25 More Things

it's been over five years since the original revelation of 25 things.  WOW does time fly.  but after this, you will know me twice as well.

1.  i learned to walk in high heels from a glamour magazine 8 years ago.  the trick is to walk on your toes and point them out.  once you do this nearly every day for a few years, you get the hang of it and heels actually become comfortable.

2.  i am a proud and shameless emotional eater.  there are just some tasks that cannot be undertaken without an appropriate amount of chunky monkey under your belt.  i cannot properly set someone in his place on 164 calories of orange and pepper and lettuce juice.  that shit requires LUNCH.  preferably tacos carmelos with avocado and fresh pico de gallo from the verde lea.  (see how emotional i am getting just talking about lunch?)

3.  my signature look is "too much eyeshadow" in any of a variety of glittery colors.

4.  although i gave up baking some time ago (and blame it on the altitude even though i don't technically qualify for high altitude instructions...), my mom did teach me how to make gravy from scratch with no lumps.  this is ironic because my mom is also not known for her culinary arts.  nevertheless, i am glad to be able to contribute something worthwhile to thanksgiving celebrations.  and the same butter-flour-milk technique also makes a fantastic cheese sauce!

5.  i am especially gifted at identifying roadkill.

6.  when i grow up, i want to be a back-up dancer.

7.  i get why hashtags are annoying -- i really do -- but they're so funny i just can't stop.  it's like a whole world of sarcasm that never existed before.  at any given moment, i have a running list of ridiculous ones in my head to be used on the very next photograph my sister posts.  it adds a whole new dimension to the one millionth picture of her painting the interior of her house.  #lesbiansofinstagram #likeaboss #redbeansandricedidmissher #yousabigfinewomanwontyoubackthatthangup #yolobitches

8.  my favorite tv show of all time is futurama.  if you are experiencing a noteworty event, please feel free to consult me for the corresponding futurama episode and life lesson to be learned from fictional aliens/robots/delivery boys listening to the poorly-preserved remains of the beastie boys kickin' it 1000 years in the future.

9.  i have an advanced degree and a successful career, but the biggest accomplishment

of my life thus far is getting my two toddlers to take a nap at the same time.  i know other people who do this too, but those people seem so much more together than me.

10.  i have a favorite spice blend.  it's called cavender's greek seasoning, you can get it at the grocery store, and it's good on EVERYTHING.

11.  i have a second favorite spice blend: herbs de provence, also good on everything.

12.  i am a silverware snob.  i like to eat with good thick heavy silverware, and will dig shamelessly through your silverware drawer to find the most hulking fork available.

13.  i was once high-fived by a stranger after performing a particularly tight parallel parking job.  i brag about it frequently.

14.  i save those extra buttons that come in a little tiny plastic bag attached to new shirts, coats, etc.  i have a whole little drawer of them.  to the best of my recollection, i have never taken a button out of that drawer, for any reason.  (as a result, i still have that one that says "sometimes i like to run around in my underwear for no reason.")

15.  i have zero opinion about whether or not 9/11 might have been a government conspiracy, but i am ANGRY at the candy company conspiracy to change all the candy previously-known-as lime to sour apple flavored.  skittles and sweettarts have been ruined.

16.  i hate drinking out of a straw.  the exception is slurpees and milkshakes, which just aren't the same off of  a spoon and give you a face full of grief if you try to tip over the cup.

17.  the first thing i notice about you is your hands.  then i judge you based on what i see.  and if they're unnaturally small, i am creeped out and we are probably not friends.

18.  i spent a summer in russia when i was in college.  my first memory is looking out the window of my bedroom at a dumpster that said "i hate white people" across the side of it.  i'm happy for the experience, but i cried with happiness when the guy who stamped me back into the US of A said "welcome home."

19.  when i hear about middle schoolers having sex and doing drugs, i'm blown away.  when i was in 7th grade, my friends and i organized a coup against our english teacher, mrs. love, who we most certainly did not love.  we got almost the entire class to stand outside in the hallway until after the bell rang, and arrived tardy en masse.  now that is living life.

20.  i get close-to-vomiting dizzy on the swing set and the merry-go-round.  i ride them with my kids anyway.

21.  my favorite book is jurassic park and i re-read it every year.  while you teeny-boppers are arguing over vampires and werewolves, i continue my eternal internal debate between rugged archaeologist alan grant and the gloomy intellectual mathematician ian malcolm.  *swoon*

22.  i don't do basements.  i flat-out refuse to enter the basement at my office and still run up the stairs at my mom's house before anything can grab me and drag me back down.

23.  i once had the life goal of genetically engineering a polar bear small enough that i could keep it for a pet.  my mom, always the cheerleader, gave me a little tiny one out of her mcdonald's happy meal 15 years ago, that i still have.  (now that i've said it out loud, you know you want one!)

notably, in contrast, at this moment i have zero-point-zero life goals....

24.  i have been using the same plaid flannel pillow on my bed since august of 2000.  my mom bought it for me from kmart when i moved into my freshman dorm because we forgot to pack one -- and ta-da, it now has sentimental value and i will never get rid of it, ever.

25.  my favorite kind of cake is a bundt cake.  for those of you who don't know, that's a shape of cake.  *shrug*

I Am Neither A Hypocrite, Nor A Weakling

right now, i'm sitting on the couch thinking about alice and wonderland, and specifically the grouchy caterpillar on the mushroom blowing smoke rings (and smoke ABCs) asking alice whooooo ... arrrrre ... yooooou?  big thanks to my BFF in all the land for bringing the question to the front of my mind (and if you haven't checked out her thoughts on the topic, i cannot recommend it enough -- just have a dictionary and some aspirin handy because she makes me look tame in words, thought and action.)  and also for reminding me that we are 31 and should be old enough to answer this question.... yeesh.

yet, i feel like i had a better sense of self when we were 17, lifeguarding at the local water park for our summer job, collecting waterlogged quarters from the slides to fund our midnight snacks, and getting stood up by drug dealers before we both shipped off to college.  because back then, my life was mine.  now i am a slave to bills, laundry (oh so much laundry), work, the diamonds on my finger and tiny tugging toddler hands.

in an attempt to define myself, i turned to the online meyers-brigg personality test, where i am a fairly emphatic ESTJ.  according to the internet, this means i would be a good librarian, and i am least likely to develop a DSM-IV personality disorder -- lending further support to the omniscience of the internet, as i feel like those two statements are mutually exclusive.

E is for extroverted.  since the test i took is visual, i am estimating that i am about 8 times more extroverted than introverted.  as far as i can tell, this means that i am greatly effected by inertia -- things in motion tend to stay in motion or they lose interest and motivation.  things at rest tend to fall asleep in 30 seconds or less and wake up disheveled and disoriented hours later, ravenous and having forgotten their life goals and purpose.  i don't mind being alone, but the bills, laundry, work, diamonds and toddlers will be tossed aside for a closet alphabetized by color, a perfectly glittered pedicure, and some sort of marshmallow masterpiece with no measurable nutritional value.

S stands for sensing.  importantly, i have zero-point-zero (0.0) iNtuition.  if it's not right in front of my face, it's not actually happening.  

i tend to generally agree with this assessment, but (1) it does little to explain my fascination with UFOs and crop circles.  (as an aside, i have a pretty sweet husband.  whenever i see a suspicious object in the sky and ask whether he thinks it might be a UFO, he spends an appropriate amount of time looking, examining, asking follow-up questions, and considering the question before saying "no, that's an airplane."  thanks, honey.) 

and (2) it does not address my horrible superstitions and fanatical belief in karma.  yes jackie, i still pick up my feet, say "peanut butter," and kiss the ceiling when i go through a yellow light or over railroad tracks.  i make a wish at 11:11.  i knock on tons and tons of wood, every day.  i believe the rhythm is gonna get ya, and act accordingly.

apparently my intuition is limited to coincidences and fictional worlds that exist only in romantic comedies and sci-fi novels.

