Mea Culpa

I'm so sorry for the long silence with no explanation.  I just sat down and read all of the concerned comments, and they made me feel horrible because I certainly didn't mean to worry anyone. 

When I first started blogging, almost three years ago, it was a life-line.  I wrote because I had to write.  I didn't expect to make the friends that I did along the way, but I'm really, truly glad that I did.  I met people online that I never would have met if I didn't start writing and I know that I've been the richer for it.

I haven't been writing because we moved.

I know that it's silly.  Moving is not a life-changing, traumatic event, at least it's not for many people.  It was, however, for me.  It's almost as if I've grown beyond both spaces, my real-world space and my blog-space.  I didn't know how much and how far beyond until I tried to move, thinking that it would be no big deal.

It's been a huge deal.

Somehow, moving threw me for a loop, exposed all of the nerves rubbed raw by endless questioning over whether I was really living the life that I wanted, whether I was really where I wanted to be in my fortieth year, and I just shut down.

I don't know if you know the feeling that I'm talking about, but it's not pretty. 

I feel that I'm just coming back, slowly, but I want to come back differently.  I wasn't ever comfortable with being a "mommy-blogger" and I'm not sure that this space really fits anything else, so I think that it's finally time to close down this site.  If I do continue to write, I'm going to need a fresh start, a place to talk about myself rather than my kids, a place where I can gaze at my navel with more anonymity and work out what it means to be me, at forty.

So, thank you...thank you for your thoughts over the last couple months and thank you for being there for me for so long, during some really tough times.  Thank you.

2 Busy 2 Blog

We're thinking about putting our house on the market.

Well, we're more than thinking about it.  We'll probably actually do it, which means that a world of work has just landed in our laps.  As our house is over twenty years old, we've been freshening up the paint, caulking, and spackling like two mad people.   

If you ever want to get your husband interested in house-hunting, all you have to do is show him a basement, especially if he is currently a man without a basement.  The basement, it seems, is all.

The need to hold down a job and mulch has pushed much else off of my plate, including keeping up with my blog. 

I have, however, found plenty of time to worry.  I've scheduled a talk with the day care center's director tomorrow about the fact that my boys are now in a room of "two-year-olds" rather than the "young twos" that we were promised.  Whenever I go to pick them up, there seem to be different kids in this room and different teachers. 

I'm a little frustrated, at this point, and I wonder if anyone is every truly happy with their childcare or if we've just had bad luck.

Should We Stay or Should We Go Now?

My parents and I looked at a lot of houses while they were up here last week.  Aside from the fact that my parents are planning on moving to the area, they looked at houses simply because that is what they do.  I have countless memories of picking my way through construction sites in pursuit of my parents as they investigated the homes in progress.   As they've gotten older and slightly better off, my parents began looking at finished homes, with real estate agents.

One of the houses that we saw on our Family Home Tour absolutely astonished me for no other reason than it's cherry wood floors.  Things of beauty, I would never by a home with these floors for the simple reason that they would make my Rooms R Us grad-school furniture jealous.

I did get me thinking.

What if we moved now, rather than later? 

The plan has been to buy the "big house" after we no longer had the expense of daycare.  However, the market seems uniquely suited to our needs right now.  Inventory in our "buying" range seems to be sitting on the shelf, with prices going down, while inventory in our "selling" range seems to be moving just fine.  We could also afford a jump in mortage costs....if we stopped the stock purchase option in the company where my husband works.  In order to fully convince my husband, I need a better list of pros and cons:

Reasons to Stay Put:

1. The market could be just as good if not better for us in three years.
2. Later, we could afford potentially more home and without stopping the stock purchase option.
3. It's always difficult to tell what is going to happen with the public school systems.  In between the time we bought and the time when our kids would start school, we could be redistricted or face the merger of school systems.  It's dicey out there.
4. We've engineered our daycare options to be convenient for where we live currently.  Moving would open up a whole new kettle of fish.  Commuting is not a factor as we both work from home.

Reasons to Move:

1. The market might benefit us both as sellers and as buyers.  If we waited for the economy to improve, interest rates could rise as could the price of houses in our proposed range.
2. Our house is twenty years old and getting older.  The longer we wait, the better chance we have of facing buyers who can clearly see the need to replace the deck, the countertops, and the kitchen cabinets.  We would also loose the benefit have having just painted the house (last year) and put in new carpeting (two years ago).
3. We are possibly in the position to afford the house we want if we stretch ourselves for three years.  When the kids enter school, we can relax a bit and possibly even stash some money aside if the need arises to place them into private schools.
4. Suz really wants a house with smooth ceilings.  Really.  That would be nice.
5. We currently live in the flight path of our area's major airport.  That airport is facing major expansion so the air traffic could increase and pose a real problem to house sale.

So, there it is.  Everything that I can think of.  What do you think?  And how do you make your decisions to move (or not)?

