duty industrial earplugs.


*********************

*Thom Yorke, Radiohead

"Give peace, O Lord, in all the world, for only in thee can we live in safety." *

Somewhat like giving a donation to buy a goat for an impoverished family in Africa or a water buffalo to a Filipino family (instead of yet another pair of gloves to Grandma or the new John Grisham novel to Uncle Max (Kidding! I have never in my life - nor do I intend to start now - given a John Grisham novel to anyone), this year I give all of you an intangible (and admittedly, not really-real-at-all) Christmas gift: peace.

Perhaps more accurately, I should term it a WISH for peace.

Peace in all the parts of the world in conflict: Iraq, Afghanistan, the Darfur region of Sudan, Burma, Pakistan, Somalia, Colombia…sadly, the list can go on and on.

And that doesn’t even include the need for peace in my own country; the need for peace and love and tolerance, instead of fear and hatred and violence against those different and poor and disenfranchised and in need of a helping hand.

I could go on and on, with a laundry list of values and attributes we all need to develop and demonstrate every day, in hopes of making at least our little part of the world a better place, but instead I leave you with a wish for a wonderful Christmas, and St Francis’s wise words which inspire me every day to at least TRY to be a better person:

Lord, make us instruments of your peace.
Where there is hatred, let us sow love; where there is injury, pardon; where there is discord, union; where there is doubt, faith; where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light; where there is sadness, joy. Grant that we may not so much seek to be consoled as to console; to be understood as to understand; to be loved as to love. For it is in giving that we receive; it is in pardoning that we are pardoned; and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.


Merry Christmas, and peace to you all, my dear Internet friends.

*****************

* Book of Common Prayer, The Episcopal Church

"What about Santa's cookies? I suppose parents eat those too? " *

Fudge, Glorious Fudge

3 cups sugar
¾ cup butter
2/3 cup undiluted evaporated milk
12-oz package semisweet chocolate chips
1 7-oz jar marshmallow crème
1 tsp vanilla

In 2-qt saucepan, combine sugar, milk, and butter. Heat over medium heat to boiling, stirring constantly. Boil for 5 minutes over medium heat, stirring constantly to prevent burning.
Take pan off heat.
Add chocolate chips and stir till smooth.
Beat in vanilla and marshmallow crème.
Spread in greased 9x13 pan.
Let cool completely before cutting.

Makes 3 pounds.

I myself am not a huge fudge fan (if I were, I would be....get it?), but this fudge is exceptionally rich and creamy. If I eat fudge, this is the fudge I eat. And a pound of homemade fudge makes a nice gift for the chocoholic on your list, packaged up in a cute little Santa bucket from Big Lots...


Now, these biscotti, on the other hand?
I could eat an entire batch myself (and they are not even my favorite, I like my almond ones even better.) But the anise ones are H's favorites. And I figure if you have to pay anywhere from $1.25 to $2.00 for one biscotti (biscotte? biscotto?) at the local coffee shop or your Starbucks, then a dozen homemade biscotti wrapped up in parchment, tied with jute twine, and stuck with some holly or evergreen - nice enough teacher gift, yes? I mean, really, what teacher needs one more candle or mug or tree ornament or bottle of hand lotion? If I were a teacher (God forbid), I would like baked goods. You can eat them yourself, or feed them to other people, or whatever.


Anise biscotti

½ cup butter
¾ cup sugar
2 eggs
2 TBSP Sambuca or some sort of anise liqueur
1 TBSP anise/fennel seeds
2 cups plus 2 TBSP flour
1 ½ tsp baking powder
¼ tsp salt
2/3 cup slivered almonds, chopped up just a bit

Mix 1 TBSP liqueur with anise seeds.
Microwave on high for 10-15 seconds, or put in 325 oven for about 5 minutes. Set aside.

Cream butter and sugar in mixer until fluffy and light.
Add eggs one at a time.
Add seed/liqueur mixture and remaining TBSP of liqueur.

In small bowl, combine flour, baking powder, and salt.
Slowly add to egg/butter mixture, mixing just till combined.
Mix almonds in by hand.

Divide dough in half.
On a parchment-covered cookie sheet, form two logs, approximately 12 inches long, ½ inch high, and 2 inches wide. (This fluctuates, just do the best you can.)
Smooth with a spatula dipped in cold water, to make as even as possible.

Bake in preheated 325 oven for 25 minutes, until golden brown.

Remove logs from baking sheet (just slide the parchment over) and cool on rack for 5 minutes. Transfer each log to cutting board. Slice with sharp knife, on a 45-degree angle, into ½-inch slices. Line up on a cookie sheet and return to oven for 10 more minutes.

Cool on rack.

Recipe says this makes 3-1/2 to 4 dozen, but I have never gotten more than 3 dozen.

*******************

* Buddy (Will Ferrell), in "Elf"

"Away to the window I flew like a flash, tore open the shutters, and threw up the sash..." *

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...

