Time for a Change

So, I'm taking my saggy boobs and moving this show to a new location. Please check me out at www.exurbancowgirl.com. Oh and did I mention I love comments?

Weekly Highlights #3

Spent a lovely Thanksgiving with Christian’s very gracious relatives in Virginia’s Northern Neck. We love hanging out with them at the holidays because they are just so darn civilized--unlike my family who are a bunch of heathens (if any of you are reading this, I’m joking). As usual, the weekend was full of elegant dishes, good conversation and very little drama. And Christian’s cousin, my kids’ beloved Auntie Amy (who is a cross between Bridget Jones, Beatrix Potter and Nigella Lawson) kept us well fed and watched the kids one afternoon so we could drive around and sample the fruits of some of the local vines. Hank and I contributed pumpkin pies we actually made from a pumpkin (using Martha Stewart’s recipe). I’m more of a pecan girl myself but they turned out pretty good…. So, who wants a bunch of 40-year-old bridesmaids with saggy boobs? Well, apparently my sister does. The bride to be, my baby sister Molly, has the misfortune of being a much younger half sibling to a bunch of middle-aged hags (if any of you are reading this, I’m joking). I was pretty sure my bridesmaid days were over and had asked to be excused from the wedding party line up, but my stepsister (who is, ahem, older than I am) is dying to be in the wedding and Molly thought it would look funny if she only had one family member up there. Oh and she’s also having four flower girls to accommodate all of her drama queen nieces. Not sure I can handle it, but I’ll give it my best shot….

Weekly Highlights #2

The boy brought home pink eye (one of my most hated childhood illnesses because it’s so contagious and so, well, icky) last week which was bringing things down. Fortunately the little girl and her papa were spared, but I was not so lucky and will have to toss a new mascara and new set of contacts. On the upside, we are almost done with those annoying drops and should be totally clear for a thanksgiving weekend away… I bought myself an adorable one-shot Bialetti stovetop espresso maker. (It’s so tiny Co thinks I got it for her play kitchen.) I’m a tea drinker too but like an Americano every now and then. The ever lovin’ has pretty much ditched café in favor of green tea so I’m on my own with the espresso. I was using our 6 shot Bialetti but felt compelled to drink all the coffee it produced, which cannot have been good for my nervous system… My kids have suddenly been plunged full on into Star Wars mania (without having seen any of the movies). How does it happen? An old friend has a theory that there’s a Star Wars gene that automatically manifests in 5-year-old boys which seems like a reasonable explanation to me. We’ve been checking out zillions of SW books from the library and I now know pretty much everything about every single character in the Clone Wars… Christian and I used a kid-free Saturday to clear off the front porch, which was looking just a little too white trash for my taste. And finally, the woman who last year did all of her Christmas shopping at Target on December 22 proudly announces she has completed more than half of it in November without leaving her desk. Progress!

Weekly Highlights #1

I should really just admit to myself that I can’t keep up with this space and throw in the towel. There seems to be so much going on that’s been taking priority. For example, I’ve been trying to get some exercise to keep from losing my mind (not sure that it’s working but never mind). But I can’t give it up: that would mean giving in to brain dead housewifery. So until I can figure out how to get it together, I’ve decided to try something new: weekly highlights. I think I can handle that, and maybe get a few interstitial posts in between. Plus, it’s in line with my recent efforts to focus on the positive (yeah I watched The Secret). So here goes:

If CDs had grooves, we’d be wearing them out on Elizabeth Mitchell’s new record. With apologies to Dan Zanes, she is hands down the best kids singer out there. My kids sing those songs in the car, in the house, morning and night (I have Shoo Lie Loo going through my head right now). It’s so good I might actually buy a copy instead of just checking it out from the library.... Hank brought home his first report card, which I would describe as totally respectable. His only “below standard” was in counting money. Really cannot blame him though as he comes from a long line of Presbyterians…Coco started taking dance class and is the cutest Amazon ballerina in town… I am (as always) trying to rejoice in the small things: Wednesday morning yoga, a steaming Americano and clearance sunglasses from Marshall’s… We finally got season 7 of MI-5 from the library featuring the cute/unfortunately named Richard Armitage as the new anti-hero. It’s going to take me a few episodes to get used to him as the good guy as he was such a twat in the BBC’s Robin Hood…Got the results of my first ever mammogram (normal thank goodness or I’d have to call this weekly lowlights)… And finally, the holiday issue of Wegmans Menu magazine is out. Totally bourgeois right but I love it. I’ve been using several of their recipes for use with great success for years and credit them for opening my eyes to the joys of roasted Brussels sprouts which, belonging to the much beloved (by me anyway) crucifera family, will hopefully mean many years of normal mammograms to come…