At Least There's Cheese

Hen-Bug went to the allergist yesterday.

The pediatrician suggested that we make appointments for both boys after learning that I'm allergic to shellfish. It's not like I'm planning on plying the boys with lobster any time soon, but I was curious about whether they would vomit copiously upon ingesting it for the first time.  I think that the boys would appreciate my informing them of any allergies before they ordered shrimp and barfed on a first date.

It turns out that Hen-Bug is allergic to shellfish, particularly scallops, but that's not the half of it.  He's also highly allergic to fish and we've been told to avoid giving him tuna, specifically.  We've been asked to withhold peanuts until age three, at which time he'll go into the allergist for further testing. 

This is all fine.  It doesn't rock our world.

But the allergist's face told me that we had more to go, and we did.

Hen-Bug's test showed a mild reaction to wheat and oats, so we've been asked to monitor his gluten intake.  According to the allergist, this means that Hen should not have more than one serving of gluten per day.  If we feed him oatmeal for breakfast, he shouldn't have pasta for lunch or crackers for snack.  This creates quite a problem because that's exactly what we feed the boys: Oatmeal.  Mac n' Cheese.  Crackers.  Fruit.  Veggies.  Ravioli.  Bread. 

Avoid gluten? 

You've got to be kidding me.

I'm convinced that Beck fixes nutritious gluten free meals balanced on one toe.

If I have one area of laziness in my life (and I have many), it's cooking.  I don't make food as much as I procure it.  Box.  Restaurant.  It doesn't matter.  Eighty percent of the food that we eat is procured.  And this bothers me.  It's bothered me in the past and it bothers me now.  It's something that I need to do something about.

Tomorrow.

Today, I needed to find something for Hen-Bug to eat.  On Chris' advice, I went to Whole Foods.  "They have an entire aisle of gluten free products," she said.  And they did.  I bought gluten free snack bars, cookies, mac n' cheese, pasta, waffles, and french toast.  With all these boxes filling the freezer, I'm feeling a little bit better.  When Hen-Bug gets hungry, he'll have something to eat.  However, this is a stop-gap for many reasons, the most prominent being that buying gluten-free food in boxes is not at all cheap.  It just buys me a little time, which is worth it.

Done, For Now

After three days of work, I've finished cleaning and painting the master bedroom.  Although I'm tired and wondering why I couldn't have chosen to laze about this week rather than tackling an enormous project, I think that it's a start.

Here's the before:

And...here's the after:

It might not look like there's a great deal of difference, but the color photographs much lighter than it actually appears on the walls.  Believe me, I was so panicked after painting a splotch on the wall that I made the mistake of soliciting G's advice.  He gave his opinion on the gray color by asking "who sunk my battleship?"

Great.

After going all the way back to the Home Depot for more paint swatches, I managed to convince myself that the color would be okay and finished the first coat.  It was.  I like the color.  It's a pretty gray tinged with purple, although it's easily the darkest room in the house.

When we get back  Over the coming year, I'm going to implement many of your suggestions.  We're going to do the crown molding and figure out how to do a simple upholstered backboard.  I'm going to get some curtains and put some pictures on the wall.

But, for now, I'm out of time and proceeding as fast as I can onto the second phase of our vacation.  On Sunday, we're flying to my parent's home in Florida.

I'll get excited about it eventually, but right now, I'm terrified of the layover in Atlanta.  What can you possibly do with twin two-year olds in an airport for four hours that doesn't involve them destroying it in some way?  All my experience is with business travel.  I have little clue when it comes to occupying kids in a strange space for that amount of time.  My only recourse is to pack the playroom into our carry-on bags.  It's a pity the limit is three.

Safe as Houses

Although I happily lived in an apartment during my early and mid-twenties, house hunger struck hard as I grew closer to completing graduate school.   It seemed so terribly unfair that so many other people my age could afford to purchase a modest home and I could not.  My decision to leave academia and work for a corporation was, in part, fueled by the desire to own my own home.  And, I did.  I purchased my house the same year I earned my doctorate, the year that I turned thirty.

Home improvement is in my blood.  As a child, I called myself "big rock" as my parents spent numerous afternoons searching for rocks with which to build a landscaping wall for their first home.  I remember that home, and the amount of time that was spent putting a deck on their second home.  After that, my parents love for home improvement went unfulfilled as my father made an investment gamble which drove them deep into debt.  They sold their second home and, for a period of ten years, rented house after house after house, always within the same school district.  It's odd.  I've lived in eleven homes, but none of them more than ten minutes away from another.

Perfection was a necessity for my father, so I never got to participate in all this painting and planning and putting together of pieces with parts.  I had to learn everything from scratch, mostly from my neighbors as we all worked on our houses together.  I redid my entire 35 year old home.  I replaced faucets and light fixtures, took off awful seventies wallpaper, put up crown molding, and painted everything.  I paid someone to put in a new kitchen sink and countertop.  It wasn't anything fancy, but the work did enable me to sell the home for a nice profit, almost three years after I purchased it.

