We're Moving!!!

Well, kind of.

I'm moving.

And by "I," I mean, "this blog."

Friends would not actually be surprised to hear that I would be moving for the 9th time in 13 years or wherever the count currently stands, but no, the family is staying put for a little while longer.

But I decided to wordpress it up for a while, so I've shifted to here:

http://morecaffeineplease.wordpress.com/

Please, my two devoted followers, update your links.

Madison Killed the Tooth Fairy

But to Sam the evening deepened to darkness as he stood at the Haven; and as he looked at the grey sea he saw only a shadow on the water that was soon lost in the West. There still he stood far into the night, hearing only the sigh and murmur of the waves on the shores of Middle-earth, and the sound of then sank deep into his heart.

I feel like the elves have left Middle Earth. Little Cinderella lost her first tooth 8 weeks ago, to much excitement and joy and an anxiously awaited visit by the Tooth Fairy. But last night, she had a tale to tell:

"Mama, Madison* came to school today and told everyone that there was no tooth fairy. Her parents told her that it was them, and they brought out all of her teeth that she had lost and showed them to her. So there's no tooth fairy, it's just you and Daddy. She told our entire class at recess."

Dammit.

We got one, ONE, visit from the tooth fairy before it all went to Hell. Seriously? And my husband and I weren't even in town when it happened, we were on the one vacation we've taken together, ALONE, since our honeymoon almost 11 years ago.

So I mentioned to her, "Interesting, because Mommy and Daddy were in Germany when you lost your tooth, so it couldn't have been us."

Silence. She ponders this. "Oh, well it was probably Grams and Grandpa then."

Double dammit. Your reasoning skills are biting me in the a$$ right now.

Look, I know you can only control what your kids say/do so much. But if your child is the *first* one to discover that there's no Santa, no Tooth Fairy, no Easter Bunny, WHATEVER...if they're old enough to understand the truth, then they're old enough to not carpet bomb the rest of their classmates with nuclear truth torpedoes. Do the rest of us a favor and teach them a little discretion while you're at it, please.

Because little Madison and her parents took away a part of my kid's childhood yesterday, definitely before I was ready but more importantly, before she got to experience that excitement of waiting for a fairy to come to your home and leave you a present and a note more than once. Madison had 6 tooth fairy visits before figuring it out...my kid had one. And one isn't really enough.

Life is drab and mundane enough, we know that as adults, can't we try to keep the magic alive for as long as possible?

And, as much as I love little Madison, I am reconsidering any playdates or sleepovers with her between now and Christmas. If I could homeschool between now and then I would seriously consider it, because I am getting one more Santa-sponsored Christmas if it kills me.

My fingers are crossed, though, that we're going to be okay for the next six weeks. She hasn't brought up Santa in this conversation of "I know that it's really you, Mommy!" and I'm certainly not going there. I was a little heartened by the end of our Tooth Fairy discussion:

"Mama, the Tooth Fairy isn't real, it's you and Daddy." She widens her eyes and adds, "But the Desk Fairy [she leaves little treats for the first graders with clean desks] and Tinkerbell, THEY'RE real."

Okay, then.


*a pseudonym, obviously - who names their kid that anymore?

Is this all there is?

I've noticed something lately, a new phenomenon affecting friends and acquaintances of mine. It appears that there comes a time in a young (or not-so-young) professional's life, seemingly when they're somewhere between 35 and 40, when they take a really good, hard look at their life. Often they're married, often they have children, and often they have taken out sizable loans the size of 3 bedroom mortgages to do what is that they do every day. And maybe the vastness of time between now and retirement stretches out before them, and they think about getting up every day and doing what it is that they do, and coming home to what it is they come home to, and they think "Is this all there is?"

And then they have an epiphany. "I can't do this for the rest of my life! I'm too stressed...my job isn't meaningful...I don't see my kids...all I do is see my kids...I'm so godawful tired...I don't enjoy my job..."

Here's the thing: That's not an original epiphany. We ALL feel that way, at least some of the time. Yes, we're tired. Yes, the idea of a meaningful work/life balance is somewhat laughable as a professional in the age of internet and telecommuting. Yes, your children are growing up quickly and you miss things. Yes, what you do every day in your job, in the grand scheme of things, probably really doesn't matter much at all.

NEARLY EVERYBODY FEELS THAT WAY, AT LEAST SOME OF THE TIME.

The dirty little secret is that nobody WANTS to have to work. Nobody wants to have to get up every day and do something, no matter how fun, that is WORK.

But you do it. Because that's what being a grown-up is.

Unless you're a genius and have a great idea and work on it so hard that it becomes a raging success and Google buys it for 3 billion dollars, you're going to have to get up every day and go to work.

But in general, I get up every day and put a smile on my face and be the best cog in the corporate machine that I can be, because, at the moment, I've figured out that what I do isn't the thing that is going to fulfill me. My family, my friends, the things I do in my spare time, our vomiting codependent cats -- those are the things that matter, that are meaningful. And work makes it possible for me to have a roof over our heads and money for food and wine and the occasional vacation, and hairball treatments, so I'm just going to keep doing it. And when I think about doing something different with my professional life, I make small steps toward a new direction, because just chucking it all and becoming a graduate student again next semester would be a purely selfish thing for me to do, given my commitments. [Maybe not for you, I'm not judging -- but for me, it would be.]

Also, I hedge my bets and buy Powerball tickets when the jackpot gets over $100 million. Because I'm never going to invent the next Facebook or YouTube, and you can't win if you don't play.

East Coast Girls are Hip

We kind of are, you know.

I mean, if you saw what kind of fabulously stylish yoga pants I wear every day, you would just plotz. I clearly belong in the pages of Vogue. Or InStyle. Or Good Housekeeping. Or Parade Magazine. Or something.

We went to The Beach Boys concert in Boston this past week. [Note: you're supposed to capitalize the "The." True story.] My dad came up for a visit and this was his birthday present, taking him and our daughter to the concert. Backstory: my parents took me to see The Beach Boys every year since I was about 5. Even after the number of original band members dwindled, and even when they took on John Stamos for a few fateful summers (Uncle Jesse...um, NO), we were there to see it. I stopped going when I was about 21, and I was at peace with that decision.

But this year, it was the 50th Anniversary tour. And Brian Wilson was there, and performing, with all the rest. Sure, Dennis and Carl were only there via giant-screen accompanied by their brother/cousin/friends (think Natalie Cole and her father, only less grating), but wow, it was something. They sounded great, the weather was lovely, the Bank of America pavilion was a fantastic venue right on the water, and I could drink from a giant can of PBR while at the same time eating some Ben & Jerry's.

And my almost 6 year old loved it. Did she know all of the lyrics like I did when I was her age? No. But did she dance with me and my dad? Yes. And I got to rock out to the music of my childhood with my father again, and that was really special.

Although separated by 30 years, my daughter and I now have the same answer to the question, "What was your first concert?"

It made me feel all circle-of-life-y. (Did I really just quote Tim Rice there? Bah.)

Saturday, Saturday (Saturday)

When I was a kid, or a teenager, or in my mid- to late twenties, I'm not sure how I imagined my weekends would be when I was in my mid-thirties.

Kissing my perfect children goodnight as I swirl out the door in a cloud of perfume, on the arm of my dashing husband? Evenings at the opera? Tasting menus with wine pairings? Baccarat and cocktails? Meandering midnight walks through the sleeping city? Karaoke parties with friends?

I honestly don't remember how I imagined it would be. However, I'm kind of glad that I didn't know that it would involve me on a couch, Words with Friends, back-to-back episodes of Game of Thrones, and the entire rest of the household fast asleep.

At 10:15.

Words I Hate (updated again)

Hubby
Kiddo/s
Nom Nom (Nom)
Delish
Tootsies (said without irony)
Hump Day
Me Likey!
Brekkie
Sammies
Any and all abbreviations for "appetizers", including (but not limited to) appeteasers, apps, appies

There are more, but those are really bugging me right now.