School Days and Slacker Ways

I always used to hate it when people would talk about how busy they are. You know, complaining but with a little brag mixed in. As in: my life is so complete, I just don’t have time to hang out with you... Well, fall has arrived and things have been a little nuts around here, what with my firstborn heading off to real school, my foray into soccermomdom, swim class and a few little activities for the little girl. Plus trying to get to the gym (I call it that for the sake of brevity but I think of it more as the anti-gym because it’s so low key) a few days a week. When I think about it, we don’t even really do that much. The real problem is that we so often have to travel from our tiny town to bigger exurban outposts 20-30 minutes away for classes, groceries etc. Not so terribly far to travel, but it adds up when one has to make the trip multiple times a week. It’s all a little overwhelming for an underachiever like myself. I’ve barely had time to think in weeks, much less put anything down on paper. Thoughts for this space fly through my head like so many brown marmorated stinkbugs and then (unlike the stinkbugs) disappear. Truly though I can’t complain. While I’m a little sleep deprived lately, I’m fundamentally a morning person so our new early sched suits me. And there’s been an unprecedentedly high level of harmony in the household: the kids are busy and engaged, and the ever lovin’ and I, it seems, are just too tired to fight. (PS: I will never be too busy to hang out with friends…)

So the boy seems to be off to a good start in his academic career. For the record, I didn’t cry when he got on the bus or at all that first day. It snuck up on me a few days later though, alone at the computer just thinking about stuff. I think we live in the last place in America where kids still go to kindergarten half day. We were zoned for afternoon class, but I switched him into morning session (mostly so he wouldn’t have to eat lunch at 10:30), which I think has been a good decision overall. However, he’s a sleepy Leo so the 6:30 wake up time has been rough on him. But he seems happy to be there, and I can tell there’s a lot of learning going on. The teacher has been up front about the fact that because of a new focus on the three Rs, there’s not a lot of time for play in half day K. (In case you hadn’t heard, kindergarten is the new first grade) The half day thing is probably good in Hank’s case since he’s young in his class and still needs to rest. But the lack of unstructured time is hard on my boy who really just likes to play. He came home the other day and said, “I don’t like kindergarten-- we don’t do anything fun.” But most days he comes home beaming about his accomplishments in class. I’ve heard for years that five is an amazing age, and I’d have to say that so far it has lived up to they hype. But there’s some interesting Jekyll and Hyde stuff going on. He’s often sweet, full of delightful observations and know-it-all pronouncements. Loves Winnie the Pooh (we’ve just started reading it again for the 11th or 12th time) and Alice in Wonderland (which we’ve been listening to on CD in the car). Then he’ll turn around and say something utterly salty that makes me want to box his ears (I got that from Alice. But I guess people don’t really do that to their kids anymore do they…). I’ve had to holler at him countless times for scrapping on the playground. He’s sometimes upset about leaving his sister to go to school but gets super frustrated and annoyed when she tries to horn in on his independent play. Coco, who was blessed (or cursed) with an end-of year birthday, missed the cut off for our local preschool and so has been blessed (or cursed) with one more year of full on mama time. And (for the most part) I love it. She has her difficult moments but overall is in a glorious place as we head towards three and is a pleasure to hang out with. Carla and I have worked out a beautiful childcare swap. On Marvelous Mondays, we get adorable Isabel who loves imaginary play and gets my wild child to settle down and play with dolls. And on Wonderful Wednesdays I’m solo (sola?) for four fabulous hours. So far I’ve been totally unoriginal and used my newfound free time for yoga class and errands… but oh man the possibilities!

I have to say that the lunch/snack thing is stressing me out a little. Hank goes to lunch club at the community center after school twice a week (which is how I get my long morning on Wednesdays). I’ve been working hard to get in stuff that’s high protein, high fiber, low sugar, low sodium and appealing, but it’s not easy. The fruits and vegetables always seem to come home at the end of the day. I even bought a Spiderman soup container and tried to send in some homemade chicken soup. That was a total flop, of course. I think soup just requires too much concentration. And then there’s the milk thing… So they give them milk at snack time, which had me a little freaked out because I’ve gone out of my way to give these kids nothing but organic milk their whole lives. Of course, one can opt out, but he wants to have a carton of milk with his little friends. So I decided not to be a control freak and let him have the milk. The annoying thing is, they still offer chocolate milk which of course he would choose every day if left to his own devices. I can make peace with the hormones but I really want to avoid a sugar trip in the middle of class. So we worked out a compromise by which he has regular milk or water (usually water from what I understand) four days a week and chocolate milk on Fridays. Ideal solution? Probably not, but it’s the best I could come up with.

In an attempt to be an upstanding/involved parent, I went ahead and joined the PTO. Unfortunately, once a slacker always a slacker: I’ve already missed the first meeting because I was exhausted (sigh) and totally blew off the school fundraiser involving overpriced wrapping paper and gifts. I just can’t bring myself to solicit friends and family with this stuff. I mean at least Girl Scout Cookies are something I can get behind (when and if that day should come…). I considered just ordering a few things myself, but I’d rather just write them a check than buy a bunch of crap I don’t need.

Anyway, this week’s highlight: Hank has discovered dodge ball. So unbelievably cute that he asked Christian and me if we knew how to play, as if it had just been invented. But I swear this game was made for my boy. I mean running around and throwing stuff at people--what’s not to love?

Summer So Far

We are keeping things pretty simple this summer. But somehow things have been busy enough to keep me from posting. So I’ll just give y’all a little recap so I can get in one post before July gets away from me.