Much of that work was done during my days off, which usually meant holidays.  As a single person, I didn't really go on summer vacation, so would have tons of time to use at the end of the year.  Before spending a couple of days with my folks, I would start and finish a project, whether it was redoing the downstairs bathroom or painting the den. 

And, as I think about holiday traditions, I realize that this isn't a bad one.  It's a little odd, but it works for me and I think for our family.   Caught in the same bind as always, despite taking summer vacation, I have this week off.  I'm using it to finally do my master bedroom project.

I've found a duvet cover.  Although you can't tell from the picture, it has subtle hints of gold, which I'm picking up in the sheets and gray, the color that I've decided to paint the room.  I did want to go with brown and blue, but this duvet cover seemed to suggest otherwise.  In addition to painting, I'm replacing my husband's ugly gold mirror with a silver one, getting rid of the broken speaker stand, and cleaning everything.  All in all, I'm spending under $500.00 and hope to get a big bang for the buck.

The feeling I get from doing all of this?  Of course, priceless.

Liberal Card

After I say what I have to say here, they're going to cut up my liberal card.  My presidential choices will be restricted to Huckabee or Romney.   There'll be a 20 foot "I support our President" sign planted in my yard overnight and, if I try to remove it, it will only show up again, but bigger.

Our county has been repeatedly cited as being one of the most progressive in the country for making school assignments based on economic equity with the stated goal of having no school with more than 40% of students classified as low income.  As the Supreme Court recently restricted how race can be used in school assignment, this policy makes sense as a way of insuring diversity and gently increasing achievement across the county.

However, it seems to cause a great deal of stress and strife when put into practice.  For instance, they are building a shiny brand new school right down the street from us, within possible walking distance.
If we stay in this neighborhood, however, the twins will not be going to this school. 

Instead, the twins could attend one of two schools - an aging "traditional" school about seven miles away or a year-round school about ten miles away.  Looking at these options, I dismissed the "traditional" school due to it's age and my preference for year-round system.  I've heard really good things about the year-round school and was excited that we could have the opportunity to go there - until I read that the county proposed to bus low-income students to this school, increasing the percentage of these students from 13% to 28%.

And here's where they're taking away my liberal card, cutting it up and throwing it in the trash.  Here's where I feel like I'm being asked to weigh my kids with my values and my kids are winning.

I could be more politically correct and say that I disagree with busing for the sake of diversity because I want my children to go to a small neighborhood school, as I did.  I want them to go to school with their friends in the neighborhood and make friends that they can play with after school.  I also want them to enter school with the relative certainty that they will move through that school over a period of years, get to know it well, and eventually graduate from it. 

All of these things I took for granted are taken away under our county's committment to economic diversity.  The children in my neighborhood will go to different schools, in order to spread the diversity around a bit more.  Some students in my neighborhood are being reassigned under this plan, when they were reassigned under last year's plan.  These students, having braved a new school last year, will have to find their way around another one this year. 

I think that most folks can agree that this is not a good idea, but here's where I move into iffier territory.

My real problem with some of these reassignments is the idea that schools should have the same reduced lunch percentage as the schools around them.  This is why our year-round school is moving from 13% to 28%, to be more consistent with our area.  This is why we're not assigned to the school right down the road, because we would presumably move it up in percentage. 

Our area seems to be in the mid- range as far as the percentage of low-income students go.  There are pockets where the schools range around 40% and other pockets where it's allowed to exist from 15% - 17%, simply because busing those students would mean virtually moving them across the county and parents have strongly objected to this practice.

This means that we're probably moving.

Maybe we're doing the same thing that Jonathan Edwards did and moving away from our county's schools to those of small university town; maybe we're moving to one of those 15% -17% pockets; and maybe we're just moving to the private school down the road, but I'm pretty sure that we're not going to go to any of the schools to which we're assigned.

Sound of card being torn up.....thrown in trash.....people leaving blog in disgust.

To be completely, totally, brutally honest, I tend to be elitist when education is concerned.  I succumb to the stereotypes of lower-income kids not having the educational support at home that I will provide for my children.  I tend to believe that parents will not be as involved in the school system and these kids are more likely to be disruptive in the classroom.  In my informal survey of the schools in my county, those with the better test scores seem to be those with a lower percentage of lower-income students.  This has only solidified my belief that schools with wealthlier routing patterns tend to be more academically successful schools.  And I care, deeply, about finding the best school academic environment possible for my children, even if it means publically admitting to a certain elitism.

I don't know all the answers.  I'm uncomfortable with even the exercise of judging schools based on the percentage of lower-income students (or test scores, for that matter).  I'd rather judge the schools in my area by going to them and talking to the instructors and the principle and I'll do that.  I'm also going to take all these other factors into account, but I'll decide for whatever school I think will give my children the best education.