I know I used to be a real wild child...

But now I am a Volvo-driving soccer mom.

[Ok, well, technically it's a Mazda and a very old Saab, but still.]

I think we're getting close to the end of the blog challenge (if we haven't gone past it already), and I have to apologize for doing so poorly. Work has been ridiculous of late, and I've been trying to exercise A LOT which really cuts into the time I have for fun things, like knitting, playing Xbox, and gracing you all with my pearls of wisdom and amusing anecdotes.

Last night I had a revelation. I was invited to a get-together at the church to celebrate someone's birthday, so a number of ladies (and a few gentlemen) gathered in the parish hall and had a little party. It was lovely. First of all, drinking wine at church when it's not immediately preceded by a tiny piece of bread is a new thing for me. Secondly, and most importantly, it was really nice to get out of the house and chat with fun, interesting people.

Ok, the revelation. So you know how there are moments in your life where it hits you, Wow, I am really a GROWN-UP? Like when you get a mortgage, or buy a car, or deliver a child, or are hit by your first outrageously high tax bill....do you have those moments too? Well, I do. And I just had another.

So after the festivities were complete, we had to clean up. I was standing by the sink, drying while one of my new friends was washing dishes, and it just hit me: I am now one of the ladies who cleans up at the church when everyone is done eating.

I don't think it gets more adult than that.

Oh good heavens, baby where’s my medicine?

- Hotel Illness, Black Crowes


A friend of mine posted on Facebook that she had a horrible stomach virus. The throwing-up-for-multiple-days kind. I commented, only half-kidding, that I would like to come to her house so she could lick my face so I could lose a few pounds with little effort.

The universe listened. Boy, did it.

Not more than 12 hours later, I, too, was in the throes of a stomach virus. WebMD tells me it's "viral gastroenteritis," which sounds about right. I'm almost done with day two, and it better hurry up and go away because a dear dear friend is arriving for a weekend visit from Minneapolis in less than half an hour. I would like to be able to leave the house for more than 20 minutes at a time while she's here.

So, be careful what you wish for.

By the same token, I'm also putting it out there that I would like to win Powerball. Maybe it's my lucky week?

You Make My Dreams Come True

One of the things I do miss about living in New York are the rampant celebrity sightings. We didn't even live in the best parts of town for that, but when I worked at [giant privately-owned financial media company] they filmed a show on-site that had lots and lots of famous people as guests. We would find out the filming schedule and go stalk stars on the pretense of a coffee break.

I got to see people like Julia Roberts and Bill Clinton up close and personal. Some of them even said hi to me. And wow, is Julia gorgeous in person. Like, so-not-fair, I-can't-believe-we're-both-members-of-the-same- human-race gorgeous. That shouldn't surprise you. I met Andrew from Top Chef Season 4, and had a little conversation with him the day after his elimination episode aired and I told him he was robbed. I think he appreciated that. Beyoncé lived in the building where I worked, and while I only saw her once, I saw her Louis Vuitton luggage an awful lot. Oh, and Jay-Z's Maybach. That is a sweet ride. Brian Williams lived there too, and I saw him the morning after Obama was elected -- he was coming home from work when I was coming in. He is a really, REALLY nice guy.

I saw Jon Hamm walking down Madison Avenue one time, and I smiled at him and he smiled back at me. I was so excited until I realized that I had on my rainboots with my pants tucked in and had my work i.d. badge around my neck, over my coat. He was probably smiling because he thought I was some sort of mentally challenged Cossack. I also saw Sal from Mad Men on the way to dinner in our neighborhood, but it was after he left the show and I really wanted to run up to him and say "Please come back to Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce!" but my husband held me back. He's helpful like that, keeping me from getting restraining orders taken out against me.

One of my dear friends DOES live in one of those neighborhoods that are celebrity-sighting central. To the point where, when giving directions, she says "If you see Liv Tyler, you've gone too far." And, she gets to work out next to John Slattery at the gym. [Wow, I just realized there's quite a Mad Men theme going on here -- guess you know where I am on Sunday nights.] But now, she has super-fabulous news. One of the singers of the aforementioned song, and his wife, are moving into her apartment when she moves out this summer.

I can't tell you which one. Sorry, I can't go for that. No can do.

Oh, This is How it Starts

That song has absolutely nothing to do with my post. For some reason, it's been in my head for the past 12 hours, and I can't get it out.

This weekend is the big dedication (that's Unitarian for "baptism") for our littlest and a cocktail party/benefit/silent auction for a local charity that my husband and I are attending. Three of the four grandparents are in town for this extravaganza, and luckily the weather is cooperating.

The only problem is, I can absolutely tell that I am going to need a weekend to recover from my weekend, yet the only thing that awaits me on the other side of all of this fun is Monday, and big piles of work.

Guess it's time to buy a Powerball ticket. Or 20.

The Polaroid of Perfection

She is literally the Polaroid of perfection 
She has everything and she´ll give it to you in a second


So Time magazine had a question for me this week: "Are you MOM ENOUGH?"

B*tch, please.

1) Congratulations on a provocative cover that has gotten everyone talking about Time magazine for the first time since 2006, when they declared that the person of the year was "You." Personally, I think someone found a great deal on mirrored paper and was looking for an excuse to use it, but whatever.

2) Let's talk for a minute about your cover model. As another blogger put it:

Let's start with the picture that you chose.  I don't have hard stats (and I'm way too lazy to go do real research), but my informal polls at the playground lead me to believe that most moms who subscribe to attachment parenting are older hippie moms with gray hair and saggy boobs and Subarus.  Why aren't they on your cover too?

Great question, Time! And I'm with Jen on this one -- just watching our local news where they covered "reactions" to the cover, there was only person who thought it was fabulous, and you can see her around the 29 second mark. Go ahead, I'll wait.

Not quite the lady on the Time cover, right? Which leads me to my point -- nice job, Time, for perpetuating the "mom-as-supermodel" myth whereby if we give over our lives completely to our children, we will look like THAT woman. I call bullsh*t, for no other reason than the fact that one's breasts would not look like that after breastfeeding for 6+ years straight. NOPE. Not without surgical intervention.

How do you have time to get your roots done if you're breast-feeding and WEARING two children (the logistics of this flummox me) for six years or more? Cook dinner? Knit something? Read a book not by Eric Carle? Chaperone a field trip? How do you have time to go to Ashtanga yoga or out for a run? WHAT IF THEY GET HUNGRY? OR NEED COMFORT? You set it up so you're the only one who can give it effectively. Can you hold down a job, or does your employer not care if your kindergartner pops in after school for an afternoon snack of breast milk? More on that one in a bit.

3) Just because cavemen/tribal women/people in third world countries do it is not a persuasive argument for having your child three inches from you at any given time. This one drives me crazy. Do you know why these groups currently practice attachment parenting? Think about it. Not because some Christian charity dropped off a copy of Dr. Sears' latest with a sack of old concert t-shirts and they all read it and thought, "Hey, yeah, let's do this!" And sure, there's some cultural impetus behind it. But really, it's because they HAVE TO -- because they don't have clean water, healthy plentiful food, rooms to spare or cribs or bouncy seats, and because their world is DANGEROUS and letting kids wander can result in serious injury or death, far beyond ingesting months-old Cheerios found under the couch.  And that's all they know. Don't you think those moms would like to pop out for an beverage at Starbucks some afternoon with their friends and sit around and chat for a few minutes, sans children? The reason they're not spending their days that way has nothing to do with their commitment to attachment parenting, and it's a foolish argument to make in favor of it. We don't live there. Our lives are not like that. Not in any way. Try again.

