The Me Show

Happy Blogaversary!

2011-11-16T15:48:00.000-08:00

2 years of this thing. 2 WHOLE YEARS. Who knew I had it in me?

Good lord, I'm not aging well at all. This picture is starting to look better every time I use it.

And happy blogaversary to you, dear readers! You're my 4 favorite people EVER, and that includes Mr. Weaver, who insists that he's roughly 90% of my readership logging on from his hundreds of different techie device gizmos every day.

The People Have Spoken!

2011-11-09T18:32:00.000-08:00

I wish I'd thought of this. My friends Katie (who gave birth in a Honda Civic) & Jonathan (who delivered his son in a Honda Civic - coinkidink!) had help this election day from their daughter Amelia. Next time election day rolls around, you can bet we'll be including Livy's counsel in our choices. It's time for that kid to pull her weight in this democracy.

The Goose Is Getting Fat!

2011-11-05T13:13:00.000-07:00

Now that Livy is a fully sentient being with the capability of understanding and remembering holiday traditions, I'm trying to be purposeful in determining how we celebrate. Halloween was a huge deal this year, with 2 parties here, 1 at a friend's house, and trick-or-treating with school, friends, and Daddy & Mommy. Livy loved all the excitement, and, because Halloween is my favorite holiday, so did I. It was a great month of spooky fun, and I'm sad to see it go.

So, to replace it, I'm starting to plan our Christmas holidays. I'm usually a grinchy Christmas grump, but if I'm ever going to be Mother of the Year, that's got to change. In spite of my grumpiness I've always wanted to do an Advent calendar, not because I believe in Advent, but just for the opportunity to amp up Christmas anticipation. Because candy makes Livy a crazy beast, though, a traditional Advent calendar is out of the question. Instead, I'm stealing this fine blog's idea instead and doing a Christmas/Winter/Holiday book Advent calendar. Because Livy's school (Owned and run by her Oma - see how awesome that is?) participates in Scholastic book orders, I just put in a mammoth order for 24 holiday books to wrap and clothespin to some red yarn strung garland-style in our living room. Each day after breakfast we'll open a new book, read it together, and add it to our growing stockpile of Christmas goodness. The final book will be "'Twas the Night Before Christmas," of course, because it's that kind of attention to detail that makes you a wonderful parent in the eyes of blog readers everywhere.

I'm also going to steal Mrs. Miller's fine family tradition of watching Christmas movies together and watch at least one ever weekend in December with SLB and, depending on her attention span, Olivia. I already love Elf, National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation, It's a Wonderful Life, White Christmas, A Christmas Story, and Love, Actually, so that's a great start. And it just wouldn't be Christmas without rereading Mrs. Miller's treatise on whether or not Die Hard is a Christmas classic, which might actually rival "'Twas the Night Before Christmas" for holiday reverence in this household. Alan Rickman, apparently, is the reason for the Christmas cinematic season. Who knew?

That's our preemptive strike against grinchiness, people. What are your holiday plans? Do you have any fine suggestions I can add to those above? I think we can all agree that I need all the help I can get.

Family Of Origin, Meet New Family: A Social Contract

2011-11-02T20:28:00.000-07:00

Hi, friends!

I'm about to get into some touchy stuff here, so you'll have to pardon my atypical lack of inappropriate jokes and snarkiness. You may not have heard, but I have a 2 year-old. I was also, aside from a few fertile friends back east, on the vanguard of my cohort's procreation, which means that now I get to watch all of my buddies going through their own pregnancy and new parent experiences. One universal experience, in addition to desperate exhaustion and sore nipples, is the challenge of managing relationships within couples' families of origin while forming their identity with their children as new families of their own. And so, prompted both by recent conversations with my parent friends, whom I asked specifically for their stories, and recent questions from older family members and friends asking for advice on how best to engage with new parents in their lives, I give you this: A humble code of conduct for both new parents and their families of origin. I'm sure I'm missing a lot here, and you're all welcome to add your own advice or stories in the comments. But, after informally interviewing about a dozen friends, I've distilled their stories into a few pithy nuggets, hopefully to the benefit of families both new and established.

1. It's all about communication.

Lots of people I talked to identified boundaries as the most important theme of blending new families with families of origin, but I disagree. Differing notions of boundaries certainly did lead to conflict, but preceding the violation of people’s boundaries was nearly always flawed or nonexistent communication. Most of the conflicts and rifts identified in my friends' stories involved miscommunication and, more commonly, a complete lack of communication between families of origin and new families. People, you’ve got to talk this shit out before it hits the fan, so to speak. New parents, just as you have a birth plan that you share with your delivery team, please form and share a visitation plan with your family. Do you want your mom in the delivery room? If so, then of course you’d ask her in advance. Do you absolutely not want visitors at the hospital? Then you should tell those most likely to visit in advance of the baby’s arrival that you want time alone to recover (if necessary, detail what exactly a fourth-degree tear or cracked nipple is) and bond with your new baby. It’s hard to tell your parents, aunts, uncles, friends, and whatnots not to show up at the hospital with flowers and chocolates when all they want to do is visit your beautiful new baby, but it’s much, much harder to tell them to get the hell out when they’re already there. Also, be clear on family visits’ beginnings and endings, hand-washing rules, and any other guidelines you’d like visitors to follow with your little one. All reasonable people will be comforted by knowing exactly what’s expected of them during visits. And for those who are unreasonable? Well, cowboy- and –girl up, new parents, and stand up for your rights as the new sheriffs in town.

And, families of origin, please don’t think you’re walking away from this topic unscathed here. For the love of all that is holy in both your family and the universe, YOU MUST ASK before you show up anywhere near the new family immediately before, during, or after the new child’s birth. Yes, I know you’re excited about the new arrival, but this is some tender, private, and intensely personal stuff going on here. Please, please respect that. Ask before you show up at the hospital, ask before you show up at the house, and then listen to and obey the answers that you get. You’ll have plenty of time to hold that little baby, and it’s much better to interact with the loving and grateful parents of a newborn than it is to endure the anger or passive-aggression of new parents who feel put-upon or, in one respondent’s word “victimized” by overbearing relatives.

Alternately, if the new parents insist that it’s cool that you all visit and partake of miracle of new life, please don’t repeatedly ask “Are you sure?” Take the new family at their word. It’s exhausting trying to assuage the emotional fears of boundary-leery families of origin during a visit. If you’re not sure of being there, family and friends, then say you’d rather visit later. And on the flip side of that coin, new parents, please don’t force people to hold your newborn. “Are you sure?” is often code for “I don’t wanna!,” and you have to respect others’ boundaries as much as you’d like your own respected.

Finally, because so many people had similar stories, let me make this one its own all-caps sentence. DO NOT SURPRISE ANY NEW FAMILY WITH AN UNANNOUNCED VISIT. No. Just don’t. I don’t care how delightful you anticipate it being, I promise that everyone loses in this scenario.

So, everybody, let’s agree to be clear, be fair, and be respectful during this time of joyful transition. It’s what we’d do in interactions with casual acquaintances, so let’s afford these basic courtesies to our most beloved family members, too.

2. It’s all about calories.

Everyone I spoke with – everyone – answered my request for advice on things that would most help new parents with a unanimous “Bring food!” I couldn’t agree more. I remember every single meal my family and friends brought to our home after Livy was born, and I’ve never been so grateful for chili, pasta sauce, and bean soup (Mom); Whole Foods haul, meatloaves, yummy chicken dish, and tomato and egg pie (Kirk & Katie); veggie lasagna (Edie & Michael); Pasta & Co. extravaganza (Nathan & Ruby); nummy Indian food (Katie & Jonathan); Israeli couscous & green salad (Morah); sandwiches & salad (Kathy & Omi); and more Cupcake Royale deliveries than I care to admit to (Jeremy & Krissie). There. See how I did that more than 2 years after the fact? That’s because when you’re exhausted and don’t want to cook, injured (Oh, HI, enormous abdominal scar!) and can’t cook, and are nursing and want to eat all the damn time, food matters. So if you go to visit a family with a new baby, you’d do well to bring some chow with you, and you’d do best to see what kind of chow your new friends want or crave. Don’t bring meat to a vegetarian, and don’t bring a 9^th pasta dish to a family that’s choking on donated carbs. Call, ask, and deliver. And, no, friends, those calories are not for you. You’re not going to a potluck; you are on a mission of mercy. Go, drop off the food, say how beautiful the baby is, and take off.

Or, if you’re going for a gold star, before taking off ask what chores or errands the new family needs you to do or run. That’s right; an offer to burn some calories for the happy family will be as appreciated as a direct delivery of calories to them, possibly more. Hold the baby while Mom & Dad catch up on sleep or get out of the house for a while, or fold some laundry, do some dishes, take the dog for a walk, or the like. Ask what the new parents need, and then give them what they ask for. And, hey, new parents! When people offer to help, let them! Answer honestly if people ask you what you need help with! The people who love you will be delighted to help you, and, admit it, you need the help.

3. It’s all about support.

One respondent to my informal interview said that a family member visiting her new little family to lend support told her how awful she had looked when she was in the hospital. That’s not supportive. Another friend wrote of how her mother-in-law compared her new grandchild to her other grandchild, the son of my friend’s brother-in-law. That’s not supportive. A family member told me that it was too bad that Livy got my (luminous! glorious!) pale skin. That’s not supportive. A family committed to cloth diapering was told how stupid and wrong it is. A mother working hard to breastfeed on demand was told that she was spoiling her child and should stop. A mother who couldn’t breastfeed was told that she was depriving her child and should start (how exactly we haven’t yet determined). Parents committed to comforting their child on demand are told to let their child cry it out, and parents letting their child cry it out are told to respond to the child on demand. A mother of a colicky baby was given a dismissive lecture on how much harder it will be to raise her son when he’s a teenager. That’s not supportive.

What is supportive is helping new families make the parenting strategies they’ve decided on work for them. Figure out how you can do that, and if you can’t do that then politely and silently remain a shoulder to cry and vent on. Anyone can say “I know this is hard, but it won’t always be so difficult.” Try that. I promise that you’ll do more good that way than by responding to other people’s challenges with criticism. And, as a rule of thumb, every new baby is gorgeous, every new mother is a pillar of strength, and every new father is a natural. If you can’t find anything genuinely complimentary to say, then stick with “What a sweet baby!,” drop off a meal, and leave feeling like the hero the new family thinks you are.

4. It’s all about family.

During times of great change, such as weddings, births, and funerals, it seems that family members either become their best selves or their worst selves. Birth is a joyous crisis of sorts, a happy crucible through which families are permanently changed, and not every individual has the strength to endure this change gracefully. So, people, do the best you can. Resolve to be your best self and show up to be the best you can be to the people who most need it. And, should someone fall short of your expectations, endeavor to forgive. This is a tough time for everyone, but, as anyone can say, it won’t always be this tough. There’s plenty of time to absorb these changes and settle into a new normal that’s so much sweeter for the new little person in it.

(And if you really can’t forgive, feel free to comment anonymously here with your rants for us to enjoy. Win-win!).

Operation Awesomepants: Look Who's Balking!

2011-10-30T13:42:00.000-07:00

Before we begin, why don't you look at my sweet Halloween punkins?

They are luminous, no?

And now on to the less luminous of our October doings. Dudes, I have been crazy off the resolution wagon this month. CRAZY off the resolution wagon, I tell you, and in a remarkably predictable way. I start all big projects just like this:

Step 1: Huge declaration of intent.

Step 2: Phenomenal dedication to goal.

Step 3: Minor initial success!

Step 4: Arbitrary rebellion against stated intents, sought-after goals, and achieved successes (Also known as the "SCREW YOU, I DON'T HAVE TO!" stage).

Step 5: Self-loathing hidden beneath self-deprecation, shame spiral, quitting, insane consumption of impossible amounts of sugary deliciousness.

And friends, OA reached Step 4 on October 9th, when I first began to avoid filling out my resolution chart in the evenings. I also stopped keeping my one-sentence journal in real time and resorted to retroactively batching entries, which led to a date screw up, a mystery day I don't remember at all, and an irreparable rift in the space-time continuum. Sorry about that, science!

So, shithowdyduckfuckinggoddamn, it's time to saddle back up before I slide into Step 5 and start to smell constantly and strongly of fun-sized Snickers, Nutella, and humiliation. So here's now that's going to work.

*Edit those resolutions down.

There are too many of them for me to keep them forefront in my mind without constantly checking a list, and so some of them have got to be enfolded into others or let go of entirely.

The new list of resolutions for months 1 (Energy) and 2 (Health) now consists of

1. Use energy honestly.

2. Exercise better.

3. Plug leaks.

4. Make the right effort.

5. Plan meals and snacks.

6. Weigh in.

*Take some time to make these habits regular.

It was ridiculously optimistic to think that jumping into a huge project like this and following new resolutions and goals every day would come easily and enthusiastically. Then, when it inevitably became work, I stomped my bratty little foot, screamed "Don't wanna!" and sulked in a pile of Halloween candy in the corner. Now that I know how hard these life changes are, I know that I need more time to settle into them before adding new resolutions to old. So, this month, I'm paring things down a bit and reinforcing previous goals by making November's overarching theme and single resolution be Pay Attention.

SLB works in a field where he's required to keep track of his time at work so that he knows to which clients he should bill his working hours and minutes. He complains sometimes of the burden of remaining conscious of his time when he'd rather lose himself in his work, but I think it sounds like a fantastic tool for keeping worthless distractions at bay. Continually asking "O.K., what am I doing right now, and is it what I should be prioritizing at this time?" would be irritating if you were sure to be efficiently focused on relevant tasks at all times, like my husband ALWAYS is (Have I mentioned that he's part German and part Mormon? Now imagine the discipline and ambition of both of these cultures funneled toward good instead of National Socialism and/or Manifest Destiny, and you've got SLB. The man GETS. SHIT. DONE.). But, friends, I am a flibbertigibbet, and flibbertigibbets really benefit from asking "O.K., what am I doing right now?" because so often the answer is "Stalking people I don't care about on Facebook while watching bitches hoard cheap barbecue sauce on Extreme Couponing," which, I think we can all agree, is just no way to live.