Hands down.  Liberal card or no.

No Go

Sometimes the babies learn things from us; sometimes we learn them from the babies.  Today, I am a whiney toddler, stomping my feet.

No go.

No go.

I don't want to go to that silly baby shower even though it's right down the street.  Literally, within walking distance.  I probably will walk there.  If I wanted to go at all.

This happens to me all the time.  I tell my husband that it would nice to have more friends.  I get all excited when an invitation is offered.  I handle the logistics and think a minute about my wardrobe.

And then....I drag my feet about leaving the house.

My house is warm and comfortable.  It's much easier to sit here and grade papers than it is to walk down the street and talk to people.  Who knows what they will say?  Who knows what I will say in response?  Besides, the old nanny will be there and I'll have to play nice.  Playing nice takes a phenomenal amount of energy.  It's is not nearly as soul restoring as sitting here watching the Polar Express and clicking away.

I don't want to go.

But I will.

My husband says I will have a good time.

I only partially believe him.

The Great Kitchen Debate

The juxtaposition of Thanksgiving with Black Friday has always seemed a little odd to me.  While Thanksgiving gives us time to look on family, food, and the things we have with gratitude, Black Friday, quickly becoming a holiday in its own right , has us focus on acquiring more of those things.  There's very little gratitude involved.

Last night, in a strange blending of the two, my mother in law asked me what we were planning on getting the twins for Christmas.  As they are almost two, we're probably in the last year of being able to not get them very much, especially as we buy clothes and such during the year depending on need.  However, I was planning on getting them a play kitchen and said so.

You would have thought that I was thinking of buying the twins knives for Christmas or scissors and telling them to run around. 

Play kitchens, I was informed, were a big no-no as they were for girls only.  Any boy owning a play kitchen would get beat up on the playground.  A play kitchen would also influence their sexual orientation.  They would be wearing dresses and playing with dolls next. 

Clearly, we're not talking about the Free to Be You and Me generation.

I expected the situation to be a bit better when braving Toys R Us in search of this kitchen.  I looked through the aisles and picked up a toy or two, but I couldn't find any play kitchens.  "Where are the kitchens," I asked a frenzied employee.  "They're in the girl's section," she said.

Of course.

You need shades to tolerate the amount of bright pink in the girl's section.  There was an assortment of plastic Little Tikes and Playschool; however, the only wooden kitchen was pink with purple and light blue trim.  It confirmed every stereotype.  It just wouldn't do.

After returning from Toys R Us and searching online, I've found the same thing to be true of boy's clothing to be true of play kitchens.  You can get the cute, brightly colored clothes unblemished by sports references, but you're going to have to pay big for them.  It's also possible to find a cute non gender specific kitchen; they simply cost a great deal of money.

And I don't know whether it's the juxtaposition of Black Friday with Thanksgiving or the fact that it's threatening to overwhelm the holiday entirely, but I'm increasingly reluctant to pay the price.

Market

My parents put their home on the market this weekend.   They bought this home eight years ago.  After weathering several hurricanes and seeing the price of milk (not to mention gas) rise dramatically, they're leaving Florida to head to my state.

Although I'm thrilled, I'm also a bit concerned.  My parents and I haven't lived in the same state since I was in high school.  And it's not like we've been just over the border from each other.  I've credited my good relationships with both my parents and the in-laws to the fact that we live thirteen hours away from them, and they live in opposite directions from each other.

It's nobody's fault, really, that my parents and I have trouble getting along after spending more than three consecutive days in each other's company.  My parents, especially my mom, will say anything.  Moreover, they seem to care more about the occasional spot on my jeans, my work habits or the way I drive than anyone on the planet.  "Suzie!" my mom cries when the car gets over 65 MPH on the highway, "slow down!"  She then slams the imaginary break on the passenger side.

However, I also expect more from my parents than almost anyone else in my life, except for G.   As I put these words on the page, I'm finally getting to the real crux of the problem.  Although my parents, with a lifetime of habit and wealth of knowledge, treat me as though I'm six, I will occasionally act it.

Despite all of this, I am glad they're moving here or close to here.  Having them near will give my boys the chance to have something that I've never known, a relationship with their grandparents.  None of my grandparents are still alive.  My mom's dad died before I was born and her mother, an alcoholic, was only a shadow presence.  We saw my dad's parents only on holidays due to his mom's enduring health problems. 

I'm so grateful for this opportunity, but I have to ask ..... if your parents live within an hour, what makes it work?  And what do you try to avoid? 

Design Challenge

I believed myself an extrovert until coming across the Myer's Briggs definition of introversion in college.  People are wonderful, but they exhaust me with this Saturday coming as no exception.  In honour of our friends, in town for the weekend, we had a few couples over to watch college football. 

Overall, the arrangement worked very well.  The adults hung out in the family room with the TV while the kids ran amok in our dining room, which we turned into a playroom about five months ago.  Food for all could be found on a table in the kitchen.