4) Where are the dads in all of this? The husbands? The other moms? I believe that, in a family with two parents that are in a relationship -- you know, married, or partnered, whatever you way you want to say it, for simplicity's sake I'll just say "married" for now -- that relationship is really important. It's the backbone of the family. And yes, kids are important, and each parent's relationship with each kid is important. But how are you able to strengthen and maintain that adult relationship when you've got a kid on your boob every hour and a half and more than one in your bed every night? Not to be indelicate here, but there are, ahem, LIMITATIONS to the family bed. Or at least there had better be. My husband put it this way -- "I would feel like a stud horse -- 'Thanks for the kids, now help me out when I ask for it for the next few years, bring home enough money to support this lifestyle, and I'll see you when the youngest turns 5 -- then we can resume our previously scheduled relationship where we talk about grown-up things for at least 10 minutes a day and have time alone together.'" I don't disagree with him. If you're so focused on your kids, to the exclusion of everything else, by definition you aren't paying much attention to your marriage. And if that goes, well, then, a whole lot of wonderful things go with it. I'm not interested in finding out what that's like.

Also, where's the consideration for the dad or other mom's relationship with the kids? If he/she is getting boob-blocked every time they want to rock the baby to sleep, that's not good either. Why is his or her relationship with the kids always given secondary attention to the "primary" mother's? In modern society with current technology (things like "bottles", for example), that's not necessary anymore. Maybe the counterpart to "attachment parent" is "detachment parent"...I guess he or she has got another role to fill -- the guy (or gal) who brings home the paycheck.

5) The very best moms at all don't work. That's what attachment parenting says. Dr. Sears and his wife, in fact, supplement their sons' families' incomes so that their daughters-in-law can quit their jobs and stay home with the kids and be, well, "attached." So again, it's the economic elites that can practice attachment parenting -- those who have Romney-esque family wealth or can at least front the mortgage payments for their offspring for a couple of years.

Moms who work outside the home to pay the mortgage and buy food are JUST AS GOOD AT PARENTING as moms who don't. In fact, an argument could be made that they are more self-sacrificing to spend so many hours away from their beloved children in uncomfortable business suits or uniforms, on their feet all day or crunched up behind a desk, rather than wearing yoga pants in the comfort of their own home being WITH their children and getting to participate in all of the sweet, wonderful moments of childhood in real time, not just between 6 and 8 am and pm. Right now, I get to work from home most of the time, and we have a nanny to enable me to do that, and the yoga pants are definitely the best part of the deal. (In fact, I put jeans on the other day and my legs felt weird walking up the stairs. I thought to myself, is this what real pants are like? Don't judge.)

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

But you know what? It's not a competition. (And this post is definitely not intended to be a slam on SAHMs -- and I definitely recognize that SAHM ≠ attachment parent. Not at all.) No way is "better," it's just what's better for you. Do what you want -- you want your kid ON YOU 24 hours a day? Fine. Have at it! But I don't. Nor do I think it's what's best for them. And do not tell me that I love my kids any less for it.

As for me, I don't believe that having parents THISCLOSE to their kids for the first six years of life builds any sort of independence and problem-solving skills, nor do I want my daughters calling me every day from college asking "What should I have for lunch today?" or coming home every single weekend. I have seen that, and to me, that is a parenting FAIL, and the roots of it start early. But again, these are the things that I think about, goals that I personally parent toward. If you don't, whatevs. To each her own. As long as your kids aren't calling me to ask what they should have for lunch when they're 19, it's all good.

So thank you, Time magazine, for turning the run-up to Mother's Day into another series of heated debates about who's doing the whole mom thing more correctly. We all really needed that. As for me, I would have settled for "Thanks for doing your best!"

And now you won’t stop calling me, I’m kinda busy.

Stop callin’, stop callin’, I don’t wanna think anymore!

I need a little Gaga in my life today.

Working from home has its advantages, to be sure, but it does mean that I am on the phone almost all day. All day, every day -- regular phone calls, conference calls, chatty calls with the coworkers, calls to other parents re: playdates, calls to set up afterschool activities or summer camps, calls to my parents -- I AM ALWAYS ON THE PHONE.

I used to like being on the phone. I pretty much LOVED it. It was an integral part of my day. My evenings, actually -- when I lived alone, especially. Back in the day where super-cheap long distance cost $.25 per minute, I was on the phone to the tune of about $300/month. I so could not afford it. Now, it's free, and I would give ANYTHING to not have to talk on the phone.

Often, at night, I just don't pick it up. I just can't bring myself to do it. After an entire day (or WEEK) spent on the phone, I want to be untethered from its insistent technology...you know, so I can play on my iPad and read email and be on Facebook.

Of course, as a general rule, if you're reading my blog, then you're one of the people that I do pick up for. It's an elite group.

Broccoli! Celery! Gotta be...VeggieTales! Lima Beans! Collard Greens! Peachy Keen!

Dieting sucks.

Eating healthy is fine -- good, in fact -- but vegetables have grown so tiresome to me. Broccoli, cauliflower, carrots...blah blah blah. Eating the same thing over and over again is so boring.

I have no time for lunch, so I grab handfuls of things and can sometimes make myself a sandwich. It seems to be working well to fill up half my plate with raw vegetables and eat those, but WOW am I getting sick of them.

I've thrown in green beans and zucchini for a little variety, but I thoroughly despise tomatoes, so I'm running out of options.

I have to do this though, for a number of reasons.

1) My clothes don't fit. That's an expensive thing to replace, an entire wardrobe.
2) I don't want to get diabetes. I had gestational diabetes for about 20 weeks, and that was NOT FUN. I do not want to live my life that way, and one solution is to lose weight and reduce that risk.
3) I would like to look nice. Vanity, yes. But there it is.

If red velvet whoopie pies were naturally low in fat, calories, and carbohydrates, my world would be a better place.

Oh, these sleepless nights / Will break my heart in two

Not really. I just had insomnia last night for some reason. It was probably around 3:30 by the time I fell asleep.

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

I'M UP, I'm up, I'm here. Sorry.

So. Freaking. Tired. Today.

But I managed to get a run in, so good on me. Days like today, there's not enough coffee in Central America to keep me awake and productive.

I do apologize, today's post really reflects my inability to form cogent sentences and keep my head from lolling backwards. Luckily, it's been a fairly light workday so I've been able to hold it together (mostly).

Don't you hate those nights when you can't sleep? It doesn't happen to me often, thankfully, but when it does -- MISERY.

This is how it goes. Staring at the numbers on the clock....


1:06 AM  "Weird. I'm not that tired. And this is a fun book to read."

1:45 AM  "Huh. It's almost two. Whoops, left the brighter light on to read by, that was dumb, no wonder I'm not getting sleepy." Turn off bright light, turn on little book light on the bed.

2:28 AM "If I fall asleep RIGHT NOW I will get almost five hours. That's completely do-able. Should even be able to work out tomorrow."

3:10 AM "Ok, now we're pushing four hours. This is not good. This is terrible. I will not be able to function. Gotosleepgotosleepgotosleep! Right now! Ok, go!"

3:12 AM "What was that? I heard a weird noise. Was it the cats? Is someone breaking in? Better pick up the book again so I can read myself sleepy."

3:37 AM "How many sick days do I have left again?"

I made it through, thankfully, and did not have to burn any paid time off. Which is worth it. I'd rather use the days for something fun, like having friends come to stay or, say, Christmas, than napping all day in a busy house.

But once that computer shuts down, it is NAPTIME for this girl.

See you tomorrow -- zou bisou bisou.

You do it my way, Called a crime wave

A little 50 Cent on this lovely Sunday morning! You're welcome.

I'm still getting used to living in a small town. It's not a suburb -- no, not at all -- and I feel confident saying that because Target is too damn far away. One of the fascinating things about living in a small town as compared to our more recent residences (such as New York, Baltimore, and Washington, D.C.) is the local crime report.

Granted, our neighborhood is New York was super safe. But, when crime did happen, it could be pretty spectacular. Or titillating. Or gruesome.