T stands for thinking.  i did have an acceptable level of "feeling."  while i consider myself to be extremely rational (like the good little economist i am), i understand that the concept relates directly to subjective internal factors.  what makes perfect sense to me -- based on my status, education and experience -- goes over another person's head who is weighing different factors in their own cost-benefit analysis.  so, this level of "feeling" is really just an extension of how completely rational i am thankyouverymuch.

J is for judging, rather than perceiving.  i am about twice as judgmental as i am perceptive, and i can't say it better than heidi did:  so know this, friends and acquaintances, i don't just see you, i judge you.  even if you put a stupid meme on your facebook page that says "do not judge me." in an attempt to protect yourself.  i cannot be stopped....  according to the meyers-briggs asshole index, you do not have a relationship with an ESTJ, you have a deal.  my family would concur that i'm a bossy, inflexible, insufferable know-it-all.

i am in an impressive company of women (if by impressive i mean bossy, inflexible and insufferable ... and wildly successful and productive) -- famous ESTJs include judge judy (reminding me that i was voted the coveted "most likely to become a TV judge" award my final year of law school), sandra day o'connor, nancy grace, hillary clinton, condoleezza rice, michelle obama, bette davis, joan rivers ... and princess leia.  good to know someone has the time to analyze the personality types of fictional characters, and may i please have that job?

i am also in the company of saddam hussein (to whom the title credits go) and a man i actually truly admire: fidel castro.  now there is a tough, idealistic, unyielding, ballsy SOB.  i get the theoretical appeal of communism, and have to hand it to fidel for giving it a hell of a shot over the course of fifty years.  to the detriment of the cuban economy and impoverishment and starvation of the cuban people, but no matter.  a revolution is not a bed of roses.

and drum roll please ... my same-birthday-meyers-brigg-twin: marion hugh "sugar bear / suge" knight -- founder and CEO of death row records and real life west coast gangsta, who was once arrested for domestic violence for cutting off his girlfriend's ponytail in the street.  first, who remembers to bring their shears into the street during a domestic dispute?  and second, oh no you didn't! *insert sassy finger wave*  i respect your dedication and take-no-prisoners attitude, sir.  you are neither a hypocrite, nor a weakling.  i propose that "money over bitches" will be the theme of our joint 32nd/49th birthday party which will take place on or around april 19.  here's a throwback to our last gettogether, ca. 2005.

the diamond-ring shot glasses will surely get a second life after caitlin's bachelorette party.

with all of this thought and analysis, i got a quick history lesson, but am right back to my original concern ... there is no time for reflection when i can never...  stop...  moving...

arbeit macht frei, friends.

heaven is not a place of idleness

{ESTJ evangelical phenomenon, billy graham}

Fuck You, I'm Juicing

so i just came off my second juice fast in the last few months, and i know everyone is dying to hear the unfiltered version -- literally.  i can't remember why i thought this was a good idea, but i made the mistake of mentioning it to tosca, and then i was locked in by the peer pressure.

i immediately devoured the entire internet plus a few free ebook's worth of information regarding the so-posh-juice-fast-trend.  thankfully, the literature is pretty consistent and so i didn't have to make a lot of decisions (for which i have no basis or concept or context) about what to believe.  now all my loyal fans can benefit from this synopsis.

spring cleaning:  the idea is that you give your body a break from all the energy it spends on digestion, while inundating it with nutrients and enzymes and colors.  and then your body takes that extra energy to do some spring cleaning and healing that otherwise gets pushed aside for more urgent matters, i.e. #2.   i read that three days of juicing is good for you, but then i also read that it takes 4 days to stop digesting (the first 3 days are spent digesting leftovers in the digestive track -- ew -- and the fourth day you live off of something in your liver).  therefore, you don't really get the full benefits until day 5.  then you get 3 days of full-on cleanse.

based on this explanation, i decided on the 7-day fast, and began the countdown.

fuck you, i'm juicing.  i also read about people who do 30 and 100 day juice fasts.  and according to my glamour magazine, it is appropriate to tell someone to f-off if they invite you out to a steakhouse during your juice fast.  zealots.  don't get crazy overboard and rude, people, over your weird alternative lifestyle choice and lack of self-control.

chewing it up and spitting it out:  again, after extensive research, i am pleased to share in one sentence or less: when choosing a juicer, you get what you pay for.  the more expensive juicer will extract more juice and be easier to clean (making it more likely to be used).  there are two types -- (1) a centrifugal juicer which chops up your veggies into tiny pieces and whirls the juice out, and (2) a masticating juicer, which basically chews up your veggies and pees out the juice.  i feel like #2 is the obvious winner.  i settled on the omega J8004 -- after all, it is an entire nutrition center!! ... announced in my best infomercial advertisement voice) -- and have been pleased.

basically, i drank just water and homemade/fresh juice for a week.  there is no specific menu, but you're supposed to shoot for  80% vegetables and 20% fruits (errr how do you measure that?), with at least four 16-ounce juices per day, and 16 ounces of water before and after each juice.  if you're thirsty, drink juice.  if you're hungry, drink juice.  easy peasy, right?

here are my thoughts:

i don't have time for this:  i bet i spent 10 hours in the two days between deciding to juice and when my juicer came in the mail just talking about juicing.  plus, have you seen this shopping list?  (btw, this shopping list is great to give you an idea of what you'll need to get started.)  i'm juicing for two, so that means i need 40 cucumbers.  40.  forty.  4-0.  do they even have 40 cucumbers at safeway?  then i spent more time plotting how to get to the grocery store before tosca, so she didn't buy up all the cucumbers, leaving none for me!

then there is the cleaning, the cutting, the coring (juicing an apple seed will release the cyanide), the smashing things into the juicer and the actual chugging of juice.

i also spent a fair amount of time warning everyone i knew to avoid me at all costs for seven days...

and then:  what am i going to do with all this time?  you know, all the time i usually spend between 8:01 a.m. and 11:38 a.m. trying to decide what to eat for lunch...  i ran a lot of errands on my "lunch" break, made a (small temporary) dent in the mountain of laundry, and billed 9000 extra hours that week.

juicing is fun!  more specifically, the actual making of juice is fun.  the juicer has a little chute you get to shove your veggies in, and you can actually hear it "chewing" the food, then see it peeing out the juice into one cup and excreting the carrot crumbs into another.  (and they are literally dried up tasteless crumbs!)

i was so excited the first time, i took a picture!  even a few months later, i still like this part :)

if it sounds like a bad idea, juice it anyway.  i admit i was skeptical of juicing things like celery and bell peppers, ginger, garlic, parsley, cilantro, lettuce and sweet potato ... pretty much everything i've never seen on the outside of a juice box.  they all turned out OK (lots of times, REALLY GOOD!) and/or are easy to hide under something else.  surprisingly, it's the cucumber that i like least.

in the case of onion though ... mistake.  even if your recipe calls for it, it's a mistake.  don't juice an onion.  ever.

