Ruby Tuesday

I haven't worn an earring to work in some time. I know this is true because I wore one to work today and three of my coworkers helpfully informed me that I was sporting only one earring.
For the record, I have only one pierced ear and here's why.
I was chicken to have my ears pierced when I had it done, even though I was in college at the time. Back in the late 80s I had bangs and a hair style that covered most of my left ear so I decided I could pierce the right one, see how it went, and then go back for the left one.
It went okay, but as you've probably guessed, I never went back because by this time, if nothing else, my degree in graphic design had taught me that asymmetry is better than symmetry. So I left well enough alone.
The upside of the one-earring thing is that you never have to buy earrings because your friends will give you all their lone earrings that have lost a mate. I have acquired 90% of my earring collection this way.
So, I'm sporting a hand-me-down earring this morning when my son comes downstairs.
Recently we signed him up for the recreation center's munchkin soccer program which starts tomorrow. Alex from daycare is also going to be in the program, and we presented the whole thing as an opportunity to play with Alex instead of introducing the concept of leagues and organized sports.
He was excited about the idea last night but this morning he is distracted.
"Mommy, I want an earring like that."
I explain that he doesn't have any holes in his ears so he can't wear earrings.
He sticks his finger into his ear and tells me there's a big hole right there.
Not wanting to disappoint or typecast earring-wearers as all female, I go upstairs and rummage around. He follows. Finally I pull out some faux ruby clip ons that were made to go on one's shoes. I wore them when I was in my friend Althea's wedding party.
I put them on his ears.
He is delighted.
"I'm going to wear these to soccer tomorrow and show them to Alex."

song: Ruby Tuesday • artist: The Rolling Stones

Musta Got Lost

I rarely drive over the bridge. Not that I’m one of those people who can’t, I just prefer to take the bus. Lately though I’d been racking up a list of things to do with the kids around the Waltham area and since I couldn’t use public transportation to accomplish all of them I decided it was time for a road trip.
I printed out my directions, marked up my new DeLorme Massachusetts Atlas, and talked a friend into meeting us up there.
It all went exceptionally well. The only place I got lost was along the dirt path at Garden in the Woods and that was because I was trying to hurry in order to get us to our lunch destination on time.
It was going so well in fact that I took the lead on the way to Bob’s Turkey Farm in Lancaster even though my friend didn’t have directions. We’d discussed them extensively over ice cream at Dairy Joy in Lincoln but unfortunately not extensively enough because my friend, several cars behind on Route 117, got lost.
I pressed on, anxious to get my turkey pot pies made from local free-range turkeys. I called on the cell phone and before the connection cut out she indicated she would be there soon. We waited but she didn’t arrive. My toddler played with the keys and activated the car alarm, yet again. She still did not arrive. I called again. She’d driven to the next town. It’s now almost 6PM and Bob’s is going to close. I call again offering to purchase her pies myself and meet her at the farm stand on Route 117 that advertised its own locally grown peaches.
Having agreed on this meeting place I hang up the phone, slam the door and instantly hear a beep that can only mean one thing - I’ve locked the keys in the car.
The beep was following by a sinking feeling buoyed only by the fact that at least I hadn’t locked my toddler in the car. He and his older brother were both there, standing next to me under darkening skies, in a soon-to-be-deserted parking lot, a bag of goldfish between them.
Utterly defeated I head back into the shop. The matronly lady who sold me my pies lets me phone home. Thankfully Ken answers and doesn’t let on that I am an idiot. I give him our address, not bothering to explain what I’m doing at a turkey farm, then I get him to give me my friend’s number so I can call her and explain how she can’t wait leisurely for me at the farm stand. This ended up being irrelevant as she was still driving around lost.
Then I remember that I haven’t purchased the second round of turkey pot pies yet. The sales woman is cashing out so I have to be quick about it.
Moments later the three of us are standing alone in the parking lot, turkey pot pies on the car roof. I wrangle a few goldfish away from my children. I look up just in time to see my friend’s tell-tale blue Toyota zoom past the farm’s driveway.
I hustle the kids out to the road hoping she’s noticed the small, unobtrusive farm sign and might be turning around and heading back but no such luck. The man who lives in the house in front of the store is home though and in a flash he’s got a coat hanger and is headed towards my Subaru.
I ask him if he’s Bob. He isn’t.
It doesn’t look as if the coat hanger is going to work but there’s barely time to give up when, like the sheriff riding in on his white stallion, the AAA van comes rolling into the parking lot.
We’re back in the car by the time my friend finally locates us. There’s a happy reunion, the passing of the pies, and the sharing of snacks. Then my friend takes the lead to get us back to 495 which is entirely appropriate, because after all that driving around, she’s really familiar with the area by now.

song: Musta Got Lost artist: J. Geils Band

Your Song

As much as I love iTunes for its ability to resurrect songs from the 70s and 80s that, for the most part, are better off dead, there's nothing sweeter then when "My Old School" or "Dixie Chicken" plays on the radio unexpectedly. It's even better if it happens while you are driving in the car without the kids; you can turn it up and sing along.

song: Your Song • artist: Elton John

Sunday Papers

Our Boston Globe didn't get delivered yesterday. It's not like I read it from cover to cover, but it's a comfort to have on the table all day and wishful thinking that I might have time to sit down and read it. Ditto for the illusion that I might get to finish a cup of tea while it's still warm.
You'd think, that with newspaper readership down and continuing to fall, the Globe might reconsider its policy of no redeilvery beyond whatever radius it is that's their cut off distance to travel back and make one lone reader happy. But alas no, all I get for calling in my missed paper at 7AM is a lame recording telling me they'll credit my account. Unsatisfying to say the least.
How do I know for sure it's a missed delivery by 7AM you ask, maybe the driver was running late? Well, it's the same driver who brings our Cape Cod Times (Ken and I can't agree on which paper to subscribe to, he reads the Times), and the Times was lying in the driveway.

song: Sunday Papers • artist: Joe Jackson

Doctor, Doctor

Here's some advice. You can't buy stuff to decorate for the bike parade on July 3rd; and if you wait till the day before your son's birthday to get his present, even after scoping out exactly the gift you want, you're going to be disappointed. Yes, I am, procrastinator mom.
I wanted to get my son a toy doctor's kit for his birthday. He's always telling me his teddy bears are hurt and flipping through the first aid book for ideas on how to bandage them up.
I saw the perfect kit in the Mashpee Commons toy store in July when we were shopping for a birthday present for my friend's daughter. We were shopping for that gift on the day of the birthday party as well.
I'd looked earlier in the toy shop on Main Street for doctor's kits but the one they had was around $35 and just had too much stuff in it. I believe it had a bed pan in it. I'm not sure he needs that much realism just yet.
So I go back to Mashpee Commons, the day before his birthday, and of course they don't have the one that I saw in July. They had a different kit that I didn't like nearly as much but I was desperate so I bought it. Then I bought a second one at the Main Street shop on his birthday, a less expensive, non-bed pan model.
The Mashpee Commons kit had a better blood pressure cuff, but the stethoscope had batteries and made two different noises. I hate toys that make noise. So I gave him the second kit. The stuff unfortunately looks a little cheaper but the container itself was bigger so we could put some of the homemade medical supplies we've been playing with inside it like his empty vitamin container, eye dropper, and popsicle stick tongue depressor.
It didn't really matter in the end because Ken got him a scooter, which beats a doctor's kit hands down.

song: Doctor, Doctor • artist: Robert Palmer

yardwork couplet

Giving the rake a break
by leaving the yard at large.