Small town crime reports are something to behold. Truly. To wit, from the local police report:

POLICE: Motorist from Czech Republic sightseeing

Posted Apr 30, 2012 @ 07:00 PM

A caller reported at 6:41 p.m. on Saturday (April 21) that the car in front of her was traveling below the speed limit, hugging the side of the road and swerving at times. Police followed the car and pulled it over on Booth Hill Road. As it turned out the operator, who had rented the car, was from the Czech Republic, had been in the country for a week, and was sightseeing, taking the long way to Cape Cod.

Driving while Czech. I think we learned about that in law school.

And this:

POLICE: Suspicious Antifreeze in Driveway

Posted Apr 29, 2012 @ 08:00 AM

A resident reported to police last week that there was antifreeze in her driveway that did not come from her car. Police said the woman has a very long driveway and has been concerned about recent suspicious activity.

Banditos who leak antifreeze? Now there's a comic book if I've ever heard one. Somebody better call the Justice League! And how do you know, for certain, that it didn't come from your car? I'm pretty sure that I couldn't tell different brands of anti-freeze apart just by sight. Did she taste it or something?

And then there's this one:

POLICE: No trespassing signs stolen

Posted Apr 30, 2012 @ 05:00 PM

A 49-year-old Jerusalem Road resident, who lives on Straits Pond, reported to police on Monday (April 16) that six of her “no-trespassing” signs were stolen. Apparently, people trespass across her property to get to the pond, police said. In an unrelated incident this past weekend during the Straits Pond cleanup on Saturday, the same homeowner’s father spotted two men collecting trash near the water on his daughter’s property. He called police who went to the scene. The two men, ages 52 and 79, respectively, explained they were part of the cleanup effort sponsored by the Straits Pond Watershed Association, were collecting trash and meant no harm.

Someone stole your signs? Yeah, that's not good, but I have to admire the irony. And if they stole six, exactly how many do you have? 14? 30? Could that be excessive? And then the crazy environmentalists come and attack the trash on your property, keeping the waterfront beautiful -- well, that's just too much.

Can you imagine calling the police on a 79 year old man picking up trash?

Maybe residents of these tiny hamlets 'round here should take a lesson from some Upper East Side parents:

via Maria Gorshin/West Side Rag

You can never be too careful.

Wake Me Up, Before You Go-Go

Day One of the Ultimate Song Lyric challenge. Can you tell?

I'm up REALLY early for a Saturday. For me, anyway. I am fortunate that this travesty doesn't happen all of the time, in fact, it RARELY happens because 1) my husband is a naturally early riser so he gets up with the kids and 2) he likes to let me sleep in a bit and 3) he's a pretty stellar guy.

So, usually, on a weekend, I get woken up before he goes somewhere, as long as it's after 9. Otherwise, he'll just take kids with him.

[No, you can't have him.]

But today was the morning after a sleepover, and the first day of five weeks of Saturday morning soccer. So, are 6:54 AM, here comes Mama.

Dad was nice enough to have coffee made. Frankly, that's mostly self-preservation on his part, but I'll give him bonus points in the "considerate" column just the same.

To be fair though,  I just can't SLEEEEEP INNNNN the way that I used to. I used to be able to sleep until noon or thereabouts with very little effort, but now, even when given the opportunity, I'm usually up by 9. Maybe it's because our current bedroom is less cave-like in the past. Maybe it's the fact the Cinderella has gotten much louder with the running around and jumping during cartoon time. Maybe it's because Belle can't yet speak but she sure can yell to express herself. I hope it's not because I'm cruising the upper half of my thirties...

Put yourself on notice -- I will be taking a nap today. It's only fair.

[NOT] Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny

So there's a secret little Facebook group to which I belong, and it consists of moms and dads of young kids. It's pretty much a forum for asking questions, relating funny stories, and venting about the trials and tribulations of parenthood. I only know two of the members in real life (I never ever see them in person), but I'm starting to know others via the group and frankly, it's a really interesting bunch. And what makes it work, I think, is that very few of us know many of the others, so there's a variety of experiences and perspectives and no one has to worry about someone judging them at carpool the next morning.

Some of the parents are way more crunchy-granola-earth-mother than I (that's not hard to do, actually); some are very outspoken advocates for the environment, others are quietly religious or not-so-quietly not, but everyone wears their civility hats and there are some fruitful and downright delightful discussions.

One of these centered around little girls and their swimwear. A mom asked if anybody had recommendations for swimwear, and how she didn't like two-piece suits on little girls. My response was that I like two-piece suits for our eldest, because it's easier for them to use the bathroom and change when it's wet (versus a one-piece). However, I insist on decent coverage -- no tummies showing -- and nothing that looks like string bikini pieces with triangles over the chest. Lands End has a lot of nice stuff that works well for us, usually tanks with boy shorts or a rash guard t, occasionally a little swim skirt (which our daughter requested). 

Look, I'm not a particularly conservative person, certainly not politically (I MIGHT be a socialist) but when it comes to little girls' clothing, I guess I kind of am. But when a child is 5, or 9, or 2, I don't think it's appropriate to put clothes on her that make it look like she has a bust. I also don't think it's appropriate to let them wear sparkly high-heeled shoes to school (yeah, I'm looking at you, Suri). Around the house? Sure! Dress up! Wear high heels! Wear your princess dress! I'm the girl who cleans the house in a t-shirt with the neck ripped out, boxer shorts, and a sparkly tiara, so I get it. I GET IT.

But if you can't run without falling, you can't be a kid. And if you look like you're trying to be 15, you're not enjoying where you are RIGHT NOW. And once you start caring about how your body looks, the way that girls and women do, you can't NOT.

Kids grow up so fast -- what they see on tv and hear on the radio pushes them down the tunnel of tweendom and pop culture before we think they're ready...why would we want to rush that even more? Hearing my daughter say "You look sexy, Mama" really bothers me, especially because she doesn't know what it means. I ask her, and she said "It means you look like you're ready to be married with someone." 

Yep, that's right. That's EXACTLY what it means. And seeing as she doesn't want to get married until she's at least 30 years old, I think my plan is working.

And if all else fails, there's this:

When I Grow Up

How do you know what you really want to be when you grow up? When you're little, you  a) think you can do anything and be fabulous at it, and b) don't consider factors like making enough money to "send your kids to  college" or "eat". When I was really little, say 4 or 5 years old, I wanted to be a garbage man ("sanitation engineer", I believe is the current terminology) and a Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader.


(Spoiler alert: This is not me.)

Interestingly, today I am neither of those.

I'm at the point where I'm looking at my career, and at the approximately 40 years that stand between me and retirement, and I say, "Is this what I want to be doing for that whole time?" Probably not. Plenty of lawyers and other professionals have some sort of mid-career change-up, so it's not a bad thing, or even uncommon, to think about doing something else.

But what would that be? And would any of the options be realistic enough to not eat ramen and save for the aforementioned retirement and multiple college educations for my children?

That's the big question. Doing something that's fulfilling and challenging and interesting, and yet be able to buy food and a house and have money left over for fun things, like vacations and Sephora (within reason)....

WHAT IS THAT THING?!?!

If you have the answer for me, I'm all ears. You get extra points if it involves pom-poms.

Moms, Stop Reading.

Really. Just stop. Not this post, mind you, because it's witty and delightful, but stop reading stuff on the internet. On the discussion boards, on babycenter.com, the emails that send you age-appropriate developmental information about your child, just STOP.