So, I am going to make November my time to pay attention and remain conscious of my goals while I go through my days. To do this right, I'm going to literally make myself uncomfortable (I almost said "take myself out of my comfort zone," but then remembered that I'd have to smack myself bloody for using such stupid and vapid cliche'd language on this esteemed platform if I did) by doing something I usually don't do: wear jewelry. I've read in various motivation and time- and task-management books and blogs about wearing a bracelet or other piece of conspicuous jewelry to remind one of one's goals. So, I've got a nice silver bracelet that sits closely enough to my wrist not to be a physical burden while still feeling foreign enough to keep me from getting too distracted from the day's stated goals.

Yes, November is going to be like a do-over for September and October. But a do-over is better than a never-done, and so I'm starting over by re-starting differently. Besides, I've had some successes (5 lbs lost, no headaches AT ALL in October, spending better time with Livy, working out harder on higher resistance levels at the gym, reading record numbers of books, etc.), and I don't want to disrespect the effort it's taken to earn them by backsliding into old, bad habits any more than I already have.

Achtung, babies. Let's get this done.

How It Really Went Down

2011-10-24T20:19:00.000-07:00

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN THERE'S NO ROOM AT THE INN?!?!"

Know This:

2011-10-22T12:18:00.000-07:00

Friends, you're more than welcome to come to our Halloween party, but you'd better be prepared to work for your treats.

Sweeping the doormat = One pumpkin muffin or one juice box/string cheese combo.

Vacuuming the rug = Two funsize Crunch bars or half a bagel with pumpkin pie cream cheese.

Now get to work.

RELEASE THE KRAKEN!

2011-10-21T11:36:00.000-07:00

Did you know that the Giant Pacific Octopus has 8 arms to hold you and 3 hearts to love you? That explains why this specimen that's been running around our house since our Halloween party last weekend is so snuggly.

The New Hybrids

2011-10-17T14:21:00.000-07:00

Here in the Pacific Northwest, we're all about hybrid technology. And so, in the spirit of all things green, crunchy, and Northwesty, I give you these latest, heretofore unseen hybrids:

Behold! The Liamoctopus!

Tentacular Spectacular!

And gaze upon the Jeliviafish!

Given her constant desire to be nakey, it's no surprise that she's a moon jelly.

If we could exploit the vast energy potential of these two hybrids we could solve the energy crisis entirely. Scientists will continue their study of these two powerhouses as soon as naptime and snacktime are over.

Hipster Halloween Ideas

2011-10-12T15:11:00.000-07:00

Step 1: Dress up as Jacqueline Kennedy. Be iconic, otherwise no one will get it, and you need them to get it for the rest of the costume to work.

Yes, this costume is widely available. Because you know what's festive? Having your husband murdered in your lap and then having that image of the worst moment of your life become an international icon. I know I have no room to talk, but I will anyway. My talk is like Jell-o; there's always room for it.

Step 2: Sew or glue a bunch of these to your pink suit and pillbox hat.

Honey badger don't give a shit: The "That's what she said" of 2011.

Step 3: Glory in your costume interpretation of New Pornographers' "Jackie, Dressed in Cobras."

EXTRA HIPSTER BONUS POINT 1!:

Dress up as Jackee Harry instead.

"Oooooooh Mary!"

EXTRA HIPSTER BONUS POINT 2!: Cover yourself instead with G.I. Joe Cobra logos.

Knowing all of these references is half the battle.

Buy Me That: Caramel Apple Headband

2011-10-04T20:38:00.000-07:00

EAT MY HEAD!

Yummers.

EEEEEEEEEEAT IT!

The Importance of Not Being Earnest

2011-10-03T19:41:00.000-07:00

Here. I'll toss you a cute bone for listening to all of my earnest attempts at personal development and self-improvement. Here we are on the way to the the-ah-tah.

Our CB nicknames are Hot Mama and Little Biscuit.

Little Biscuit's not really that blurry in real life, but she never did meet a wiggle in which she didn't want to indulge.

So sometimes Hot Mama has to wrestle Little Biscuit still to get a semi-decent photo. Thanks to Big Poppa Daddy Studmuffin, Esq., for the fine photography. Hot Mama over and out.

OA Month 2: Health

2011-10-03T14:15:00.000-07:00

Hi, there, peeps! We're now into month 2 of Operation Awesomepants, and I haven't yet stated or begun to track October's resolutions. Oops! Let's get started now and call it even, shall we?

This month's goals all relate to health - amplifying it, maintaining it, and enjoying it. This was always going to be one of the 12 months of Operation Awesomepants, but it was launched to ASAP status after a series of tension headaches last month left me hobbled for days. Good health is one of those things you don't really appreciate until it's compromised, and I discovered that immediately and painfully last month. So, in the service of happiness, awesomeness, and the ability to move my head without wanting to vomit from the pain, October became Healthtober.

Part of the reason I was shirking the introduction of this month's goals is because some of them relate to losing weight, a practice that I have both personal and philosophical problems with. Personally, losing weight and counting calories triggers the living shit out of my OCD and makes it hard for me to think about anything else besides numbers in (calories), numbers out (exercise), and numbers on the scale. Philosophically, I question our culture's preoccupation with body size as a measure of overall health and am loath to participate in it. But, frankly, it's time to try to remove some of this burden from my bones. I'm slightly built, weigh more than is comfortable to carry around, and have a huge rack, all of which I think are contributing to my headaches, which reliably start in my upper back, then move up my neck and lodge firmly behind my eyeballs. So, structurally, losing weight can possibly help improve my health and, therefore, my life. I don't like it, but I'm going to do it and see whether I can heal myself.

In addition to the discrete goal of seeking medical help for my headaches, this month's resolutions are as follows:

1. Keep a food journal.

I'm already doing this with The Morah via a shared Google document. So far, so good. If it's too embarrassing or too much hassle to write something down, then I shouldn't ingest it. Plus, I do a lot of unconscious eating during the day (bites of Livy's snacks, eating dinner with her at 4:30 and then eating more later when SLB comes home). The food log is useful not so much for calorie counting, which makes me crazy anyway, but rather in just keeping me conscious of what I'm stuffing in my face. Business schools like to remind us that we can't manage what we don't measure, and, even if these aren't strict measurements, they're helping me manage my food intake already.

2. Plan meals and snacks in advance.

If the carrots are peeled and cut the day before, I will eat them. If I have to peel and cut them a la minute, I will eat a handful of cheddar bunnies. A few minutes an evening will save lots of emergency snacking the following day. Done and done.

3. Exercise with Livy every day that we're together.

Our dance class has proven so enjoyable, that I think it's time to introduce a little purposeful activity into our everyday life together. I usually exercise at the gym when she's in childcare, or when she's upstairs napping. It's time to initiate her into the world of intentional movement. While I'm not going to necessarily tell her to drop and give me 20, we can do yoga videos together, have dance parties, and go for longer and more challenging walks. Even if she just watches me lift weights or flail about on the floor doing core work, she's learning something about how to take care of her body later in her life. Hopefully she will be more graceful and attractive about it than I am, but either way it'll be a good experience to share with her.

4. Daily weigh-in and documentation in my day planner.

I've been doing this already, and it keeps me aware of the goal of seeing that number go down without making me too crazy.

So, in the name of good health, happiness, and awesomepants, Salud!

Operation Awesomepants: Month 1 Results & Reflections

2011-09-30T11:50:00.000-07:00

Hi, y'all!

Today is September 30th, which makes tomorrow October 1st, which means that the first month of Operation Awesomepants, whose theme was energy, is coming to a close. So, did I keep my resolutions? Did keeping them dramatically improve my life and make me a happier non-camper? It was a mixed bag with a positive result, like when your Starburst packet contains a disproportionate number of orange ones, but then you decide that you actually really like orange ones. Yeah. Just like that.

Wait? What the what is this? Do you think it rumbles with Sunny D? Does orange juice look down on it with disdain? Fascinating. Let's table this discussion and get back to business, shall we?

1. Go to sleep earlier.

I opted to ignore this resolution so many times that the first row in my OA log looks like it's been hit with some 90's-era crop circles. I managed to go to sleep earlier exactly 6 nights out of the last 29, and will likely stay up tonight, too. That's a whopping 20% completion rate, friends, not something I'm proud of. The siren song of just a few more minutes of reading in bed, or watching TV with SLB, or surfing the stupid web in an obsessive quest for Halloween decorations was just too strong to resist. Still, I'll persist (Did I mention that I'm an amateur rapper?) into next month and the rest of the year. The strange thing is that, even though I didn't get more sleep than previous months, especially with big transitions in Livy's life that kept her up some nights, I seemed to have more energy during the days. My self-exhortation to "make the effort" rang through my days loudly and really did give me the verve that I expected more sleep to impart. But more on that later. And, hopefully, more early nights next month.

2. Use energy honestly.

All right, this one is a 27/29, clearly a success, but, again, unexpectedly so. I had anticipated that this resolution would prompt more rest in my days - more naps when I'd been up the previous night with Livy, more quiet reading time - but the exact opposite was true. I know that I have a tendency to try to quell the ants that seem to permanently reside in my pants, sometimes to the extent that I'll force myself into quiet activities simply because I think I should save energy or maintain a calm home during Livy's rest times, a habit left over from our previous house that was half the size of the new house. So, when I examined my energy level during the past month, I found more often that I really wanted to be doing more activity, not less. That meant less reading, napping, and screen time, and more cleaning, weeding, exercising, puttering and cooking, all of which are good things. This is also reflected in a surprise weight loss of 3 pounds for the month, too, which is also a great unexpected blessing. Who knew I had it in me?

3. Exercise Better.

This one was a toughie to maintain because I'm generally leery of new physical activity, but I managed an 18/30, or 60% of my workouts consisting of more than just pounding away at an elliptical trainer. I've also been brave about attending an evening yoga class at the gym with great results. I'm already improving in my flexibility and strength and can do poses now that I couldn't do when I was at my peak fitness before Livy. Liv and I have also been attending a mommy-toddler dance class, and I'm counting that as flexibility training because of all the stretches we do. One thing I still need to confront is my reluctance to lift weights at the gym. It smells like raw ass in the weight room, like post-Katrina flooding and old sweat mingled together, and I hate to take up valuable cardio time when at the gym is my only opportunity to really work up a sweat (Livy hates it when I run with the stroller). But, I recognize that this is a next step in exercising better and will find a solution.

4. Plug Leaks

22/30, or 73%. Leak-plugging has been easy this month, mainly because we have so many to plug. We may have moved in in March, but we've also been so busy and complacent that we never really settled in and began nesting in the new house. There was a lot of low-hanging fruit to pick, and we picked a bushel in the last month. And I say "we," uncharacteristically, not in the royal sense. Once we sat down and took a room-by-room inventory of changes we want to make and things we want to do in the house, SLB got on board with feverish activity. Livy has even begun cleaning up her toys at the end of the day - a couple of times without my having to ask. The leak-plugging has also spread to car maintenance, self-care, parenting (Oh, hi big girl bed and potty training!) and all manner of nagging "undones" on my to-do list. This forward motion feels great, and the sense that we're tackling these projects as a team is even better.

5. Make the Effort.

This one is tricky. I've got a perfect 100% here, no zeroes in any square in that row. I should celebrate, but I feel like I sometimes make the wrong effort. I may work and hustle all day long doing things, but often at the end of the day I feel like I've accomplished nothing of importance. Sure, I may have cleaned the kitchen, but did I do any writing that day? Yes, I may have run around hauling Livy from errand to errand, but did we have any meaningful floor time together? I know this is normal for a lot of people, particularly stay-at-home parents, but I'd like to focus on not just making any old effort, but on making the RIGHT effort. So please consider this resolution duly changed to Make the Right Effort. The days during which I did make the right effort, particularly when doing art projects with Livy or taking her to a play at the Seattle Children's Theater (she talks about painting on her feet to make footprint art and "Hawold and da Puhple Cwayon" ALL. THE. TIME.) I consider my most successful of the month. That kind of effort is where good memories come from, and that's the kind of work I want to do under this resolution. So, a result, a reflection, and a revision. That's parallelism at its best as I launch tomorrow into Month 2.

I Need A Date! And A Therapist!

2011-09-30T10:22:00.000-07:00

Two things:

1. Will someone go to "Can't Look Away: The Lure of Horror exhibit at the EMP with me when it opens?

Please don't let it get me, please don't let it get me, please OH, GOD, WHAT'S THAT SOUND? Please don't let it get me...

2. And then will someone please sit up with me and hold my hand while I don't sleep for the following 3 days?

Community Property Is A Cruel Mistress

2011-09-29T12:00:00.000-07:00

Because SLB can't divorce me without losing a lot of money, I'll be buying this dress for Olivia immediately.

I will, of course, be getting a matching shirt for myself. And SLB? Well, there's a bottle of bourbon with his name on it, provided that he's changed his name to "Mark."

House Rules

2011-09-28T19:44:00.000-07:00

It's been safely established that, in addition to being a gorgeous genius with a rapier wit, I am also an idiot when it comes to common sense. But I'm excellent at respecting established rules and guidelines and have been since I was a kid when I worried constantly about breaking the law (Instead of repeating "Why?" like a normal child would, I would repeatedly ask "Is that illegal? Is that illegal?"). Thus to protect me from myself, we have house rules that I obey religiously. Such rules include:

1. NO MORE THAN TWO SERVINGS OF STONE FRUIT A DAY DURING STONE FRUIT SEASON.

DANGER! DANGER! OH, GOD, DANGER!

This rule used to simply read "No more than 10 cherries a day" until the great Nectarine Incident of 2010, when it was broadened to the above. Now one medium peach, nectarine, or plum, or 10 cherries count as a serving. We are all happier about my adherence to this guideline. And by "we all," I mean the whole world.

2. JUST BECAUSE THE SHINING IS ON DOESN'T MEAN YOU HAVE TO WATCH IT.

Although I love a menaced Shelly Duvall second only to a menaced Gwyneth Paltrow. It's not misogyny; it's just good sense.