#1.  and #2.  by day 2 at 8 AM, i'd peed no less than 8 times, possibly more, since i went to bed the night before.  and i'm not talking trickle-pees -- these were all-out racehorse-pees.  fluuuuuuush.

when day 3 rolled around, it wasn't exactly "fun," but it was nice to know that when anything was passing through, it was just a bunch of old yucky leftovers that have been hanging out for lord knows how long.  good riddance!

i'm melting, MELTING!  i didn't juice to lose weight and i didn't actually weigh myself at any point during the fast.  i did *feel* skinny despite all the water i was drinking.  i read that it's not a great weight loss strategy because there can be lots of calories in juice -- but you can control this by choosing vegetables over fruits.

be strong, but don't bother being too strong.  after two days of juicing, i had an intense craving for butternut squash soup.  what would i be proving, and to whom, if i skipped that?  i home-made it, without dairy or meat, called it "vegetable broth" and shoveled it right in.

my only real cheating was the day i took my kids to vinny's for lunch and ate a piece of pizza.  i had one piece in lieu of a juice, and still had my 16 ounces of water before and after, stuck with vegetarian and skipped the root beer i'd usually wash it down with.  i feel like it was a good compromise between juicing and actually living life.

and speaking of living life, my kids are officially spoiled.  they also love using the juicer and will ask for *fresh* apple juice....

good thing they're cute.

so now what?  *shrug*  i juiced.  i didn't notice any horrible or miraculous events during the week, although i did live easily without coffee.  all my prior warnings to STAY BACK were unneeded.  i didn't ease myself back into solid foods as recommended, but instead ended the juice fast with a redeye flight to spend the week in a house whose occupant subsists primarily on pop-tarts and hot dogs (love you mom!).  i ate some fast food, a lot of virginia ham and pasta, and a few versions of thanksgiving dinner.  i felt normal and my body worked fine.  my liver did work at maximum efficiency through the holiday season, which was fortunate.

sooooooo in conclusion, i present to you, the +1 effect:  i've seen a lot of reference to the documentary fat, sick and nearly dead as a juicing inspiration.  no, i haven't seen it, and i won't even though it's sitting for free on netflix six feet away at this very moment.  i don't need any propoganda to tell me i eat a lot of oreos and cheesesticks and chocolate croissants from the european cafe.

if anything, i've been inspired by robin quivers and the recent commentary from the howard stern show about her recent book, the veducation of robin.  although she is vegan (RIP cheese!) the take-away from the book is basically this: add one more vegetable to your diet per day.  even that small step can, apparently, have noticeable health benefits.  i call this the +1.  for this reason, i think everyone should juice.

juicing is an easy, easy way to get a +1.  or a +5.  when was the last time you sat down for lunch and an entire head of green leaf lettuce, a cucumber, a pear and a lime?  it's happened exactly zero point zero times in my life.  but it's easy (and fun!) to add in a few servings of fruits and veggies in a juice, especially as an afternoon snack.  this particular version actually tastes just like limeade.

i think i'll do a 7-day fast every 6 months to detox (which is all that is safely recommended) or maybe a 3-day fast every month to keep my innards tidy.  i think it's a good idea, but i don't even think you need to be this extreme to get benefits.  i'll mostly be juicing because it's good.  and so i can continue to eat more cheese-centric and chocolate-centric meals, hopefully without the corresponding expansion of my arteries and behind.

cheers, friends!

p.s. here are a few of my favorite recipes.  i apologize i have not given them any ridiculous cutesy names, so i'll sort them by color:

green:
1 apple
1 or 2 limes
1 cup spinach or lettuce
1 cucumber

brown:
3 oranges
1 red or yellow bell pepper
1 cup spinach

orange:
1 orange or 1 cup pineapple
8 carrots
2 inches ginger root

red:  (somehow this juice is actually salty ... with no salt.  it becomes a nice change to the sweet).
1 beet root
1 orange
2 celery sticks
3 carrots

i also collected quite a few recipes on my pinterest board of the same name, if you're looking for more ideas.  for your own good, please stay away from the one with the onion in it.

2013 Or Bust

well, it's now january 18, 2013, so i may just bust as the year is already 4.9% over.  but first, i will complain.  i hate new year's eve.  i hate countdowns.  i hate staying up late.  i hate nostalgia.

BUT i like new year's day.  i like sales on shiny happy things.  i like eating black-eyed peas for good luck.  i like making lots of silly exaggerated jokes about how this is the best sale and best black-eyed peas i've seen all year!

and i like an excuse to try to be better.  this year:

I WILL live more frugally, more simply, and more naturally.  don't go too overboard on me.  basically, i want to be (more) the type of person who doesn't kill more than she can eat, and who uses the entire buffalo.  first stop -- making my own all-natural cleaner out of vinegar and citrus peels.  FYI you can stop your search here, "clean more" is nowhere to be found on this list.  but when i do clean, I WILL do it with something that my kids can lick off the floor.

i've also already started stockpiling vegetable scraps in the freezer so i can make my own stock.  i WILL have a bouillon-free 2013!  i accept this is probably the lamest new years resolution ever, but i like to cook and i'm thirty.  so whatev.

i'm toying with composting, but am not committed enough to put it in capital letters.  the thought of voluntarily keeping garbage, yard waste, and worms around 2 curious toddlers is a little scary.  especially when you consider the mess that can be made from a mere teaspoon of sticky, purple dimetapp.  nor am i sure what i could do with compost when our sparse vegetation grows happily out of a pile of rocks.

along these lines, I WILL continue to be easily entertained.  and I WILL appreciate the little things.  i am inspired by aaron's appreciation for antiques and rarities.  over the holidays, he was gifted two very simple old bottle openers that he had previously found in a drawer that were made decades ago in philadelphia when it was a huge brewing operation.  before present-opening had concluded, he was already on the internet researching and spewing further obscure facts re their origin and composition.  i haven't seen them since we got home, so i can only assume he hid them somewhere safe that neither the kids or i can tamper with.  later in the weekend, he spent an hour discussing with my mom's husband's sister's husband's sister a  photograph of her father in front of what may or may not have been a model T.  i'm not sure what the outcome was, but A was all-in.  anyway, if you have any old crap that you want to have a good home with someone who appreciates it, will it to my husband, and he will appreciate the hell out of it, and hide it from the rest of us.  (but we still like the weiner's circle and ice cream cones, so there!)

I WILL live more calmly and with less control.  realistically, what do i control anyway?

I WILL massively deplete my wardrobe.  although i fit into everything, i know in my heart of hearts that while i enjoy and benefit from retail therapy, i can easily exist in clemson t-shirts, and clemson t-shirts alone.  and tights and boots.

side note: after wondering wtf "heart of hearts" means, i learned that the phrase was spoken by hamlet to refer to the "heart of my heart," i.e. the center or core of his heart.  this is where hamlet stores rational men who are not slave to passion.  then, when he needs to, he busts them out of his chest like alien to unleash on his foes.  but i digress...

I WILL get more fresh air.  simple and delicious adventure waiting to happen.  i will not get more exercise though.  exercise is boring and contrived and i get all the exercise my exhausted and wasted body can handle chasing panzer full-speed on his bicycle down the sidewalk, holding mohs protectively in a constant arm-lock while he wiggles and giggles and strains to get his jaws on something, and unlocking secret levels of just dance 4.  i may even get one of the 2 brand new pairs of fluorescent running shoes i bought last year out of its box this year.

I WILL write more.  or at least as much as i can.  if nothing else, someday mohs and panzer are going to find this and laugh hysterically or cry miserably at their origins.  just remember, i love you, boys.

I WILL keep up.  in 2012, i did not manage to watch a single clemson football game on the tv.  but i did become the last person on earth to see that asian guy dance gangnam style, read the hunger games (but only book one, and never the movie!), and discover the magic of lipliner.  maybe in 2013, i will finally find out what an "angry bird" is.

I WILL stay true to the things i love.  there's a fine balance between keeping up and hanging in.  fluorescent will likely no longer be in style by the time i break out my new shoes -- but it's unlikely i will outgrow that trend a second time.  red rooster peanut butter cookies.  dancing along to yo-gabba-gabba with my kiddos.  howard stern interviewing politicians and sex symbols alike.  red eye shadow and glitter.  pizza pizza pizza.  debating the relative merits of the above in economic versus psychological theory.  I WILL be there.