Band on the Run

This past Thursday was the last night of the town band for this summer. Not surprising, this being Labor Day weekend and all. We only got to the band twice this summer, which is disappointing because my older son loves the town band, I mean really loves it. Last year his birthday fell on a Thursday, and he actually requested, for his birthday, that we go to the band.
For the record, I love the town band too.
I've heard people sneer about town bands in general. They aren't very good. They're a bunch of amateurs. They play the same stuff over and over.
But all those things are what makes the town band so great! They aren't professional musicians, if they were, would you be able to see them every week for free? They're your neighbors, your doctor, your son's preschool teacher, and the college student next door. They are the best kind of musicians, people who just want to play music for the sheer joy of playing it. It's such a great lesson not just for my four-year old, but for all of us. Not everyone's going to be the next __________ (insert your own age-appropriate-to-your-generation rock star here), but that doesn't mean we can't pick up an instrument we played 20-years ago in school and play a song or learn some guitar chords. Music is a great connector, or at least it used to be. Parents and grandparents would pass on songs to children by actually playing and singing them. Now we pop in a CD or a DVD and leave the room.
And maybe these amateur musicians aren't perfect, but that's okay too. When it comes right down to it, we all pretty much live in glass houses and better keep those stones to ourselves.
And so what if they do play a lot of familiar pieces? You've got a large group of busy people without a lot of time for rehearsals, it makes sense to play things that the musicians already know. Besides, who are we kidding? We love to hear the same stuff over and over, just turn on the radio, 95-percent of the stations are playing "oldies" or "classic rock."
So here's to the town band, where my kids and I can learn that music is fun, that with practice anyone can play, and that if you come every week you might find yourself humming Star and Stripes Forever instead of the ZooQuarium jingle.

song: Band on the Run • artist: Paul McCartney

Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap

I have gone through and deleted all the spam comments that take unsuspecting readers to less than reputable websites.
About two weeks ago I set my preferences so I could preview all comments before they are posted, thereby weeding out the spammers ahead of time. I didn't realize there were still so many potentially smutty comments still lingering.
But fear not, this is now a "family friendly" site.
One final word. In the future dear reader, and you know who you are, you might want to be more selective and less trusting when it comes to the internet and anonymous people recommending websites. And watch what you're doing with those gourds!

song: Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap • artist: AC/DC

birthday couplet #2

I looked over my shoulder,
and you were a whole year older.

birthday couplet #1

A three year old no more.
Tomorrow, you will be four!

Short People

Tomorrow is my son's birthday. It's a huge deal to turn from three for four. I had no idea, but it is. He's been going on for a while now about who he's going to be bigger than once he turns four, who he's bigger than now, and who will still be bigger than him even when he is four. He's even compared the length of my arm to his arm to see if his is as long as mine yet.
"I'm as tall a Luisa. Sometimes three-year-olds can be as tall as six-year-olds."
"No three-year-old could be as big as a ten-year-old."
"I'm the same size as Alex and he's four, but Max is bigger than me and Alex and he's four."
"Know how I can be taller the Edie? I can stand on a chair."
"I might be taller than Clara."
"I can wash my hands without a step stool. I bet Ben can't do that."
Tonight he was standing on our bed going, "see how tall I am? I can almost touch the ceiling." I agreed that he almost could.
"I bet by tomorrow I'll be able to reach."

song: Short People • artist: Randy Newman

Jamaica Farewell

Dear Laura,
Falmouth High School class of 86? East Falmouth Elementary School? Then yes, I would be that Joanne. I do remember a Laura F., if "F" is a maiden, and not married, last name. You must really know me too, since the bulk of my classmates insist on referring to me as "Joanna."
Funny you should mention Jamaica Farewell. I've no doubt I sang it as a kid though I don't actually remember it. My mother used to sing it on the way home during long car rides; that and the chorus of Yellow Submarine.
It kind of freaked me out because I was always thinking my parents were planning to leave me in Kingston Town. I was a "little girl" after all, and, we had to drive through Kingston on the way home from my grandmother's house in Dorchester. It wouldn't have taken much for them to slow down enough to dump me out on the side of the road.
I can see why Dan Zanes changed the lyrics in his version.
I'm flattered you read this blog as far back as my early entries when I was driving around last summer trying to get the kids to nap. My oldest stopped napping altogether when he turned three and car rides don't work on my 15-month-old. It's all for the best really, gas is too expensive now anyway. Besides, I always felt like the residents of Pine Bay were getting suspicious of my car constantly circling the neighborhood. Like I might be casing it out or something.

song: Jamaica Farewell • artist: Harry Belafonte

Driver Eight

My son told me that one of the other kids in daycare said that if you were driving and you wanted the other cars to get out of your way you should beep the horn. Great, he's going to learn about road rage before he's big enough to be out of his booster seat.
This same little boy also, according to my son, "kills spiders with sticks, and even kills daddy longlegs."
"That's not very nice is it Mummy?"
"No it's not."
Guess they wouldn't get out of his way.

song: Driver Eight • artist: R.E.M.

Walking to New Orleans

I briefly commemorated the one-year anniversary of hurricane Katrina by rereading journal entries from my trip to New Orleans with Christine in 1992. Sadly the entries are paltry compared to all I wrote about going to Memphis the previous year.
Looking back I see I had a narrow view of food then, I recorded liking neither gumbo, or jambalaya, and we went out of our way to have breakfast continually at the Waffle House, ironic considering I've since taken to shunning most chain restaurants.
Speaking of, we would have spent the entire week camped at the Motel 6, our chain hotel of choice, but we arrived during the New Orleans Jazz Festival and the entire town was booked. We had to stay on the other side of Lake Pontchartrain in Slidell in a hotel that catered more to people who were permanent residents, than to out-of-towners. There was a pool in the center court that was filled in with dirt. I wonder where all those people are now?
The recorded memory that stands out the most was our trip through the Honey Island Swamp with tour guide Ron where we listened to women from New York try to beckon to alligators by making "mooing noises" and watched as "an older couple in matching red sweat suits video taped the entire tour." There were snakes, and all manner of birds, a pig that lived with some locals and came out on a dock to get a look at us, and of course alligators.
We fed them marshmallows.

song: Walking to New Orleans • artist: Fats Domino

Stormy Weather

Where did the phrase "sleeping like a baby" originate? Conjuring up images of adorable cherubs sleeping under handmade quilts is misleading at best. Presently my youngest son is upstairs asleep with his little face pressed up against the slats of the crib like a prisoner dreaming of a jailbreak. Sometimes I peek in to see limbs protruding from the crib like the paws of impounded pets. In Maine we put him to sleep on blankets on the floor, by the morning he had practically rolled under the bed.
His older brother is asleep in the middle of his bed but by morning he'll be facing entirely in the other direction, often times with his legs completely dangling off the side of the bed. Sometimes he foregoes the bed entirely and sleeps on the floor.
On the other hand, they both slept through every major thunderstorm this summer. Storms that woke me up and had me lying in bed convinced I'm be hearing from the at any minute. It's ironic because on regular nights I'm leery of flushing the toilet or using my electric toothbrush for fear of waking them.

Song: Stormy Weather • artist: Billie Holiday

Every Picture Tells A Story

My artist friends Doug and Hillary recently had their second baby. She's very cute, and to help out the family I thought maybe someone out there might want to purchase some art, like this painting, from a few years ago that used to be a portrait of me until Doug went a little overboard tweaking the eyes, which I guess I can't hold against him, artist liberty and all. Besides I did have some pretty good crows feet forming until my cancer-induced brow-lift last summer.
You'll notice there's no price on the website, that means it's going for the big bucks, as in, if you have to ask, you can't afford it. Though in reality I'm a pretty cheap date, I like to remind Ken every once and a while that he in fact "can't afford me."

song: Every Picture Tells A Story • artist: Rod Stewart

You Ain't Seen Nothing Yet

Today I passed a hatchback driving on Rte 28A with a full-sized mattress and box spring secured to its roof. The driver had one arm out the window and was hanging onto the ropes that were tying the load down; as if that's going to help.
Last weekend we were driving on the interstate outside of Portland, Maine and we passed a truck traveling in the breakdown lane pulling a trailer that had only one tire. The wheel on the left side of the trailer was just a metal rim, zipping along the road spewing out the occasional spark.