I used to be a film student which, unexpectedly, sometimes makes me feel brave. It convinces me that I can watch scary movies because of my advanced intellect and appreciation for the cinematic form. It's not a horror movie, see? It's Kubrick. And even if it is a horror movie - excuse me, horror film - I've studied the structure, conventions, and cultural history of the genre and am impervious to the fear it expects to inspire because of these academic endeavors - excuse me, endeavours. The only problem with this rationale is that it's all a huge stinking lie and I'm a huge stinking weenie - excuse me, weenie. And the problem with The Shining in particular, aside from how much I love the movie in spite of its spookiness, is that cable programmers delight in torturing me and always seem to run it when SLB is either 1) out of town, or 2) working late every night because he is so Mighty and Important. So, time and time again I find myself watching those damned ghost girls who want to play with me forever and ever and ever, and time and time again I do not sleep all night because of them. So, technically I am allowed to watch The Shining, but not after dark or when I'll have to go to bed alone. Even then it's not such a good idea. Just writing about it now I had to pause and 1) turn on the lights on the whole first floor of the house, and 2) move so that my chair was against a wall instead of backed toward the whole, open, ghost-ridden living room. No joke.

3. NO WATCHING THE "REDEMPTION SONG" TRIBUTE TO JOE STRUMMER* WHILE INTOXICATED.

Because the only thing more embarrassing than watching this and weeping about not being able to see Joe Strummer in this life in front of our closest friends at our going-away-from-NYC party is having subsequently wept about not being able to see Joe Strummer in this life in front of my husband. Or by myself. Again and again and again. Tipsy Christina is drawn to this video like most tipsy people are drawn to contacting their exes. I know I shouldn't, and I know it'll just make me cry, but WHY DIDN'T HE STAY? WHY CAN'T I SEE HIM ONE LAST [or first] TIME? Tragic. Just tragic.

And, finally, thanks to last weekend's sleepless debacle, we have a new house rule:

4. NO WATCHING "CELEBRITY GHOST STORIES" ON TV "JUST TO MAKE FUN OF IT."

Because, even though Sharon Angela's rambling and nasally tale of a ghost that held her pinned to a metaphysical shop floor for 5-10 minutes in order to save her from being murdered in central park is hilariously told, it took an additional hour of reading first person accounts of the Great Depression in bed in order to cleanse my palate enough to turn out the light. And you know it's bad when the destitution and starvation of a nation is considered the "light" bedtime story alternative.

The house rules: Learn them. Live them. Pity my weakness that requires them.

*Seriously? "Embed removed due to request" AND the video is preceded by a commercial? That's almost as bad as the "London Calling" Jaguar commercial that used to make me yell, sweat, and lose minor bladder control. Very minor.

Next Year's Pride Parade Is Going To Be AWESOME!

2011-09-20T18:51:00.000-07:00

It is no secret that I am a huge fan of cephalopods, squid in particular. It is also no secret that I am a friend and fellow traveler of the, how shall we call them? Gays. Yes. The gays. 8 arms; two penises; four boobies: I like those combinations (and how spectacular would a combination of all three of those be?).

So, this article, which describes a new discovery of homosexual activity among a 5 1/2 inch deep-sea squid tickled my fancy. Technically, the squid have no sexual orientation, but that does not stop males from mating with both females and males down within the briny deep. When a squid inseminates a female, it is called reproduction. When a squid aims its liquid gold at a male, it is called - wait for it - "traumatic insemination." And, boy howdy, if I ever see the inside of a birthing class again, I'll eagerly use this phrase at least a dozen times before ceasing to find it funny and leaving in search of a large snack.

Here's a description of the process. Technically, it's safe for work since science knows no impropriety. But if you don't snicker at this at least a little bit then you're as dead to me as your soul is to you.

"The way the squid mate is something else. Little is known about the details but it seems that the male ejaculates a packet of sperm at the mating partner, and the packet turns inside out, essentially shooting the sperm contained in a membrane into the flesh of the partner, where they stay embedded until the female (if the shooter has been lucky) is ready to fertilize its eggs. If males are the recipient of these rocket sperm, they are just stuck with them. It is the kind of mating that would make a good video game."

Now, I'm not a gamer, but I'd invest in any system for which this game was created. Also delightful is the name of the scientific article first reporting same-sex squid behavior - "A Shot in the Dark: Same-sex Sexual Behavior in Deep-sea Squid." Brilliant, I say! BRILLIANT!

Relatedly, I bought Livy an octopus costume for Halloween. I wonder how long it would take to dye it rainbow? Hmmmmmmm...

Thank Goodness Tuition At Small, Liberal Arts Colleges Is Reasonable

2011-09-19T19:29:00.000-07:00

Here are two examples of Livy's following in her mother's occupationally impoverished footsteps from today's conversations. That sobbing you hear is SLB calculating the overall cost of my humanities-laden education plus inflation minus the grants I got for being poor and the 2+ jobs I held at any given time during school to get a rough estimate of Livy's upcoming education expenses.

1. Olivia Lee (babbling loudly in the back seat of the car): "DON'T BE RACIST, GOAT!"

Seriously, Goat. You have to chill on the goat power talk in front of the kid.

Olivia Lee (playing with toy hippos in the bathtub): Hippo is going for a walk.

Mama: Where is hippo going?

Olivia Lee: Hippo walking to the cafe.

Mama: What is hippo going to do there?

Olivia Lee (gleeful, grinning): Hippo likes to hang out! Hang out at the cafe!

Oh, please. It took them 9 seasons to cast a Black woman. Like they'd ever let a hippo hang out there. Goat and Friends: Rivaling one another for racist supremacy since 1994.

So, to encourage her to pursue her dreams, she is definitely wearing this for Halloween:

Bring on the Karo syrup, Elmer's glue, and patchouli. We've got us another novitiate!

Crap-o-lantern

2011-09-14T14:34:00.000-07:00

In The Dialectic of Sex: The Case for Feminist Revolution Shulamith Firestone famously compared giving birth to "shitting a pumpkin."

Well, Ms. Firestone, it looks as if your work's influence has finally trickled down to the sweatshops of Oriental Trading/Terry's Village (Tagline: "Where your child's toys are made by a child his or her own age!). Congratulations, and behold!

For the most feminist/festive of "I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant" subjects.

That there is a jack-o-lantern toilet set, and boy is it scary! Now choose a pumpkin-shaped focal point and get to work!

Movin' On Up

2011-09-12T20:03:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time there was an expectant mother who looked like this:

Rock out with your bellybutton out.

And an expectant father who, seeing his wife's increasingly gargantuan belly, decided that the time was ripe to assemble a crib for his growing baby girl. That process looked a lot like this:

He's just pretending to hammer. Our crew of crib-building elves is just out of frame.

And this crib worked for a long, long time. Like when that baby looked like this:

Yes, I know I was supposed to take the bib off before her nap. I can't go back in time, so don't nag.

or like this:

Cat always was, cat always is, and cat always will be Livy's snuggly little nighttime pal.

But now that that baby has started looking more like this, it was time to think about transitioning the crib into a toddler bed.

She never climbed out, but she could have. It just never occurred to her to do it when yelling for us to get her out was so much more efficient.

And so now she sleeps in a Big Girl Bed that looks exactly like this:

Why is it that pretending to go to bed is always more fun than actually going to bed? Why would you play at something you apparently don't like much anyway?

The transition to a Big Girl Bed wasn't as hard as I thought it would be, but I can't say it was easy given how much sleep we've lost in the last week or so now that the crib is gone. Livy stays in it well enough, but she has a hard time getting herself back to sleep when she wakes up in the night in her new bed. This means, of course, that we have to help her settle down and then settle down ourselves, often to just have to get up again and calm her down again. She loves playing in it, though, and just hanging out in her bed with her toys and books keeps her occupied for whole dozens of minutes. That alone makes the switch worth it.

We celebrated her first day with her Big Girl Bed with another first: Mama's first attempt at making a Mickey Mouse pancake. While I would never post a photo of what it wound up looking like, it started off looking like this:

A little misshapen, but delicious nonetheless.

And, in the spirit of "out with the old and in with the new," SLB finally replaced his old collegiate printer with one from this millennium. The old one, an Okidata (???), looked like this:

It printed at maximum 3 pages before it would jam, and sometimes it had to be hand-fed paper. My blood pressure is spiking just thinking about it.

We also finally man-,woman-,and childed-up and said goodbye to Livy's cardboard clubhouse, which we've had in our "formal" (HA!) living room since we bought our new range back in April. She misses it, but it was starting to stink and collapse. So getting rid of it was good practice for when she shoves us off onto an ice floe when we start to stink and collapse too much, too. You know, like in the next year. That fetid, structurally unsound hideaway looked like this:

Yes, we remembered to take the toys and daughter out before hauling it to the dump.

So, as we're upgrading and improving around these parts (this leak-plugging has become a real family affair), I'm just grateful that there's one old thing we aren't tossing out yet. And that looks like this:

Because, DANG, I don't want to find a real job.

We Took The Long Way

2011-09-10T23:10:00.000-07:00

Last Tuesday was SLB's and my 8th wedding anniversary. He surprised me with tickets to tonight's Rhett Miller show at the Triple Door, where we were certain to hear our wedding song, "Question." You know, just like you're certain to hear it now.

Happy belated anniversary, SLB. I'd say O.K. all over again every day, all the time, forever.

Convergence of Greatness

2011-09-04T09:00:00.000-07:00

I love Jason Reid (who does not love me back, but that's probably because of what I did to the roof of his car).

I love Blue Scholars (who do not love me back, but that's just because they haven't met me yet).

I used to love the Sonics (who do not love me back, but that's because they're in Oklahoma). It's a little-known fact about me that I once was unwholesomely obsessed with the 1996-1997 Seattle SuperSonics, to the extent that I 1) saw my grades drop that year during basketball season and, 2) insanely attended the midnight homecoming of the team after they won the Pacific Division title with a long-time boyfriend I had broken up with over the phone only hours earlier. That's right. That level of discomfort was worth it to get a ride to Boeing Field to see my Sonics come home. I had to quit watching basketball cold-turkey at the end of that season so that I could have my life back. I've never returned to basketball fanaticism, and I'm grateful for that.

So, here's what's making me happy this sunny autumn morning: A convergence of Jason Reid, the Blue Scholars, and the Sonics. Enjoy!

Don't Tell CPS

2011-09-03T09:15:00.000-07:00

Livy likes to play Peek-a-boo a lot. She's 2, so that's about the extent of her tolerance of anticipation and excitement. It's thrilling - THRILLING! - every time I act surprised and say "peek-a-boo!," which at this point is about 8,487,999 times a day. Naturally, my thoughts turn to Siouxsie and the Banshees after about the 8,487,899th repetition, and so she hears me sing the chorus of "Peek-a-Boo" 100 times a day. It was only a matter of time before she started belting it back to me, which was cute until about 10 minutes ago when, on a lark, I decided to remind myself of what the other lyrics of the song are.

Not good, people. Not good.

We are now in the market for a new Peek-a-boo song. Please let me know what else is out there before I get an ominous knock on the door.

OA, Month 1: Resolutions

2011-09-02T11:13:00.000-07:00

Hiya! I'm currently sitting in the dead silent lounge of a local Honda dealer getting our car serviced. It's dark and dismal here, and I've already disrupted my fellow patrons' desperate attempts to escape this purgatory via the internet, books, or knitting by 1) sneezing loudly, and 2) making some loud, weird, involuntary throat noise when I was recovering from the sneeze. Oh, yeah. I'm THAT lady - the weird one in the corner who makes strangely wet bodily noises to the discomfiture of all within earshot. I'm tempted to start laughing loudly at random intervals or grunting and talking to my computer screen in a low, guttural voice just to keep in character. I've got 4 hours to kill here, so it may actually come to that. I'm just planning ahead.

Anyhow, I promised explanations of this month's resolutions, and I always keep my promises [to you]. So here you go.

1. Go to sleep earlier.
If you need explanation of this resolution, then you really are deserving of the pap I churn out on these here interwebs. I have a great habit of starting to go to bed at a reasonable time, and then I either find piddly little tasks to complete before actually sleeping (Last night's task = joining my undergrad alumni society. I got a 0 for yesterday's first resolution), and/or I stay up late reading in bed. Then I wake up to the sound of my gleeful daughter's pounding footsteps and whisper-shouted "MAMA'S STILL SWEEPING! MAMA'S TI-YUHD!" and curse myself for not just having gone to bed at a reasonable hour. It makes me grumpy, slow, and resentful in the morning, and this is no way to begin any day. So, early to bed because, thanks to a certain little blonde beast, I'm guaranteed to be early to rise.

2. Use energy honestly.
This is both a tough one and an easy one to explain. In short, if I need rest, then I should rest. If I need to move and get things done, then I should move and get things done. Perhaps it's a manifestation of my desperate need to control everything, but I have a tendency to try to force my body to do things it's blatantly telling me it doesn't need to do - like stay up late reading when I'm tired or avoid exercise even when I have ants in my pants and need to get the wiggles out. So, I'm going to try to stop doing that. If I need to have some downtime and that's available, then I'm going to take it. If I need to be a woman of action, even during Liv's nap time or after her bed time (usually times of forced solitude on the whole house - a habit leftover from our old, teeny house), then I'm going to do something physical. It makes so much sense that it's embarrassing to have to articulate a resolution to do this, but there it is. Fight crazy with reason, I always say.

3. Exercise Better.
I am a total champ of doing the same old damn thing at the gym 3-5 days a week (elliptical for 45 - 60 min at various resistances and speeds). This works out great for improving sleep and mood, but it's not developing my strength or flexibility, something that this week's 4-day-long tension headache illustrated dramatically. So I'm going to go to the Thursday night yoga class at the gym and incorporate strength training into my usual routine. I'm also going to add "pockets" of exercise during the day. There's no reason I can't do 15 - 20 minutes of strength, flexibility, and balance training into the day when Livy's napping, playing, or watching her stories. Shoot, that biscuit loves it when I do yoga while she's playing and can already do adorable renditions of downward dog and plank, so why not put in a yoga video to do with her? Win-win! Bendy mama, bendy baby! (Somewhat related thought: Is there a Gumby yoga DVD? If not, then there should be. Get on that, would you?)

These are my people.