I’d have to say the highlights have been easing into a regular exercise routine for the first time in years and weekly happy hour playdates with a group of righteous babes. I signed up for the fitness room at the community center in a nearby town—the best deal in the area at $20 a month. They have nice equipment and reasonable, high quality childcare for the kids while I’m in there sweating. I’m still doing fine weight-wise but have been feeling pretty weak and flabby and getting worn out from everyday activities. I decided some cardio would give me more energy and make me less irritable. So far I’m not really sure it’s working, but it may be helping a little. It certainly feels good while I’m doing it though. And I’m starting to realize that I feel better when I have somewhere to go in the morning. Have also developed what I can only describe as a crush on a 70-something writer who occasionally comes in to work out (in linen trousers!).

My friend Carla (who moved from Philly to a charming historic village a few miles from the funny farm) and I got the happy hour thing going in the spring as an attempt to recapture some of the fabulousness of our former urban lives. One afternoon it occurred to us that there was absolutely no reason we shouldn’t have a glass of wine while our kids were playing. So we did. Then we invited another friend and neighbor to join us, and it’s taken off from there. The kids hang out while we drink (in moderation of course cuz we’re conscientious like that) and attempt to discuss stuff beyond the usual mind numbing mommy prattle. It’s turning into quite the phenomenon with an expanding group of Gen X mamas. (Yes, the cool chicks are finally starting to come out of the exurban woodwork).

In other news, Hank just wrapped up two weeks of 8 am swim class (thank God!), and we’ve seen some aquatic breakthroughs for both kids. Coco’s involve jumping off the side of the pool to me and putting her head under the water. For Hank, it’s jumping off the diving board and dog paddling the length of the pool. He achieved another milestone earlier this month with his first summer camp romance. I had signed him up for a half-day nature camp at a local park (which unfortunately took place almost entirely inside because of the insane code orange heat wave that hit the mid Atlantic at the beginning of July and which we are still trying to shake). Now Hank has up to now been a boy’s boy: in preschool he was always the kid who made a beeline for the trucks and hung out with likeminded males. But in this case, (according to the counselors) he immediately clicked with a tall, freckle-faced cutie named Claire. They were reportedly inseparable for the entire week and enjoyed sharing snacks and picking up stuff up off the ground together…Fortunately, the mom is cool so we may be able to organize a rendez-vous when they get back from vacay in August.

We haven’t been traveling much, which I don’t mind so much since we all know that a vacation with young kids does not really qualify as a vacation. We did make it down to Virginia’s Eastern Shore for a week. (Only to discover later the swimming in the Chesapeake Bay is just about the same as diving into a dirty toilet bowl. Sigh.)

The nice place we stayed in last year wasn’t available, and we wound up in a smelly, decrepit rental house.



Actually, it was kind of like vacationing in my own house, with holes in the ceiling and everything…



The ever lovin’ was working hard at home so we shared the Amityville horror with my mother and stepfather. Let me just say that after a couple days of sharing a kitchen with them, I was starting to lose it. Meanwhile, down the street (in their own fully renovated, nicely furnished rental) were my perfectionist, earth sign sister, her tightly-wound husband and their impeccably dressed daughters. I’m not sure I could have taken much more of them either. The kids had fun with their cousins though.

I did get to relax a bit and get into my post -Tolstoy estrogen fest. Finished Eat, Pray Love (just in time for the movie…) and a Marian Keyes chick lit book somebody lent me. Also caught a couple episodes of The Real Housewives of New Jersey. Whoa. I really have a hard time believing those are real human beings. And yet, I couldn’t tear myself away. I’m always ready to sign up for satellite whenever I go away and discover what I’m missing on Bravo, but a local friend has promised to Tivo the DC Housewives so I can come over and watch it. Oh and let me share a lesson learned the hard way: don’t take library materials on vacation with little kids. I think I’m gonna wind up spending $50 to replace lost videos and a cd from the Charlie and the Chocolate Factory audio book I left in the rental car.

Of course, when we got home, the house was an absolute catastrophe. Christian had decided to clean out the kitchen cabinets, but only got as far as taking everything out of them and leaving it on every conceivable surface. He made up for this by going out the next day and getting a Vitamix.



We had been talking about this for a while, and I had some qualms about spending $400 on a blender. But we’re using the hell out of it. Lots of cucumber smoothies going on as that’s the only produce left in the garden (except for habanero peppers…).



Anyway (as usual) we wrapped up July with a birthday party for my little Leo. Hank was totally satisfied, but I have to say that birthday parties are almost always an unbelievable source of stress for me. Honestly, I don’t know why I put myself through it. The shopping and planning drive me crazy, and I get all offended and pissed off when people don’t bother to RSVP or (even worse) RSVP and don’t show up. Plus it was like 110 degrees that day. Fortunately our friends are tough… Next year, I’m determined that the four of us are going on vacation (without any members of my immediate family) on dates coinciding with the boy’s birthday lending itself to a quiet celebration. 2011: Summer of Peace?

Tome Sweet Tome

Whoa…what the hell happened to the first half of 2010? Like I always say, the days are long and the years are short…Anyway, I’ve got a little mid-year milestone to announce: I finished reading War & Peace yesterday.