Then there this roadside relief station on County Road in Bourne.

song: You Ain't Seen Nothing Yet • artist: Bachman Turner Overdrive

I'm Gonna Be

We were in the car the other day and my son was going down the list of things he's planning to be when he grows up.
"A drum player." (drummer)
"Someone who flies in rockets that go faster than airplanes." (astronaut)
"Recycle man." (sanitation engineer)
"Someone who lights fireworks." (pyromaniac)
Then he asks me:
"Didn't you want to be anything when you grew up, mummy?"

song: I'm Gonna Be • artist: The Proclaimers

Games People Play

What is it with this game Old Maid? How is it possible in this age of political correctness that this game still exists?
Kid's toys, games, and songs have become very politically correct, although this doesn't necessarily make them okay. Barbie can have a career now along with her 22-inch waist provided it's a career she can do in her high heeled shoes.
I admit I found it annoying at first that in the Dan Zane version of Jamaica Farewell it's his friends who are being left in Kingston Town and not "a little girl," and it's the dancers who sway too and fro and not the "dancing girls," but I've gotten used to it.
In one particular Cinderella rewrite there is still a fairy godmother but this time it's Prince Cinders who she rescues from his thuggish royal brothers and sends to the dance.
So I'm surprised we even still have this children's game in which the absolute worst thing that can happen is for you to wind up a single woman. Why haven't the feminists of the world risen up to demand a change? Why isn't there a version called "Dirty Old Man" or "Weird Bachelor Uncle?"
I guess that would be unfair to men though wouldn't it?
Let's look at it from another angle; the other characters in the deck are all described according to their professions: Waitress Wendy, Mailman Marvin, Labtech Lil. This must be because employers only hire married people. Poor Old Maid, not only can she not snag a husband, apparently she can't hold down a job either.
Using this logic it would be more appropriate for the undesirable card to be something like Unemployed Edwina, or Slacker Stanley.
Or maybe some anthropomorphism could be introduced. The Old Maid could be changed into a big bad wolf since wolves are already maligned in many a children's story. To give it a real Cape Cod slant, instead of a wolf, make it a coyote. Change them to Waitress Wallaby, Mailman Manatee, and Labtech Leopard. This would even eliminate some of the more stereotypical players like Nurse Nell would could become Nurse Needlefish and Tutu Teri who could morph into Tutu Turtle. It would also lend itself to more interesting illustrations.
But the bottom line is, my three-year-old loves to play this game. Note: if you are ever called upon to play Old Maid with a small child, enlist the help of at least one other adult, preferably more than one, it's a heck of a lot more interesting.
My son doesn't have any idea what an "old maid" is and in an obvious case of "person unsure of a concept," he really wants to be the person that is stuck with the old maid at the end of the game.

song: Games People Play • artist: Alan Parson Project

Everything's Coming Up Roses

After dinner my younger son likes to stick his entire fist down his throat until he throws up. At his 15-month check up, after the the car alarm incident,, I asked the doctor if this was normal. The consensus was that while it ain't exactly normal, he's probably not bulimic. It's one those behaviors you should try not to make a big deal out of because that will only encourage him to keep doing it. It's difficult though, to ignore someone regurgitating their entire dinner, not to mention the cracks from my husband about how my cooking is driving him to it.
So, during the post-dinner clean up, when it's helpful to leave said son in his high chair and not have him toddling underfoot, we've taken to putting socks, sometimes more than one, over each of this hands. I'll start with a small sock, one that belongs to his older brother and then follow it with one of his dad's socks.
As it turns out, having socks on ones hands is funny even to a toddler and always gets him laughing. It doesn't take him very long to cast them off and then wave his hands around gleefully until someone puts them back on, but it seems to take his mind off trying to make himself throw up long enough to load up the dishwasher.

song: Everything's Coming Up Roses • musical: Gypsy

Noah's Haiku

Plastic animals
on my living room table.
Peaceable kingdom.

I'll Meet You Halfway

Every parent worth his or her salt is familiar with Margaret Wise Brown: Goodnight Moon, The Runaway Bunny, The Big Red Barn, all classics and immensely popular with the kids though irritatingly repetitive to adults. We have two copies of the board book edition of The Runaway Bunny . The one in the back of the car was recently torn in two. It's better that way because now each kid can have his own piece. I like to refer to it as, the dismembered runway bunny.

song: I'll Meet You Halfway • artist: The Partridge Family

The Times They Are A Changin'

So we finally made it back to our favorite restaurant tonight, without the kids.
I can't remember the last time we've been there without our sons. The last time it was the four of us and we had that table in the side room with the bar and the fireplace that's all painted with sea creatures, including the topless mermaid, which my son, luckily, did not pick up on.
The restaurant's only a mile from our house so it's almost embarrassing to have a sitter come over. Even if we have to wait for a table, two drinks, appetizers and dinner still gets us home in an hour-and-a-half. It's embarrassing.
We haven't been there in so long that they've got a redesigned menu and two new pizza selections; they've renovated the interior of the restaurant so that you can only get to the ladies room from one direction through the main dining room, and, we didn't know any of the wait staff! It was totally depressing. Well, wait, we did talk to Stephanie on the way out, and Kathy is still tending bar on Thursdays, which used to be our "regular night." Of course no one remembers that but us because it's been something like five years since we had a "regular night" to go out to dinner.

song: The Times They Are A Changin' • artist: Bob Dylan

Let's Give Them Something to Talk About

The baby's first official word is ruff ruff. To use it in a sentence would be to say, "the dog says ruff ruff;" only in my son's case he thinks every animal says ruff ruff as evidenced today when he pointed directly at the cat and said, "ruff ruff."

song: Let's Give Them Something to Talk About • artist: Bonnie Raitt

ode to my favorite cookware

Loved once to the core,
but tragically no more.
No matter how I will it,
You failed to adore,
My favorite cast-iron skillet.

Running On Empty

People often assume that my husband is competitive because of his running. when asked about it, I usually reply that he isn't really; sure, he prefers a good race over a bad one, but his satisfaction from racing usually comes from besting or matching his own previous race time.
In the running world, if you knock 30 seconds off your best time ever for a particular race or a specific distance, you say that you've set a new PR or personal record.
Runners like to talk about their various PRs ad nauseam, adjust them according to age as in "my best five-mile PR since I turned 40" or date them, "my five-mile PR for this year," runners have even been know to take a particularly good PR and use it as their ATM password; and why not? it's as good as Bosco.
But getting back to my original premise, I don't think Ken's particularly competitive, except, that is, when we're on a road trip and he wants to see how far we can make it on one tank of gas.
Me on the other hand, I'm the opposite. I'll drive around town on empty for days, knowing that if I do run out of gas I'm probably less than a mile from a gas station or from home. On the highway however, I prefer to fill up every time I stop at a rest area in order to ensure that I won't have to get off the highway, and risk getting lost, just to find a gas station.
Strangely though, I'm never driving on long car trips when we're getting low on gas.
I should mention for the record, that prior to this weekend our PR for one tank of gas in the Subaru was 388 miles. This PR was set last year during a weekend trip to Vermont. I know this because the PR information is carefully tucked away in the glove compartment with other vital vehicle paperwork, should we ever be pulled over by the police and queried: "license, registration and current PR, please."
Unlike me, my husband is happy to tool along the highway on empty for miles as long as the gas light isn't on, talking about the new PR. He'll point to the trip odometer and announce, "look, we've gone 382 miles and the light's not even on yet." Of course the light finally does come on and then it's a mad, nail-biting dash to find a gas station.
Sometimes finding a gas station off the highway isn't even enough. Sometimes he wants to press on if the price of gas seems to high. "I think we can do better," he says as we drive further and further from the highway and I picture myself in the car, in the dark, on a deserted side street with the kids, while he's off walking to a gas station.
This weekend we drove to Maine.
"Seven hundred miles on two tanks of gas," my husband beamed as we pulled into our driveway last night.
"That's great," I said.
"I don't think you're impressed," he said.
"No, I am, and in fact I'm going to put it on the blog," I said. "Put in on the blog" has become my new idle treat.
I'm happy to report that we set a new PR of 406.9 miles on one tank of gas. The goal was merely to break the record by reaching 400, so that means there were 6.9 miles of panic while we blindly searched exit 22 off 128 for a gas station, but I have a feeling that this record will stand for quite some time.

