No Baby, No Cry

My 17 month old daughter is crying in her room right now. She has been very fussy the past week, cutting molars, sleeping poorly, and being more clingy than usual. Due to this whole dealio, I have decided to let her cry a bit upon waking up from her nap. I know, “good” moms don’t do this, or maybe they do, however, I am working with the hope that she may end up falling asleep. Maybe. Again. Most days she doesn’t go back to sleep, but sometimes it happens and then it is magical. I just can’t help it. I feel like she needs to sleep more than she sleeps and it is just so disappointing when we end up with just one 45 minute nap instead of a good, healthy 1 1/2 – 2 hour – I may just be one of those parents destined to raise bad sleepers. Ugh.

Zootastic

Today we used our zoo pass for the first time. It was spectacular. My 1.5 year old stood right up next to the glass at pretty much every exhibit and squealed and stomped her feet as different large cats strolled by. My 3 year old sat in the double stroller eating honey roasted peanuts and glancing up every once in a while, a bit more subdued about the entire experience, but still happy about it. I enjoyed the people watching nearly as much as checking out the animals. It was a special day at our zoo where different restaurants come and set up booths so everyone can enjoy a nosh while strolling. This event drew a different zoo crowd than usual and I spotted a few really nice outfits. Lots of athletic shorts and sleeveless Ts for guys and spaghetti strap tanks for the ladies. What can I say? I live in a classy town.

Found Me an App

Over a month ago, I broke my ipad. It had become my best friend. I was carrying it around with me, taking videos and pictures with it, watching my favorite shows on it and using it instead of a computer. Then, we were visiting my in-laws in Arizona and it fell to me to pack up my things along with all items belonging and pertaining to my two lovely girlies. As I packed, I thought about the injustice of the situation. Why was I having to pack the girls things? Why didn’t we split this job and each take a child? I was walking between the big house and the guest house where we were staying (they have themselves a big old place out there in the desert) and when I walked into the kitchen with a big pile of stuff in my arms the ipad slipped out and landed facedown on the kitchen floor. I nearly cried. In fact, I think I did cry. I felt terrible for letting it happen, I didn’t even know that the ipad was in the pile, and I was feeling overwhelmed knowing that I was going to have to leave Arizona and my wonderful extended family once again.

But then, we fixed it. We dropped it off at a place and paid a bunch of money for them to put new glass into the ipad and I just got my friend back a few days ago. I love my ipad so much. Really. And because I love it so much, I wanted to type on it as well as use it for social media sites – so I found a WordPress app and here we go. I am overly stoked to get typing again. I love writing. I love my ipad. I love apps. I’m a happy lady.

Aside

No Good Deed

 Allow me to walk you through my day.

I woke up at 3:30 AM to R (nearly one) crying.  I choose to ignore her when she cries unless it continues for a long period of time or sounds distressing.  This did neither so I fell asleep again.  4:30 AM – R was crying.  At this point I gathered my pillows and went to the main floor  to sleep on the couch.  I went to the spare room that is directly under R’s to pick up my down comforter and didn’t hear her crying so I decided to sleep on the cot in that room instead.  Woke at 5:30 to crying R.  Went upstairs, fed R, went to sleep in bed.  Woke up at 8 (hooray!) and went downstairs to make coffee, start Downton Abbey, and read.  Got the girls at 9, came back downstairs and made sweet potato muffins.  A little while later started up a loaf of whole wheat bread and pan fried some pork chops that really needed to be cooked.  Decided to roast some vegetables so that we could have them with the pork chops.  Decided to turn those vegetables into soup that I would then bring to my friend Jenny because she just had a baby.  Began to get all kinds of ideas about what to bring her and how to present it in an attractive manner.  Wrapped up the loaf of bread in parchment and ribbon.  Lovingly placed four muffins into a cute little bag lined with parchment paper.  Made lunch for the girls, put them upstairs for nap time, finished the soup.  Transferred the soup into a portable container so it could cool off.  Left to check on laundry.  Came back and noticed that the cute muffin bag was not in the larger bag where I had been gathering items for Jenny, but in the middle of the kitchen floor with no muffins in it.  Picked up the bag and yelled at the dog while shaking the bag menacingly at her.  Put the dog in time out and ate lunch while watching Downton Abbey.  Got dressed and got the girls when they woke up from their naps – packed them up to head over to Jenny’s house.  Left the house carrying my diaper bag, Ramona’s car seat (with Ramona in it), and an incredibly large grocery bag that contained the following: a container of soup, four oranges, a gift for Jenny’s older boy, and a loaf of bread.  Walked to the garage thinking how very fragrant the soup was.  Set the bag down and loaded the girls into the car only to discover that the soup had tipped over in the bag and spilled onto everything in the bag.  Started the car, left the girls in it, took the bag into the basement, and set it in the laundry tub.  Salvaged the loaf of bread and gift and drove to Jenny’s house.

I can’t even begin to tell you how much I wanted to cry after my soup spilled all over everything.  Because I was thinking how amazing I was.  I was thinking about how I’d accomplished so much more than usual and how I even had time and energy to share things with other people (because I had also started pizza dough, changed our sheets, did a load of laundry, and gave the girls a bath).  I even posted something about how amazing I was on facebook.  And then this happened and it made me wonder about all of those people who really seem like they have it all together and how they are making meals for people and bringing them to their homes without spilling them all over the place plus they are going home and cooking and cleaning and resisting every impulse purchase that might strike their fancy and how they probably are nicer to their husbands and never answer sarcastically to their children and just go to bed feeling pleased with themselves for everything that they do.  Are they really like this?  If not, why aren’t they showing me the gritty part of their lives?  I kind of feel like that is what bonds people together – the nasty, dirty, yucky stuff left floating in the sink after the dishes are clean but before the water is drained – not the glistening dishes.  Who cares about the dishes when there are bits of egg and wilted lettuce pieces to think about? 