What, you may ask, possessed me? Well, I had been toying with the idea since reading the fabulous Pevear/Volokhonsky translation of Anna Karenina (as recommended by Oprah) last year. Was inspired to start W&P when my peripatetic college friend announced that he had downloaded the whole thing on his iPod Touch. (I’m not into the electronic reader thing so bought a used copy of 2007 translation online). The timing seemed to be right. We were rolling into a new decade, and this would give me something else to add to my (rather pathetic) list of accomplishments before turning 40. I even recruited a few friends and friends of friends to join an online discussion group. This, unfortunately, was a total flop (apparently 1200 pages is a little too much for people who actually have lives...) but I decided to hang in there and go it alone.

I started on New Year’s Day and gave myself 6 months. And now, almost exactly 6 months later, I’ve turned the last page. I’ve actually been almost finished for about a month. But the last 36 pages of the epilogue (Tolstoy’s closing treatise on history, freedom and necessity) have been dragging on. I was tempted to give up on page 1178 once the narrative was over. But I had to Finish. The. Book. And so I did.

The ever lovin’ had two questions: Was it worth it? Yes, absolutely. And did they all die in the end? No--a few important characters die, but they pretty much wind up living happily ever after. Anyway, I was digging the rich characters (loved nerdy Marya and was totally cheering when she snagged Nikolai in the end), the drama and the society intrigues. The battlefield narrative and Tolstoy’s reflections on history and historians were a little snoozy but (except for those last 36 pages) not torturous. I had a little Napoleon fixation in the early 90s while living in Paris (you really can’t get away from him if you’re an art lover in Paris) so it was interesting reading someone’s attempts to get inside his head.

Anyway, now that that relationship is over, it's time to move on. So what’s next on the Petits Choux summer reading list? For some reason, I find myself turning to women’s confessional memoirs. I’ve never really gone there before, but for some reason I get the feeling they’re what I need/want to follow this epic. (Is Elizabeth Gilbert somehow the anti-Tolstoy?) Someone lent me Eat Pray Love (which I started while slogging through that final chapter) and I’m finding it enjoyable if a little annoying (or maybe, as a Swede I used to hang around with once said, I’m yust yealous…). Have also been feeling compelled to read Mary Karr’s entire life in three volumes. I’ll take some chick lit to the beach next month. And then maybe some Barbara Kingsolver. Still haven’t gotten to Animal Vegetable Miracle, of which I have somehow wound up with two copies, and saw her latest novel on the new books shelf at the library. I’ve been invited to join a few local book clubs and have been considering picking one to join. I’m sure I would enjoy the social aspect, but my own reading list is getting long. Plus I’m not wild about the idea of having to host at my house. So I’ll probably just do my own thing. Maybe some Dostoevsky to start out 2011?

Soccer and My Subconscious

Need to take a little break from my world cup obsession (Yanks in round of 16-yes!) to do some sharing…So I had this dream the other night in which I let Hank (almost 5) take my mother’s white Scion (aka Ghetto Cruiser) out for a spin. I’m sure this reflects some anxiety about my firstborn growing up (kindy in the fall—whoa…) and there’s certainly a glimmer of my own fraught (do people still say that?) relationship with my mother. My kids, of course, adore her. She’s the permissive, up-for-anything grandma who gives them a bunch of sugar and lets them ride their bigwheels all over town with no helmets… Anyway, I miss spending time on this space but must tune into Ghana-Germany match to see whom we’ll be taking on this Sat. ESPN3 is my porn site now…

Dennis and Me...

Hope you all don’t mind if I share my little Dennis Hopper story…New Orleans in the early 90s. I was at a Lemonheads show at Tipitina’s. Struggling to remember whom I was with but strangely remember what I was wearing (black polyester minidress from Thrift City). Anyway, as I recall, Evan Dando came up to me and was like “Hey I’m Evan,” and I was like “Oh my God is that Dennis Hopper?” Got to chat with Dennis for a few minutes. He was, well, cool as you’d expect. I wonder if he was a Lemonheads fan or just happened to be hanging out…Damn I miss that place…

Kickin It

Anybody miss me? So, besides totally neglecting this space, what have I been up to? Well, let’s see…I’ve been fretting for one thing. Some of you may be surprised to learn that while I often come off as laid back. I’m actually a world-class fretter. I’m, of course, talking about supremely mundane shit—you know: plastic, free radicals, playground politics, lawncare and such. Oh and I’ve also been pissing people off. The mom who was the subject of the baby name stealing post wrote me an indignant email. (If you missed that one, you’re out of luck: while her message contained enough straight-up BS to keep me from apologizing, there were enough fair points to induce me to remove the post.) Anyway, that connection (such as it was) is officially ovah, but I don’t regret it. A girl’s gotta express herself…

On the upside: I’ve been drinking some good wine and working on a little writing project I hope to tell y’all about soon (its not that big a deal so don’t get all excited ladies…). And I’m practically in a tizzy over next month’s World Cup tourney. I’m not the biggest sports fan by any stretch, but I do love world cup soccer. Christian and I were in Paris in the summer of 2002 while the tournament was going on. This was not, of course, the year that France hosted/won it, but there is something about being in a country where they really care about soccer while it’s being broadcast. There’s something in the air…I was doing a training session at the French Finance Ministry and the ever lovin’ (back then still my long distance bf) had come along to hang out. We were renting a flat in the 19th, not far from the Canal Saint Martin. It was truly one of the best fortnights of my life. Paris in June is really the best. The days are long, and the weather is (usually) fine. There’s a summertime feel, but the Parisians have not yet left for the grandes vacances so the city’s still bustling. Anyway, France sucked that year, and Senegal kicked their butts in the opening match. But the US team rocked. (The situation was kind of the opposite in 06 if I recall, but I was too wrapped up in new motherhood to pay as much attention as I would have liked). I remember the bureaucrats at Bercy let us take an extra long coffee break to watch the USA-Germany quarter-final. We lost of course, but it was an amazing run. Would love to see the Yanks take it to the quarters or beyond this time…Am I dreaming?