It came as no surprise to myself when several hours into the event, I found myself catching a breather and five minutes of "alone" time up in our bedroom. 

As I sat on the bed, however, I realized that our bedroom was actually a rather poor sanctuary.  It's the only room that we haven't painted.  The valances are hand-me-downs from G's mom and the duvet cover sports several holes where the dog chewed it in a fit of pique. 

It would be hard to describe this as the room "where the magic happens."  In fact, that would probably be the kitchen, which is quite nice.  And the "magic" would be a lovely batch of G's creme brulee.

In order to give it back the title, I decided that, this Thanksgiving vacation, I would revamp the master bedroom. Probably a few hundred dollars worth of reworking and five days of vacation, nothing major, no new furniture, but just enough to make it a little more comfortable. 

So, without further ado, I bring you our room.  What would you do?   I can tell you that we did redo the master bath and it's now a nice purply-gray with gray tile.

Not a Drop to Drink

I recycle.  I saw An Inconvenient Truth and even went to the advertised website to gauge my carbon footprint.  Without flights taken for work, my footprint is a dainty, tiny little thing.   Add those flights, and I’m bigfoot.

I try to be mindful about environmental issues, but I’m not really tuned in.  I have no idea what’s going on at any sort of legal level and never even considered taking on the expense of purchasing a hybrid vehicle.  The environment didn't worry me on a daily basis as I just assumed that eventually people would band together and take care of it.  That is, until this summer.

Every summer, we flirt with drought for a few weeks.  It gets dry.  Folks are advised to stop washing their cars.  You can only water your lawn in the morning and on even numbered days.  We do these things or don’t do them, and then Fall comes.  Rain falls and things get green for a few weeks before they get brown as winter arrives.

This summer, however, has been different.  Half the state has been classified as experiencing exceptional or extreme drought; we’re currently experiencing severe drought.  It’s drier than I’ve ever seen it with streams disappearing and whole areas of the lake near our house drying up.  The leaves that we pick up crumble at the touch.

Our neighbor’s lawn, however, is a beautiful shade of green.

On the other side, we hear the sprinklers going all day long.

The lawns surrounding the mall are gorgeous.  When we drive out to the corporate area, we find ourselves in the middle of hugely beautiful green areas and banks of thirsty flowers.   

As I’ve said before, we don't water our lawn more out of laziness than anything else, but it’s now on its way to being considerably dead.  Because the lawn was a $7,000 investment in our home, G. called about getting sprinkler system. 

Three of the four companies are booked ‘til next year.  “It’s the drought,” said one of the folks, “people are worried this could happen next year and want to invest now.”  The guy offered to pencil us in for next May.

Hmmm…..there’s going to be another drought.  Let’s plan to use more water.

I thought that it would get better in the Fall, but here we are in October and still no rain. 

The state keeps increasing the warning levels, but there are still green lawns on all sides, which makes our lawn look even worse than it would alone.  I would love to say that our brown lawn doesn't bother me; however, it does, but not more than the green lawn.

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On the blog front, you'll notice I'm back to myself, but I've found a new name with DD's help and will be changing shortly. 

Big Move

When we bought the house we liven in now, G. and I were just dating.   We had discussed engagement and marriage, but just weren't at that point.  You might wonder what that has to do with anything, but our status meant that I had limited influence over the decision making.  G. financed the purchase completely and, although he listened to me in some respects, he already had decided where he wanted to live.  G. bought the house in the expanding area, near work, and I moved in three months after he signed the papers.  We were married a year after that with my name being added to the deed and the mortgage.

We did not buy nor consider buying in the small university town where I lived.

By and large, I've been happy in this home.  It's a good house, a comfortable home, and one that's filled with light.  Also, it's relatively isolated with large "open areas" both in front and behind.  It would be hard to find a home more perfectly situated.  I love not having neighbors across the street and having a backyard filled with trees is priceless.

However, it is in the flight path of the airport and, more problematic, in a school district that is not ideal.  Our county faces a huge growth problem with many schools moving to year-round, which I don't mind, and the schools being short over 100 teachers for the fall semester, which I do mind.   Due to this growth, students are routed from school to school to school with mind-numbing speed.  I don't know about you, but when I grew up, the school you went to didn't move unless you moved, and sometimes not even then.

Looking at this scenario, I gave G. the opinion of either sending the twins to the private school around the corner or moving back to the small university town, which has some of the strongest schools in the state, especially high schools.  I'm willing to admit that I might be a bit hasty in washing my hands of our county's public schools and the decision is not set in stone, but the overcrowding, the statistics, and the rate of change frightens me.  When we discussed the issue, G. has always decided for the private school near our home; however, just recently, he changed his mind.

For the first time in our marriage or, indeed, since I've known him, G. has acknowledged that he would consider a move to small university town.  I should be over the moon.  I've always wanted to move back to small university town, but instead, I'm conflicted.  I like where we live and visiting small university town is always an option. 