Not Selling Any Alibis

today (as in the day i started writing this and probably not the day i finish writing it) is apparently "no judgment day."  better than a hallmark holiday, it is a 24-hour reprieve for hardass moms, created by redbook magazine, to give yourself a break from the daily nervous breakdown that occurs when, for example, you go to pick your kid up from the babysitter and he throws himself on the floor kicking and screaming because he doesn't want to come home with you.  on a side note: i remember a day before popular magazines had the power to arbitrarily create holidays where none before existed?

makes me wonder -- what does the babysitter do that i don't?  oh yeah, she stays at home with my kids all day.

makes me wonder -- am i doing this parenting thing all wrong?  should i be staying with my kids all day?  are my kids screwed because i gave up breastfeeding to go back to work instead of leading them around by the boob until they left for kindergarten?  am i depleting brain cells by playing curious george 2 for the third time in a row today?  should i have given them a bath with real soap instead of letting them jump around in a puddle in the backyard and spraying them off with the hose?

and ... the purpose of no judgment day become apparent.  because if i spend any more time asking myself these questions, and any more time answering them in the affirmative, i'll have to collapse into a blubbering heap of failure and regret.

but friends, here are my confessions.  i am not ashamed.

#1 -- i take full advantage of the fact that panzer will do anything for a fruit snack.  i buy them hundreds of packs at a time at costco, and have at least 3 packages in my purse at all times.  i will pull them out whenever i need 10 seconds of quiet and still.  i will even tell myself what a favor i am doing to him, making sure he gets all that vitamin C.  and gelatoids, or whatever.

and i'm flexible   when the obsession turned to mints, i bought tic-tacs in bulk and commended P on his excellent breath.

#2 -- i let yo-gabba-gabba babysit my kids.  but only sometimes.  i even let panzer believe that DJ lance's name is "butthead," knowing that he is not stupid can pick the real butthead out of a line-up any day.  when i was a kid, you got your mouth washed out with soap for using that kind of language.  also, i let my kids watch yo-gabba-gabba fully realizing that it is simulating a mixed-drug-induced haze/craze.  for all i know, that's what the world looks like to their brains anyway.

#3 -- i will give the kids whatever they want to eat, whenever they ask for it.  eggs and waffles for dinner?  OK.  a bowl full of nuts for breakfast?  fine.  15 glasses of milk today?  probably never hurt anyone.  you just ate three pieces of pizza and an entire pineapple, and now want to stand next to my soup bowl with your mouth open like a baby bird?  in it goes.  i don't even get mad when they eat who-knows-what crumbs off the floor.  (i do tell them it's gross, like when panzer tried to lick the old chewing gum off the sidewalk at the park, but that only invites giggles and increases the desire to eat off the floor.)

lately, panzer has been demanding to eat mohs' smashed baby food zuchinni.  whatever, i make my own and there's more of something else that can be smashed up where that came from.  i mean, kids can't unlearn how to chew and swallow, right?  and if they do, perhaps they just shouldn't be eating anymore...

anyway, when i was growing up, the floor was clean and you ate what was on the table, or nothing.  which brings me to #4.

#4 -- the kids both sit at the same high chair.  (P just pulls up a stool.)  which is the only surface in the house not covered with laundry, bills, bubble canisters, old coffee cups and other assorted things you hope your kids won't touch.  let's face it, there's no table upon which to put a single choice of food.

#5 -- i strap my baby in his swing and put on a movie so i can go back to sleep.  ironic, as when panzer was born, i swore i would never put him in a swing after hearing many horror stories about kids who develop triangular heads from the sway of a baby swing.  but i'd do it again with mohs if he insisted on getting up at 330 AM and wasn't so easy to snuggle back to sleep on the pillow next to me.

#6 --  i take my kids to safeway to look at holiday decorations.  this is where panzer learned about spiders and pumpkins, turkeys, and santa claus and snowmen.  on this point, i truly have good intentions, but usually by the time i realize a holiday is coming up, it's all up on me and i panic with indecision.  thankfully, there is always something we need at the store.

#7 -- i lock myself in the bathroom with the fan on and cover my ears when my kids are crying.  aaron thinks this is childish, cowardly, and unnecessary.  probably so.  but keeps me from running back in scooping them up and ruining that whole rules/discipline/manners thing we agreed to force upon the children.

#8 -- i get angry at my kids.  this was not something i planned to experience in the first couple years, but damn, those little heathens can cause a lot of trouble in a few short minutes!  (and yo-gabba-gabba was supposed to be watching them!)  the battles of will are not my proudest mommy moments, but i will win, especially once you've ticked me off.  thankfully, it's tough to stay mad at a little dude who runs around yelling "sorry mommy! hug!" and pats you on the back like you're his charge instead of the other way around.

#9 -- i cry for my children.  not in front of them and certainly never in front of any of you bitches.  but i'm not strong for them.  i am sniveling mess of worry and panic and indecision.  i get overwhelmed with sadness when people (kids or adults) are short or uncaring or unappreciative of their awesomeness.  at news stories highlighting what a terrible group the human race is comprised of.  when i think of them being grown up-er someday and stressed and tired and on their own with climate change and civil wars and violent religious yahoos with their own kids to worry and panic about.  like me.

#10 -- i ask for help.  a lot.  from anyone -- family, friends, dudes at starbucks, mall security, TSA officers.  pick an occupation -- that person has held at least one of my kids for five seconds while i searched for my driver's license, carried hot coffee to the car, dumped vomit out of my best leather pumps, etc.

and actually, i am largely open to advice.  i'm pretty sure panzer would be potty-trained right now if i had any idea what i was supposed to do.  and also, i am totally open to ignoring your stupid advice, jerk whose baby slept through the night at 3 weeks old.

so friends, i repeat: i am not ashamed.  my kids have fairly good digestion, grow like weeds, smile frequently, and yell "c'mon mommy" or wave fat little arms at me when i walk in the room.  no self-help book can help me with #s 1 through 10.  sorry old lady at the grocery store who never let her kids leave the house without a hat or socks until they turned 7 and can't believe i let P have a cookie from the bakery at 630 AM ... these are my wild, dirty, crazy kids and they are a product of me; you can suck it.

Know Your Role

every once in a while i feel ashamed in the office for announcing that i don't know how to use the fax machine.  then i went to the oral surgeon to have the last of my wisdom teeth removed.  when i had the first 2 removed, i had only local anesthetic, so was wide awake while the quack pried my gigantic teeth out with a pair of pliers, using my cheek for leverage, which created a nice blood splatter all over my face.  so this time, i opted for the general anesthesia.  as an aside, this was also cheaper, which makes me suspect that things can go really wrong and quickly, resulting in additional medical expenses that cost the insurer more money, if you are not completely blacked out for the procedure.

that turned out to be a lot more involved than i thought.  as soon as i sat down, the doctor started the laughing gas and told me he would numb my arm before putting the IV in.  i've been giving blood since i had capacity to give my own informed consent 12 years ago, so i've been stuck with a lot of needles in my lifetime.  when i was in law school, i used to donate platelets because you could bring a DVD and watch it on your own little TV while they popped you popcorn and generally treated you like royalty, which was the closest thing i ever had to a vacation, so i've been stuck with giant needles that pump your guts out, filter them out, and pump them back in many times.  and then of course there's the whole giving-birth thing, where you're practically begging someone to drill a giant tube into your spine.  since i was already kind of doped up, i felt free to let the doctor know that i thought his numbing spray was a little overkill.

he agreed that i have giant veins with no excuse not to hit it on the first try, but then pointed out that those hundreds of needles were placed by professionals, who are skilled at those types of things.  he's an oral surgeon.  he gets paid to bust your teeth into little pieces and pry them out of your face.  he doesn't get paid to place needles.  wait, what?

i was too high on the laughing gas at the time to register the blood spraying out of my arm before i fell asleep.  and woke up with my first-ever bruise from a needle-poke.  he showed me ... turns out, i do believe people should stick to what they're good at.  i will spend the 20 minutes each it would take to train me on the fax machine, postage meter, typewriter three-hole punch, etc. making money to pay my staff to just do the same thing in 5 seconds or less.