My main preoccupation this year is figuring out how to watch as many games as possible given our handicapped television situation. Yes, there are certain major sporting events that make me regret the TV free thing--almost enough to make me want to get satellite so I can tune into ESPN 24/7. But I imagine we’ll just try to rig our wonky antenna so I can watch the weekend games on network TV. Fortunately, I should be able to stream some of the weekday games on ESPN 3 and maybe set up some strategic playdates with fellow football fans for some of the morning matches (BTW I’m now accepting invitations…).

Anway, from what I hear, the US has an easy group this time (hello Slovenia…) and should get to the round of 16…Of course, one never knows…And yes, Didier Drogba in his drawers on the cover of the June Vanity Fair totally affirms my inclination to make Ivory Coast my #2 team. The guy is hot and he practically ended the civil war in his country single handedly. My goodness. 17 more days…

Old Ink

You may or may not be surprised to hear this but here it is: for a little over a decade, I had kind of a wild life. I was never into heroin or crack or anything but I did like to party (ahh the Clinton years…). I should note that I managed to graduate summa cum laude from a fairly respectable institution of higher learning and hold down a series of (mostly) respectable jobs during this time. Anyway, at the beginning of the 90s, I got a yin-yang circle tattooed on my right shoulder. Totally unoriginal, right? And now, 20 years later, it’s totally lopsided too. This is very much in line with an old friend’s theory that tattoos evolve with the bearer. I would definitely say that my yin (slow, soft, insubstantial) is taking over my yang…

So, one recent morning while Hank was in school, Coco was watching Pim in her parents’ room while I took a shower. I came into the bedroom to get dressed and heard a little voice say, “What’s on your back?” Busted. “Ummm…it’s just a little stamp…” (She gets stamps on her hand at the library after storytime.) I admit, it caught me off guard. The truth is, I tend to forget about it, and the subject hadn’t come up in ages. Henry asked about it a few times when he was younger but let it go after a few evasive answers. Coco has asked to see it my “stamp” couple of times, but I just keep pretending not to hear her.

In general, I don’t think regrets are a very good idea. I tend to be in the Edith Piaf school on that one. Our choices, good and bad, make us who we are, and I’m fundamentally happy with who I am. But yes. If I had it to do over again, I wouldn’t get the tattoo. At the risk of sounding terribly trite, I really do think the human body is amazing as it is and doesn't need much embellishment. Permanent body art also goes against the minimalist philosophy I’ve cultivated as gotten older. But it’s not something I agonize over. Plenty of GenX parents have ‘em right? I’m not going to get it removed or anything. There it is and there it will remain. But I would like to downplay it as much as possible as far as my kids are concerned. I may be a big old hypocrite, but I don’t want my beautiful people getting tattoos…ever.

All of this gets me wondering about how conscientious parents deal with their not so perfect pasts. Explaining a tattoo to a toddler is one thing, but how will I answer questions about drug use and premarital sex when my kids are older? I guess we’ll cross those bridges when we get there…Besides, there are certainly mommies out there with way more baggage than me… There was a recent essay in Brain, Child about a woman telling her kids about her previous marriage. At least I don’t have to deal with that one…Makes a little bit of old ink seem like a piece of cake.

Sap & Sensibility

Yes, I have always had a sappy side, and I’m a total sucker for those British costume dramas they show on Masterpiece Theater. I tend to prefer the Jane Austen variety (which end in marriage) to the weepy melodramas (Tess of the D’Urbervilles, Mill on the Floss, etc.), which end in death. I think most middle-aged women with a romantic streak would agree that the BBC version of Pride and Prejudice is, well, a masterpiece. I could probably watch it once a month and not get sick of it. But I restrain myself and check it out once a year. The ever lovin’ generally does not participate in these periodic schmaltz-fests with me, but whenever he does, I swear he usually winds up misty-eyed at some point.

Anyway, was recently perusing the library’s selection of PBS releases and came across a copy of a 2007 production of A Room with a View. The screenwriter is Andrew Davies who wrote the aforementioned brilliant P&P. But I was hesitant to check it out. You have to be brave, in my opinion, to take this one on since the Merchant Ivory version from the 80s comes so close to perfection...

Anyway, I enjoyed it (mostly). The female lead was great. George was a little squirrely…but maybe that’s more true to life, right? Really, few people were hotter than Julian Sands in that wasteland of a decade. But wasn’t he just a little too pretty for a railroad clerk? But the main thing was I just couldn’t handle that Davies kills George at the end. WTF? I admit, I haven’t read the Forster, but I know it has a happy ending. Oh, and I found that I kept waiting for the Puccini (which, of course, never came).