4. Plug leaks.
No, not my own personal leaks, you perv, but rather energy leaks in my environment and circumstances. Christine Kane calls all of the little, distracting, undone things in your life and environment "leaks", and that imagery has stuck with me over the years. Her Uplevel Your Life program that I completed this year includes a full-on Leak List that I, uh, well, I thought about completing. So, I'm going to finish that list this month, and since we've moved into a new house it's going to be loooooooooong. But plugging those leaks, one at a time, will keep my energy focused rather than dispersed among dozens of tiny distractions. It puts me in mind of a small pile of collected recipes I had meant to put into plastic sleeves and into a binder for about 2 years. When I finally stopped thinking about it every day and putting it on my to-do list over and over and over again, it took about 15 minutes total to complete. The amount of time I spent worrying and thinking about this task so far outstripped the actual amount of time it took to just do the damn thing that it's sadly comical. What a waste of time and energy! Had I just plugged the leak immediately I could have used all of that time for useful things like napping or Googling my own name. Plug the leaks, save the time, live the life. It'd make a great plumbing slogan in addition to a great life plan.

5. Make the effort.
I'm a great one for making excellent plans in my head and then never executing them because one of my common and commonly false heuristics is that "I don't have time for that," whatever "that" is. So I resolve this month to invest energy into making the effort to execute my excellent plans. I did this last week with a bag of fresh blueberries from a friend's garden. In the time it took Livy to watch her usual morning episode of "Yo Gabba Gabba" I was able to whip up fresh blueberry muffins for breakfast instead of poring over Facebook and then pouring cereal. Totally worth the effort. Next, I'm putting this huge new house to good use by hosting 2 Halloween parties for 2 different parents/kids' groups this October. Again, seeing our old friends and their 2-year-olds in costumes will be completely worth the effort. If the first four resolutions are about gaining, nurturing, and amplifying my energy, then the fifth is about spending it generously and wisely.

If you're wondering, yesterday's resolutions were a mixed bag. I was getting over that damned headache, so I had to fudge on the exercise (headache + movement = nausea), and I wound up staying up late as the headache waned in the evening and I was finally able to get some things done. But the others were all successes! I rested when my body told me to, finally joined the alumni association so I could have library privileges (NERD! Also, it's in service of another writing project I'm launching.), and made a healthy dinner even though every fiber of my being was calling out for the speedy delivery of a Hawaiian pizza. Not bad for a beginning. And now onward!

Operation Awesomepants: Inception

2011-09-01T18:13:00.000-07:00

It's September! Hurrah! AYOOOOGAH!

Prior to Livy's birth, for me this time of year meant optimistic planning and detailed forethought of how I was going to improve the minds and lives of occasionally deserving young people. Since I left my job for an extended maternity leave and subsequently was laid off, back-to-school time has been difficult around these parts. I miss teaching less bitterly now that I've made my peace with staying home and the climate for teachers has become increasingly desperate and hostile, and I know that I'm lucky to be able to stay home with our daughter and still live a comfortable and fulfilling life. I do intend to jump back into the classroom when Olivia's older (shoot, I still write curriculum for fun), but for now September has to mean something else. And so I've taken my teacherly planning skills and pointed them in the direction of improving the mind and life of one occasionally deserving decreasingly-young person.

Oh, yeah. It's ME, bitches.

Either you saw it coming, or you should have.

This summer, in addition to gobbling up dystopian young adult literature and horny vampire novels like they were Raisinets, I read Gretchen Rubin's The Happiness Project twice. I'd followed her blog of the same name for a while when I was pregnant and teaching and then forgot all about it when I was a harried parent of a newborn. I rediscovered the blog last year as the book shot to the top of the New York Times bestseller list. The blog was born of the book's subject - a year of Rubin's life during which she exhaustively researched theories and practices of happiness and applied them to her own life. The book is right up my alley: an intelligent and well-researched self-help book minus the New Age business that I'm simultaneously attracted to and repelled by (It's complicated, and it drives SLB nuts. Go on! Ask him about the secret caches of tarot cards and woo-woo books he pretends not to find among our intellectually prestigious artifacts!). The Happiness Project is a smart book about personal development that's filled with hard analytical, rather than dreamily spiritual, wisdom. It was a great read both times.

In emulation of this book and blog, and in recognition of my autumnal urge to embark on a new project, I give you my own project. Gretchen Rubin, an accomplished woman with dignity to spare (she clerked for Sandra Day O'Connor, for goodness sake), calls hers The Happiness Project. I, an accomplished woman with no dignity left to lose nor much inclination to develop much, call mine

OPERATION AWESOMEPANTS

That's right. Go on, bask in it. It's glorious, no? The name alone is miraculous. People talk about putting their big girl or big boy pants to do hard work. But why would you limit yourself to size and gender when you could just put on your awesomepants? Am I right? Of course. Of course I am.

Rubin broke her happiness project down into monthly themes with corresponding resolutions, and she measured her daily successes of such resolutions (Ben Franklin style!) on a chart. If it's good enough for her, it's probably way too good for me. Because old habits die hard and I love buying new school supplies, I created teacher-infused version of her computerized chart.

That's Lee Canter's Record Book Plus. Plus what, you ask? Plus MeShow!

Now plus detail shot!

Stop squinting or you'll get crows' feet. I'll tell you what this says in a minute. This month's theme is energy, again a copy of Rubin's first month's theme, but a smart one. Undertaking a project of this size requires stamina, and stamina is born of energy. So it makes sense to harness and amplify the fuel of the project as the project's first step.

This month's resolutions, intended to boost, save, and make the best use of energy are:

1. Go to sleep earlier.

2. Use energy honestly.

3. Exercise better.

4. Plug leaks.

5. Make the effort.

Cryptic, no? I'll have more to write about this tomorrow, and I promise to explain the details and context of each resolution. Until then I hope you'll make the effort to come up with enough jokes about my plugging leaks to choke a horse. Because, you know, I freaking HATE horses.

Oh, calm yourself. It was a joke, you stupidly literal horse.

End of Summer

2011-08-31T20:22:00.000-07:00

Hi there, people! Tomorrow is September - no joke! - which means, meteorological calendars aside, I am declaring an end to summer and the beginning of autumn. I love the fall. As a longtime student and sometime teacher, fall has always meant new beginnings and fresh starts to me. SLB and I got married in early September for this very reason. September is a breath of fresh air and a chance to start anew. It makes me think of newly sharpened pencils and possibilities. In this calendrical and inspirational vein, I'll be starting some new writing projects on and off of this blog soon. Summer's over, and it's time to hunker down and do something good, dammit. But, until midnight when I become all virtuous and productive, let's linger over fine summer memories, shall we?

Like that time I took Livy to the Ballard water park, where she proved that a fleece Viking hat is, in fact, all-weather gear.

Pillaging knows no season.

Or that time I rode a mechanical bull in Las Vegas.

In hindsight, the blouson peasant top wasn't my most flattering bull-riding option. Learn from my example, people.

Or that time I made forty-freaking-eight cupcakes, along with forty-freaking-eight cupcake toppers for Livy's 2nd birthday party.

I'm crafty. I'm just your type.

Because I have an embarrassing tendency to do dumb things like this in the presence of a camera...

... let's let this sweet picture of Liv and her good friend Margaret stand in for the touching one of Liv and me that never manifested.

Or that time we went to the Oregon coast to play and to Sauvie Island to meet some new friends.

Livy LOVED the beach...

...

... until she didn't.

Handsome Baby Jake may be Sauvie Island's newest resident...

... but Livy preferred the goats.

Or the time we saw my boyfriend Steve play at the Snoqualmie Casino.

Flawlessly silver. Flawlessly foxy.

Or that time I read 9 horny vampire novels in 6 weeks?

So far #9 was the best.

Or that time that Toddlers & Tiaras started making sense.

Bathing, basking belly.

As you can see, it's been a fantastic summer for frolicking and fun. But my pencils are sharp, the tags are freshly off of my school clothes, and I've got a Trapper Keeper full of fresh college-ruled paper. Summer's been great, but fall is here, and that's time to shine.

Potty Book Rundown

2011-08-08T13:54:00.000-07:00

We are currently entering a new phase of Earnest Potty Training here at Me Show Central, which is different from our usual Lackadaisical Potty Experimenting in its first and third words only. Basically, we've regularly put Livy on the potty to do her dirty bidness a few times a day ever since she could sit on the seat without toppling over. Sometimes magic happened, and sometimes it didn't. Now that she's older and more communicative she's started asking to use the potty and/or displaying more blatant potty cues, and so we have more magic than not-magic. Thus, the countdown to potty training has begun by small degrees. There is a distant light at the end of the potty tunnel, and we're slowly inching toward that dry, clean, fresh-smelling light.

To aid in this endeavor, we've been collecting potty books for some time. These are 3 of the best.

1. Potty by Leslie Patricelli

Happy nakey potty baby! Dang, I want one of my own!

This is an adorable little board book that's very accessible to toddlers just becoming familiar with the potty concept.

Pro: I really appreciate the line about the baby being able to go in her diaper, but choosing not to. I also love the illustrations of her waiting for the magic to manifest.

Con: The final image is of a collection of underwear with the exclamation "Undies!" written above it. Yes, I know that undies are the final goal, but the implication that one successful potty trip leads immediately to undies is misleading and rushed. It's hard work to learn how to use the potty, and I'd rather that work (and setbacks) be acknowledged than glossed over.

2. The New Potty by Mercer Mayer

I don't care if the spider is a friend in every Mercer Mayer illustration; I will always, ALWAYS want to squish it.

As a kid, I was a huge fan of Mercer Mayer's Little Critter books, and it was with nostalgic glee that I bought this book about Little Critter's little sister learning how to master her pink potty. Overall, it's a great book for all beginning potty-ers: not too long to lose the younger set, and not too simple to bore the big kids. Plus, it has illustrations of pee in it. How can you go wrong?

Pro: There are accidents in this book, and they're handled gently and normalized. Little sis can't make it to the potty a couple of times, Mom cleans her up, and life goes on. Then she gets it, successfully masters the potty and her new undies, and lives happily ever after.

Con: Seriously, is Mrs. Critter a member of a fundamentalist LDS cult? What's with the neo-Little House dresses, and where's Dad in this story? Alas, in the Critter world, as so often among humans, parenting is women's work and moms wear shit fashion. At least Little Critter is learning this early so he can take his rightful place in the Critter patriarchy with no qualms about his gendered entitlement. Also, I hate that Goddamn spider.

3. Pirate Potty by Samantha Berger and Amy Cartwright

I used to have Jolly Roger underpants, too. One time, when I had lost a lot of weight after drinking the water in Mexico, my pants fell down in the esteemed Benaroya Hall and all of Seattle's symphony-goers got to see them, the lucky bastards.

This book is the newest in our potty collection and is a gem of its genre. We bought it during our recent trip to the Oregon coast, and Livy has demanded that we read it before every nap- and bedtime since. It's got adorable illustrations and hilarious text, including two pirate songs about having to go and waiting to go potty. Brilliant!

Pro: The line about the little pirate making "the greatest, grandest pee and poop ever" alone is worth it. The pirate language is adorable, and the author fully commits to it throughout the book. For example, the little pirate yells "anchors away!" as he flushes and "swabs" his hands on a towel after he washes them.

Con: The book comes with and mentions within its story a paper pirate hat and stickers to be used as rewards for successful potty-going. While this is a fun idea, I'd rather that Livy's motivation for going on the potty remain intrinsic for as long as possible. I want her to go because it makes her feel proud and grown-up, not because she'll get a sticker on a paper hat if she does. Research shows that extrinsic motivation for a task can ruin adults' experience of performing it even if it had previously been considered pleasurable. I don't know whether and how this affects toddlers, but I'd rather not play around with it if I don't have to. Praise and pride are enough for now, and stickers will come later if we absolutely need them.

These are clearly not requirements for potty training, but they do make it more fun and open opportunities for talking about going potty throughout the day. But, at this point it's still a no-pressure prospect. After all, as the venerable Captain McCluskey says, "You gotta go, you gotta go." And as long as she keeps going we'll keep practicing getting the location for that going right.

Buy Yourself That: Addition to the Emotion Coaching Funpak of Yore

2011-08-01T09:00:00.000-07:00

Parenting peeps: Remember that one time when I wrote about all of the emotion coaching materials I was accumulating and then surprisingly that became one of my most popular posts at the time? Of course you don't! You're all too busy expertly coaching your children in identifying and managing their emotional lives! But, lucky for you, I remember, and I have a new addition to that collection.

Usually I'm not a huge Sandra Boynton fan - when she hits (The Going to Bed Book and Barnyard Dance have wonderful rhythms, adorable illustrations, and a loyal following at Me Show HQ) she hits directly, but when she misses (But Not the Hippopotamus is so tragic that I don't know how it got through editing - poor armadillo!) she misses completely. Because it's firmly on the side of the hits, Happy Hippo, Angry Duck might be a new favorite.

Duck, how can you be so angry when you're so very delicious?

What it lacks in the honky-tonk rowdiness of Barnyard Dance and the gentle lull of The Going to Bed Book it makes up for in great illustrations of different emotions for toddlers and preschoolers. The simplicity of the title belies its inclusion of more nuanced feelings and the culminating message of acceptance of and help for unhappy kiddos is reassuring even to jaded old readers who should be above finding solace in cardboard books with fewer than 100 words. I highly recommend it to all parents who'd rather their offspring learn to develop emotional maturity as children rather than amuse themselves with narcissistic blogging as adults. By which I mean all parents everywhere.

Equilibrium

2011-07-30T09:47:00.000-07:00

(First, a warning to my readers with delicate sensibilities. This post is full of lewd jokes and double [even triple!] entendres. So, if you're made uncomfortable by this kind of talk [DAD], then please look at this instead. All others please proceed.)

Friends, I have good news and bad news. The bad first.

The Mariners are trading Doug Fister, whose name has brought me endless joy and jokes, to the Detroit Tigers.

Awww, come on! Hasn't Detroit been fisted enough?

Now the good news: In exchange we are picking up Charlie Furbush. Did you catch that, subtle readers of this subtle blog? We traded FISTER for FURBUSH. I guess one in the fist really is worth fur in the bush.

Everyone likes a freshly shaved Furbush.

Buy Me That: Microphone Necklace

2011-07-28T11:41:00.000-07:00

Because nothing intoxicates me as much as the amplified sound of my own voice, I must purchase this necklace

"Is this thing on?"

to accompany this shirt, an old favorite that I desperately need to replace now that my outlandish mom bosom has rendered it obscene.

"Oh, yeah. IT'S ON."