i used to think that i had a high pain tolerance, having suffered my fair share of avoidable and ridiculous injuries.  what i realize now is that i have a high pain threshhold.  it is a slight but crucial difference.  basically, i don't feel pain ... until i do.  and when i do, it gets ugly fast.  back up.  throw the narcotics at me from a safe distance.  preferably accompanied by a tub of chunky monkey and an original futurama episode.  and try not to speak until spoken to.

of course, this plan has limited utility in my household.  ice cream must be shared.  the tv is ruled by little monsters dancing to the beat of a skinny black dude in a furry orange marching band hat.  mohs has figured the exact right place on my jaw to repeatedly bash his little head when he's wrapping his arms around me to grab the tiny hairs at the nape of my neck and gnaw mercilessly on my shoulder.  and panzer never, ever stops talking, usually to report on other people's business.  side note:  i have concluded nosiness is inherent in human nature and those who hold onto it into adulthood cannot be blamed.  P could give 2 shits about the soup sitting on his plate right in front of him (until you take it away away from him and then it is "MINE!"), but will spend the entirety of a meal talking about how daddy's soup is hot and daddy's soup has carrots in it and daddy's soup is yummy.

on the plus side, having two teeth wrenched from my skull and subsequent week of weeping while slurping down yogurt and broth kick-started my holiday diet, obliterating the last five pounds and then some.

in another news, i have been trying to let panzer help me with the cooking.  i always enjoyed baking things as a kid (and remember marathon christmas cookie rolling and cutting and baking and decorating days on the kitchen floor where we could all reach) and have been looking forward to sharing the kitchen with panzer.  it has been a challenge, because 2-year-olds aren't careful and if given a choice, would actually prefer the mess they made to any other options.  stirring things?  maybe if you had a really huge bowl with a tiny bit to be mixed in the bottom.  cracking eggs?  maybe if you like your quiche to be crunchy and frantically cleaning raw egg out of your toddler's fists before he can lick it off.  pouring ingredients from the cup into the bowl?  sometimes ok (again, need big bowl with small amount of ingredients) but a fleeting joy.  placing pre-made balls of cookie dough on a sheet?  ok if you like each cookie to have a perfect little bite missing from it.

we're pretty much down to washing things and peeling things.  P helped wash the potatoes i mashed.  he sat on the floor, dipped his wash cloth into a bowl of water, and wrung it out on top of the potato.  P helped me shuck corn.  he pulled each leaf, one at a time, being careful not to touch the tassles at the top which seriously grossed him out.  P helped me shell walnuts.  he sat next to me, taking a turn with the nutcracker and using them like chopsticks to pick up the shells in the garbage bowl.  and eating every third nut i put in the bowl.  takes 10x longer and creates at least 2 additional messes to sop up, but ... that's his job and he's good at it.  :)   

do you smell what the rock is cooking?

Illusion of Choice

so the year is 2012 and since that is divisible by 4, it means that come november, there will be a presidential election.  i am like a lost puppy this year, having proudly voted for ralph nader in each and every election since i came of voting age.  i guess at age 78, he is allowed to give up the good fight, even if it does leave me stranded.  i got to see him speak in athens when i was in college (right after i got my belly button pierced = multitasking) and the thing that sticks out most for me was how incredibly long his fingers were.  oh yeah, and he was awesome and articulate and consistent and respectful.

i am in fierce opposition to the two-party system, and suppose i have been for a while.  i just don't think it's realistic to divide people in half.  nor do i think that being fiscally conservative must make you socially conservative. and i am getting increasingly frustrated with the illusion of choice that is romnobama.

i thought i might watch the presidential debate and get some perspective on what is going on these days in the wonderful US of A.  i must warn you that if you are looking for some brilliant commentary or response from me on the issue, turn back.  mohs kept daddy company on the couch during the broadcast, but i spent the time debating with panzer about the relative merits of spaghetti (yummy) versus worms (yucky), doing the potty dance, and coaxing him into the bathtub.  i am half-envious/half-disgusted at you people who have time or energy to be political.

i wake up later to find out that a key issue in the debate was big bird.  say what!?  i can't think of a better way to alienate people completely unnecessarily than attacking their kids' friend.  because not all parentss get up before the sun comes up to spend quality non-TV time with their kids, reading books and racing cars and watering plants and explaining, in vain, what a mummy is.  as an aside, panzer gave no sign of understanding what a dead person wrapped in toilet paper means.

cut over to the second debate, and i wake up to find out that the childish bickering has spawned two new english words:  romnesia -- to describe mitt romney's selective memory when it comes to major policy decisions, most of which revolve around women's issues.  and obamarrhea -- physical illness brought on by simply experiencing the current presidential administration.

it amuses me that the supporters of each have a permanent new vocabulary word, while the haters relate it all to being childish meanieheads.  i happen to think they're both very clever.  which might make me a childish meaniehead...

but REALLY, these are my choices?  yeesh.  so, in my infinite free time i take a closer look, to realize that romnobama are both in support of bailouts, sending americans out to deal with senseless violence and drama in other countries, restriction on gun ownerships, and indefinite detention of american citizens with no due process ... and against balancing the budget and controlling spending anytime before i'm a real-life bona fide senior citizen.  yeesh.  are americans really going to divide themselves and choose a president over the epic adam-and-eve vs. adam-and-steve debate?  yeesh again.

as of this moment, i can't even comprehend what i'm to do with this information, other than defect to a third-world country, preferably with a favorable exchange rate to the U.S. dollar, fair weather and a nice beach with a reasonable probability of withstanding impending sea level rise.  i'd be willing to take an array of qualified individuals with me to start our own society.  again.  it'd take at least a couple hundred years to really screw that up.  i may never be able to look my nickels, quarters, and $1 bills in the face again...


so anyway, back to what i do know and understand ... in other news, i am 100% convinced that holidays are the best part about having your own family.  (today anyway -- tomorrow, the best part may again be the excuse to go to bed at 8 p.m.)  i've always been about celebrating holidays in silly ways, but even aaron is inspired -- he was insistent on trick-or-treating last year even though P could barely walk, was not deterred by the late hour in viewing fireworks for the 4th of july, and i suspect we will never have a december without a REAL tree, even if we are totally behind schedule and there are only 6 days left until christmas.  as we head into october, thanks to the aunties for making sure the kids are always stocked up on glow-in-the-dark skele-ruda outfits ;)

anyway, the pumpkin patch was an easy choice today.  P woke up in his pumpkin PJs talking about pumpkins.  when we went on our morning coffee run, we took a long detour through the pumpkin display at safeway.  i sprung the 79 cents for a panzer-sized mini-pumpkin, and listened to him say "i lick it!" all the way home.  P didn't let the pumpkin out of his sight, and to jump to the end of the story, he is sleeping with the pumpkin right now.  (along with a lot of other things -- you can see it between george the monkey and the heebie-jeebie's foot).

we went to freeman farms last year, closer to halloween, and had a good time, but P was really in his element this year.  as an aside, only the attorney mom spends time trying to get her kid to stand next to the release-of-liability sign.  but i couldn't resist the skull and cross bones paired with the big red barn against the brilliant blue sky...  anyway, P would've sat on the choo choo train all day if it weren't for pesky mommy dragging him through everything.  along with pumpkins, P is also obsessed with tractors, cows, trains, scarecrows, and popcorn.  NOT  the merry-go-round ... i got him acquainted with the "chicken" we would be riding, and he did fine as long as i sat on it with him (which i am sure violated some weight limit and/or OSHA regulation ... and certainly constituted an inherently dangerous activity for which i assumed all risk of injury).  but when i hopped up and stood next time him, mid-ride, he freaked.  thankfully, early in the season, it was not crowded and as the only people on the merry-go-round, were able to demand it stop immediately and release us.  we came by the merry-go-round a few more times, but the best i could get from panzer was a "hi, chicken."  he would not get any closer.

mohs of course was happy to come along for the ride in his tractor onesy.  he was into the animals, giving them his signature unblinking stare as he assessed them, their purpose and intentions, and how he could most efficiently bend them to his will.  he is a hair-puller though (always grabbing the little ones at the base of my neck with a steel grip, ouch) and the poor goat was no exception.

aaron and i have carved pumpkins every year that we've been together.  however, never have we paid $19.75 for a single pumpkin plus the joy of picking it yourself and hefting it, plus almost 50 pounds of children and a garbage bag full of kettle corn, back to the stationwagon.

turns out we purchased the biggest pumpkin they've seen so far -- something like 28 pounds.  now that it's home and panzer wants to "ride" it, it makes sense to get one that approximates his weight and size, otherwise i'd be tripping over it and stubbing my toe in the dark while P rolled it around OR even better, it would be smashed into smithereens and smeared all over the house before i figured out he was using it as a new ball.  for you easterners, in arizona, it's hot and dry so pumpkins don't last long after you carve them -- we have a few weeks of just enjoying the monstrous beauty before it becomes a work of art and quickly deteriorates.