This production also implied strongly that both Cecil Vyse and Mr. Beebe are gay. Totally fits, but either it wasn’t there or I totally missed it in the Merchant Ivory. I’d have to go back to the literary source for that one (maybe after I finish War & Peace). Next up on DVD: Little Dorrit (also written for TV by Davies). I am generally an avowed Dickens hater (the only two books I used Cliff Notes for in my entire hs and college careers were A Tale of Two Cities and Great Expectations) but Davies worked wonders with Bleak House so we’re gonna give this one a shot. I think I can even get big daddy to sit through it…

Princess Paranoia

Had a moment of reckoning when grandma brought Coco some Disney princess PJs she had picked up at the thrift shop where she volunteers. As some of my readers may know, I’m a big proponent of recycled children’s clothes. But I’m also allergic to princesses and, on a certain level, allergic to Disney. My kids have yet to see any of those movies (though I’m sure it’s just a matter of time before we succumb to Pixar…). And yet, the Disney juggernaut still manages to creep into our lives. (free toothbrushes from the dentist, stickers from the doctor’s office etc.). Anyway, in the end, I decided to take the jammies. They’re 100% cotton and 100% free. Plus, she’s not going to wear them outside. (I told my mother to give the Dora jacket she had brought home to another little urchin.) I just can’t bear the thought of my girl being someone’s billboard…

I really do find some of the trappings of modern girlhood kind of obscene. The things people do to their girls boggle the mind (you know, dressing them like little hookers and so forth). It’s part of why I find the idea of raising a girl so terrifying. That and mean girls in gradeschool. God help us!

There’s an adorable two-year-old girl Co likes to hang with at the playground. The mother seems nice, well-educated etc, and the kid’s clothes are always totally age appropriate. But… she has earrings. I have to say, I find it just a little shocking. really now, why do people do this? Shouldn’t it be something the child has a say in?

Through a little online research, I discovered that that people have their babies’ ears pierced at pediatricians’ offices. It seems odd to me that MDs would go for this. But I guess the thinking is that having it done in hygienic conditions is better than having parents take their infants to the mall or whatever. I know that it’s a cultural phenomenon in some cases. My sister is a doc at an urban pediatric clinic that serves low income latinos (her office doesn’t do ear piercing btw). She reports that a little girl could be dressed from head to toe in pink and ribbons and those moms would think she’s a boy if she’s not wearing earrings.

There was a post on one mommy message board I came across from a mom who got her daughter’s ears pierced because the kid didn’t have hair and people thought she was a boy. This mom was totally happy with her decision, as it apparently relieved the “stress” of having people incorrectly identify her child’s sex. (I guess having people think you’re a white trash idiot isn’t stressful...) I think I was nine when I got my ears pierced, but even that seems young to me. I’m thinking 16 at the earliest.

Then there’s the nail polish. Even totally respectable, generally conservative friends of mine do this…even to toddlers. I just don’t get it. Plus, how do they get the kids to hold still? I can barely paint my own toenails without getting it all over the place…

Fortunately, Co has a couple of influences which I hope will keep her out of the Little Mermaid ghetto. For one thing, she has me for a role model. I’m pretty understated on that level: I don’t generally wear jewelry or nail polish (though I am pretty attached to my lip gloss). It’s all part of my minimalist philosophy. Of course, I used to get mani/pedis pretty regularly in NYC where a trip to the nail salon was cheap and convenient. But that was a different lifetime. Also, I think having a big brother in the mix helps. It seems like the more girls there are in a family, the crazier the shit becomes. I mean, did Scout Finch play with Barbies? I think not.

Honk if You Love Spring

So I was driving around the other day, heard Nina Simone’s version of Here Comes the Sun on the radio and almost started crying…PMS may have had something to do with it, but I really think it was mostly just a huge sense of relief that spring has finally arrived. (Have I mentioned that it was a looong winter?) There are leaves on the willow tree, and our tiny arugula leaves are looking pretty perky. Redbud and dogwood are in bloom and we’ll be heading into DC tomorrow to spend some quality time with the cherry blossoms. Coco is way into daffodils this year. She points them out while we’re driving and likes to stop and smell them. (I’ve never thought of daffodils as a particularly fragrant flower… According to her, they smell like Play Doh.) The garden (hallelujah!) is moving forward.

And our migratory birds are back from points south. Our Blue Heron (code name Ron) has made an appearance, and our pair of Canada Geese is settling in. They’re like our very own Mr. and Mrs. Mallard-- only not as nice. This will be their third spring nesting on the little island in the middle of our pond. In the past, we’d tiptoe around the pond for weeks to avoid disturbing them, only to have them head for the hills as soon as the goslings hatched. I can’t help feeling kinda used…In two years, we’ve had one measly gosling sighting, and the kids weren’t even awake for it. I know they’re just trying to do what’s right for their little fam, but come on guys, couldn’t you hang around and let us ogle your babes for a few days. What do you say?

Petit Pim, je t'aime

So I have recently launched a concerted (if somewhat overdue) effort to bring French into the lives of my children.

A little background for those who may not be in the know: I’m a passionate francophile who spent 2+ years in Paris and worked for the French government in the US for five. I used to speak French like, well, a French person, and I can still rock it pretty well although my vocabulary now has some holes in it (as we all know, if you don’t use it, you lose it). I’ve been asked why I didn’t just start speaking French with my kids all the time. I guess I don’t really have a good answer for that other than it just didn’t feel natural. I’ve always thrown in words and phrases, though, and done some reading when I could get my hands on a kids’ book in French.