Jamaican

It turns out that although we are not currently living in a marvelous, super walkable neighborhood, we are living in a nice delivery zone.  We used to be in the ghetto and one night we decided we wanted Pizza Hut.  We looked online for the closest Hut and gave them a call, all ready to order.  “Ummm, yeah, we don’t deliver there.  Try the one at so and so address.”  We called another Pizza Hut.  “Nope.  Can’t do it.  I don’t think anyone delivers to that address.”  What?!  We were outraged.  How dare they limit their delivery area to semi-safe homes!  We got over it eventually and realized that we would have to make all of our own food, stock up on easy stuff for when we were feeling lazy, and get carry out from some of our favorite places.  Then we moved.  We don’t live in a nice neighborhood.  It is dull, ugly, and loud.  BUT, we can get food delivered here.  We’ve already had someone deliver a calzone and a meatball sub and tonight we are getting Jamaican food.  That’s right – Jamaican.  How awesome is that?  I’m incredibly pumped and I’m not even really caring if the food is delicious – I’m just so grateful that someone is going to drop it off at my front door. 

Let them eat grapes! In liquid form. Wine. Let them drink wine!

It is cold.  So cold that if your skin is exposed to the air for more than a minute or two you may develop frostbite.  I have two little girls and stay home taking care of them and am the kind of person who needs to be out of the house more than she is in it.  This below zero weather is making it harder for me to motivate myself to leave.  So, I end up drinking wine.  Red wine, after the girlies are in bed and while I’m watching poorly made movies on Netflix. 

I’m not a picky wine person.  Let’s catagerize people who drink wine into three groups:

1.  People who regularly drink boxed wine and other wines that come in large quantities.

2.  People who find good deals on decent wine and can’t really cellar it because they drink most of what they buy.

3.  People who buy wine as a hobby and drink and cellar their wines.

I fall into the middle category of wine drinkers.  I go to free wine tastings and I know what I like and what I don’t like and usually as long as the wine is dry and has a nice full body I am a happy girl.  Last week I went to a wine boutique that I love.  A very uptight lady was working – the kind of person who most definitely is judging me when I walk in disheveled, wearing a jacket that is missing most of its buttons.  And I’m sure many of her thoughts about me are correct – yes, I am looking for wines that are typically less than $15.  I won’t be buying any cases of wine or spending more than $50 overall.  But I don’t drink white zin and I hate oaked chardonnay.  But back to the story at hand.  I came to pick up bottles of a wine that they were selling for $6.99 but also wanted to try the other wines they were sampling and score some other good deals.  I found a bottle of $28 wine that was on sale for $9.99 and asked about it.  My friend the stuck up wine lady told me that she didn’t like it, but later during the tasting, when I decided I really liked something else she said, “if you like that, you will also enjoy the other wine we were talking about.”  So I bought it.  Two nights later, I opened it up and poured a glass.  It tasted like vinegar.  The finish was not unlike kalamata olives.  I thought something had gone wrong with the bottle, but when I emailed the owner about it, he assured me that it is supposed to taste like that.  Ack.  Because he is awesome and not mean and judgy like a high school girl, he told me I could bring in the bottle for store credit.  I did.  And I got more of the $6.99 wine, which is fabulous and am saving my $3 for a future purchase.  Like I said, it’s cold.  We need to drink wine!

It’s a Crepey Day

I have a package of gorgeous local smoked trout in my refrigerator.  Tonight we will dine on smoked trout crepes with chevre.  Here is my plan:

Make the crepes.

Saute shiitake mushrooms .

Combine trout, roasted red peppers, green onion, and sauteed vegetables.

Spread chevre onto the crepes.

Fill crepes with the trout mixture.

Roll, top with creme fraiche or sour cream and devour.

With the Greatest of Ease

I live in a four-season climate. Right now it is winter and therefore cold, icy, and snowy. Yesterday, as I was driving down a busy street lined with such gems as McDonald’s, Popeye’s, and Scrub-a-Dub, I spied a man on a bike. That in itself was fairly unusual for a day like yesterday since it had been raining, sleeting, and finally snowing much of the day. I then noticed that the man on the bike wasn’t alone. He rode with a child on his shoulders down a scary, icy sidewalk on one of the busiest parts of the street. I was afraid for them both and alternated between wanting to drive on and forget about it or pull over and hope to score a good picture. I kept glancing in my mirrors to see if they were up and moving and saw nothing. Maybe they turned off into a parking lot and did not wipe out. My hope is that this man is in the circus and has performed this act successfully many times – perhaps even across a tight rope over a lake of fire. Sidewalk, shmidewalk.

It Really Does

realitybites1

Reality Bites. Do you remember that movie? I watched it last night and enjoyed it. Ethan Hawke fluctuated between being super hot and really greasy looking and Winona Ryder really was cute. The problems they had seemed really small too, but I suppose that is how life was for me after college. I didn’t love college and I haven’t been completely thrilled with my 10 years since college, but it hasn’t been all bad. Anyway, yes, reality does bite. And it hurts. But not as much as when my teething 11-month-old decides to gnaw on my shoulder. Now she bites.