Snakes On A Plane Part II

well, the ruda family survived another trip through the airport.  i remember when i was a kid, and had never actually been on an airplane, when i thought air travel was fun and exciting.  ugh.  now, you have to say good-bye to everyone you love before you go through a weird spaceship-timemachine-xrayvision-mobile.  and you have to carefully measure your hand cream and eye drops into 3.4 ounce containers and disrobe before you can even buy a cup of coffee.  and no one will pay to check a bag so there is a fight to get on the plane first to see who can squeeze his 18 cubic foot "carry on" luggage into the overhead compartment and smash everything else he owns under your feet before you get there.  (i acknowledge this is ironic from the woman who just flew with not 1, but 2 lap children.)

of course, traveling with aaron makes things even more interesting.  i have on at least one occasion gone to meet him at a restaurant and told the hostess that "i'm here to meet my husband, have you seen him?  dark guy, hat, sunglasses, big beard, looks like a terrorist?"  he without fail gets chosen for every random search.  it gets even better when he leaves his driver's license in someone else's car during a trip to the drive-thru liquor shack and has to get on a plane using his costco card and grainy YMCA ID.  FYI they'll let you on, but you better be prepared to spread 'em.  at every checkpoint.  add a few kids with all their liquids and a stroller that's too big to fit in the x-ray machine and you understand why they sell booze in the airport.

i've flown a lot, so when we had our layover in houston, i paid little attention to the recorded announcement overhead, which i assumed was to remind me to report abandoned luggage and that i had given up any right to privacy in any manner the minute the automatic doors whooshed open and beckoned me down the escalator.  no, this was a new one -- now the automaton specifically warns you that you can be arrested for making fun of the TSA.

so, aaron asks: what if you are making positive comments about the TSA?  will they still arrest you?  and proceeded to spend the rest of our trip through the airport making loud comments about how the TSA is AWESOME!!  and BEAUTIFUL!!  and EFFICIENT!!  tee hee hee.

karma caught up with us on our return trip.  which began with us being bussed to our layover city because of a massive delay (which if i wasn't so hungry, would've been perfect because P looooves buses and was beside himself to actually ride on one ... for a few minutes before he passed out).  and proceeded with us getting the A-1 special terrorist treatment at charlotte douglas international.  i feel like when my curly blonde two-year-old's bright blue foam crocs with various superhero jibbitz have to go through the x-ray machine multiple times, the system is most certainly broken.  i'm sure the other patrons enjoyed my MANY loud and animated renditions of the itsy bitsy spider (and the hysterical tired giggles of my children) for the full 40 minutes it took to get a female worker to do the feel-up.  i mean pat-down.

i've never had an official pat-down before, and boy is it complicated.  lots of technique and using backs and sides of hands and swoopy motions to avoid sensitive areas and make it seem less molester-ish.  but it's pretty molester-ish -- and it's tough to top the fact that i just squeezed an entire child out of my hoo-ha a couple months ago.  my advice is to decline the invitation to go into the private room, even if you don't have two screaming children to keep an eye on.

throughout all of this, i was very proud of myself for not becoming absolutely furious at aaron, who i assumed brought all of this upon us with a smartass comment about the TSA's efficiency and effectiveness and/or his rakish good-arab looks.  supposedly, our massive double stroller was the culprit -- lucky for my husband.

at any rate, we had a great time in the dirty south visiting my family and enjoying the sights.  P nicknamed my dad "big papa."

and wormed his way into my sister's kitchen.

mohs found a bald buddy in uncle james (who supposedly is "not good with kids" but inspired P to wake up every morning saying "where did james go?" and then letting me know that he'd "be right back").

aaron and i got to pseudo-sleep-in one time.  we all (the boys included) drank too much coffee.

and shared our monkeys with the monkeys at the zoo.

i still hate to fly, but ... sometimes it's worth a little molestation.  <3 p="p">

Hot Tub Time Machine

when i was a kid, i remember my dad telling me about some sci-fi book where a guy goes back in time and steps on a butterfly.  when he goes back to the present, it is completely different; stepping on the butterfly changed everything.  this is somewhat akin to back to the future, where marty mcfly jeopardizes his own future existence by getting in the way of his parents' marriage.  except no one inherently anticipates that the premature demise of one small insect is going to have some profound effect on the world.  to this day, i don't know what book it was, but i learned plenty from dr. ian malcolm in jurassic park, which i have proudly read at least 15 times, about what i now know this is termed "the butterfly effect"  -- a phenomenon whereby a seemingly minor change in circumstance can dramatically change the outcome.

i am reminded of a "choose your own adventure" book.  i was fascinated by those as a kid, although the writing was bad, the plot was bad, and the pictures were bad ... there was something intriguing as a kid of choosing how you would make your way to your death.  because you always died.  but unlike real life, you could also always stick your finger between the pages (which i always always did) and backtrack to your last bad decision ... or the one before that ... and die differently.

i have found myself frequently wishing for a hot tub time machine.  (a regular time machine would do, and although i haven't seen the movie *yet,* a hot tub time machine sounds much more glamourous).  i suppose i am finally of the age where i have sufficient lifetime to look back on and second guess all those major decisions, or at least appreciate circumstances past -- like summer vacation and 68 cent gasoline and being able to devote an entire saturday to sitting on my ass watching college football.  unfortunately, there's nothing a time machine would do to preserve those things for me any longer than i've already lived them.  but i have had occasion recently, through a series of lively and unpleasant discussions, to pinpoint an exact moment where things in my life started going sideways.  a single moment of seemingly minor importance where i meant one thing, and he heard another.

it's no one's fault, but that single 10-second interaction tainted literal years of further conversation and events, magnifying over time, leading to further misunderstandings, resulting in other poor decisions, until the whole thing blew its freakin' top.  the butterfly effect.

i'm lucky that in the case of a misunderstanding, you can sort of go back.  it's not easy, but with the help of 20/20 hindsight and better information (and advanced age and experience?), the taint (tee hee hee) can be removed, and you can see things for how they actually were and are.  you can't change it, but at least you get it.  at least the foundation was still true and real and you can imagine how things might have been different if you weren't living in a parallel universe.

now, i'm not going to go back and undrink that 40 ... just try to find my way back to where life would've led had i not stepped on the butterfly....