And, as a treat for you readers, here is a picture showing me firmly in my element. Here I am chaperoning prom in 2008, dominating the stage and soundwaves with my earnest yelling and wearing a totally jackass outfit. Ah! The memories! The years of consistent and endless jackassery! Beautiful nostalgia, take me away on your ear-splitting wings!

Nothing says "the best night of your high school lives" like this lady right here. REALLY, REALLY LOUDLY.

Hey, Look II

2011-07-20T14:57:00.000-07:00

I like blogging. I want to keep blogging. I also like Livy, and I want to protect her privacy and respect her autonomy, such as it is. So this is going to be much less a mom blog than a blog by a mom. Sure, I'm going to occasionally write about Liv, but it's kind of embarrassing how much this project became about mediating her experience and making her an object onto which I could project all of my funny mama commentary. So, less baby exploitation and more personal awesomeness. And if she ever in the future expresses that she doesn't want to be blogged about, then she'll disappear forever from this blog. The last thing we want is one of these overexposed critters on our hands:

Enough said.

Bought Me That

2011-07-14T17:37:00.000-07:00

This is usually the first thing I see every morning when I wake up.

It's balanced delicately on the windowsill opposite my side of the bed, and it's such a joy to wake up to it backlit by the morning sun. Yes, it's goofy, but so am I, and I take my inspiration where I can find it. Find yours here.

Happy Birthday, Olivia Lee!

2011-07-13T21:14:00.000-07:00

Mama's little baby is 2 years old!

Day 1

Day 365

Day 730

Happy birthday, sweet biscuit! Mama and Daddy love you!

Birthday tickles > birthday spankings

Hey, Look...

2011-07-04T21:10:00.000-07:00

I'm starting to question the ethics of writing about my daughter online for my own and others' amusement. Here's why: She's turning 2 next week. I can remember my 2nd birthday. Thus, Livy, to my sick mind, has become her own sentient being and, as such, deserves to live without having her experiences mediated by her sarcastic mother for the delight of a small but awesome audience. So, the question now is whether to continue this blog without Livy as its focus, whether to make the blog private and continue posting our family and Livy's development for a select group of family and friends, or whether to shut the whole damn thing down and focus on living my life rather than editing it into (hopefully) charming nuggets.

So that's where things are here. I love the idea of blogging, and I love the attention it ~~demands~~ garners, but this little project can't continue as it currently stands. So bear with me while I figure this out. Or don't, seeing as how the figuring might end in a big, fat goose egg.

SLB has just informed me that it's "kinda meta" to blog about blogging. I have informed him that he is "kinda awesome." And so are you, kind readers. So are you.

xo

A Few Of My Favorite Things

2011-06-16T21:55:00.000-07:00

Among other things, I really appreciate:

1. Baseball, and
2. Jokes about body fluids

So you can imagine my delight when I saw this ad in the "ladies'" room at Safeco Field last night.

That there is an ad for tampons that uses a sports metaphor in a spatially appropriate and effluvially hilarious way. Hurrah, Playtex! I salute (if not purchase) you!

Hold on! I'm comin'!

2011-06-14T08:50:00.001-07:00

I've either had houseguests or been a houseguest out of town for the past 3 weeks. Give me time, minions. Mama's returning soon.

Bizarre Love Triangle

2011-05-18T18:02:00.000-07:00

A snippet of today's conversation.

Mama: (softly, adoringly at her cherubic only child) Livy, I love you so much.

Livy: (shrieking, with a glint of cruel ardor in her eyes) I LOVE BROBEE!!!!!

And, with friends and skillz like these can you blame her? Sigh. First runner-up is first loser, Mama.

(p.s. - Remember the time I lived with 2 girls in college who listened to this every damn day?

I didn't until today, and now I'm confident that this song will be as stuck in my head as Angie Hart's haircut is stuck on it.)

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!

2011-05-15T18:46:00.000-07:00

What's up, peeps, or should I say disciples? It's my Jesus year, so bring me some water, and I will turn it into pink champagne, drink it, and then burp so loudly that your eardrums burst and you bleed from the ears.

I said nothing about being a benevolent deity.

Also I'm going to treat myself to this, a mug featuring this image,

because I am also a Goddamn liar.

Happy birthday to me! May my 33rd be the best and holiest yet!

Getting Out Of Hand

2011-05-13T12:07:00.000-07:00

I have a problem of extraordinarily geeky proportions. As a multiple English major (nothing quite screams WINNER! like typing that phrase), I love books. As an uncontrollably materialistic nerd, I like expressing this love through commerce. But when I showed up at the gym last week wearing this

Available from Out of Print Clothing

and carrying this

What? Doesn't everyone have a Walt Whitman water bottle?

I realized that I was starting to become a caricature of an overzealous former English teacher instead of just being an overzealous former English teacher. This realization is only further proven by the existence in my dresser of this

To Kill a Mockingbird shirt II

and this

F. Scott Fitzgerald shirt

At some point when I wasn't looking, it stopped being clever and just got sad. And so I promise to stop buying lit-related souvenirs, as soon as I finish my collection with this.

Papa's thirsty, and so is Mama.

Mother's Day II: Red Dawn

2011-05-08T21:03:00.000-07:00

O.K., people. An admission before I begin smugly reporting my Mother's Day indulgences.

I dyed my hair red. Bad red. Shitty, fake-looking, clown red. It made sense in theory, is awful in practice, and, should the appointment-making gods smile on me, will be gone by this time next week. We will not speak of this again. Dammit.

O.K.! Mother's Day!

Slept in. Family snuggles. Breakfast. Massage. Wine. Tacos. Presents. Mariner's game. Sad toddler. Happy toddler. Home. Wine. Take out Chinese. Wine. Black Swan. Wine. Books. Bed.

I was happy because I couldn't see myself. She was quietly freaking out at the crowds, noise, and Mama's hair.

Liv hadn't mooshed abrasions into my face in a long time. She did today. Plus, she's strong now, and my neck still hurts from counterbalancing against the pressure of her desperate, burrowing snuggles.

So we plied her with french fries with lots of tipsip (catsup) and her first diet Pepsi...

... then took her to the playground, bought her a Mariners bear, and found her smile. She spent the rest of the game screaming, clapping, dancing, and randomly spouting "YAY, MARNERRS!" and "ICHIWO!"

Ergo = (forced snuggles - face abrasions) = AWESOME!

Happy Mother's Day! Love, Little Biscuit and Big Red

But Bald Eagles Don't Wear Boots?

2011-05-01T21:26:00.000-07:00

If Osama Bin Laden's body is actually recovered with a boot in its ass, I'm totally going to apologize to Toby Keith for all the times I called him a douchebag. Pinky swear.

Hippity Hoppity Hippie

2011-04-23T20:46:00.000-07:00

Today, in honor of a holiday I find creepier than Halloween, Livy and I joined our friends Sandy, Mike, Gavyn, Katie, Liam, and Ian at the Woodland Park Zoo for some egg huntin' fun. It wasn't as fun as Buck Hunter, but it was a lot more fun than Rick Hunter, so I call it a success! Plus how can you go wrong with a day filled with springtime sunshine, goofy toddlers, and good friends at a zoo picnic?

Because I couldn't be bothered to get Livy an Easter dress and instead delegated the responsibility to Bubby, who is an actual Catholic and former altar boy, she went to today's festivities as a hippie clown. And because we live in Seattle, I spotted 3 other people in tie-dye as soon as we entered the zoo gates. OF COURSE I DID.

I sure hope these plastic eggs are local and from organically fed cage free heirloom plastic chickens...

She had a good time finding eggs, but maybe it was because of the outfit, she had just as much fun putting them in other kids' baskets as she did in her own bag.

... to each according to his need, and you need another empty plastic egg!

But the best part of the day by far was eating and playing on the grass with her homeboys Gavyn and Liam. Those three are like adorable and poorly coordinated peas in a pod.

Liam in hat, Gavyn with ball, and Livy.

So, until tomorrow when we hit the south end for a grandparental explosion and a froofy cupcake dress, happy Easter!

Love SLB,

Easter posies, m'dear?

Livy,

Upside down sunglasses = Geordi La Forge!

And me, Bruce Wayne.

My secret is safe with you, yes?

A Year Ago Today

2011-04-22T20:35:00.000-07:00

Someone had no pants on, and for once it wasn't me.

My Daughter Is A Genius

2011-04-08T08:54:00.000-07:00

(And I wear a sweatshirt that says "Brooklyn" on it a lot).

Unfornately, her mother is an idiot.

The St. Patrick's Day shirt and her learning how to say "drinking!" is a lucky coincidence, I swear.

A Venn Diagram In Which All Three Parts Feature My Image

2011-04-07T20:09:00.000-07:00

1. You know what's stupid? Grating your thumb into a bloody nub while attempting to break down some Parmesan and constantly stir a pot of risotto at the same time.

2. You know what's badass? Not risking ruining the risotto by leaving the stove to go upstairs to get a Band-Aid and instead improvising a bandage using only a paper towel and a rubber band.

Thumb's up, MacGyver-style.

3. What's stupid AND badass? Dying of lockjaw because you're too chicken to have ever gotten a Tetanus shot and grated your thumb and made your own filthy kitchen bandage in order to ensure a perfect plate of risotto.

It was really delicious.

And that image in the Venn Diagram I mentioned earlier. It's this one, obviously.

Ironic, in an Alanis Morisette Kind of Way

2011-03-30T20:43:00.000-07:00

So, I was just introduced to this video after mailing all of my maternity clothes to Carolina in Alabama.

Um, Carolina? I'm going to need those clothes back, and if anyone knows where I can find some black market Clomid I'd really apprecite that information.

Head to Head: 80's Cinematic Homoeroticism

2011-03-27T09:00:00.000-07:00

Two movies, both alike in dignity, in fair California where we lay our scene.

O.K. I'll stop that now. But, seriously, which of these two ostensibly heterosexually macho movies is the most homoerotic you've ever seen?

1. 1982's Rocky 3, in which Apollo Creed, played by my real dad Carl Weathers, coaches Rocky Balboa, played by John Rambo, to new sweaty, short-shorted, wet, hugging heights.

Yes, it was worth posting twice.

or,

2. 1986's Top Gun, which, in addition to featuring a sweaty, shirtless beach volleyball scene, includes this little gem in which [Trouser] Viper, played by my real mom's pretend boyfriend Tom Skerritt, offers sage advice to a whitey-tightied Maverick in the men's room. You know, how and where your mentors best coach you.

One a penny, two a penny...

So, which is it, Peeps? If Pat Robertson were to settle in for a fine Saturday afternoon of cinema on TNT, which would he be more likely to preach against on Sunday morning?

Head to Head: This Is Why We Fight

2011-03-26T12:33:00.000-07:00

I have a love/hate relationship with The Decemberists. Go on. Ask them. They'll totally agree. Currently, with the release of their countrified and folky The King is Dead we are back on solid loving ground. But, being in a love/love relationship with Regina Spektor, I can't help but hear a mashup between The Decemberist's "This Is Why We Fight" and Spektor's "One More Time With Feeling," which also prominently features "this is why we fight" in the lyrics. It's like a mobius mashup; I listen to one, then immediately listen to the other, which makes me crave the first one all over again.

So, here. You listen and decide who made better use of the line, because I can't. They both make me so happy. Smack my ass and call me Sophie, but I just can't choose.

The Decemberists:

Regina Spektor:

It's Come To This

2011-03-24T21:46:00.000-07:00

Livy is at Oma's. SLB is at work. And I'm seeing if I can embed this gif into my blog.

Oh, good. I can.

Buddies!

2011-03-18T12:30:00.000-07:00

As we've been slowly shifting the chaos of our new home into order and comfort we've been escaping the pressure of the mess by spending time with our buddies. Last week we had a big adventure at the Pacific Science Center with some friends from our newborn PEPS group. We met up with Sandy and Gavyn (Hayndy and Gammin) and Katie and Liam (Tatie and Umum), our old buddies (BUDDIES!) from when the kids were about 2 months old.

Halloween 2009: Gavyn is the cranky cow, Liam the wise bear, and Livy the chunky one-footed headless monkey (along with Willa the grouchy ladybug and Clara the gleeful pumpkin).

Liam and Livy yuk it up.

Livy and Gavyn holding baby hands.

It's been wonderful watching our kids grow up together and watching each other grow up with our kids. It's almost impossible to believe that they were once little lumps of babyness now that they're all full-fledged toddlers. When I first had Livy I'd inwardly roll my eyes when more experienced mothers talked wistfully about their children's infancy being gone in a flash. Now I'm on the other side of that equation and, sigh, where did our babies go?

Apparently they've gone to the big water table at the Science Center,

Livy was soaked. Gavyn was EXTRA soaked. Liam miraculously ended the day dry.

off to control the water-squirty thingie with the serious intensity it deserves and requires,

With great power comes great responsibility.

and into a big, fake helicopter to push buttons with even more focus and intensity.

Pilot Liam and copilot Livy readying their craft for takeoff. Phantom Mama playing paparazzo.

3 heads are clearly better than 1: Gavyn joins the flight crew and Phantom Sandy joins the photo corps.

Serious business.

They're such good lifelong friends that even this crime of passion was eventually forgiven. Remember, you always hurt [most] the ones you love [most].

Only one child was harmed in the making of this film.

Katie later told me that Liam woke up during the night after this accident crying "Neenee! Vivy! Owie!," but that didn't stop him from loving us again this week when we 6 met up at the zoo for more good times. Because that's how it is with friends who've become family - you can hurt each other, then laugh together, and sometimes fly helicopters together and love each other through it all.

Buy Me That: Office Upcycled Suit Tote

2011-03-16T16:21:00.000-07:00

Because it's time for Livy's snacks and diapers to go biz-cazh.*

Every girl's crazy 'bout a sharp dressed diaper bag.

Get yours here (and check out the sexy velvet version for when you take your baby clubbing).

*Douchebag for "business casual."

Because Only Old-timey Villains Wax Their Moustachios

2011-03-16T13:08:00.000-07:00

Today while pillaging the library Livy turned a corner and found this book on display for Women's History [Ghettoization] Month.

Even as an infant she had a unibrow? Um. O.K.

To celebrate her excellent taste in literature and art we checked out the book, the first I've ever borrowed on her behalf. And to let you all share in our festivities I give you this, one of the best Halloween/Day of the Dead costumes I've ever created.

It's a natural look for me.