song: Running On Empty • artist: Jackson Browne

It's Been a Long Time

We just got back from a long weekend in Maine and two six-hour car rides peppered with:
"Are we almost there?"
"When will we be there?"
"Are we in Maine?"
"When will we be to Audria's?"
"Are we still in Maine?"
"Are we still in Maine?"
"When will we be home?"
The when-will-we-be-home question was first posed when he was climbing into his booster seat Sunday morning. We hadn't even pulled out of Audria's driveway yet.

song: It's Been a Long Time • artist: Southside Johnny

clerihew for the king

Elvis Aaron Presley
was a lot like you and me.
He loved his mum, his burgers, and his gun,
but blue jeans on stage he did shun.

Tonight's the Night

It's 9PM, the kids are finally asleep. Make that 9:30. I shower, do one measly round of sun salutations, thought not very good ones because I'm too lazy to go downstairs and get my sticky mat, followed by five-minutes of chest isolations. In the downstairs bathroom the nut falls out of the bolt that attaches the toilet paper fixture to the wall. While fishing around behind the toilet for it, I realize the tank's filthy, so I sponge it off. I go into the guest bedroom to get crafting materials out of the closet so I'll be one step ahead of my son tomorrow and I see that I still haven't put that blanket away on top of the closet shelf because it requires dragging a chair into the bedroom from the dining room. Then I notice the cat's left a big hairball on top of the bed. Out in the living room the rug needs to be vacuumed because my older son's been playing with the box of wood scraps and I don't want my younger son eating splinters tomorrow. I consider rolling the rug up for the summer, but since #2 son is still learning to walk I decide it's best to leave him a padded surface to "fall back on," so to speak, besides, summer's almost over. I should water the plants but where the heck's the watering can?

song: Tonight's the Night • artist: Rod Stewart

fall couplet

Fall's chill,
gives me a thrill.

fall haiku

Summer's heat turns cool,
wakes me up in the morning.
The best time of year.

This Land is Your Land

It always takes me a minute to figure out what my son is trying to tell me. Usually it's hard to decipher because it's so obvious. Yesterday he wanted to know if the runners of the Falmouth Road Race were "bad" because they threw their paper cups on the side of the road after passing a water stop.
Bad? Why would they be bad?
Because they're littering of course!
There's an exception to the rule isn't there? Even littering.
As glad as I was to realize that my daily musings about grubbing up the planet were getting through, I was in a fix trying to sound compelling in excusing the runners' behavior. It seemed like a weak argument to explain that it's okay for runners to throw their cups on the side of the road because the volunteers would pick them up. It's like saying "sure, dump out that box of Legos, mommy will pick them up." He took it at face value though and didn't pursue the question. He actually seemed disappointed as we walked along the course that the volunteers had, indeed, picked up all the trash and there wasn't anything left for him to help with.
As you can imagine, the short stretch of road between our house and daycare is, for the most part, trash free.

song: This Land is Your Land • artist: Woody Guthrie

Dirty Laundry

The energy-efficient washing machine we just bought in January was broken for three weeks. What's more energy efficient than an energy efficient washing machine? Not washing your clothes at all, that's what. But, it didn't come to that, the machine still worked, just the timer was broken so you had to remember to nudge the dial every 10 minutes or so to get the machine to advance to the next cycle. I could never remember to do it, of course, so it was taking two hours to get a load of laundry washed which didn't leave enough time to hang everything on the clothes line and have them dry before dark.
I didn't realize how much I like to hang the clothes on the line until it wasn't an option. Now that the machine is fixed I'm loving the clothes line again. Especially days like today when the clothes you put out at 9:30 are dry by 1:30 and you can squeeze in a second load.
I know it's just laundry but there's nothing more satisfying than using energy from the sun and the wind to get something done. We're so out of touch with our environment, we're always working against it, turning on the AC when it's hot out, turning up the thermostat when it's cold. Rarely do we use nature as a means to an end, except when people are out sailing or if you happen to have solar panels on your house or a wind turbine in the yard. It's the illusive free lunch, so why are we all resisting it?

song: Dirty Laundry • artist: Don Henley

Ring My Bell

We were at the pediatricians on Wednesday for the baby's 15-month well-baby visit. After the weighing and the measuring were over we were all waiting for the doctor to come in and my older son had his younger brother completely hyped up so in order to keep him from jumping off the exam table I gave him the one thing that all babies long to play with - the car keys. It worked well for a few minutes. We were in an exam room with the door closed mind you, and not a room in the front of the building, one of the ones in back. So of course my son activated our car alarm. Luckily my husband was with us, he and my older son went outside, past the reception desk where they were announcing "it's a green Subaru" to the waiting room full of people, to try and turn it off. It seemed to take an eternity but finally all was quiet. The irony of course is that many times I've stood directly in front of my car trying to activate the door unlock to little avail, so how is it that it worked through several walls and two closed doors?

song: Ring My Bell • artist: Anita Ward

Stouthearted Men

"I know the worry and strife that come with a wife but here is a man, who would gladly give up his life to marry you, Marianne."
What the heck kind of lyrics are those? It's a bit extreme don't you think man? I mean let's be realistic because you're only setting yourself up for failure - dead men don't make good husbands.

song: Stouthearted Men • musical: The New Moon

Won't Get Fooled Again

There is a backyard baby. I'm not sure if it's the grandchild of the people who live behind us or if, low and behold, a young couple have moved in near by but I heard the backyard baby earlier in the summer and now the backyard baby, is, well, back.
When I hear the backyard baby during afternoon nap time I always end up hoofing it upstairs only to realize at the top step that it's not my baby that's crying. Sometimes, in heeding my crying baby Pavlovian mommy response, I'll go upstairs twice in the same afternoon. Today I only went upstairs once but then when my 15-month-old did finally wake up I left him up there in tears longer than usual because I was so sure it wasn't my baby crying

song: Won't Get Fooled Again • artist: The Who

bad mommy senryu

Too hot for napping
upstairs, baby is crying
ignored by his mum.

Walk On By

This is the kind of welcoming signage I pass by daily. The orange and black 'no trespassing sign' is a new addition this week. Robert Frost once wrote "good fences make good neighbors," I wonder what he'd have thought about this? I'm guessing the good residents of this neighborhood are thinking, "good fences with a lot of signs on them keep the undesirable local riff raff out."
Admittedly, those of us on the poor side of town, without private beach rights, are at a disadvantage this time of year, having to swim with the townies and the tourists and all, but not having beach rights doesn't mean we're (a) stupid, (b) dense, and (c) unable to take a hint with the first three signs.

song: Walk On By • artist: Dionne Warwick

Life's Been Good

At work on Friday two huge bags of corn were dropped off from Tony Andrew's Farm. It didn't take long for us to gather at the front, a myriad of bags in hand, to dole it out to those of us dedicated or foolish enough to have stayed until after twelve o'clock on a Friday. I only work in the office one day a week, and lately it's been more like a half a day since my free babysitters have obligations in the summer, so normally I miss all the good stuff, the occasional employee lunches and birthdays, sales reps bribing the production department with bagels, snacks in the newsroom on Thursdays. And now that Lisa's out at the plant I can't even raid her candy dish. So the corn was a huge windfall. A solid five-hours of uninterrupted time to work and mingle with other grown ups - and fresh corn to boot! It can't get much better than that.