<3>

Another Brick In The Wall

in an effort to stay relevant and address all the meaningless comments floating around, i made it my goal this week to read, research, and provide brilliant insight into obamacare and the recent supreme court decision upholding it as a consitituional exercise of congress' taxing authority.  however, i lost interest in the bill, also affectionately known as "the patient protection and affordable care act," when i saw a lemon on my counter and remembered my promise to whip up another batch of lemon blueberry drop scones before P gobbles up the last of the fresh blueberries. 

continued several scones later, and i'm not even the scone type -- my heart belongs to the sugary-and-shortening goodness of the safeway bakery:  sure, i have questions about the bill, the most popular portions of which require americans to maintain health insurance or pay an uninsured tax.  like am i now going to have to show proof of health insurance at a traffic stop?  or are health care professionals, who are also bound by another favorite bill of mine affectionately known as the health information portability and accountability act of 1996, supposed to make those reports?  and what is the psychological effect of a mandatory reporting duty on a health care professional, who has taken an oath to enter only for good and remain free of all intentional injustice and mischief, to add an uninsured tax to necessary (and expensive) services?  better yet, is the government relying on *snort* self-reporting?  and who believes that $700 per year (the maximum tax to an individual without coverage once the law is fully phased in) is sufficient to obtain any health insurance policy worth a damn?  and if the cost of shitty health insurance outweighs the shitty benefits, where is the incentive to actually obtain mandatory health insurance, rather than just pay the stupid fine?  which begs the final question -- if there is no incentive to obtain mandatory health insurance, why shouldn't individuals be able to save their $700 for apple cider vinegar and hydrogen peroxide and cayenne pepper and neti pots, which alone or combined apparently can cure everything from baldness to flatulence?  and is monopoly going to modernize its playing board?  i mean, when was the last time you heard anything about a luxury tax?

then i got to the point of the bill that prohibits the IRS from taking any action to enforce payment of the tax.  the IRS cannot put you in jail, seize or levy your property, or otherwise subject you to criminal properties.  the IRS can charge you double the amount they owe you, but again ... they can't actually take any collection action.  now i am not a tax professional and i'm probably violating some ethical rule by giving out unsolicited and free legal advice to the entire internet, but here it is:  DO NOT PAY THE TAX.  while you're at it, break out the red lipstick and knee-high boots, rebel.

so it appears the bill will have only two apparent effects:  good, honest people who are trying to get by without relying on government benefits will now take advantage of medicaid to avoid the tax, increasing government spending.  and good, honest people will pay an extra $700 per year for nothing and given their decreased disposable income, probably also take advantage of other government programs, like subsidized housing, food stamps, unemployment, etc., increasing government spending.  hrrrm....

i can't lie -- i worry about my children.  it is common knowledge amongst those who dare to discuss politics, religion, and/or sports with me that i believe the united states will be demoted to a third world country (acknowledging that this term is no longer fashionable) both socially and economically -- and i that believe it will happen during my lifetime.  this is just another brick in the wall.  but ... despite the rant i managed to squeeze out after proper nourishment, i'm up to my elbows in alphabet soup and diapers and choo-choo trains and vainly trying to impart life lessons on little dudes who have no capacity for reason or rational thought.  i don't have time to start a revolution.  instead, i can cast my vote for one powerless doofus over another in a presidential election, knowing that between living in a conservative state, the existence of the electoral college, and the persistence of the two-party system, it's a futile gesture.  and celebrate america's revolution by eating processed meat foods and watching miniature explosions in the sky.  is this what thomas jefferson had in mind?  freedom from the british so we could subjugate ourselves?

Got Milk?

i am now the proud parent of a 20-month-old who can say and properly identify a "boob."  unfortunately, i am speaking anatomically, not metaphorically (although i have no doubt with the excellent role models in his life, that panzer will soon be master of the latter as well).

my second son, mohs, came along 7 short weeks ago, and every 2 to 4 hours i force myself to focus on what a beautiful, sweet ray of sunshine he is in order to convince myself that he deserves to eat.  (and look at those chicken legs... he NEEDS to eat...) 

the oral surgeon told me last week that pediatrics is an ever-changing field of what's "in fashion" and should essentially be disgarded at your convenience.  apparently, taking prescription painkillers while you're breastfeeding is no longer fashionable.  side note:  i have seen this phenomenon first hand, even with panzer and mohs being only 18 months apart.  i maintained an appropriately deferential look at mohs' first appointment when the pediatrician informed me that breastfed babies NEED vitamin D supplements or are at risk of developing rickets.  i now know that rickets is a pretty serious bone disorder common in developing countries and resulting from famine or starvation.  however, it's hard to take this concern seriously when P, breastfed less than 2 years earlier, maxes out the height chart and is doing his best to simultaneously conquer and demolish the entire office in our short visit, with not a drop of vitamin D supplement having ever passed his infant lips.

anyway, it is clear that breastfeeding is fashionable.  and rightly so, given the obvious and proven benefits to your child.  but let's be clear "bf moms," milk production is not life's biggest accomplishment.  in fact, it's a completely natural, unsolicited effect of mammalian reproduction, commonly exploited in farm animals. 

and it's weird -- for me and everyone else.  in fact, i've had no less than 4 awkward breastfeeding encounters since easter.  here's what i've learned:

#1 -- the park.  P got invited to an easter egg hunt hosted by his babysitter for her playgroup.  i took off of work to run him over to the park, watch him be completely disinterested in egg-hunting (at least until he discovered they were filled with goodies!) and lead all the other kids to and through the giant puddle of reclamated water, and ... chit chat with other moms.  which chit chat soon took an ugly turn when mom-1 saw mom-2 breastfeeding (under her tent, praise the lord, see #2) and said "i miss breastfeeding so much!"  wait, what?

first, who in their right mind misses having a leech attached to her boob?  and even if, in the moment, it is touching and miraculous that women can not only grow entire human beings in their uteruses and then squeeze them out their hoo-has, but also manufacture sustenance for the child, the miracle wears off when it occurs every two hours.  for those of you rusty in third grade math -- that's 8 to 12 times per day.  every day.  for as long as you can stand it.

second, who needs to know that?  certainly not me.  next time, just go ahead and air some details about your year-long battle with yeast.  breastfeeding is natural and healthy, but the enthusiasm is just too much.

this of course spawned a lengthy and animated discussion amongst moms-1-through-10 about the miracle of life.  i was actually glad to send P on his way and go back to the office.  lesson learned:  i am clearly not equipped to interact safely and appropriately with stay-at-home moms.  consider yourself warned.

#2 -- the library.  the week after i brought mohs home from the hospital, i tried to be a good mom and take panzer to baby playtime at the library.  side note:  again, while the other kids sat quietly in their moms' laps, stared intently at the storyteller, and clapped along with each song, my son ran completely amuk, opening and slamming doors, stealing other kids' toys, and generally slapping around his peers.  while i was chasing P up some stairs, i had to manuever around a mom who looked like she was trying to smuggle a struggling two-year-old under her shirt.  when she released the girl, i got a full frontal.

first, your kid is two. she should be able to sit still while she eats -- in fact, that is the only thing that P sits still for.  and second, your kid is two.  she can wait till she gets home in 30 minutes to have a snack.  and if she can't, send her to the water fountain.  lesson learned:  come prepared.  i have never left the house without a baggie of goldfish crackers again.  also, thank you bf mom in #1 who used the appropriate paraphernalia.  i will follow your example.