Small university town is also much more crowded than our current area.  It's also, how do I put this, more competitive.  A good friend of mine had kids who went to the high school and she described it as a "pressure cooker," with her children being more active and stressed than she remembered being in college. 

Our current neighborhood is very laid back.  People are professionals and children graduate the high schools to go to college, but the college choices announced in our neighborhood newspaper tend to be the second tier state schools and community colleges.  I don't find anything remotely wrong with this, but I know that it's different in small university town.  Part of me is comfortable with this.  I want the best education that I can find for the boys, but having lived under academic stress for most of the first thirty years of my life, I'm not entirely sure that it's a good thing. 

Any move that we would make is at least three years in the future.  We can't go anywhere until we stop paying a full-time nanny, but we do want to have a clear and good idea of our options.  In this respect, I guess that G.'s new openness to small university town is not necessarily a bad thing, but I'm not quite sure of what we should do.  Although we have a while to detemine what will be the best option for our family, the planning part of the person I am won't be happy unless we not only have a decision, even if it ends up changing later. 

This leaves me wondering if I'm alone in this.  If you have toddlers or small children, have you started thinking about schools even though it might be years away?  Would you move to get into a specific school district and why (or why not)?

I'm curious.

All About Shoes

Although I don't have a great many shoes, I do have a considerable shoe fetish.  In fact, my fetish is so pronounced that I would never buy the shoes I covet because I would then have to wear them.  In short order, they would become scuffed, bruised, and worn.  They would cease to be the beautiful shoe that I saw in the store and just become another item of clothing. 

The only way I would buy the butter-soft works of art that you see at Saks, Barney's, and Nordstrom, to name a few, is if I could put them in a curio box and hang them on the wall.

I can't see my way to spending over $500.00 for a shoe that I would refuse to wear.  Or $500.00 for a shoe, period.

However, spending money on shoes for the boys seems legitimate, almost necessary.  Admittedly, I was a little phased when they outgrew their cute little Stride Rite sandals in a matter of two months, but it didn't slow me down much.  After all, the boys have unfortunately inherited my flat feet, which dooms them to a childhood of carefully calibrated shoes with good support and strong backs.  The least I could do is make sure that they're somewhat attractive.

I also feel strongly about giving the boys different shoes.  Ty-baby's feet are slightly larger than Hen-bug's.  Giving them the same shoe would give us a high probability of putting the wrong shoe on the wrong baby, so I'm stuck trying to find two pairs of baby shoes that I like rather than a single pair.

This time, we went for sneakers where a whole different situation presented itself:  Velco or Tie.  I liked the tie shoes better, so I purchased those for Hen-bug, who has a habit of removing anything velcroed to his feet.  I left the Velco for Ty-baby, who really never seems to care whether he's wearing shoes or not.  This, I figured, gave me the best of both worlds.

Today?

Ty-baby removed his new velcro sneakers and tossed them out of the stroller when I wasn't looking, necessitating a sneaker search around the block.  Hen-bug has taken to untying his triple-knotted laces and walking around with them slapping against the floor.  Neither baby seems to be aware that there could possibly be any difficulty with this behavior.

I'm looking into super-glue and thinking that a pair of shoes mounted on the wall isn't as silly an idea as I once thought.

Shoes?  What shoes?

Car Conundrum

G’s car had the good sense to expire about 200 feet from our driveway. 

At first, I didn’t quite know what to think when I saw the nanny walking down the street with both boys, five minutes after she left for the library.  The nanny looked a little concerned, but the boys, who count walking in the middle of the road as among their favorite things, seemed perfectly content.

We still don’t know what happened to the car as AAA came to haul it off the garage and nobody there has any answers yet.

This isn’t quite a bit a deal as it might seem because we’re a three-car family, by accident rather than by design.  I have the Miata; G. has his car, a SUV; and we both drive the new Honda mini-van.   Although the nanny doesn’t drive the mini-van, our decision to get it had everything to do her.

When choosing a nanny, I knew that I was looking for someone who would feel comfortable driving the boys to the pool, playgroup, and the library.  I paid careful attention to the types of cars driven by the applicants and pulled all their driving records. 

Our favorite applicant, in a rather slim field, it must be said, came up mediocre on both counts.  Not only did she have an accident within the last year, she drove a car that I considered “borderline.”  However, she didn’t have any children with her at the time and the car had a fairly decent safety rating according to Consumer Reports.

You could have blown me over with a feather when she showed up for her first day of work in a car different from that listed on her application.   I can’t really describe the car other than to say it just didn’t look safe to me.  But, if you recall, we were in a bind when we looking for another nanny and this woman addressed every single question with flying colors.

Since I wanted to keep her, I persuaded G. into giving her his car to drive during the day.  However, this solution left G. without a car as my husband, who is on the large side, has long detested the Miata, refusing to learn how to drive stick-shift in mute protest of its very existence in our garage.  So, we gave the nanny G’s car and bought the mini-van for G. to drive during the day. 