Why stop? "I can't do this in a vacuum," you think to yourself. "I need answers! What is this rash? Is it eczema or ringworm or scarlet fever? How much formula should I be giving my baby? Is she too scrawny? Is she too chubby? Is it wrong that she's not sleeping through the night at 5 months? Is she sleeping too much and not getting enough stimulation? Should I get a sling or a front carrier? If so, which one? Organic cotton? One sized for me and a separate one for my husband? One that requires Eagle Scout-level knotting skills? Is my infant autistic because she doesn't look me straight in the eyes? Is my infant needy because she only wants me to feed her? How long should I breastfeed? Can I use Target brand formula, or do I have to use organic if I don't want her to have to wear a C cup at age 7?"

Don't get me wrong, the internet is a wonderful thing. You can find answers for nearly every question, you can keep in touch with dear friends and family who live far away, you can become friends with people who you never get the chance to meet in real life -- you can be entertained, socialized, and educated with a click of a mouse.

But this information is overload is causing a problem. To wit -- this information overload is causing ME a problem. And I don't think I'm that different than you.

I find myself asking more questions and doubting my parenting abilities merely by reading other people's questions. "I've been nursing for 9 months, and co-sleeping, I'm going to have to wean now, is that going to be a problem for her overnight feedings?" I read on one discussion board. Which made my brain start spinning in dizzying circles -- "I've been nursing for a little more than six months, and frankly, I've had enough and am ready to be done, but maybe I should keep going because everyone else is? And maybe I don't love my daughter as much as other mothers because she sleeps in her crib in her own room, and has practically since she was born, and I don't wake her to feed her and I let her sleep from 7 pm until 7 am because, dammit, I just want to watch Mad Men and relax a little and not be awakened by every sigh and snort? I must be a bad mother." Also, reading other people's discussions about which place does the best job at installing your car seat and how it's IMPERATIVE to have a certified expert put your Chicco base in your backseat...makes me think, "Hmm, we just read the directions and installed it accordingly and looked at the level indicator and it seemed just fine...is she going to be decapitated if I get into an accident because I didn't pay someone at the baby boutique an extra $250? OHMIGOD!"

There is too much information and too many choices. How many apps do we need to track every movement our kid makes? A friend just asked me which app I use...and I blanched and felt like I was making up excuses for not having my homework done..."Well, we wrote everything down for the first two weeks, and once that check-up went well we, uh... kind of stopped tracking stuff because she seemed to have gotten the whole 'eating and peeing' thing down pat." Gulp. Do I really need to have a record of every bottle, poop, and pee from the first six months? I didn't think I did. But other people do, so that makes me wonder, am I falling short? Already? Wasn't it enough that I created a vast Excel spreadsheet to figure out which stroller I should buy? And that I even put in a pivot table? But what about the 2012 stroller models? Are they better the ones I researched? Is mine obsolete? It's like trying to stay ahead of the latest computer technology, but add to it the stress of FAILING as a parent and having your kid grow up WRONG or getting BROKEN, because of something YOU DID or didn't do.

Maybe, just maybe, we're all better at this than we think we are. Maybe, JUST maybe, we don't need affirmations from strangers or breathless posts about the dangers of X and the benefits of Y to guide us through this journey of parenthood. Maybe mothers and fathers have been keeping their kids alive since time immemorial, and maybe most of them turned out pretty much okay. Maybe buying a stroller or a crib can just be a purchase, and not a life event. Maybe just reading the directions and using your own brain and the appropriate reference manual and calling your best friend or mom is enough, most of the time.

And maybe if we just stopped being on the internet frantically searching for information all day we'd have a little more time to just hang out with our kids...and that's apparently the best way to ensure that they don't grow up to be sociopaths (I think I read that online somewhere).

Missing the Point on Ann Romney

This whole Hilary Rosen/Ann Romney thing has once again brought up the whole SAHM/WOHM debate. And aside from the obvious concept that if women could stop fighting each other, we'd be running the whole damn world, I have a few things to say about it.

I agree with Rosen's point, although it was inartfully expressed. Ann Romney has not worked, at a job outside the home where she would earn a paycheck, a day in her adult life. That is true, an unassailable fact. Why do we have to bend over backwards to say, oh no, being a SAHM is work too, hard work? No kidding. Anyone who would dispute the fact that staying at home and taking care of five children is HARD, EXHAUSTING work, is an idiot. Let me tell you, I have two, and by the end of the weekend I'm ready for a breather.

However, Rosen's real point, which has been buried beneath the endless and pointless "who's a better mother/who works harder" debate is that Ann Romney cannot speak to the concerns of women who work outside the home. She cannot relate. I'm sorry, it's the truth - she can't. The mere idea of balancing the needs of your family and the expectations of your job is completely outside of her wheelhouse, to say nothing of having to actually "save" for something that you cannot afford to buy outright. And the fact that Mitt thinks she can, well...in my book it's further evidence that he's out of touch with what our nation really looks like, outside the bubble of wealth and privilege and religious doctrine and private equity. And someone who doesn't viscerally understand ever NOT being able to pay for something on the spot, whether it's medicine, food, education, a fun vacation or even a fabulous pair of shoes, shouldn't be leading the rest of us who do.

Ann Romney is blessed, in the sense that she has been able to make the choice, for herself and her family, to be the kind of mother who does not work outside the home, and take on all that accompanies that, for when your husband comes from wealth and has a net worth somewhere in the vicinity of hundreds of millions of dollars, no one is relying on her for a paycheck and dental insurance and a flexible spending account. I imagine there are many "middle-class" women who would also like to make the same choice. But they can't, because in most parts of the country it is very difficult, if not downright impossible, to be able to do that and still put food on the table, have a roof over your head, and pay for doctor's visits and ballet classes and in-state tuition for all of your brood.

Let's not pretend that Ann's choice is mine, for the main reason that I simply cannot allow myself to think about that choice seriously. I can't allow myself to think about quitting my job, because we would not be able to afford to pay back the grad and law school loans that I took out, we couldn't pay for extras like summer day camp and soccer and dance, nor would we be able to save in even a remotely effective way for things like college tuition and retirement. I simply don't have the luxury of considering that choice.

But let us also not pretend that staying at home with your kids is the same as going to work outside of the home. It is not. These are two entirely different things. Calling yourself the "CEO of your family" on your Facebook info page under "employment"...well, if that's true, then everyone should put that in there. Every SAHM, every WOHM, we're ALL CEOs of our households (although in mine, it's pretty much a shared position with my husband, and that's the way we like it). And we're all still mothers -- we all love our children and care for them and cook and clean (to varying degrees, to be sure) and shop and keep them alive and provide transportation and show up to things...some of us just have to not do it consistently between the hours of 8 am and 6 pm.  Let us not pretend that there is not a big difference between working outside the home as opposed to "inside." It's a whole other set of expectations, and an entirely different skill set. If we could actually discuss these issues and recognize the differences without everyone raising their voices, demanding respect for their particular path, maybe we could figure out how to make it so that it would be possible for more women to do what they actually want to do, not what their circumstances dictate -- by making child care more affordable, by providing for adequate social security to support us in our old age, by providing for alternative work schedules and job sharing, and by amending the tax code to accurately reflect what "wealthy" means in high-cost-of-living urban areas.

Let's all just stop dancing around everybody's feelings, trying to make sure everyone's language is sanitized enough so that SAHMs feel "respected" enough for what they do inside the home and take notice of Rosen's actual point. Ann Romney cannot speak for the majority of American women who cannot afford to make the choice to stay home, and for the issues that she could speak about, such as women's health (she's a breast cancer survivor) and birth control (she obviously was born with a uterus), she simply chooses not to. Let us avoid the distraction of "who loves their kids more" and talk about issues that matter, and try to elect someone who will make the country a better for place, for all mothers.

Missed that delectable Matt Bomer by mere hours

Today in Long Island City....This is where your television gets made, people -- in Queens.

A Note About My (Lack of Formatting)

Apparently, when I'm blogging "remotely", I don't have any formatting. None. I put nice spaces in there and everything, to make it pleasing to the eye, but it's all gone once the post goes live. I will have to work on this. Thank you for your patience, dear reader.