********

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

"On days when warmth is the most important need of the human heart, the kitchen is the place you can find it." *

Rice pudding is, to my mind, utter comfort food. I love it, and I love it so much that I make it even though no one else in my family will touch the stuff. More for me, is what I say! But it has to be my mom's rice pudding - the gelatinous crap from the deli case is NOT real rice pudding. It has to be my mom's eggy, custardy, nutmeggy, warm, comforting bowl of pure nostalgia. Yum.

My mom's rice pudding

3/4 cup uncooked rice
3 cups boiling water
2 TBSP butter
1/2 tsp salt
3 cups milk, scalded
1/2 cup raisins
3 eggs
1/2 cup sugar
1/2 tsp vanilla
Nutmeg

Bring water to a boil in large saucepan, then add rice, butter, and salt. Cover and simmer over low heat for 15 minutes.
Add scalded milk and raisins, simmer over low heat another 15 minutes.
Beat eggs up with sugar and vanilla.
Scoop some of the hot milk mixture into the eggs and mix together, then slowly add the egg mixture to the hot milk and rice, stirring constantly. Cook over medium heat, stirring constantly, for 5 to 7 minutes, until the mixture thickens.
Pour into serving bowl and sprinkle generously with nutmeg.

This is delicious warm, but I often eat big bowls of it, cold, for breakfast.

Because, you know, it's GOOD for you - all that milk and eggs and rice.
Or at least no worse for you than peanut butter toast or bowls of Puffins.
At least that's what I tell myself (also what I tell myself before eating leftover pumpkin pie for breakfast...)

***********************

* EB White

"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"

"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

"...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

"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…

But I think that the best reason of all may have been that his heart was two sizes too small.

Welcome to the Christmas edition of getting to know your friends!
Okay, here's what you're supposed to do, and try not to be a SCROOGE!!! Just copy (not forward) this entire email and paste into a new e-mail that you can send. Change all the answers so that they apply to you.

Then send this to a whole bunch of people you know, INCLUDING the person that sent it to you... 'Tis the Season to be NICE!

Ok, here goes...


1. Wrapping paper or gift bags?
Wrapping paper. It's CHEAP. And so am I.

2. Real tree or artificial?
Real. Artificial trees are an abomination in the eyes of the little baby Jesus.

3. When do you put up the tree?
Anytime after Primo's Dec 11 birthday.

4. When do you take the tree down?
Immediately following Orthodox/Ukrainian Christmas, on January 7.

5. Do you like eggnog?
With real cream and raw eggs and lots of rum, sure. But I haven't had the real stuff in forever, and carton eggnog is an abomination in the eyes of the little baby Jesus.

6. Favorite gift received as a child?
I always got books, and was thrilled to get 'em. Boy, there's a shock, huh?

7. Do you have a nativity scene?
Yep, my mom gave it to me and H on our first Christmas

8. Hardest person to buy for?
H, hands down.

9. Easiest person to buy for?
My kids.

10. Worst Christmas gift you ever received?
Nothing leaps out but it must have been something from my MIL who even after fifteen years has not the foggiest idea what sort of person I am.

11. Mail or email Christmas cards?
Used to be devoted to mailed cards, but this year will only mail to people who are not online. I am pretending it's because I am being environmentally conscious but it's really that I am lazy.

12. Favorite Christmas Movie?
The Grinch Who Stole Christmas. THE REAL ONE. The Jim Carrey one is an abomination in the eyes of the little baby Jesus.

13. When do you start shopping for Christmas?
I pick stuff up all year round but really kick in the first week of December (generally when I realize I have not one thing to give Primo for his birthday) for whatever's left to get.

14. Have you ever recycled a Christmas present?
No. Stupid me.

15. Favorite thing to eat at Christmas?
Cruschchiki. My mom used to buy them in five-gallon buckets from some little old Slavic lady who made them very year for us, and then H's uncle the priest used to bring me a box from his little old Slavic lady in his parish, But I don't get them anymore now. Bummer.

16. Clear lights or colored on the tree?
Colored. What can I say, I might as well have grown up in a trailer park.

17.Favorite Christmas song?
The Pogues' Fairytale of New York.
Silver Bells, O Come All Ye Faithful

18. Travel for Christmas or stay home?
Stay home. Dead parents have their advantages.

19. Can you name all of Santa's reindeers?
No. Isn't Grumpy one?

20. Angel on the tree top or a star?
Star I made, with the boys' photos on it.

21. Open the presents Christmas Eve or morning?
Christmas morning!
What sort of troglodyte do you take me for?!
Plus, people who open presents anytime other than Christmas morning are an abomination in the eyes of the little baby Jesus...

22. Most annoying thing about this time of year?
All the freaking invitations we get, from people we haven't heard from all year long. I know I sound ungrateful but come on, people. NOW is not the time to add more stress to anyone's schedule.

Also, the way people pile all their Christmas cookies in one tin, so they all taste exactly the same.

23. What I love most about Christmas?
I actually hate Christmas and could happily go to sleep in the beginning of December and not wake up till February. Bah humbug. But with kids, it's definitely gotten more bearable.

"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"

"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

" 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

"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

"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