#3 --the mommy's lounge.  i admit it sounds good in theory -- a little area to the side of the ladies' restroom with leather couches and unassuming landscape paintings where you can take a break from shopping and feed your child in peace and harmony.  unfortunately, although no one can really see your baby, everyone knows its under there.  so in practice, every old lady who walks by wants to know his age, sex, weight at birth, and favorite lullabye, and then tell you at least one ancient story about their own babies, presumably in the hopes that baby will finish up and they can catch a glimpse of his cute little cheeks.  i admit that i crane my neck to peer into strollers and carriers to look at babies in the grocery store.  but i am confident in saying that the the risk of seeing a stranger's boob while i do so is approaching zero.

even worse, is the risk of breastfeeding en masse.  when you're all lined up (enduring the same awful Q&A and storytime from the heiffer next to you) it really is like the dairy farm i visited in first grade, except i don't get to bring my aunt barbara as a chaperone or eat ice cream until i throw up.  (lame!)  lesson learned:  go solo.  i was more anonymous in the hustle and bustle of the food court.

and finally #4 -- the pool.  all summer, my in-laws have been taking panzer to the city pool for family night on thursdays, and i decided to chime in to watch P have the time of his life.  that kid loves running water.  anyway, as anticipated, mohs' feeding schedule did not cooperate with pool time (since all the time is dinnertime), so i grabbed my tent, sat discreetly in the corner, and watched quietly from afar. 

at least i was quiet until some doofus teenage lifeguard came over to let me know that "there were complaints."  i may have then informed him that arizona revised statutes section 41-1443 specifically gives me the right to breastfeed in a public place where i am otherwise lawfully present.  i may also have let him know that i am exempt from public indecency laws while breastfeeding and can go sit in the middle of the pool topless if i want.  and i may also have threatened to sue him and the entire town of prescott valley if he even dare suggest that i stop feeding my child.  then i asked him to please let me know if there were any more complaints so i could address them directly myself. 

luckily there were no more complaints, because breastfeeding does not exempt you from a lot of other criminal laws, like those for assault and battery.  lesson learned:  don't mess with the bf mom.  whether its the hormones, the sleep-deprivation, the desperation, or the misplaced pride, and whether she deserves any deference or not, a bf mom has one up on you.  she can show you her boob with impunity -- throwing you off your game -- and then accuse of you of trying to take food out of her baby's mouth -- to which there is no legitimate response.

and so, i am left to endure the madness.

Journey to the Deep Dark Caves of Hell

when i was in high school, i made a sign on an 8x11 piece of paper that said "i am a flaming bitch from the deep dark caves of hell." underneath, was a lengthy and detailed list of all the trashy, disgusting, dishonorable and offensive things that my peers had done. i am pretty sure it was a 2-sided list, but i decorated any white space with colorful flames. then i taped the sign to my chest and went to class.

from what i can remember, one of these trashy, disgusting, dishonorable and offensive people had called me a bitch. this was probably a fair statement, but i obviously did not take kindly to it. and so, sarcasm and irony blossomed.

a teacher took my sign and referred me to the principal's office. i have no idea what my explanation was (or could legitimately have been), but i do remember mrs. richardson, who was also my principal in kindergarden, deciding the worst punishment would be to let me tell my parents myself "what had happened." right. i love my parents, but they were, and are, enablers of my self-righteousness. by way of example, on a separate occasion, i was sentenced to write an apology letter to some newspaper douchebag for asking him to hurry up and take my picture so i could get back to whatever super-important high school activity he had interrupted. my mom approved something along the lines of "i'm sorry that you have no respect for other people's time."

i'm not saying that i'm better than you, but i may have ruined my little sister by telling her as a teenager that the fact of the matter is, some people are better than others. it's not based on beauty or education or wealth; it is a sliding scale that starts somewhere saintly i'm completely unfamiliar with, followed closely by persons who volunteer to carry things and leave baked goods on your desk, the maker of the awkward family photos calendar, and kids who will never leave your high-five hanging. then the guy at the circle K who warns you that your gas cap is still open, the garbage man just out getting dirty and doing his job, and dudes willing to provide free entertainment to all passersby simply by maintaining a long, curly mullet. it works its way down to the lowest of the low -- child molesters and indian givers. also somewhere near the bottom is the guy who screams at a pregnant lady with a full-time career and one-year-old for leaving her work at the office and going to sleep at 9 p.m. i am better than that guy. in the grand scheme of things, the flaming bitch might even be kind of near the top. (although still up in the air about my status in relation to the garbage man...)

i bet that sign is still in my permanent file at louisa county high school. but even if the sign is gone, i still get it. ask and ye shall receive.

She Woke Me Up With a Bang-Bang

so today while it was 4 degrees and pouring rain outside and i was dancing around the house with panzer alternately whispering, singing and screeching the very age-inappropriate lyrics of the violent femmes' "blister in the sun" to him, i had the same thought i've had a million times for the millionth and one time: music peaked in the 90s -- it is never going to be this good and clever and wonderfully angsty ever again.

i am confident that the music of the 90s will survive, for all greasy teenagers to enjoy. i see it already. the lead singer of sublime died in 1996, and kids today still go around threatening to smoke 2 joints before they smoke 2 joints. and then i smoke 2 more. (not my favorite, but certainly catchy...) they still talk about what kurt cobain might've been. (had he not suffered an apparently self-inflicted "contact perforating shotgun wound to the head" in 1994, the year i entered the 7th grade.) i still see as many kids in korn t-shirts today as i did in 1998. (even my mom's 60+year-old husband is a fan, luring aaron into the basement for loud replays of korn concerts of yore.) and that is saying nothing of the beastie boys, counting crows, rage against the machine, live, smashing pumpkins, etc. timeless as the dragon-skull-dagger-zodiac tattoo.

i'm sure my parents, among others, are reading this and cringing. and i'm sure they said the same thing about the music of the 60s when they were my age. which to be fair, the music of the 60s was pretty fantastic. and it led to the birth of music as a social and political statement, which i enjoy and respect, but nothing beats angst. especially on cold, rainy days.

now i wake up to my radio-alarm to songs about teenage dreams and tight jeans and my hump-my hump-my humps. the good news is that these songs immediately fill me with a blood-pumping rage and urge to immediately jump out of bed, slam the alarm off, and stalk to the shower muttering expletives about the state of the world if this is what's on the radio.

makes me wonder what kind of worthless crap "music" panzer is going to listen to in 15 years. i make a silent plea to the flying spaghetti monster that it not be ke$ha.

and on that note, i have identified five albums mommy will approve of, any day any time, rainy and angsty or not:

by the way by the red hot chili peppers

good mourning (or better yet, my personal greatest hits mix) by alkaline trio

love by the beatles (already a panzer favorite)

the walking wounded by bayside

bang bang by dispatch

Float On

so, panzer has graced me with his presence for exactly 365 days as of today. i woke up to a text from my mom asking if i was thinking about what i was doing on this day last year. well, now that you mention, i do remember this time -- 6AM on october 28 -- last year sucking pretty bad. i "labored" all night, squeezed a whole baby out of my hoo-ha one hour and five minutes prior, and really wanted a shower. REALLY badly. instead i had a bunch of needles poked into me, a little parasite latched to my boob, and made the difficult decision to dispose of my placenta. IMMEDIATELY. in all honesty, i had a really positive birthing experience, which has made me much too overconfident with this one.... on a side note, stay tuned for a future post on the epic battle of me versus aaron and/or dr. fernandez regarding flying to VA at 37 weeks for kim's wedding. (i am already steeling myself up for victory!)

anyway, it is freakin' fabulous to shop for a one-year-old. there are not many occasions, as you get older and more worn out, to buy little plastic glasses with fake eyes already attached or mini whoopie cushions. and when else can you justify $4 for a bag of colored hole punches labeled "confetti" except to fill a kid's birthday pinata? wal-mart is fun again, if for no other reason than to watch panzer make friends with strangers, first by staring them down, then by grinning ear-to-ear and showing off his loot. he even happily helped me stuff goodies into the little hole on the top of his pinata!

also, i realized today we have not eaten any of the food i made in bulk on october 27, 2010 while waiting for my induction appointment, and stuck in the freezer so we'd have many home-cooked meals to eat in the coming days when we were too exhausted to move. funny how you can be too exhausted to move and still manage to subsist. i am not exactly sure what i ate those first few days or months, but it was not jambalaya, potato soup or the italian pasta special. i did take some soup out of the freezer today to thaw... if it's as good as our wedding cake on our first anniversary, it won't last 5 minutes.

i took P to the park to celebrate his birthday. he loves running up the little hills and down the little hills. and up the little hills and down the little hills. and up the little hills and down the little hills. until he finds the dirt surrounding the playground, and then he's happy sitting on the ground rubbing his hands in it. (no worries, he gets a scrubbin' by daddy every day, even on days he needs two.) until a dog runs by, and then he needs a closer look. but not too close. such a funny little dude, this panzer the birthday monster.

its nice going to bed knowing i made at least one good decision in this lifetime.