The Morning Train (alternative title: Amthrax)

Let me just preface this by saying that getting up early is not my thing. Getting up at 4 AM is most DEFINITELY not my thing. But here I am.

After moving to Boston, a condition of keeping my job at the gigantic financial institution that employs me, I have to return to New York approximately once a month. That is a very reasonable condition, in my opinion. Paying for travel and accommodations myself, well, that's less reasonable to me, but there you have it.

So here I sit on the 6:21 Acela to Penn Station. I love me some quiet car time, that's for sure, but unlike my last trip, I have a seatmate. (Note to self: taking a few bites of my tuna sub every time people boarded was a winner of an idea last time.) It's fine. He's quiet and nice. A little armrest wrestling (subtle, but noticeable), but not a big deal. However, there are about four people who keep hacking uncontrollably. There was a man who took over both seats by laying down across them and donning a sleep mask. My seat mate, in fact, tried to sit next to THAT guy, but Sleeping Beauty kept spouting off about how is was "very ill." So after 5 minutes of that, I got myself a travel companion.

I believe that I coined the term "Amthrax" on this journey. I haven't had the inclination to google it -- I'm sure someone else came up with it first, like most of my brilliant ideas -- but for the moment, it's one of my best turns of phrase.

This is going to be a quick trip, only staying one night and then back tomorrow evening. Not too guilt-inducing for the working mother, but hearing "Cat's in the Cradle" this morning on my drive to the train station did not make me feel exactly empowered or anything. That was just mean, Boston 104.7 FM. Don't do that again.

I do love riding the train, though. Silence (mostly -- in the quiet car, anyway). Pretty scenery (damn, those are some big houses, Connecticut!). The feeling of doing something positive for the environment, which is vastly outweighed by my smug self-righteousness as we zip past all of the rush-hour traffic on I-95.

 Happy Wednesday!

Accomplishing Something

Happy Day to me! I came in second in the Baseball Blogging Challenge. It was my first one, so I'll happily accept the silver...but next time, watch out. I'm in it to win it. Cheers to Miscellaneous Missives for coming in first! Well-deserved.

Speaking of accomplishing something...There are days where I just don't want to do anything.

Saturdays are often those days. I'm tired from the week, I don't feel like doing laundry or anything else that requires "standing" or "moving."

I had this feeling last Saturday, but I told myself, you have children, you can't just sit and drink coffee and mess around on the internet and not do anything for them for a while. So I went online and registered domain names for my kids...while sitting, drinking coffee, and (by definition) messing around on the internet. And since it was in their names, it was for THEIR benefit.

And then I took a nap, because that was a pretty big thing to cross off the list of parenting to-dos.

Boston Baked Baseball

***Last Post for the Challenge, if I did my math right!!! All 30!! If I didn't, well, then I'll have to figure out which one I missed and you can read it tomorrow.***

Wow, I've only been in the Boston area for six months and I can tell you, in no uncertain terms, that this town loves their baseball team.

And how.




They are really insane for their team. And with the accents, it's very cute when they say "Go Sawks!" Although if one of our daughters inherits that accent in its entirety, I may find it slightly less cute. (And it could happen - the oldest one says "aah-range" instead of "orange," and I blame that on living in New York during her formative years. However, she also says "uff-da," so I also think that parental practices do have some sway.)

It's been pretty great living here. We haven't spent a whole lot of time in the city, which is unfortunate, because I really love Boston. But where we are is pretty fantastic too.

It's really just beautiful. When we were thinking about moving here, we knew nothing about the surrounding area. We were ready to not live in a city (for the first time in almost EVER), and I think my husband and I both kind of had our hearts set on a Stars Hollow-esque small town. I was in desperate need of some quiet. As much as I loved living in New York, I felt as if my nerves were permanently jangled, and that I hadn't had a moment's quiet in my own home for more than four years. There was always, ALWAYS some sort of noise. Even in yoga class, you could hear the traffic going by or sirens wailing. I also wanted to live near the ocean, because if you have your pick between one town on the ocean and another an hour away, both with commuter rail access to downtown, why would you not pick living by the sea? LIVING BY THE SEA?!?! All of the time? Not just for a week on vacation? SOLD.

So here we are on the South Shore, in a town (not a suburb, it's really an honest-to-goodness almost four hundred year old little town surrounded by ocean on one side and houses and forests on the other).

I feel like I can definitively say it's not a suburb because it takes about a half an hour to get to the nearest Target.

And if it takes me buying Red Sox apparel for each and every family member to be able to keeping living where this is across the street, well, then, I'll just have to learn to love the red, white, and blue (and silver):

Cause I'm a Jay, Jay, Jay, Jay, Jayhawk

Today's post brought to you courtesy of guest blogger extraordinaire, Matthew.

My wife was kind enough to allow me to guest blog about the Kansas City Royals.

The Royals are a baseball team based in Kansas City, Missouri, which I find disingenuous.  No one thinks of them as a Missouri team, they already have the Cardinals.  So, that's somewhat lame.  This happens to Kansas not infrequently.  The Chiefs are also based in Kansas City, Missouri.  This really kind of sucks for Kansas.  My entire family is from Kansas, so I really should know more about the Royals than that Zack Greinke was wasted there for several years (the Royals have sucked for some time, thought they apparently might actually be good this year).  The only other thing that comes to mind when I think of the Royals is this:

Admit it, that's all you can think of, too.  The Pine Tar Game is the only thing most people think about when they think about George Brett (even though he is in the Hall of Fame).

That's all I really have to say about the Royals.  So now it's time to talk about THE KANSAS JAYHAWKS, THE BEST BASKETBALL TEAM EVER TO EXIST, EVER!!

As I said, my entire family is from Kansas.  Both of my parents grew up in Kansas and attended KU.  They have framed newspapers from 1988 up in their house to this day.  If you don't know what happened in 1988, this happened:

That's all to say that I come by my love of KU Basketball honestly.

Now, KU plays Kentucky tonight for the national championship.  By the time this is posted, the game will probably be over and I'll either be catatonic with joy or grief.  When Kansas won in 2008 I jumped up and down, by myself, in the dark, while trying to figure out how to celebrate, given that my oldest daughter was asleep 10 feet away.

God, I love KU basketball.

ROCK CHALK JAYHAWK KU!!!!!!

And that's your 2012 Kansas City Royals!!

**Blogger's note -- Or not. That's your 2012 Kansas Jayhawks! Let's just be honest about what this really is, sweetie.

It's a Burgh Thing

Pittsburgh gets a bad rap. Or at least it used to.

Many Americans think of Pittsburgh (please include the "h", otherwise you're talking about a town in Kansas) as a dirty, sooty, creaky old city with coal mines and steel mills and horrifying accents.

That's so not true. And it hasn't been for about 50 years. Except for the accents -- they are endearing to me but understandably may make your ears bleed. They invented and perpetuate the word "yinz". As in, "yinz guys goin' dahntahn?" Personally, I think "y'all" has more universal appeal, but when I'm in an airport or at Disney World and I hear a yinzer it makes me smile.

I love going to Pirate games, although I've only attended them at Three Rivers Stadium, which was blown up to make way for the new PNC Park (Pirates) and Heinz Field (Steelers). My in-depth knowledge of the team evaporated after the days of Andy Van Slyke, Barry Bonds, and Bobby Bonilla. Interestingly, that's also when they started to suck.

But I love the Pirates. The Bucs, as we call them. I love a team that doesn't have boatloads of cash and doesn't buy players, a team who plays with heart, if not always with skill. I also loathe the designated hitter. So, the Pirates are my team.

I am happy to swap out teams for the slot of "second favorite" in my heart. It's been the Brewers, the Nats, the Twins, not the Orioles, Mets, or Yankees, and it may be the Boston Red Sox (depending upon if we're here on the South Shore to stay). But number one will always belong to the Pittsburgh Pirates.