For the last two months, everyone has been happy with the possible exception of the nanny who would probably prefer to drive the mini-van.

However, the collapse of G’s car, almost in the driveway, draws the entire equation into question again and, this time, I’m afraid that there’s not any easy compromise.  I refuse to let the twins ride in the nanny’s car.  G refuses to let the nanny drive the new mini-van (“Duh,” says my husband who has never owned a new car, ever. “It’s a new car!”)  We could get another new car, but this really isn’t much of a solution as any car procured on our slim budget won’t be much better than what the nanny’s driving.

The only real solution is to get G’s car fixed.  Besides crossing my fingers that it is, indeed, fixable, I’m thinking of teaching the twins how to hitch-hike.

Quarters

I flew back into town last night breathing a huge sigh of relief.  When recounting the insanity that was my attempt to leave town on Monday, I forgot to tell you that I left town with nothing but an American Express card and a pile of quarters in my pocket.  I had no cash and no hopes of getting any.

  The only thing left in my checkbook were those sneaky deposit slips, sneaky because they sort of look like checks so you could be deluded into thinking that you had checks, and a big blank hole where the debit card used to live.  While I was conducting business in the cold city, the debit card was living it up in my diaper bag back home where I had thoughtlessly dropped it after paying for swim lessons.

The registration process for swim lessons is a post in and of itself.  Who would have thought that registering for swim lessons, and lessons is a misnomer as they do nothing but splash around in the water while you alertly scan the pool for any code browns, would involve an hour in line with a bunch of pissed-off parents?  I didn't.  At the end of this debacle, I didn't have the energy to put that debit card back into the wallet.  I barely had the composure to allow it to float toward the bottom of the diaper bag.

It's amazing how far you can go on a credit card and a handful of quarters.  The credit card handled most things - food, transportation, and lodging.  The only thing that it couldn't handle was the tips.  Ordinarily, I'm nervous about tipping; this trip was down right excruiating.  I never know how much to tip or who to tip.  I tip the guy who carries the bag to the room.  Do I tip the valet?  Do I tip him/ her every time they bring the car around?  How much is a good tip for a cab? 

It seems that I never tip the people that I should tip and want to tip the people that ordinarily don't get a tip.  The rental car guy who stands out in the freezing cold to take the car and also helps me get my bags out of the trunk?  This guy totally needs a tip.  The only time I tried to do this; however, I got my money handed back to me.

This time, I tipped nothing.  I could tip nothing.  Within an hour of arriving at the hotel, I was completely out of my quarters and only had promises and the lowered head of shame.  To their credit, most of the untipped folks were just as nice to me as they would have been if I had given them a tip.  As George cynically pointed out to me, though, this just might mean that I usually don't tip nearly enough.

I did take names, though, and along with my expense report, there's an envelope with the list and some money addressed to the hotel.  I just hope that it's enough.  Because I think that it would be really disheartening to be promised a tip and then to get less than you thought that you were getting.  And next time I leave for anywhere, I'm taking my debit card on a string around my neck.

Food Lessons

I'm writing tonight partially because G went to a superbowl party earlier this evening with my best wishes, a six-pack of beer, and a tupperware bowl of cheese sticks.  We were both invited but, as the party was rather last minute, only one of us could go.  Thinking that it should be the person who doesn't keep forgetting which teams are playing, I sent G.

It was one of those perfect arrangements.  He was thrilled to go and I was equally happy to stay.  Not only could I grab a little time in front of the computer, but I could also have the kitchen to myself.  After starting to cook for the babies, about two weeks ago, I've found myself completely addicted to the food processor.  I've made chicken and sweet potatoes, lentils and sweet potatoes, and something with tomatoes.  When it didn't work out so well, I returned to the sweet potatoes.

It's like a switch has been thrown.  A bottle no longer satisfies the twins, except maybe once during the day and in the evening.  They greet breakfast, lunch, and dinner with open mouths, sometimes screeching if their turn doesn't come quickly enough. 

They'll eat pretty much anything that I give them, especially Ty.  Hen, on the other hand, will clamp his mouth tight shut if he encounters something new or has had enough.  The funny thing is that Hen's mouth will always pop back open after Ty has finished the main course for both of them and desert is put on the table.  While Ty struggles, Hen puts down two spoons of avocado & bannana to his one.  Either Ty hasn't figured it out yet, or he really does enjoy his vegetables.

Over the course of these two weeks, I've learned that babies don't care if you burn the oatmeal a little bit and have worked out a system for freezing.  Right now, I put spoonfuls of whatever I'm making onto a cookie sheet, cover it with saran wrap, and freeze it.  The frozen patties are then put into baggies and labelled.  It works well, logistically; however, I do wonder whether I should be doing it differently.  This is especially since my cookbook mentions freezing, but nothing about cookie sheets.