That's my friend Trixie Lane of Seattle Retro Photography, who would have taken my maternity pictures had I had any maternity pictures taken. She's awesome, and no, kittens, she's not in costume. She's just that fabulous every dang day. You're right to be dazzled by her brilliance.

So viva Trixie! Viva Livy! Viva Frida! What a colorless and bland world we'd live in without having been brightened by three such awesome women.

Approaching Settledness

2011-03-16T07:05:00.000-07:00

Hi, friends! Long time no write to! We're settling in at the new house, but here's the last video I took at the old house. I miss that bright little kitchen already. Thank goodness we packed the bright little girl with us. This isn't particularly riveting film, but stick around until the end when it gets unexpectedly hilarious.

Buy Me That: Bug on a Bike!

2011-02-25T19:18:00.000-08:00

I'm not even joking. If one of you freeloading blog-enjoyers doesn't buy me this to hang in our new downstairs powder room, WE'RE THROUGH.

GET ON YOUR TRIKE AND RIDE!

SLB is out of town, but I can already imagine the conversation we're going to have if one of you doesn't pony up and mail this to me immediately. It goes a little something like this:

Me: Hey, look at this bug on a trike! I love him! What do you think about me getting it for the powder room downstairs?

SLB: It's weird. I don't want a bug on my wall.

Me: Tough titties, Meal Ticket! I'm buying me that bug!

SLB: I'll be having bourbon with my oatmeal this morning.

End scene.

Get your - er, I mean MY - new bug friend here!

Because One Can't Not Be Jean Seberg ALL the Time

2011-02-24T17:27:00.000-08:00

I'm sidelined from packing with a dreadful headache, so while my Aleve-and-coffee cocktail kicks in, I'll say hello to you, darling readers. You've been so brave to do without my ramblings - I know I couldn't go this long without reading my charming words - and you deserve a little notice even in the midst of our chaos. So, hello there! I notice you! I notice you noticing me, which is the way I like it. Notice on, lucky readers...

I got tired of not being Jean Seberg, so I just went balls to the wall and asked Jami to cut my hair dangerously short. I may have used the term "lesbian chemotherapy short," but I don't rightly recall.

Hail Caesar!

I really like it, and it officially makes me the shortest-haired person in our family. I don't know why I'm proud of that, but I am. Also, it's strange even for someone who's had short hair for a while to look in the mirror, see something blatantly contrary to conventional beauty, and LOVE it. It's not pretty by any standard definition, but it is rad, and I think I'll keep it super-short for the time being.

Dark circles be damned! Look at how scrunchy-nosed happy this 'do makes me.

But I know who you really come here to see, so here's a peek of the lady of the hour, Miss Olivia Lee.

Briefly resting between wiggles

The further she dives into restless toddlerhood, the harder it is to get a good picture of her. She may not be walking yet, but, DAY-UMN, is that kid squirmy. So don't be surprised if all you see are fuzzy pictures; they're the only kind I can take right now.

"The room, as part of the world, revolves around me."

She still isn't a walker, although nature and physical therapy will change that course soon, but she's a prolific talker. Her latest surprising linguistic conquests: "attorney" and "tapenade," but "I love you" and her own name remain elusive. She does slap her chest while yelling "ME!" and she announces all of her farts by seriously repeating "toot" afterward, so at least I've taught her the important things.

But her cutest new word is a mispronounced one, which is why it delights me so. Let's kick it old-skool, shall we?

Ready for my Close-up

2011-02-13T13:51:00.000-08:00

The closer and closer we get to moving into our new house the more and more I've been desperately combing design websites trying to develop a decorative flair. It is one of my greatest fears that I won't be able to do justice to the awesomeness of our new house with my penny pinching, utilitarian ways, that my aesthetic timidity and financial self-denial (self-loathing?) will rear their ugly heads, and that we'll live surrounded by particle board and hotel-grade art FOREVER. So, on The Morah's recommendation, I checked out Design Sponge today and found that site's "Living In" feature that marries design, commerce, and a shocking number of my favorite movies.

People, you have no idea how far up my alley this little feature is. But you're about to.

For example, do you know that my current haircut is loosely based on Jean Seberg's in Breathless, a movie I've seen multiple times but can never remember. Why can't I remember it? Because I'm too busy looking at it to listen to it or pay attention to it properly. My mind can recreate each of Seberg's outfits, gestures, and mannerisms, but I can hardly ever remember a single thread of the plot unless the movie is playing immediately in front of me. So, I literally gasped when I came across the "Living In: Breathless" edition.

No, I'm no Jean Seberg. But neither are you, so we're even there.

And those of you who have known me since high school will remember my reliance on a stubborn center part long after it was considered fashionable. Hopefully that, plus my current over-reliance on opaque tights regardless of the season will be judged softly when I plead this: Love means never having to admit that you look nothing like Ali MacGraw and never, ever will.

And I never even got into Harvard. Not once.

But the movie honored by Design Sponge that slapped me silly with a nostalgia that would have made Proust choke on his madelines was the 1995 gem Party Girl starring a then-unknown and -unirritating Parker Posey.

H-h-h-hello!

I had this poster, which I'm almost certain I stole from the video store where I worked, on my wall all through high school. I would "rent" the movie at least once every two weeks from work and watch it after a late night Saturday shift. I tried desperately to layer long-sleeved t-shirts as the poster suggested, but found that my limited elbow-bending capacity made the look too uncomfortable to endure. I wondered what, exactly, falafel and baba ganoush were. And I still to this day crib the line about something or another making "my unborn baby grow gills."

Make no mistake, this is not a great film. But it is about a beautiful and sassy young woman living in New York and pursuing a dream of becoming a fabulous - fabulous! - librarian, which fascinated and delighted my small-town smart-girl imagination.

So, thank you Design Sponge for helping me while away a pleasant morning "living in" some of my favorite movies. I'd call it a time-waster, but it was a true pleasure poking through these archives and reliving my love of these films. And now, unstylishly, uncinematically, I have some boxes to pack.

These Little Piggies

2011-02-03T21:01:00.000-08:00

Oma makes the best pigtails, hands down.

Excuse me, miss? You have a little something green in your teeth...

... and a little something evil in your eyes.

But not even Oma can tame the chaos that nature hath wrought on my baby's head forever. Come bathtime the curls run wild!

Born free! Free as the hair grows!

Goofy fraggle.

Two New Members of the List Family!

2011-01-31T20:25:00.000-08:00

Previous entries here and here, but now please welcome

102 (or thereabouts). Go on Jeopardy, win money, and express extreme disappointment in Alex Trebek's moustachiolessness.

Good.

Better.

103 (or thereabouts). One time, randomly, in a spirit of celebrating the mundane, buy the next round for the entire bar. Bonus points for telling everyone it's because I found out that I'm pregnant after I dramatically drain my glass.

Viva!

Buy Yourself This After You Stick a Sock in it.

2011-01-18T19:46:00.000-08:00

Hi, folks! Yes, I am aware that I have been a neglectful blogger. And, no, I will not be picking up the pace just yet. We are excited here at Me Show HQ about our upcoming location to a WHOLE NEW HQ. So posts will be less frequent as we box up our goods and transport them to our new digs a whopping 10 blocks away. Oh, Ballard! I just can't quit you!

Until then, suck it up. Let this be your inspiration.

Follow my lead, plebes! Get your copy of this poster here.

Or, if you're really desperate for some hot Me Show action, then get your parasitic arse over here and pack a box or two to hasten my return. We are currently accepting applications for Moving Buddies, so submit yours today!

Tidbits and Whatnots

2011-01-10T21:36:00.000-08:00

I haven't posted in over a week, which is dangerous when one has such a devoted fan base of obsessive parents, in-laws, and grandparents as I have. But Livy, SLB, and I have been sick - REAL SICK - all over again, and I haven't wanted to take pictures or observe my own life, let alone formulate coherent blog posts about any of it.

So, here. This is what you get.

1. I have a cousin named Candice (known better as Kansas, Gorkus, Candy, and Candybaby). She is awesome and can kill you with one shot from a hundred paces, no shit. She's in the Navy and just got back from overseas where she fixed aircraft and did not have to put her sharpshooting skills to use, thank goodness. She is as stubborn and hard-hearted as I am, and our family has speculated about the potential outcome of a fistfight between the two of us for decades. Now that she can do a million pushups in a minute or whatever the military requires and I'm a squishy mom speculation has dwindled to... well... this blog post.

Livy is convinced that Candy is a celebrity because she's in 3 of the pictures on our fridge. That means a lot when your exposure to the world generally consists of trips to the grocery store and reading a book about a mermaid parade 7 times a day.

2. We are bad parents.

It's my kid in a box! (Anyone wanting to make a joke about her birth will have to remember that I had a C-section).

3. The Deschutes Brewery in Portland has both delicious beer and crafty beer bottle holiday lights. There are tiny holes drilled in the back of the bottles to accommodate the twinkle lights that are strung behind the whole row. If I ever get a fancy glass-bottle-hole-drilling machine I might make some of these. But most likely I'll just post them here.

Perfect for a man cave. O.K., the coast is clear; you can make your vagina joke now.

4. With all due respect to The Pipettes, The Morah and I are the prettiest girls you've ever met.

We wear interesting jackets like the future candidates wives we are fast becoming.

5. One of the best things about sharing a camera with SLB are the secret gems he leaves me on our memory card. Viking dog agrees.

Jag håller med.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have more expectorating to do.

Whistler's Daughter

2011-01-02T09:42:00.000-08:00

"When I was your age I had to walk to school uphill both ways...

...BOTH ways, dammit."

So This Is the New Year

2011-01-01T13:33:00.000-08:00

Oh, hell, you all knew I was going to quote this song, didn't you? Yeah, act surprised. I'll consider it a late Christmas gift.

The funny thing is that I actually do feel somewhat different. I'm approaching 2011 with a different goal than I usually do. I've written before how my resolution lists are generally multi-page affairs with cross-referenced headings and numerous sub-headings and -goals, but not this year. I've simplified it to one word and one action. The word for this year is Energy, since I feel like my attention and vitality were sucked dry last year by family traumas and poor SAHM life management skills (Pajamas 'til 11? Why the hell not?! And, hey, who needs to go outside anyway when we have books inside?). So this year, as of yesterday actually, I'm attempting to pay attention to where my, um, attention and time go rather than ruminating on sadness and miring myself in the couch cushions. So far, so good. And the action to accompany this single-word intention into the new year is to go to the gym every weekday morning before SLB gets up and leaves for work, barring only my sickness or his travel. This will aid in approaching my life with vigor (Why do I always want to pronounce that loudly and with a thick New England accent - VIGAH! - like an enthusiastic Katharine Hepburn or Kennedy?) because 1) duh, it's exercise, 2) I can already be up, fed, and dressed by the time Livy gets up, and 3) it'll force me to go to bed early. Win-win-win!

VIGAH!

Also, since this is a time for resolutions and my lovely friend Carolina, she of the fabulous Kittens and Grits, namechecked me heartily in a new post on her life list, I'll make up for lost time and update you on my life list (part 1, part 2).

Things I've done:
17. Go out for a lovely meal with excellent food and spectacular service BY MYSELF.
I took myself out to Steelhead Diner one day for lunch while my mom took care of Livy. It was delightful and decadent for about 10 minutes, after which time I got lonely and wanted some company to talk to about my delicious meal. I do love being alone and take pleasure in my own company, but I love talking to other people about food even more. Solo movies, plays, and travel are all cool - but eating alone just isn't my bag, apparently.

20. Fit back into my wedding rings.

There's more than one way to skin a cat, so instead of going on a forced march of punitive dieting I had a jeweler enlarge my rings by half a size. I even picked them up on my way to Steelhead Diner. Victory!

24. Attend one of Christine Kane’s retreats.

I've compromised on this for now and am taking her Uplevel Your Life course at home. It starts in earnest on Monday, and I'm so excited! What a better time to get clear and conscious about your life than at the New Year, eh?

40. Learn how to stand up for myself without resorting immediately to nuclear options.

This is clearly ongoing, but 2010 has been a banner year for setting logical boundaries and communicating calmly and clearly.

48. Vacation in the San Juans with Livy and SLB
49. Take Livy and SLB whale watching
Done and done, friends.

58. Make this silly little house feel like a silly little home.
This, too, is ongoing, but is going well. I've decluttered like a mutha this year, and we even decorated for Halloween AND Christmas. Also, we've hung more than 3 pictures on our walls after 5 years of living here. It's almost like we live here or something.

65. Invest in good food, good bras, and good shoes.
Yes, yes, and yes.

84. Come to a decision on the tattoo issue.
The answer is "no." What appeals to me now is hardly likely to appeal to me in 10 years, just as the tattoo I wanted 10 years ago would seem trite and childish now. Unless I get really drunk and get John Hancock's signature inked above my C-section scar, I shall die untatted.

It suits me, no?

85. Drink more champagne.

It's now my standard aperitif when we go out to a nice meal.

92. Watch AFI’s 100 best films
Working on it (And who are you mofos who like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid? Top 100? Seriously? Likewise, Network. Faye Dunaway's nipples do not a good movie make. Chinatown (Faye Dunaway's nipples and all) and Annie Hall are two new favorites, though.)

Oh for the love. A temporally incongruous musical interlude will never convince me that this useless scene is charming.

100. Love this little family, and tell them I love them every, every, every day
Well, yeah. Of course.

AND I got rid of the secret item on the list that I wouldn't tell you about. I'm still not telling, either.

So, thanks to Carolina for helping me remember my list! I think I'll print it out and put it in my planner to remind me of my awesome goals.

So, what's on your lists, friends? And what did you do this year to fulfill it?

2/5, Holiday Edition

2010-12-25T22:53:00.000-08:00

Remember that one time when I confessed that Jack Black and Jason Segel represent 2 of my 5 celebrity "gimmes"? Did you also know that they made a cartoon of themselves singing one of my favorite Christmas carols, the David Bowie/Bing Crosby version of "Little Drummer Boy"?

Well, they did.

Merry Christmas to me!

Christmas Eve Eve Makes Me Feel Fine

2010-12-23T18:04:00.000-08:00

Livy is at Oma and Opa's having the time of her life (Did you know that she sings Opa's name when we practice singing together? That little girl has a serious case of Opa-love.), I've taken a 2 hour nap and wrapped the final pile of presents, SLB is on his way home from work to take me out to a new gastropub in the neighborhood, and Amelie is going to be on TV in about 5 minutes. Life is good, people.