Anyway, I recently discovered the Little Pim series (language dvds for toddlers and preschoolers) through my overachieving sister whose kids are learning Spanish. The best thing is that they have them at our local bibliothèque (little library, have I told you lately that I love you?). Pim is an animated panda who introduces basic vocabulary and useful phrases. The kids responded pretty well to those, and then I got the idea of using the French language option on some the other shows they watch. Coco (who has only been watching videos for a couple of months) is totally down with watching Bob the Builder en français. Hank…not so much.

I’m kicking himself for not starting this stuff earlier for him. I think I was overwhelmed by parenthood, and the brilliant ideas were just not forthcoming. When he started watching videos at like 3.5 (man, I was sooo proud of myself for holding out so long on screen time), I was still adjusting to having a second kid and felt like I was in a constant fog. I’m seeing things a little more clearly now, and I’m fairly sure it’s not too late for the boy. He’s into it as long as I don’t push too hard. Plus, being around Pim has encouraged me to use French with them a little more.

It seems to be working: they occasionally surprise me with random French phrases. Coco likes to go around saying “une pomme-c’est ca!” and “fais dodo”. Henry, out of the blue, came up with “il joue avec une cube” the other day.

The ever lovin’ and I had big plans to scoot down to Richmond for their world-famous (seriously) French Film Festival this weekend. But car troubles and the usual budgetary constraints are keeping us here. So I’ll be missing out on Le Hérisson, the screen version of Muriel Barbery’s Elegance of the Hedgehog, and the other cool stuff on the program. Might have to sign up for Netflix again to check some of it out. We did get to watch Jules and Jim on dvd again last night. That’ll have to do for now.

Process of Elimination

Coco’s on the potty. Lucinda’s on the radio. Life is good.

Ah, the joys of potty training. Still a drag, but I must admit, compared with my last experience, this has been a piece of cake. All it really took was a six pack of Hello Kitty underpants to get things rolling. Now she’s ditched the dipes and is not looking back.

With Hank, it was more of a long, hard slog. He got the concept, but just couldn’t be bothered. He was averse to anything that might get in the way of whatever activity he was engaged in. Playing with trucks with poop in his underwear was just not a problem. Anyway, we’ve been fine for some time now, thank goodness. And now I’m on to the second and final round.

I’m surprised at how effortless it’s been with the little girl. Not that the process is ever totally stress-free. One is constantly on the lookout for public toilets, and must be ready to drop everything when nature calls. There’s nothing like having your kid tell you he has to poop when there are no facilities in sight or when driving on an interstate. The other thing that gets me is that everything seems to take so long. Patience, unfortunately, is not a parenting virtue I’m blessed with. (Hmmm…I wonder what, if any, are my positive qualities as a parent? I have a pretty good grasp of the English language-does that count?). I’ve been spending a lot of time lately sitting on the tub while Coco does her thing, asking “Are you done sweetie?” every few minutes. The other day it was particularly excruciating because I really had to pee myself. I’ve long thought that being a parent of young kids is all about catering to their bodily functions while denying your own. Oh and Co, like her brother in the early days, was pretty quick to pick up on the trick of using bathroom stuff as a way to delay bedtime. I’m always a sucker for that one…I know exactly what she’s doing but don’t want her to feel pressured. Half and hour later….

Anyway, really, the hang-ups have been minimal, and the end is in sight. I’m looking forward to burning the diaper bag.

PS: Lucinda, I’m still a fan even though I haven’t been really crazy about anything since Essence. Whenever I listen to this stuff, I can’t help getting a little nostalgic for those freewheeling NYC days at the turn of the millennium when I got to go to the bathroom by myself every time. Good times, but plenty of heartache, too. Anyway, I’m (obviously) on another plane these days, but I’d still want Car Wheels on a desert island.

Literary Legumes

If I can’t have Paris, I’ll always have split pea soup.

I have been totally rockin’ the pois cassés this winter. Let me tell you, SPS is pretty much everything you want in a meal: hearty, nutritious, cheap. And my kids eat it without complaint. It’s been a favorite of mine since childhood when we called it robber soup. The name came from my favorite Richard Scarry storybook, which featured Pierre the Paris Detective who catches a crook hiding in a pot of soup in a Parisian bistro. It’s never explicitly indicated that the soup in question is in fact split pea. But it’s definitely green, and my family decided early on that it couldn’t be anything else. I should note that I find Richard Scarry and split pea soup incredibly comforting and evocative (my late father was a big fan of both). Then there’s the Paris thing. When I read the story as a kid, of course, I had no idea I’d wind up living in and falling in love with that city. My first encounter with destiny? Hmmm…Anyway, I recently rediscovered the book and am overjoyed to introduce Pierre and all the other wonderful characters to my people.

When I was growing up in the 70s, we always just heated up split pea soup from a can. Being a whole foods mama, I try to avoid canned soup with all the sodium and questionable ingredients. Plus they’re now telling us there’s BPA (the bane of 21st century parents) in the lining of aluminum cans. Anyway, it’s pretty easy to make--you just have to do a little chopping. The recipe I use happens to be vegan, and I think it’s delicious. (Although the Ever Lovin’ keeps telling me it’s crying out for some ham.) It has barley in it, which I love. I substitute veggie stock for half the water to make it a little richer. I also find that soaking the peas overnight makes them more tender.