My next task will be to move the babies one more step up and try foods with a little more chewing involved.  Maybe a little pasta.  Maybe something that G and I can enjoy, too.  It's going well, at least that's what I think until time comes to clean the Cuisinart.

The Way to the Heart

Late last night, I could be found somewhat clumsily chopping vegetables.  The carrots, purchased from Whole Foods, were particularly beautiful. They were vividly orange and snapped hard, like large twigs.  I couldn't keep away from the slices, eating them like apples.

The carrots, along with the celery, sweet potatoes, onions, and lentils, were meant for the twins, as part of my first experiment in making their food myself.  I decided to do this after tasting one jar of Gerber after another and deciding that everything, except the bananas, tasted miserable.  The twins might (and probably will) make some questionable food choices during their lives, but their first introduction to food should probably be a positive one. 

I also wanted some control over the consistency of their food.  Although Gerber has stage one, stage two, and stage three, stages one and two have the same creamy pureed consistency.  The only difference is jar size.   I tried the twins on stage three, but because it jumps all the way to chunky without anything in between, neither one of them will eat it.  They're stuck at smooth textures without any idea of the birthday cake delights awaiting them in a mere month.

I made the lentil dish, pureed it, froze chunks  in the freezer, and then dethawed it for the twins the next day.  They ate it.  They liked it.  Making food for the twins gave me a rush of pride that I hadn't felt so strongly since pumping that first ounce for them in the hospital. 

The fact of the matter is that I don't cook often and generally find it difficult.  I've never been particularly interested in the kitchen, always choosing to wander off and read while my sister joined my mother to bake brownies.  Perhaps as a result, I've never been particularly successful.  I forget to add items.  I get occupied with chopping as the water boils over on the stove.  I get frazzled during the cooking process and then anxious that whatever I happened to make somehow won't measure up, even with all the burned spots scrapped off.

Although G says that he doesn't care whether I make meals or not, making a meal has always been tied up in my mind to what it means to be a good wife and mother.  No matter how much I'd tell myself that this link is silly, outdated, and sexist, I still have always felt twinges of guilt not so much around failing to cook, but failing to like it. 

Making a few, easy things for the twins has made me feel better.  I enjoy this type of cooking, and it's not difficult to chop up a few choice vegetables for the blender. It probably hasn't been half bad for them, either.

Tyler's introduction to "yummy avocado"....

It's not bad, but the binky...

is......

better.

Post Thanksgiving Post

Things Learned from our First Thanksgiving with the Boys:

1. Turducken?  Not so much.  If you've never met a Turducken, it's a bizzarre combination of duck, chicken, and turkey.  As George found out, though, cooking all of those meats together at a temperature which is really suitable for none of them results in something that only a dog could enjoy.  Although experimentation is good, I think that we're going with a plain ol' turkey next year.
2. Our kids are scared of trees, especially trees that have the audacity to enter our home and set themselves up right in place of the Deluxe Jumperoo.  The twins scanned the room frantically for the beloved Jumperoo and, finding only a dark green pointy thing, commenced to make their displeasure known.  G tried to hug the tree, saying "tree good" over and over again but it did nothing to dispell the rampant unhappiness.  By the time the twins went to bed, things were a little better.
3. The babies get us up at the crack of dawn on a regular basis.  When they do so on Black Friday, it's like a mandate to hasten to the local mall and buy them things.  At least it is if you like buying them things, like I do.
   
   What made it even more of a mandate than it would ordinarily be was the fact that I was on a quest.  On Thursday at the stroke of midnight, when everything went 30% off, I tried to get on the Gymboree website.  I got on the website.  I put the coats in my bag. When I went to check out, however, the web site informed me that the coats were no longer available. 
   
   It seems that putting something in your bag online is not the same thing as doing so in the store where it would be unheard of for someone to stick their hand in your bag and grab your item.  However, this is perfectly acceptable online.
   
   Unlike the twins, for whom a good night's sleep restored all, I couldn't get over the loss of the coats.  As a result, I was outside the Gymboree at seven in the morning with both twins and a desire for coats in my heart.   I was a little worried about taking the twins, but they were good and the double stroller blocked people, for a moment, from the discount section of the store where I knew the coats resided.
   
   Immediately, in the rush, I found one coat.  Marked down to $39.00 from $52.00 and then another 30% off of that price.  However, one coat would not do.  I hunted for another coat before finding it in the pile of discarded items on top of the rack. Armed with two coats, I headed for the check out.  Dodging two women  who asked me if I was purchasing both coats, apparently oblivious to presence of the boys sitting right there, I bought the coats.
   
   We were out of the mall by 7:20am.  Quest fulfilled.  The thing that I learned?  When website shopping on Black Thursday, always check out first because even my small brush with shopping as blood-sport has taught me that it's just not the way to go - unless you're trying to buy a TV.