Corn Salsa
4 tbsp vegetable oil
6 cloves garlic - peeled
4 ripe tomatoes, chopped
2 shallots, chopped (red onions work just as well, they just don't sound as exotic)
4 cups fresh corn kernels cut from the cob
1 small hot chili pepper, chopped
3 tbsp fresh cilantro, chopped
2 tbsp freshly squeezed lime juice (no guilt, no pressure, if you don't have fresh, bottled works. I mean you have the fresh corn, that's what's important here)
juice of 1/2 an orange (see above comment)
salt & pepper

In a skillet, heat oil and saute garlic over low heat, stirring often (or as often as you can remember to while you run about the house picking up after the kids, watering the plants, and doing laundry), 10 minutes or until garlic is soft. Mash garlic in pan. Add tomatoes and shallots and cook for 5 minutes, stirring as often as is humanly possible. Transfer this mixture into a large bowl. Sir in the corn, chili pepper, cilantro, lime juice, orange juice, salt and pepper. Set the mixture aside to cool. Cover and refrigerate for at least an hour to allow the flavors to mellow. Bring to cook out, reap heavy praise. This recipe, minus the running commentary, is originally from the Boston Globe Magazine, back when the Globe had faith that its Sunday Reader's attention span was longer than five minutes and they ran actual stories in the Globe Magazine instead of the fluff that passes for articles today.

song: Life's Been Good • artist: the Eagles

Good Intentions

I know, I know, I talk about bugs all the time! Who would have thought they'd become such an integral part of my life? The other night I was up late answering e-mail. How pathetic is that? I can't even concentrate enough during the day to answer e-mail?
Nighttime is the only time the cat has any energy and she's usually poised next to the heating duct in the kitchen in hopes that those distant rustling noises from the crawl space turn out to be mice. The other night though, she left that post and was stalking a large beetle in the hallway. Sister beetle to the one that drown in Ken's coffee mug a few weeks back. It was big, but sluggish, so I decide to catch it and put it in the bug hut so my older son could see in the morning. I grab one of his plastic teacups (yes, my son has a tea set, and what of it?), and I put it over the insect while the cat looks on probably thinking, "hey, a teacup, why didn't I think of that?"
I come back with the bug hut, and this bug is so large it is literally pushing the tea cup over the floor. I slide some cardboard under the cup, scoop up the bug and deposit him in the bug hut.
For those of you without children a bug hut is a container that's basically made out of a screen with a sliding door on one end.
The next morning there was no large beetle in the bug hut, only a hole in the screen which my son noticed right away.
"Mommy, how'd that hole get in my bug hut?"
"Geez, honey, I don't know."
I put some duct tape over the hole and didn't mention beetle, now on the lam, somewhere in the house.
I found it later that same day, inside a damp towel. This time I didn't bother trying to keep it, or alert my son, I just hustled both the bug and the towel out the door.

song: good intentions • artist: Lyle Lovett

Waiting in Vain

I entered my quilt in the Barnstable County Fair. You remember the fair? The one I didn't want to actually go to? Yet I was okay with lugging my quilt down before the fair opened for judging. It seems vain I know, but I figured I'd spent seven years making it, and if Ken's going to take our son to the fair, the least I can do is enter something in order to get him a free admission ticket.
The quilt came in 3rd. I was kinda disappointed, like they should judge the quilts on the amount of years they took to make and not on the actual quality of the finished product. If I get my other quilt done maybe I'll enter it next year. Maybe there's some other type of contest I can enter, the contest for people who never manage to finish projects. I'd be in good company, there are a lot of famous procrastinators - like Gaudi who died in 1926. His church of the Sagrada Familia in Barcelona is still not finished. And Korczak Kiolkowski who started the giant sculpture of Crazy Horse in South Dakota in 1948. He died in 1982 and his wife is still overseeing construction 24 years later. That's love for you. As if she didn't have any projects of her own that needed finishing.

song: Waiting in Vain • artist: Bob Marley

Up, Up, and Away

My older son was just like the cat this morning. He scarfed down his breakfast, walked three feet away from his bowl, and promptly threw up.

song: Up, Up, and Away • artist: Fifth Dimension

Life in the Fast Lane

This is for all the folks who pass by in their cars on Quaker Road while I'm walking my older son to daycare. I am the mom who pulls her son in the red wagon and has the baby in the back pack. I just wanted to say that I really appreciate how you all pull way over across the median to avoid hitting us, or splashing water on us, when there are no cars in the other lane. You know what work even better? If you just slowed down.

song: Life in the Fast Lane • artist: The Eagles

August Couplet

August already? Is the chant that we hear,
how soon summer starts to disappear.

Hot, Hot, Hot

It was the hottest day of the year. My three-year-old and I were under a tent, circus tent that is.
It was Circus Smirkus, the kid's circus from Vermont, performing at Heritage Museums and Gardens in Sandwich. I'm not a big fan of the circus, but I am a sucker for anything from Vermont, and as another parent commented, at least we didn't have to fight our way through a crowd of animal rights protesters on our way in or feel squeamish watching the "sad elephant" perform.
We were unusually early to the performance. I mistakenly thought the show would be inside the museum's grounds and that there would be time for a ride on the carousel before the show. In reality the tent is set up outside the actual museum, so we ended up being very early without anything much to do once we arrived.
Surprisingly, my son had fallen asleep in the car, which normally means I would get to listen to NPR for 15 minutes in peace but the heat being what it was, staying in the car wasn't an option.
We wasted a bit of time walking up to the regular entrance and being told we had to go down to where the tent was set up to retrieve our e-tickets. We picked up our tickets and found a shady spot to sit down in for a half-hour. Good pseudo-reporter that I am, I'd brought my notebook with me so I entertained myself by making a sketch of the big top. My son entertained himself by asking me was that I was drawing, (what do you mean you can't tell?).
One bottle of spring water later it was time to cue up to enter the tent.
I began noticing that all the other children and adults were waving cardboard fans, purchased at the merchandising tent which we had cleverly steered clear of. Friends commented that the fans would probably be the biggest selling souvenir of the day and we remarked that the cast had probably been busy the night before xeroxing and assembling the fans.
For the record, Circus Smirkus is a phenomenal group of talented teenagers. Their ability to perform a spirited show despite oppressive heat is a testament to their talent. This blog however is not about Circus Smirkus, it's about my insecurities as a parent. Let's just get that straight. No circus reviews here, though I did take copious notes for a potential story in next year's In Season so stay tuned.
So there we are, inside the tent, with another 15 minutes to go before show time.
The tent is only about one-quarter full; all the sensible parents having bailed out on account of the oppressive heat.
I thought I was prepared, with two bottles of water and a bag of Cheerios but as I look around I realize that two bottles of water is completely inadequate. Parents, parents who care about their children that is, are passing out apple juices and even ice packs.
The kids are allowed to sit on the ground just in front of the ring. As I said, it's a sparse crowd which is good because that leaves lots of elbow room for fan waving, and there's a lot of it going on. In fact I realize that every child in our section has a fan except for mine.
Some grandparents are sitting in the lowest bleachers actually fanning their grandchildren, who are seated on the ground..
I've always thought that those hand-held fans were a bit of a scam. It seems like the energy you expend waving them around vastly out weighs any benefit acquired from the small amount of breeze that's generated. That's the reason why, in mosaics from the Roman empire, it's always slaves fanning the Emperor and not the Emperor fanning himself. It's probably just as effective to simply sit still and exert no energy whatsoever, I think the Spanish call it siesta.
I'm alone in this rationale however and instead of a vendor selling popcorn and peanuts the fan hawker begins circling the ring. "Get your personal Circus Smirkus air conditioner here, only one dollar," he says.
He comes back later peddling personal-sized electric fans for five dollars. It seems like a steal, he could have easily sold them for $20. A few indulgent parents shell out. Most of the children in our section still just have the human-powered models. Again, everyone but my son. He's looking kind of flushed. I climb down from my seat and encourage him to take off his floppy hat. His hair is matted and wet as we wait under the lights for the show to begin.
The heat is getting to me. I begin to obsess. What if he passes out? It's so hot it could happen. I can see the headline, "only child at Circus Smirkus without a fan, faints in heat."
I start rooting around my pocketbook for a dollar. The hawker is on the other side of the tent. What if he sells out before he gets back to our section? Determined, I grasp my dollar, make my way across the tent, and purchase the fan.
I climb back down and hand it to my son. He looks at if foreignly. As if he hasn't even noticed that he's sitting in a sea of hand-held fans and that everyone around him is waving one.
He begins to fan in the wrong direction. He is fanning away from himself towards the middle of the tent. There's no time for fanning lessons as the lights dim and the show begins. As the performers come out, all fanning ceases. I knew it! A dollar wasted!
At least he had fun showing it to his little brother when we got home.