The team:



The town:



Yinz really otter chekkit aht.

Things I miss about NEW YORK now that I'm a YANKEE

See what I did there?

We moved to Massachusetts about 6 months ago, 11 days before our second daughter was born. It was a hectic time, I'll just say that.

While I love it here, there are certain things that I miss about New York, and because I kind of need to go and use the treadmill while the baby is contemplating taking a nap, this is going to be quick:

1) Central Park. Every season, it's just lovely. Plus, on a summer evening, it's about 10 degrees cooler than the rest of the city.

2) Sigmund Pretzel Shop, in the East Village. Homemade awesome pretzels with cups of dips, such as grainy mustard (tasty) and nutella (even tastier). And Vivi Bubble Tea, in Chinatown.

3) Curry Hill. Technically, it's Murray Hill, on the east side in the high-20s/low-30s, but it's chock full of awesome and inexpensive Indian restaurants. Love Bhatti, especially.

4) Having my dear friends be, at most, a cab or subway ride away. That was really nice. And at least eight really good yarn stores.

5) The Green Kitchen. This 24-hour diner was directly below our apartment. We got to know the waitstaff and delivery guys super well, to the point where the one waitress would see us outside in the morning and would run us out a handful of muffins for our daughter, and one waiter would bring us cups of coffee when we would linger on our stoop. I miss being able to order a bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich on an English muffin, with a side of super-hot fries, at 2 in the morning, and have it brought to our door in less than 15 minutes.

6) Walking everywhere. Hanging out with friends in the West Village until about 10 pm, then putting the little girl in the stroller and walking all the way home to the Upper East Side, with a stop or two along the way at Starbucks. Or the rice pudding place. Both are quite satisfying.


7) The feeling of all the tension in your body melting away as you cross the George Washington Bridge, heading out of town.

8) Taking tap class again as a 34 year old, and having many other women approximately my age in there, and nobody blinked an eye.


9) Things that are better in New York than anywhere else: Bagels (it's condescending but true -- bagels suck everywhere else in comparison). Pizza. Theater. Shopping. Delivery service for everything. Jobs in the financial services industry.

10) Things that are (surprisingly) cheaper in New York than anywhere else: Cab rides. Manicures and pedicures. Nannies (sometimes). Fake designer handbags. Certain real designer clothes (sample sales). Bodega flowers (a dozen roses of any shade for $9. They die in a day and a half, but you get what you pay for).



http://www.etsy.com/listing/44920676/i-heart-ny-but-hate-the-yankees-8x10

Minnesoter

I love Minnesota. I applied to law school there while I was living in DC, because I figured I loved the Midwest, I had been there once to be in a wedding and twice to catch a plane to Mexico for Spring Break, Minneapolis seemed like a nice city, and it was a top-20 school at a really cheap price.

Plus, I was kind of sort of seeing this guy and he lived there.

Anyway, I applied, I visited, I got in. I was set. So, I packed up my apartment in DC and sent most of it home to Pittsburgh with my dad, then I packed the remainder (including the pink guitar) and set off on my Colorado trip.

Interestingly, Sarah and I were supposed to go to the Blues Traveler concert with the aforementioned guy. As faithful blog readers will recall, the concert was cancelled, so we all hung out in Denver for the evening. Somewhere between the brewpub and the Diamond Cabaret (no, I'm not going to link to it, you can Google that one for yourself), he mentioned that he accepted a new job and was moving to Texas.

Huh. How 'bout that.

When I got to Minnesota, I was still not interested in having a boyfriend, I mean, really not interested. I was 23, and just wanted to go out and have fun and kiss boys. Then the first week of school I met a guy from Minnesota and he invited me to the Mill City Music Festival (he said it was supposed to be a "group outing", but interestingly nobody else showed up. Hmmm.). Fast-forward a year and a half, and I was engaged to my (now) husband, and we've been married for more than ten years.

So I'm thinking it all worked out for the best.

We planned to stay in Minnesota forever, but jobs (or lack thereof) took us to DC, then New York, and now Boston-ish. And my husband is very sad that his eldest daughter doesn't seem to have much of an affinity for the Twins or the Vikings, although he had hope for a while there because her favorite color was purple.

Alas, it didn't stick, and she now wears both a NY Yankees cap and a Patriots t-shirt with pride.

But I still love the Twin Cities -- I love the view heading north on I-35 as you see Minneapolis, all glassy and shiny looming in the distance. I love the houses on Summit Avenue near our old apartment in St. Paul, and lunch and coffee at Cafe Latte (and the orange ricotta bread - they still serve it on Fridays). I love walking around Lake of the Isles and Lake Calhoun, in every season. I love the drive to St. Cloud to visit my in-laws, where we would spend an hour and a half detailing how we would spend Powerball winnings. I love Lund's and Byerly's, because they're like Whole Foods but you can also buy things like Pop-tarts there. I love Rice Park and the Landmark Center in the winter, all twinkly with lights and covered with snow, because that's how it looked the night we got married.

The Nats

Strangely, I probably know more about the Washington Nationals than I do about any other baseball team, because the Washington Post is my very favorite newspaper of all time, and I read it each and every day. I can't help but read the headlines, even the ones in the sports section, and it is my understanding from carefully poring over the Lifestyle section that Ryan Zimmerman is both hot and a very nice guy.


I lived in DC twice -- once right after college (technically, I lived in Arlington [right across the street from this] and then in the barrio Alexandria), and then again after law school. I was graduating from law and grad school, and my husband and I both needed jobs, and what better place for lawyers who have public policy degrees than Washington, D.C.? My husband's first trip to DC was when we went out there, on tax day, to find an apartment with a lease that started on June 1st. He loved it, like I knew he would, and 6 weeks later we moved into the teeniest-tiniest apartment ever. It was right by Dupont Circle, and it was two stories with a beautiful wrought iron spiral staircase separating the living room from the bedroom. The staircase was fabulous, unless a) you fell up it and almost broke your knees (Matthew), b) you chose not to wear shoes and it left painful patterns on the soles of your feet (Bethany), or c) you were hungry or thirsty or had to use the bathroom and climbing or descending it was simply too much to bear (Bethany and the cats). The apartment would have been perfect for 1 person, or 2 people with not that much stuff.


I have lots of stuff.


Plus, two cats. It was pretty cramped. Luckily, we spent a lot of time taking late-night walks around Dupont, Kalorama ("If you don't know where it is, you can't afford to live there"), Georgetown, Woodley Park, Cleveland Park, and Embassy Row. We'd stop at Starbucks around 10 and then head on out, and not get home until 2-ish. Sometimes we'd stop for water or a Popsicle, just to liven things up a bit. We'd wander around and look at the embassies and talk about everything and nothing. This was pre-kids, btw, if you haven't figured that out yet. I liked to say I was going to faire l'exercice Français, because I would drink dark roast coffee and smoke cigarettes while I "worked out". If only I wore high heels while doing it, the look really would have been complete.


I have lots of fun stories about living in DC, and more memories than I can count. I would absolutely move back there because that's where every job that I really want resides, and there are many many people that I love who live there (or in the surrounding burbs -- yes, you, Jill).


Ok, here's the baseball part - the Nats came to DC while we were there. When we lived on Capitol Hill (after the Dupont apartment, this was a townhouse near Eastern Market and it felt like a mansion in comparison) we walked to the games at RFK Stadium, and it was awesome. 


Even the part where we kind of ran home in the dark so we wouldn't get mugged. 

Upcoming Blog Challenge

I found my new blog challenge. It involves tv, and that's all I'm going to say about it now.

But once the baseball challenge is complete, I will post the challenge and we will begin.

It will be SO WORTH THE WAIT...especially if you have cable or Hulu or small children or other indicators that television is your premium form of entertainment.