So, until the holidays are over and we have some time to breathe, let this suffice as a Merry Christmas to you, dear readers. You are the reason for the season! Well, you and these people:

All tuckered out from an exciting holiday show (Yes, those ARE puffed sleeves. You only get one chance to be a little girl in a Christmas dress. Go big or go home.)

Singing to SLB's fine accompaniment

My peeps.

And to all a good night!

In No Way Safe for Work, So Don't Be Stupid

2010-12-21T11:16:00.000-08:00

I had forgotten how much pure, sweet pleasure this brings me. Aaaaaahhhhh...

And this ends my recent spate of NWA references. I promise to talk like the college-educated, privileged people that Ice Cube and I are. And, Mr. Cube, to answer your question: Yes, we are there yet.

Promises

2010-12-19T20:44:00.000-08:00

Olivia, that loving little cherub, has a great new trick. Whenever we're out in a crowd, usually when shopping, she likes to reach out toward people, grin, and say "HI!" in her cutest voice. Absentmindedly, I'd been saying "Are you making buddies? Is that your buddy?" whenever she'd do that. So now she skips me as the middle man and just shouts "HI, BUDDIES!" at anyone she thinks will say "hi" back. And that's where things get weird, because about half the time the person she's just greeted won't say hi back. I've seen people stiffen and avert their eyes as if she'd just asked them for change. It's cold, it's weird, and it's far more socially awkward than saying hello to a cheerful little girl.

How dead inside do you have to be to give this smile a cold shoulder?

So, I hereby promise to greet in kind any child who says hi to me. I'm happy to teach kids by example that if they go out of their way to be friendly that their effort will be reciprocated. Also, I promise to buy lemonade from any sidewalk lemonade stand. I do not promise to drink it, but I promise to make my quarters jingle in the piggy banks of young entrepreneurs. Yeah, it's nice to be nice, and it's even nicer to teach kids to be nice through our niceness. God bless us everyone.

Breathing Easier

2010-12-16T12:36:00.000-08:00

I just hauled myself off of my sickbed (sickcouch, really), took a shower, put on deodorant, and dressed myself in nonpajama clothing.

Celebrate with me, won't you?

Eat This: Sweet Potato and Pepper Soup

2010-12-15T18:18:00.000-08:00

"Eat me!," says the soup. You'd do well to listen to it.

I've made this recipe so often over the years that SLB and I now just call it The Soup. In an attempt to scare off this cold I made an extra potent batch today in the hopes that the Vitamin C from the peppers, Vitamin A from the sweet potatoes, and heat from the chipotles would nuke the virus out of my system. Whether or not it has done so remains to be seen, but after a hot bowl of this soup I do feel at least 15% more human. So, if you've got a bad case of boogers and/or cooties, I recommend that you gather these ingredients and make a pot of this soup for yourself.

What you need:
*2 medium sweet potatoes, peeled and roughly chopped into about 1 inch dice (You're going to blend this soup later, so chopping doesn't need to be precise)
*1 yellow onion, chopped
*2 bell peppers (I like red and/or yellow for color contrast), seeded and chopped
*Hot peppers (In the past I've used 2 jalapenos seeded and diced, but here I used 1 chipotle in adobo sauce)
*48 oz of chicken or vegetable stock (give or take)
*About 2 cups of corn kernels (fresh is best, thawed frozen is second-best, drained canned is third-best)
*The juice of about .25 lime
*Salt and pepper to taste
*Olive oil
*Sour cream or plain yogurt, chopped cilantro, chopped green onion (optional, but awesome)

What to do:

*Sautee the peppers and onions in a splash of olive oil with a dash of salt over medium-low heat for about 5 minutes or until the vegetables start to sweat. They shouldn't brown, but rather begin to melt together and release their juices to make a yummy veggie liquor.

*When the peppers and onions have softened and mingled, add the sweet potatoes and stock. Bring to a boil and then reduce to low. Cover and simmer for 25 minutes.

*Remove the pot from the heat and blend the soup. If using an immersion blender, you can go for it right away. If you're blending the soup in batches in a conventional blender, let it cool for about 10 minutes before you do so. If you try to blend the soup while it's still boiling hot you run the risk of hot, steaming soup exploding from your blender carafe onto every surface in the kitchen (ceiling included!) and scalding the living daylights out of your arm. Or so I hear. I'm way too fly to have experienced that kind of buffoonery myself.

*When the soup is velvety smooth add your corn, a healthy squeeze of lime, and salt and pepper to taste.

*Serve immediately with sour cream or yogurt, chopped cilantro, and chopped green onion. Voila! Delicious!

Health in a bowl, I tell ya.

Sick Days

2010-12-15T11:13:00.000-08:00

Livy and I have caught terrible colds and are lying low this week. This is what that looks like:

It ain't pretty, but it'll do.

Snuggly baby? Check. Her favorite book, Mermaids on Parade (a gift from Mrs. Miller that Livy begs for all day long)? Check. Bed head? Check. Blanket made out of recycled Crown Royal bags (a gift from my miscreant uncle who personally emptied each and every bag)? Check.

And we're off!

Go team!

Sadly, we'll be here all week!

Bought Her That: Mini Marauder Hat

2010-12-14T09:13:00.000-08:00

In an effort (and for a notorious grinch like me it truly is an effort) to make merry this holiday season, SLB and I took Livy to the Phinney Neighborhood Association's Winter Festival and Crafts Fair last weekend. In addition to some quotidian vegetable wax candles and secret gifties we splurged on a fine fleece hat made by my friend Lynn for my friend Livy.

(Leif Erickson > Leif Garrett) < Livy

It's called the Mini Marauder hat, and it is awesome. Lynn's company, Pingihats, sells at Pike Place Market and at her studio, Absolutely Fabulous, in Queen Anne. You would be an idiot not to buy one of her designs, even if pillaging isn't on your personal agenda (the fox hat almost came home with us, too). It is on Livy's, though, and she wears her hat with pride!

Hide yer daughters and yer cheddar bunnies!

In fact, I liked this picture so much that it made our Christmas card shortlist - in sepia, no less.

So old-timey, plus it detracted from the clashing patterns on her shirt, jacket, and car seat.

We wound up choosing a more seasonally-appropriate photo that implies much less threat of Viking violence. Maybe if you're lucky you'll be receiving one of these cards in the mail. And if you don't, maybe you should consider being nicer to us and buying us more presents and fancy coffee drinks. Just a little something to consider in the new year. No pressure.

IT'S LIKE THEY KNOW ME!

2010-12-02T09:52:00.000-08:00

I was just posting a comment on Auntie Spotter's website for Sarah Potter Photography and this - THIS! - was my secret comment-posting code:

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Don't mind if I do!

Friends, that secret code says "fartme." FARTME! FART! ME! It truly is a season of miracles, large and small, and this is proof of that!

This is going to be a good day.

And because my mom's been after me to post new photos of Livy, here you go! Now stop nagging me, woman!

Oma giving Livy her first haircut after Thanksgiving dinner. (If your kitchen doesn't look like this after a holiday meal, then you're not eating well.)

Showing of her bangs at the Portage Bay Cafe

Saying cheese while eating cheese - so meta.

Yardwork in November

2010-11-23T12:00:00.000-08:00

I can't think of much clever to say, so why don't you listen to this fine song by an old friend of Uncle Damon's and look at my adorable family frolicking in the autumn leaves before they were covered in snow.

Leaves are fun!

No, Daddy! Leaf me alone, you rake!

How about you get me instead...

then we practice our stunts...

finish up with a celebatory snuggle...

and go inside for a hearty serving of Mom's miraculous mac-n-cheese?

I like Actual Tigers. I like autumn. I like my family. I love my mac-n-cheese. The end!

Abominable Snowbaby!

2010-11-22T20:57:00.000-08:00

We here in Sea-town are in the icy grip of what in most cities would be a mild and uninteresting snowfall. Here, though, in a city filled with hills and generally without any idea what to do with any snow whatsoever it is RUINOUS SNOPOCALYPSE 2010! Stock up on batteries and canned meats! Hide your daughters and your jewels! The end is nigh!

Aieeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

At least this is what it's like for normal working folks who must drive and function in the stuff. Livy and I had a great day at home filled with hours of books, blocks, low-speed indoor chases, and 10 minutes of frenzied snow play. Because Olivia's not walking yet (But she's working on 3-syllable words. ACT SURPRISED.) and I have no proper cold weather gear for her I expected that she'd hate being out in the snow. But no! She is the Shackleton of the toddler set and charged about like a bouncing bumble until her pants soaked through and she started shivering.

"I seemed to vow to myself that some day I would go to the region of ice and snow and go on and on till I came to one of the poles of the earth, the end of the axis upon which this great round ball turns." - Ernest Shackleton

"Superhuman effort isn't worth a damn unless it achieves results." - E.S.

"We had seen God in His splendors, heard the text that Nature renders. We had reached the naked soul of man. " - E.S.

"If I had not some strength of will I would make a first class drunkard." - E.S.

More Nicks Than Nicks

2010-11-18T21:49:00.000-08:00

Oh, Regine Chassagne.

Come hither? Don't mind if I do!

Will you always wear sparkly, twirly dresses? And will they always have matching fingerless gloves? And will you always, always be mine?

Watch until the end when she outNickses the Nicks. It takes my breath away. If I'm not Tippi next year for Halloween I'm getting a curly wig and being Regine. Shoot, I might just be Regine regardless of the day. I think we'd all agree that it'd be an improvement, and maybe SLB will grow a foot and become Win Butler. Win-win Win!

Buy Me That: Tippi Hedren Barbie Doll

2010-11-17T07:29:00.000-08:00

Back when I was in graduate school the first time around I fell HARD for film studies and managed to finagle a degree in English by taking mostly film classes and writing about feminist film theory for nearly every paper. Ever an enormous coward, I surprised myself by finding that I really enjoy the horror genre as long as I approach it from an analytical and academic standpoint (any other standpoint and I just pee my pants and stop sleeping at night) and did some fun work on Psycho and Rosemary's Baby. But the most fun I had at the place where fun goes to die was in writing one of my master's theses on The Birds.

Tippi's costume and hair + Jessica Tandy's face = weird Oedipal shit from the get-go, yo! MY GOD, I love this movie.

As I was working on my The Birds paper, cleverly titled "Rip Her to Shreds" and featuring an introductory quotation from the Blondie song, I became strangely obsessed with the movie and its star, Tippi Hedren. I went so far as to buy an autographed 8x10 of her as a victory gift once the paper was finished and to drag my friend Jacob to see her speak at a screening of the film at the Siskel Film Center, where Ms. Hedren took umbrage at my questions about the anomalously terrible hilltop scene and berated me in front of the entire audience. It was humilitng! It was hilarious! It cemented a fixation that necessitates this purchase:

Accuracy right down to the stilettos...

That, dear readers, is the Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds Barbie doll, and you'd do well to consider it under my name on your Christmas shopping list. If it makes you feel more comfortable we can pretend that it's for Livy. Of course, if she ever touches it she'll be grounded for weeks, so she'd better get smart and stick with playing with matches and kitchen knives.

Or, if she really must participate in Mommy's madness, perhaps next year I'll wear a Tippi costume for Halloween and then dress her up in a crow costume to chase me around the neighborhood.

Oh yeah. Halloween 2011 - LOOK OUT!

ALL HAIL THE ME SHOW!

2010-11-16T08:04:00.000-08:00

What a waste of your time. You ought to be ashamed.

Today marks both the one year anniversary of this blog AND my 200th post! Hoory for me! Hooray for you for getting to read so much about me! Viva! Viva!

Thanks for reading, friends! Now, in honor of these two momentous occasions, I invite you to write a comment introducing yourself. My stats tell me that I've had over 5,000 unique readers this year, and I've often wondered just who the hell you are. So, tell me! Who the hell are you? Be ye friend or foe? Are you just my parents, the Weavers, and the Morah using thousands of different IP addresses to stroke my ego? Say hi!

Here, I'll start: Hi!

he Is Always Lowercase

2010-11-13T17:16:00.000-08:00

Ooh La La! The French - they have a word for everything.

My first real adolescent crush was on Steve Martin, and he has remained in my "Allowable Celebrity Lay" Top 5 ever since I saw him in L.A. Story on HBO when I was about 13. Not only was he handsome (I am a true sucker for a silver fox [I'm talking to you, Eric Ripert.]) and funny, but I could tell from the writing in that movie that, colonic irrigation jokes aside, he was smart. It was the first time that it had occurred to me that smart could also mean attractive, a notion that both gave me hope for my own gawky, flat-chested, braniac self and for the prospect of finding my own more age-appropriate Steve Martin one day.

I may be smooching you, SLB, but I'm thinking about The Jerk.

And I suppose that in many ways, I did just that. But until SLB's flawless mahogany locks salt themselves pepperless, part of my heart will always be Steve's, especially because of this song. I used to tease my former mouthy student and current mouthy babysitter, who is also a devout Christian, about the dearth of decent Christian music. She never thought to tease me about the complete lack of any atheist music, and now she can't. Suck it, babysitter Jenny! See you next time SLB and I go out! Thanks, boyfriend Steve! See you in my dirty, godless dreams!

Razzle Dazzle is a Feminist Issue

2010-11-12T17:35:00.000-08:00

It's this video

that helped me gain the self-acceptance to adopt these REALLY tight pants as my new gym wear.

Eeeeek! I think I can see that lady's Razzle Dazzle in those pants, Mommy!

Yes, they leave nothing to the imagination, but DAY-UM they're some comfy workout pants. It required some conscious effort, but in the Lululemon dressing room I took some inspiration from Leslie Hall's confidence and decided to raise two well-fed middle fingers to the notions that little dumpling-shaped ladies don't get to have the good workout wear and that being traditionally attractive in what are essentially technologically tarted-up sweatpants is necessary. And in a world where my recent babyless (Thanks, Oma and Opa!) shopping spree determined that I am an extra-small, small, medium, large, 8, 8.5, 10, 12, and one-size-fits-all ALL AT THE SAME TIME, it feels almost revolutionarily validating to break a sweat in my Razzle Dazzle Wunder Unders not because they make others feel good about looking at my body, but because they make me feel good about being in my body. That's right. My RDWU's come in a size juuuuuuuuuuuuuuust right.