I always though split peas were somehow special--you know, different from other peas. But it turns out they are just good old pisum sativum cut in half and dried. And why, you may ask, are they split. As it turns out, it simply makes them easier to cook.

While I’m on the subject, here’s a little nursery rhyme, another favorite of my dad’s:

Pease porridge hot, pease porridge cold,
Pease porridge in the pot, nine days old;
Some like it hot, some like it cold,
Some like it in the pot, nine days old

Seeing Stars

My favorite thing about spending a lot of time with young children is their amazing ability to see the ethereal in the mundane.

For example, I had the two-year-old up on her changing table when a ray of sunlight illuminated some dust particles floating in the air. Just as I was beginning to make a mental note about scheduling some much needed spring cleaning, she looked over at the tiny specks and said, “Little stars! Little stars are falling on me.” I swear some of the stuff that comes out of her mouth is impossibly sweet.

A few days later, Hank had his own moment of wonder while pulling apart a piece of string cheese. Now really, in my world, there is pretty much nothing more mundane than string cheese. I have, by the way, mixed feelings about string cheese. It’s a little too processed for my taste and the only kind my kids will eat is made by Kraft, which is not a corporation I patronize willingly. But I buy it anyway because it’s a favorite of my anti-refined sugar guru and in line with my efforts to feed my kids high protein snacks. Plus, they’re now making it without growth hormones, which makes it a little more palatable. There is, however, not much that brings me down worse than finding a piece of forgotten, half eaten, congealed string cheese on the floor. But I was totally touched when my boy looked down at one of his shreds and said, “Look, it’s a baby comet.” The kid’s been copping an attitude big time lately, and it was a relief to get back to some unadulterated sweetness for a change.

Ever since we settled down out here in the wilderness, I spend a lot of time pining for city life. But one thing I always missed during my glorious stints in a few fabulous cities was being able to see the stars. There’s nothing like getting home on a clear winter evening and looking up at Orion hanging there over our heads. Like certain aspects of parenthood, it never fails to take my breath away.

Mud and Mouse Guts

A month later and (after a string of 60 degree days) the snow is (almost) gone. All we’re left with is a few patches of white and the mudslide that used to be our driveway. Ah yes, the spring mud-- I feel like I’m in a Tolstoy novel. Every day, there’s fresh mud all over the floor and mud-covered outerwear strewn all over the place.

I’ve been thinking (with envy) about a house I was in a couple of years ago when Henry was in a playgroup with some other local kids. It was a beautiful, architect-designed pad. Not huge and ostentatious, just spacious and lovely. Of course, the mom is a muuuuch better housekeeper than I am (but that’s another story). Anyway, fabulous kitchen and living area, but the best thing about it was the mudroom. It had, as I recall, lots of shoe storage (dirty shoes in my kitchen have become the bane of my existence) and a kickass utility sink. The more I think about it, the more I am convinced that a good mudroom would solve, if not all, at least a great majority of my problems. Maybe a lobotomy would solve the rest…

In other spring thaw developments: the cats have resumed their daily practice of leaving rodent organs for us on the porch (I guess 4 feet of snow made mouse hunting a little tricky). So we’re once again experiencing the joys of walking out the door and stepping on a liver.

The birds are starting to sing in the mornings, and the last few days have been lovely. The kids and I took a walk through some of our (oh so muddy) fields to a wooded area on the farm with a nice little stream running through it. Henry bent down and fished out a creek stone for his sister. She was thrilled and named it Little Rock. She was pulling up the rear as we made out way back to the house and dropped it several times. Every time, my sweet boy would run back and find it for her. We finally made it to the pond in our yard, and Henry decided to throw in a few pebbles. Then Co decided that she wanted to throw in Little Rock. “If you throw it in, we won’t be able to get it back,” I warned her. She promptly chucked it in the water and was, of course, inconsolable when it was gone. A crash course (or maybe a splash course) in causality for the babe.

The (Other) C Word

One of my kids’ favorite pastimes is looking at pictures/videos of exotic wildlife on the web. Let’s see: there were the zebus, the bald eagles, the baby chicks that people have dyed various colors while still in the egg (the ethics of this are debatable but it looks cool) and so on. The latest fixation is the somewhat oddly named, rainforest dwelling Cock of the Rock (I’m guessing the Yanomamo didn’t come up with that one). They discovered this fascinating creature in a slightly crunchy children’s book about deforestation in the Amazon that our friends Amelia and Steve (do you guys still read this thing?) passed on.

Anyway, I didn’t really know anything about the bird in question so of course I googled the name. The third entry that came up was a gay porn site, but thanks to the wholesome intellectual nourishment that is Wiki, we got the scoop. The scientific name is Rupicola, and they do look kind of amazing. My people like to go around making up little songs about cock of the rocks (or would it be cocks of the rock?) while I’m laughing so hard my tea is coming out my nose. There are just some words that make you giggle. Oh and by the way, in case you were wondering, only the guys have the stunning red crests. The females, of course, are “far duller.” Isn’t that always the way?