song: Hot, Hot, Hot • artist: Buster Poindexter

Moldy Couplet

Can't take the humidity in my house any more,
there's mold in places that never grew mold before!

munchkin land

My front yard is beginning to remind me of the Wizard of Oz. Remember the scene when the flying monkeys swoop down and carry off Dorothy and Toto? They leave behind the lion the scarecrow and the tin man, but not before they ruff them up a bit.
The lion and the tin man rush over to the scarecrow. He is all dismembered. He says: "they took my legs off and they threw them over there! Then they took my chest out and they threw it over there!" Then the tin man cleverly says, "well, that's you all over!"
Since his got his new truck Ken's been dismembering the old one and leaving parts of it all over the front yard.
First he took the roof rack and put it near the baby's swing, then he took the bed liner and left it near the fire bushes. You get the idea.
Surely the neighbors who just moved into the $600,000 house across the street were hoping for a better view.

song: munchkin land • soundtrack: the wizard of oz

Boris the Spider

Who would buy this? Who would want to rid their home of spiders? At our house we stand around with the door open as much as possible deliberately trying to coax more bugs in.

song: Boris the Spider • artist: The Who

wedding bell blues

Our scientist-friend Margie is getting married on Sunday. The wedding is North of Boston although Margie's been living in North Carolina for several years. After the wedding she'll be moving to Miami.
I can't picture her living in Miami, but knowing Margie, she'll spend all her time in her lab anyway. Maybe she'll appear on CSI: Miami, the episode where they dump the body into some shallow water and it's partially devoured by killifish.

Note: Margie, if you are reading this and you want your wedding present to remain a surprise, don't read any further!
So I've had an idea of what to get for a wedding present for a while now. Actually ever since I wrote that supplement story about pottery I've been looking for an excuse to buy something from one of the potters I interviewed. A wedding - the perfect opportunity. I had planned to get a set of mugs with fish carved into the rims but when the baby and I finally made it over the the pottery studio this morning she didn't have four mugs that were the same. I would have gotten four that were of the same style but with different nautical designs on them, but that wasn't an option either. The potter wasn't there, just a note saying the studio was on the honor system and to leave a check with the appropriate sales tax. The appropriate sales tax? And you thought you'd never need to use math again once you graduated from high school!

Note: Margie, I'm also going to give away Connie's gift as well.
So anyway I kind of panicked and bought a small lamp in the fish design. I'm afraid it might be a bad choice though because Margie gave us a lamp for our wedding present. An eye for an eye, a lamp for a lamp? Maybe she'll think it's a bad joke. Maybe she'll think we didn't like the lamp she got us. There was a nice serving platter but Connie said she bought a bowl and a shallow bowl is almost the same as a serving platter so I didn't want to duplicate. Maybe I should have been assertive and gone home and called Tessa on the phone, or I could have just left a note. She probably has a ton of mugs in a back room somewhere.
Plus I couldn't help feeling like I was stealing walking out with the lamp, even though I doubled checked my figures on the appropriate sales tax.

Note: Margie, here comes the picture!




song: wedding bell blues • artist: The Fifth Dimension

Staggerlee

I'd say it's official. He's walking. He's not walking all the time, he totters a few steps and then goes back to the crawl. But when do you actually say they are walking? Do you wait until they choose walking over crawling? Till they've mastered walking across the kitchen? 1000 meters?
Wouldn't it be funny to dress a tottering baby up as Frankenstein for Halloween? They could play the part so well. People always compare those first few steps to a drunken sailor but it's much more of a Frankenstein gait. The locked knees, the outstretched arms, the semi maniacal grin that says "yes, mom, I'm afraid it's all over for you now."

song: Staggerlee • artist: the Grateful Dead

MoMA Cinquain

"Da Da"
said the baby
His father answered "yes?"
"Nonsensical art movement, dad,
Not you."

Life is a Carnival

I remember being disappointed my first day at work to learn that the size of the newspaper, for the most part, is dependent on the amount of ads sold for that particular edition and not the amount of actual news. Years later newspaper ads almost seem almost quaint. At least they are right there in front of you, instead of being cleverly worked into the copy of an article like product placement in movies and television. At least newspapers, again for the most part, try to provide useful information to readers with their stories instead of some television programs which seem to exist merely to frame advertising around them.
Sometimes the ads in the paper are in direct contrast to the stories. Articles about over consumption, coupled with a full-page department store ad. Or, like page A6 of today's Times, the juxtaposition of ad and story can just be down right ironic.
Below a short police brief describing a stabbing that took place in one of the fair parking lots, is a big advertisement for the fair itself with the catchy tag line: A Surprise Every Day!
I bet the guy who got stabbed in the arm trying to break up that fight was surprised all right.
Did anyone else want travel with the fair back when they were in high school? Didn't that seem like it would be the life - working a ride on the midway (preferably one where people spin around upside down and all the change falls out of their pockets) or selling Mexican blanket knock-offs in one of the vendor tents? Unlimited access to fried dough and cheaply-stuffed plush animals, what could be better?
Now I try and avoid the fair like the plague, leaving my husband to navigate the dry straw, dust, and angry boyfriends who stab innocent bystanders that are merely trying to break up parking lot fights.
I see in the ad that John Cafferty and the Beaver Brown Band are playing tonight. I think they were playing the fair when I was in high school as well. Bet we'd all be pretty tight 20 years later if I'd had joined up and become a carny, talk about your road less traveled.

song: Life is a Carnival • artist: The Band

I'm Walkin'

When my older son started walking he just picked himself up one day and walked across the dining room floor. There was a ball he wanted to get; guess he was so focused on it he forgot that up until that second, he didn't know how to walk. There was no holding out your arms and coaxing him, teetering along, towards you. He just did it.
If only he would potty train the same way.
My younger son is taking a more roundabout approach. Today he stood and cautiously picked up his left foot and put it down, once, then twice. He didn't move his right foot at all so instead of walking he just pivoted around a little like a sailboat at the start of a penalty 720. So it's a little vague. Was it really walking? Can I check it off in the baby book? As far as I can see, there's no entry for "pivoting."

song: I'm Walkin' • artist: Fats Domino

Run Baby Run

My parents took both the kids to the fish fry on Friday so I was faced with running the QD5 without the stroller. The previous two weeks I jogged the shortened, 2.5-mile, route - jogged in the most liberal sense of the word. The first week I was behind a fellow who was speed walking. I never caught up to him.
When you're jogging with a baby stroller, no matter how slow you are going, people are still impressed. Strangers cheer you on and say your baby is cute, friends call on the phone and leave messages that say "good for you!" Real runners empathize and say encouraging things like, "I'm sure you'd run much faster if you weren't pushing that stroller." A statement, which, for the record is not true. I'd been using the stroller as a crutch, without it, I might have fallen down; like a novice hockey player who uses his stick to prop him up. But regardless, for two weeks I've gotten the distinct impression that people view moms who jog with baby strollers as plucky and spirited and worthy of applause.
It's like when Ken takes the baby to town on the weekend. Without a baby, he's just another guy in town doing errands on a Saturday morning. With the baby, he's a sensitive new age dad; everyone wants to give him their place in the check out line and open doors for him.
Without the stroller, I'm not even a mother. I have no excuse for being so out of shape. Without the stroller, I'm just slow.