I guess this is about the Cardinals

I have so very little to say about this team...here goes:

The Cards play in St. Louis. My [very large bank employer] has a campus in St. Louis. If I win the half a billion dollar MegaMillions jackpot on Friday, I will quit my job with [very large bank employer] before the weekend is over. Frankly, before Saturday even begins. I will leave a voice mail and mail my computer back.

I am classy like that.

Speaking of classy, did you know that the Cardinals have some sort of "spirit squad"? I don't know much about MLB (obviously), and I'm always watching the dance team or cheerleaders at a sporting event rather than the actual "sports," but this seems weird to me.

Apparently I'm not the first one to wonder about this. As usual, Slate has some answers:

For decades, baseball spurned pompoms. The first American cheerleaders were men who worked the crowds at college football games in the late 19^th century; women didn't get involved until the '20s and '30s. In the years that followed, football and basketball players had their feats heralded by organized squads of cheering women, but baseball players had to make do with hollers from the crowd.

Baseball historians aren't sure why the sport went without for so long. But it was a handful of entertainment executives from the Walt Disney Company who helped initiate the change. When Disney purchased the California Angels in 1996, it added some bells and whistles: a six-piece Dixieland jazz band, zany sound effects for foul balls, and the Angel Wings Cheerleaders. The Angel Wings danced on the top of the visitors' dugout between innings, attempting to rile the crowd.

The crowd got riled. Apparently the Angel Wings dancers frequently blocked the views of season ticket holders behind the dugout; from the very start they were heckled and booed. Disney management quickly moved the dance team to a platform in the stands out in right field. From there they continued to lead "dance-offs" that tested the crowd's skills at the macarena and the chicken dance. The Angel Wings Cheerleaders were abandoned the following season.

Despite the shaky start, the Toronto Blue Jays have since brought in the J-Cru Fan Activation Team (now known as the J Force), and the Florida Marlins have introduced the Marlins Mermaids. San Diego has a dance team known as the Pad Squad—pronounced "Pod Squad"—which runs around the field at Padres home games, clapping and tossing T-shirts into the crowd. (Reaction from San Diego fans has been mixed.) The Expos had cheerleaders, too: Indeed, there were those who felt that the Molson EX Girls (who danced to Bananarama on top of the dugout) were an excellent reason to keep baseball in Montreal.

With such a motley record, it's unclear what the future holds for American baseball cheerleaders. But cheerleading already has a firm foothold in the rest of the baseball-playing world. It's de rigueur at games in the Dominican Republic, where women in body stockings dance to recorded merengue music on top of the dugouts. In Korean baseball, football-style cheerleaders with whistles, megaphones, and pompoms get the crowd excited, while college games in Japan feature women dancing quietly with pompoms while men dressed in black lead the cheers.

The next time I go to the Dominican Republic, I am TOTALLY going to a baseball game.

That other town in PA

The Phillies.

Us Pittsburghers have an interesting relationship with Philadelphia. On the one hand, they are a built-in sports rival -- so we kind of hate them. Nothing makes a Pittsburgher madder (and belies a dearth of knowledge of mid-Atlantic geography) than when someone says, "Oh, you're from Pennsylvania! Are you an Eagles fan?" On the other hand, it's the cradle of liberty and all of that, and we have a bit of an inferiority complex that makes us play up our "blue collar" side in comparison to Philadelphians, who are effete or something because their city is bigger and older and richer and more prestigious (I guess). Then again, we acknowledge that between Pittsburgh in the west and Philadelphia in the east, in the middle lies Pennsyltucky...but even they didn't re-elect Rick Santorum last time he ran for Senate.

ANYWAY...Philadelphia is lovely, I've heartily enjoyed it every time I've been there. I love a good cheesesteak, and their street pretzels beat the hell out of New York's -- plus, they're shaped kind of funky, which is interesting. 

Their team name is dumb. They used to be the Quakers, which is way more interesting in my opinion. I would not go and see the Phillies play. But I WOULD go and see their AAA affiliate, the Lehigh Valley IronPigs, who play in Allentown. But the most fascinating fact about Philadelphia sports team names comes from football, and I'm going to share it with you now.

Back in 1943, for one season, there was one professional football team in Pennsylvania (P-A, to those of us from there), and it was called the Steagles. Most of the football players were fighting in WWII, so they had to improvise. 

That may have been one of the last times Philly and Pittsburgh actually collaborated on anything other than the Pennsylvania Turnpike, or trying not to elect Pat Toomey.

Hey-ohh!!

Schlemiel Schlemazel, Hasenfeffer Incorporated!

We're gonna do it!



I love most things about Milwaukee, including (but certainly not limited to) Laverne and Shirley. I still want a sweater with a big swirly cursive "B" on it.

I used to go to camp in northern Wisconsin every summer, and spend a week or so in the Milwaukee suburbs (Brookfield and Wauwatosa) just hanging out with my friends. All through high school, those two weeks in Wisconsin were the highlight of my summer. (My parents have never met these people -- I had gone to a national church youth thing and met these kids and they said, you should come to camp with us. They sent me the form, I told my parents I simply had to go, and they filled it out and sent a check and bought me an airline ticket. Again, in retrospect, quite permissive, although it helped that I was pretty independent. At 13. The curse of the only child.)

So Milwaukee. City of festivals, technically, but also of brats and cheese and beer. I loved my time in Wisconsin so much that I went to college there (Go Badgers!), and if someone told me I was moving there next week I wouldn't complain. Great people, beautiful place.

The Wisconsin State Fair was my first real midwestern state fair. Probably not as much food on a stick as the Minnesota State Fair (simply not possible), but it was still fantastic. The cream puffs are to DIE for.

And the beer...oh, the BEER!! Everyone knows Leinie's, but not everyone knows Gray's. Gray's is the microbrew that got me hooked on really, really good beer. Made in Janesville, you simply can't buy it here on the East Coast. I know, I've tried.

I went to a few Brewer's games in the old ballpark, and had a blast. When you're 15, and it's a sunny day, and you're hanging out with your friends eating brats and nachos and drinking icy cold cokes, you're going to have a good time. Even if you know jack about baseball.

Wisconsin forever.

Seattle Morning

Did you know that the Mariners are owned by Nintendo? I think that's really cool.

They're also one of the only two teams (the other being the Nationals-formerly-the-Expos) that haven't ever played in the World Series. 

Poor Seattle. That's got to suck.

But Seattle is a fantastic city. I was out there in high school for a church thing and spent about a week and a half also visiting a friend of mine from high school who lived with his dad during the summers. His house was on Bainbridge Island, so I got to take the ferry out from the city and visit this fabulous place. It's remote, but not -- beautiful views and trees and the ocean all around...just, wow. 

His dad is an acclaimed architect, and his work was featured in one of the Not-So-Big House books. If you haven't seen these, I highly recommend them. They are beautiful, and I love the idea behind them, that functional space is more important than sheer square footage -- a concept that I think has been lost by most American home builders (and most Americans, frankly).

I have heard, but don't really have time to confirm right now, that for all of its reputation for rain, Pittsburgh has more overcast days per year than Seattle. If that fact is true, I would not be surprised.

I was really into David Benoit in high school -- I'm really not sure why, the music is kind of cool but looking back I don't understand why I latched onto it so hard. But I do remember descending into Seattle, seeing Mt. Rainier sticking up through the clouds into the sky and cuing up this song on my Sony Sport Discman (you remember, the bright yellow one):

Clearly, I was a bit heavy-handed with my allegory, but that's kind of who I was when I was 15. And 21. And 24. And...

Anyway, I would live in Seattle - for a while, we thought about moving there, because there are lots of job opportunities for my husband and a surprising number of federal jobs that appeal to me there, as well. One downside, though, is that it's SO FAR from everyone we know, and now with the kids that would be pretty hard, I think.

Easy access to Whistler, super-fresh sushi, and reasonable commutes via ferry would ease that pain somewhat, however, so I'm not saying "no".