This Is Dedicated to the [Hippie] I Love

2010-11-10T13:09:00.000-08:00

JKlo, this one's for you.

The Mystery of Crap Circles SOLVED!

2010-11-09T20:37:00.000-08:00

During my youth I was a huge fan of The X-Files, and so I was giddily thrilled when our humble home became subject to supernatural phenomena. Witness the crap circle:

Spoooooooooooky

Every day unexplained circles of toys, books, and baby paraphernalia mysteriously appear throughout the house. Above one has carved itself out in our entryway. Its tight perimeter contrasts wildly with the more freeform crap circle, berhaps better called a crap nebula, that sprouted in the living room.

The grids and parallel placement of the maracas imply an intelligent designer.

Just when I thought I had an excuse to call Fox Mulder and request a thorough probe, I found that the source of the mystery in action! As you can see, it was plainly terrestrial.

Drat those meddling kids!

The Casserole Project: Southwestern Veggie Bake

2010-11-01T21:54:00.000-07:00

Hello, friends! It's been a while since my first installment of The Casserole Project, so new readers should start here to see what this is all about.

My niece's funeral in June reinvigorated my interest in TCP, but apparently not my interest in writing about it so I'm getting to this months after the fact. After the service during which our family all cried until they were dry we sat down to a church lunch in the most traditional sense of the concept. While it didn't take place in a cinderblock basement, it did feature loving church ladies moving amongst us in a warm hush delivering hugs, pats on the back, and compassionate commands to enjoy the meal they'd prepared for us. It largely consisted of traditional casseroles in disposable foil pans or simmering in crockpots. I can't remember them specifically, except for my favorite that had seen a generous inclusion of jarred enchilada sauce and sliced black olives, the only things that set it apart from its brethren. They were exactly what you'd imagine at a church supper - warm masses of carbohydrates and chopped chicken or canned tuna held in fatty suspension by canned, condensed soup and/or shredded mild cheese - and they were exactly what we needed to heal enough to get through the day. After crying so hard during the service, I was starving, and those casseroles were truly a balm for my troubled soul. If ever an embrace could be delivered gustatorily or nutritonally, it would be through a casserole lovingly pepared by devout hands for the benefit of wounded strangers.

And it was with this in mind that I decided to revisit Best of Country Casseroles and revive TCP using my bookgroup as guinea pigs. Because one of us is a vegetarian, my options were limited to meatless dishes. And because SLB is a caring gentleman who values my friendships even when I don't, my options were limited to the Southwestern Veggie Bake. While I was pondering aloud whether I should make the Fish Stick Supper, a Microwave Tuna Casserole, or the Black Bean Nacho Bake (ingredients: macaroni, black beans, nacho cheese soup, milk, tortilla chips, and cheddar), SLB sternly reminded me that my bookgroup consists of friends who I want to speak to me again and that it's not nice to force others to eat shit because I think it's funny. So, seeing as the Southwestern Veggie Bake was my only option that did not feature canned soup but did feature actual spices, it's what was for dinner.

Project-continuing, friend-keeping dinner

Here's the recipe as originally written:

Southwestern Veggie Bake

3 medium carrots, sliced

2 celery ribs, chopped

1 small onion, chopped

2 to 3 teaspoons chili powder

1 teaspoon ground cumin

.25 teaspoon cayenne pepper

2 tablespoons butter

3 tablespoons all-purpose flour

.5 cup milk

1 can (16 ounces) kidney beans, rinsed and drained

1 can (15 ounces) black beans, rinsed and drained

1 can (14.5 ounces) diced tomatoes, undrained

1 can (4 ounces) chopped green chilies

1 tube (11.5 ounces) refrigerated corn bread twists

In a large skillet, saute the carrots, celery, onion and seasonings in butter until vegetables are crisp-tender. Stir in flour until blended. Gradually add the milk. Bring to a boil; cook and stir for 2 minutes or until thickened and bubbly. Remove from the heat; add beans, corn, tomatoes, and chilies. Spoon into an ungreased 13 x 9 x 2 inch baking dish. Separate corn bread twists; weave a lattice crust over filling. Bake, uncovered, at 350 for 20 - 25 minutes or until corn bread is done. Yield: 8 servings.

Now, although Julie Zeager from Kent, Ohio's narrative promises that "refrigerated corn bread twists create an appealing lattice top on this zippy main dish," after visits to 3 different supermakerts in search of the damned things proved fruitless, I subbed refrigerated tube-biscuits for the tube-twists. The only downside to this would be that it dictates serving sizes in an unpleasant way, which can cause your delicate lady bookgroup friends to act shy and apologetic for their appetites. Eat up, ladies! There ain't no shame in eating two biscuits' worth of Southwest Veggie Bake!

This dish is an unmitigated, unironic success. It's basically a chili that's been thickened with a roux, and the combination of butter, flour, milk, and cumin renders it somewhat reminiscent of a shamelessly American butter chicken on the finish. It really is a decent dish separate from, rather than because of, The Casserole Project. My 13 x 9 x 2 inch baking dish was licked clean by the night's end. So was my 8 x 8 x 2 baking dish after I made it a DOUBLE CASSEROLE NIGHT by whipping up a batch of what we call Old Cold Pancake.

Two - TWO! - casseroles for the price of one!

This recipe is adapted from a back issue of Real Simple and so can't technically count toward The Casserole Project. It is so in the spirit of the project, though, that I felt no compunction in including Old Cold Pancake in this particular menu. After all, it's an ad hoc cobbler, which is generally the dessert equivalent of a casserole, and the recipe includes pancake mix, which is generally the baking goods equivalent of canned, condensed soup. Thus, SVB + OCP = TCP BFF's.

To make Old Cold Pancake (so named because of the inclusion of pancake mix and for SLB's sick prediliction for eating it from the fridge the next day), follow this recipe:

Butter for greasing your 8 x 8 x 2 dish

2 or 3 cups of stone fruit and/or berries, frozen and thawed are fine. (I think I used nectarines and blueberries here.)

2 tablespoons confectioners sugar

2 cups pancake mix

1 cup whole milk

2 large eggs

Whipped cream and/or maple syrup

Heat oven to 375. Butter your baking dish. Add the fruit and confectioners sugar to the dish and toss. In a large bowl combine the pancake mix, milk, and eggs until no lumps remain. Do not overmix! Bake about 30 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. Remove from oven and let cool for 5 minutes. Serve with whipped cream as a dessert for bookgroup or maple syrup as a dish for brunch with Uncle Damon and Aunt Katie. Voila! You are a genius!

So geometric. So modern. So delicious.

No Wardrobe

2010-10-31T20:29:00.000-07:00

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

Verboten

2010-10-28T21:40:00.000-07:00

I am a terrible singer. TERRIBLE. But I am an enthusiastic singer. ENTHUSIASTIC. I'll sing almost anything anytime anywhere, but some songs are just too good to sully with the absolute embarrassment that is my earnest, off-key warbling. Some songs I know better than to ruin for myself by singing them. So, go ahead and listen to these in their best iterations. They're wonderful and wholly without the taint of my voice.

Jeff Buckley's cover of "Hallelujah." Beautiful, haunting, wrenching, and far too good for these pipes. Also, I don't know if I could get through it without weeping.

"Time Bomb" by Old 97's (and the video is local!). Uncle Damon and I once tried singing this as a duet in his parents' red station wagon in college. It was painful. We declared our eternal ban on singing together forever after. I have extended it into a song-specific, personal ban. Good song to listen to, GREAT song to drink to, bad song to sing along with.

"What Sarah Said" by Death Cab for Cutie. Because it's the saddest song I've ever heard and because I can still smell the exact scent of the hand sanitizer used in the hospital if I try hard enough. Listen at your own risk.

"It's the End of the World As We Know It" by REM. Yes, it was the final song at our wedding reception, but, no, I did not sing along. Why? I don't know the words. Only douchebags memorize the words to this song. Sad, sad douchebags. I will not be counted as one of your number!

Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom

2010-10-27T13:30:00.000-07:00

Ever hungry for attention, the wily Livy spots her prey lounging on the bed.

Stealthily, she approaches the side of the bed, moving slowly to avoid startling her target.

Accidental eye contact established, she deftly sinks below the horizon of the linens to give the appearance of indifference and to put her victim at a false and deadly ease.

Finally, with the brutal alacrity of a lion and the insatiability of a plague of locusts, she pounces. Her cuteness has rendered her quarry helpless against high-pitched cooing and giggling. Where once was a moment of calm leisure is now a bright spotlight of attention bathing the victor in glory.

Livy, red in tooth and claw

Buy Him That: Havarti Shirt

2010-10-26T19:44:00.000-07:00

Because we're bootstrappers, SLB and I both attended excellent state schools before launching ourselves toward majestic debt by going to fancy graduate schools. Although he was accepted into a number of very fancypants law schools, he chose not to attend an Ivy League school. I, on the other hand, did besmirch an Ivy Leage institution with my attendance, and whenever it looks like he's about to win an argument, be smarter than I am, or even just take a breath, I like to remind him of this. And that's why someone (hmmmmm Santa?) needs to get him this shirt for Christmas.

Yes, it's a little cheesy (BOOM!), but it's awesome. Get one here.

No, it won't stop the torrent of arbitrary academic abuse, but it might make me giggle enough to throw me off my game a bit. That brief reprieve alone makes this shirt truly a gift that promises to keep giving.

A Pride of One

2010-10-21T18:59:00.000-07:00

It sounds like a tagline for the Marines, doesn't it? Instead, I mean this:

One more in the name of love.

After weeks of actively hating the headpiece to her lion costume, weeks in which she'd cry when I put it on her and crawl away quickly whenever she saw it in her toybox, Livy has had a dramatic change of heart. She found this while playing the other night, brought it over to me, said "hat!" in her most imperious tone, and wore it until bedtime. She even cried when I took it off of her to put her to bed. So this Halloween, unlike the last when she was a headless monkey, she may actually wear all the parts of her costume. And then, friends, she will ROAR!

Friends, Lawyers, Countrymen

2010-10-19T18:28:00.000-07:00

Lend me your souls!

Yes, the humor relies on some pretty low-hanging fruit, but it's funny because it's true. This is also true: I was all set to take the LSAT (read it out loud, it's funnier that way) when I visited one of SLB's law school classes. I happily blew off the test after seeing what it really meant to go to law school and never looked back. No, instead I looked forward to A) being an academic, and then B) being a teacher, both of which commonly twist fresh, young idealism into virulent, filthy cynicism. Oh, and I make less than a quarter of what SLB does when I'm able to find decent work. So... I win?

Maybe this stay at home mom gig isn't so bad after all.

Time Off

2010-10-11T09:14:00.000-07:00

My mom is recovering from surgery this week, and I'm going to be too busy helping her to blog this week. I'll be sure to give your love to Spanaway, where rapists and child molesters thrive!

Buy Her That: Maternity Skeleton Shirt

2010-10-07T07:07:00.000-07:00

This one goes out to our fair Mrs. Weaver, who is currently getting plumper by the day carrying Livy's future partner-in-crime.

Skeleton baby by Suburban Belle. Real baby by Mr. Weaver (gross).

Peek-a-boo!

2010-10-06T17:54:00.000-07:00

Livy has finally mastered the concept of Peek-a-boo, if not quite the practice. Practice makes perfect, though, and like lady on the video says, "We strive for perfection."

And, yeah, I know I sound like a chipmunk who got a hold of a helium balloon. But so would you if you had a sweet baby playing adorable tricks on you.

Buy Me That: Mike Monteiro Print

2010-10-05T09:00:00.000-07:00

How on earth did we survive Livy's first year without this nugget of inspiration on our wall?

It's available in two sizes at 20x200 and is much edgier and more unique than the "Keep Calm and Carry On" poster all of your twee hipster friends have.

Rock Stars

2010-10-04T14:46:00.000-07:00

Left Coast Melancholy

2010-10-02T15:23:00.000-07:00

My lady love...

Today is exactly the kind of day that makes me miss living in New York the most. It's clearly autumn; the air is just a little crisp and the most peripheral leaves are starting to turn orange and red on the trees, but the sky is a cartoon blue and the sun is shining. This kind of autumn day is rare here, where things turn gray long before they turn cold, but it's typical of New York. Those were always my favorite days. If I were back now I'd do my favorite weekend trek and take the subway from our apartment in Brooklyn Heights up to 116th St., stop in at Labyrinth and Bank Street to fill up my backpack with treasures, and then wander my way downtown and across the bridge back home. It's an all-day adventure, which is part of its charm. It's like taking a little trip without being more than a long walk home, but the effect upon arriving home is that of having been gone, rather than just out.

So Seattle is home now, and that's good. But some days it just can't hope to be good enough.

EXACTLY

2010-10-01T07:41:00.000-07:00

So, you know how at every park there is at least one mom who sticks to herself at the periphery of the playground and talks mostly to her child and maybe that child's playmates while all the other moms are clustered in a group chatting? That's me. And it's because I fear this.

Buy Me That: Cake and Cupcake Stands from Whitney Smith Pottery

2010-09-28T21:49:00.000-07:00

Dig if you will the picture of a birthday cake for a family member. Special, isn't it? Certainly, for as long as it takes you to digest it and render it something I'd laugh at. Memorable? Not for long. But a birthday cake sitting on this little lovely is a thing of beauty to behold every year you break out the family's traditional celebratory cake stand by Whitney Smith Pottery.

There's nothing sadder than an empty cake stand.

Or imagine the gleam in your little one's eye as you serve him or her a special candle-bedecked birthday cupcake on this darling little ceramic confection.

Also suitable for a birthday morning muffin, if you're the stingy, joyless type.

One of the things I'm enjoying most about being a parent is the creation of family traditions, and I think the special celebration cake plate and/or cupcake plate is going to become one of them. I want Olivia (and, because he's a sentimental ladyman, SLB) to experience a thrill of anticipation and the warmth of nostalgia invoked by something special and familiar at each birthday. Other holidays come with their own festive family artifacts (ornaments, menorahs, pumpkins, turkey costumes, etc.), so why not birthdays? Besides, if cake is good and accessories are good, then cake accessories are just what each birthday requires to be spectacular.