song: Run Baby Run • artist: Sheryl Crow

Pay Me My Money Down

We're limping towards the 21st century at our house with our recent mastery of downloading recordings to the computer off i-tunes. Yes, we've finally arrived with our new ability to resurrect songs that theoretically might be better off dead, any time we like. Lost 45s like "How Do You Do?," "Ride Captain Ride," and "Me And You And A Dog Named Boo," as well as bad 70s tunes like America's "Daisy Jane," and even songs that have been relegated to being played only at office Christmas parties like "Come On Eileen."
There's no time to ponder the world's problems when there are important decisions to make right here at home like whether or not we should purchase the three-and-a-half minute version of "Tainted Love" or go all out and get the almost nine-minute "Tainted Love/Where Did Our Love Go" rendition.
Some things are missing though, there's no AC/CD, not that I'm a huge fan; I can't get the studio recording of Warren Zevon's "Mr. Bad Example," only a live version, and I wonder - did anyone ever recorded "Uncle Jed" or is the only way I'll be able to hear it again is if Joe Sutton and the Safe Sextet reunite for a world tour.
Tonight's 99¢ was spent on the purchase of "The MTA Song" more famously known as "Charley on the MTA."
Come on, it's a catchy tune, admit it! I intend to sing it to the kids. It always begs the question though, if his wife could hand him a sandwich through the window of the Scollay Square Station every day, why couldn't she just slip him that bleedin' extra nickel as well?

song: Pay Me My Money Down • artist: Bruce Springsteen/Pete Seeger

If You Wanna Get To Heaven

Older son walked around all morning with a line of pink clay smeared down his forehead. It looked like a preschool celebration of Ash Wednesday.

song: If You Wanna Get To Heaven • artist: Ozark Mountain Davedevils

rain quatrain

So much rain
gives me a pain.
With two all day,
inside to play.

She's Already Made Up Her Mind

Hey! They ran my letter to the editor in today's Boston Globe. That's right, I'm not just a mostly stay-at-home mom anymore, now I'm an opinionated, mostly stay-at-home mom.

song: She's Already Made Up Her Mind • artist: Lyle Lovett

The Bug

It's been buggy at the house the past few days. More buggy than usual that is.
First we left the baby's high chair outside all night. That's one of the drawbacks of eating at the picnic table, having to haul everything outside and then back inside. So yesterday morning I'm hauling the highchair back inside and there are a half-dozen earwigs on it. Earwigs. Ants are okay. Spiders, I've made peace with, but earwigs don't get any sympathy. I scooped them up in a napkin and tossed them into my husband's abandoned but only half-finished mug of coffee. Let them drown in caffeine. As I reach over the toss another one into the mug I glance into yet another dirty mug in the sink - yes, we are not particularly tidy. Inside it, no lie, was a beetle, dead, as big as a mouse. It barely fit into the bottom of the mug.
Now I'm no sissy. I've caught toads and caterpillars and dug in the garden looking for worms, but this was a BIG beetle. It was godzilla beetle. Maybe it'd gotten juiced up on caffeine. I backed away and didn't go near the sink again until my husband came back downstairs.
"Wow," he said.
He took the mug outside
"Don't dump in near the driveway! I don't want to see it," I said.
Flash forward to this morning - my older son's downstairs getting ready to eat cereal when he spots a sluggish moth on the front door. He goes over to try and capture it but it flies off in that drunken way moths have of flying during the day. This arouses the interest of the cat, who, having not been fed yet, swats the moth out of the air with one paw and eats it.
My son stands there, taking it in.
"Did kitty eat the moth?"
"Yes, I think so."
He says nothing for a minute and then bursts into tears.
"You, bad, bad cat!" he screams.
"We can find another moth," I suggest.
"No! They don't come out during the day," he yells. (He's got a point.)
"Kitty's not really bad, honey. That's just what kitty's do," I say, unhelpfully.
He finally gets a grip on things and sits back down to eat cereal. When he notices the empty bug hut next to his bowl he starts crying again.
My husband comes down and asks him what's the matter. This makes him cry harder.
"The cat ate a moth he was trying to catch," I say, trying not to laugh.
Later in the morning the three of us were filling up water jugs at "the water store" when he notices a dead moth in the drain.
"Will this moth go down the drain?"
"I don't think so."
So he pokes at it and huzzah, it moves!
"It's not dead!" he says triumphantly, pushing it around the drain with the kind of little-kid force that has probably killed many a moth, caterpillar and daddy long legs.
I step in to rescue the moth from its rescuer.
"We won't let kitty eat this moth," he declares as I sift through the back of the car looking for something to put the moth into.
So I sent him off to afternoon daycare with his half-drowned, half-maimed moth underneath a hosta leaf in the bug hut so he could share it with all the other three-year-old budding entomologists at Becky's house.

song: The Bug • artist: Mary Chapin Carpenter

Blueberry Hill

Remember what I said last month about strawberries at Tony Andrews? Well now it's blueberries at Coonamessett Farm. Blueberry season is a little longer than strawberry season and happily Coonamessett is open until 8PM so you don't have to rush right over there and pick in the sweltering sun, unless you're gunning for that true migrant field worker experience. One summer I helped my sister who was picking strawberries for Tony Andrew's farm stand. It was hot and sunny and at one point one of Tony's extended family brought us a drink, the best iced tea I've ever drank.
And speaking of the weather, why do we look forward to summer when we either don't go outside because it's raining or it's sunny but we can't go outside because the air quality is bad. Seems like something's rotten in Denmark if you ask me, but, that's a blog for another day. For today let's at least be happy that we can get fresh blueberries, the size of nickels, locally.
I hate to keep sounding like an advertisement, but while you're at the farm check out the eggplant, purple peppers, and zucchini. Anyone for ratatouille?

song: Blueberry Hill • artist: Louis Armstrong

And When I Die

"I love you so much, Mommy, I'm never gonna let you die." My son tells me this every night during our "bedtime ritual" and several times during the day. In fact I can't get an "I love you," out of him without it being followed by this proclamation.
I don't know where it comes from. His only brush with death so far has been Coco the seal from the aquarium, which he took pretty well, I mean after all, I think Coco was old - for a seal, and Oreo the bunny at the Green Briar Nature Center. I didn't even think he would notice Oreo was gone, they have several rabbits; but he did so I had to tell him about the sign in the classroom that said he died and went on to say how much he had enjoyed his life at the Nature Center.
Every night, though, he tells me he's going to save me from dying, something I told him hopefully won't happen to me or anyone he knows until they are old - like 90. So then he wants to know if 38 is almost 90. Well sometimes it kinda feels like it, but I say no. Then he says that when I get to be 90 he's going to "hold onto me so I won't die.
"Isn't that nice of me, Mommy?"
I politely say thanks.
It's all kind of creepy, why couldn't he just be afraid of what's under the bed like a normal kid?
I think it's turning into an Oedipus Complex now. This morning he informed me that when daddy dies, not only is he not going to save him, he's going to be his little brother's "second daddy."

song: And When I Die • Artist: Three Dog Night

new truck couplet

New truck sits in the driveway dirt.
Pray tell, why do you still drive the old truck to work?

Through The Long Night

It took two hours to get my son to sleep last night. Not the baby, he was out like a light at 8:03, it was his big brother. There were the usual delays, crawling up the stairs on all fours, taking forever to brush his teeth, needing a bandaid, the inevitable glass of water. Then there was coming downstairs to find out when I'd be up to check on him.
"As soon as I feed the cat, finish the dishes, and wipe down your brother's high chair so fruit flies aren't dancing around it in the morning," I said.
"I'll just wait for you on the stairs," he offered.
"No, go back upstairs to bed," I answered.
Then I have to follow him back up and put the sheet over him.
"Is that a bug on the wall there."
"Yes, it's a lucky spider, now go to sleep."
Then I had to close the window next to the bed because he felt some raindrops (it wasn't raining).
Then daddy came home and went upstairs to talk to him and help him fix his pajama top which was on inside out.
Then I had to come in and open the window because it was hot in his room, which was my fault for originally putting that idea in his head in an effort to change his mind about closing the window in the first place.
Then I brought some work notes to the bedroom and rewrote them so I'd be upstairs with him. Usually I fold clothes, but there wasn't any laundry last night on account of the rain.
Then the Latin lullaby CD ended and I put on Guys and Dolls for him.
Then I finished my with story about adult music classes, wrote some PR for the Falmouth Walk, and an angry letter to the "Toys to Grow On" catalogue for featuring a toddler on one of those battery-powered electric ride-on toys on the cover of their 2006 catalogue (aren't we in the middle of a childhood obesity epidemic?).
Then I went downstairs for a second glass of wine.
He was asleep when I came back upstairs.

song: Through The Long Night • artist: Billy Joel

cleopatra's cat

That's it. I'm done serving the cat a variety of cat foods. It's ridiculous. I'm standing in the Falmouth Pet wondering whether she'd like a sardine, shrimp, and crab combo, or turkey, rice, and vegetables. Rice? Since when do cats even like rice?
It's like the toothpaste aisle. Gel? No Gel. Mint Flavor? Tartar control? With baking soda or without? For Pete's sake! We're just going to spit it out!
The cat likes beef, she likes liver (hey, she's a cat, what can I say?), so I got her a dozen cans of each. Why didn't I think if this before? She's a 15-year-old, spayed, indoor, cat. She doesn't need variety. All she needs is a sunny spot to sleep in and for the kids not to vex her while she's stretched out enjoying it.
They say that being enslaved is having no choices, but I say it's also having too many choices. We should be trying to solve global warming, instead we're all paralyzed trying to decide between 50 different types of cat food.
The downside to having a pet and having kids is when your son puts his plate on the floor and says, "look, mommy, I'm eating my dinner like the cat." Then you notice that he's eating more that way than he was at the dining room table - eating like a three-year-old.

song: cleopatra's cat • artist: spin doctors

back in black

Saw my cousin's daughter at a family function this weekend. She's twenty-something - black clothing, black lipstick, abundance of chain jewelry. A little bit goth in the same way Marie Osmond used to be a little bit country. She works at the Wal-Mart because she's "too unmotivated to look for another job."
I'm not sure I see how one can work at Wal-Mart and simultaneously feign an anti-establishment attitude, but on the other hand no doubt she's getting a good deal on black lipstick.

song: back in black • artist: AC/DC

Where Have All the Flowers Gone (revised & updated)

Where have all the crayons gone?
Long time passing.
Where have all the crayons gone?
Long time ago.
Where have all the crayons gone?
Young children have broken them, every one.
When will they ever learn?
When will they ever learn?

Where have all the markers gone?
Long time passing.
Where have all the markers gone?
Long time ago.
Where have all the markers gone?
Young children have left the caps off them, every one.
When will they ever learn?
When will they ever learn?

song: Where Have All the Flowers Gone • artist: Peter, Paul, and Mary

birthday quatrain

Happy birthday to my husband Ken.
May you still win races now and then.
Hope the only time running becomes a pain,
is when your wife leaves you out in the rain.

Our House

My son thinks we need to move out of our house because there are fruit flies in the kitchen.
Last week when it rained and the roof leaked he thought we should have called the police.
When they bulldozed the house across the street and built a new one he wanted to know, "when are they going to boom down our house build a new one?"
He doesn't want to sleep in his bedroom because it's "too bad."
And, he wants to know why we can't have a tennis court in our backyard for ride-on toys like they have at daycare.

song: Our House • artist: Madness

Call Me

I got a call the other night from my cousin's boyfriend. He's organizing a surprise party for her and calling people in her address book to invite them.
"Have we met before?" He asked.
Nice gesture I offered, though I couldn't help but think what would happen if someone did the same for me.
My address book is a 10-year-old clutter of mostly useless, outdated information. No one is ever crossed out, even if it's someone I haven't spoken to in years, even if it's someone who's dead. The only people who do get crossed out are my friends ex-husbands or former live-in girlfriends.
Addresses and phone numbers are crossed out, though, lots of them. Seems by the looks of it that most of my friends are wandering nomads. There are entire pages dedicated to just one person, line after line of crossed out numbers in contrasting ink colors until finally I give up and start writing in pencil.
Then there's the utter cluelessness of duplicate entries, written on the same page, almost on top of one another, how could I have not noticed?
At least I've had the foresight to pen in addition family members as they arrive on the scene. This comes in handy when it's time to address Christmas cards and you want something more personal than "Ms. Jane Doe and family."
Many entries are not in alphabetical order. Take for example friends who have divorced and reclaimed maiden names. I just cross out the last name and fill in the new one but leave them on the same page in the address book. Likewise friends who get married. Now when I want to call someone I have to search tax the rapidly decreasing cells in my brain to remember what name they're filed under. Not to mention married friends with different last names. The only time weddings work in my favor are when couples hyphenate, then they can rightfully remain on the same page.
Doctor listings are scattered throughout: PCP, OB/GYN, dermatologists, reconstructive surgeon, and ophthalmologist. How's it possible at 38 I have more doctors than friends?
So who would actually be at the party? Former co-workers, old housemates, my son's daycare provider, the Cape Cod Times/Boston Globe delivery guy, the animal control officer. The animal control officer? What's that doing in my address book? That's right, it was the time the stray peacock was in the back yard. Come to think of it, the animal control officer thought I was nuts; so on second thought, don't invite him.

song: Call Me • artist: Blondie

Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is?

Here is an excerpt from the Chamber of Commerce's Web Site regarding today's July 4th parade:
Parade begins in Bank of America (Fleet Bank) parking lot across from Village Green and proceeds at 12:00 to Peg Noonan Park. Prizes awarded for various categories.
So, can someone explain to me why, when the digital clock across from the Post Office said 11:50, the parade was clearly over? And then - can someone explain it to my three-year-old?

song: Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is? • artist: Chicago

mommy limerick #1

There once was a stay-at-home mum,
who strove to make parenting fun.
All day with the tots
she played games and banged pots,
but at night she'd come completly undone.

I Only Want to be with You

Why is it that when my older son complains that his baby brother is "messing up my stuff," and "wrecking my work," so I put kid brother in his pack 'n play; the next time I look into the living room, the both of them are sitting in the pack 'n play together getting along fabulously?

song: I Only Want to be with You • artist: Dusty Springfield

Strawberry Fields Forever

Red alert! Everyone within the sound of my keyboard needs to drop what they are doing immediately, run don't walk to Tony Andrews Farm where there are ripe strawberries in need of picking. An overcast like today is perfect for picking, you don't have to worry about sunburn. Supermarket strawberries are a sad, pathetic, second to their delicious local counterpart. Sure, store bought's okay if you douse them with sugar and bake 'em in a rhubarb pie, but while they are cooking you could be eating the ones you picked today after merely rinsing them off. They are pure sweetness. Your kids don't eat fruit? They'll eat these. They're cheaper in the supermarket? Of course they are, they aren't as good! You don't have time to pick them yourself? They have them for sale at the farm stand. You don't know where the farm is? It's on Old Meeting House Road in East Falmouth. You don't know where that is? Ask someone! Enough questions, leave now!

song: Strawberry Fields Forever • artist: the Beatles

plover tercet

Plovers nesting on the shore,
put off-road drivers in angry uproar.
Get out and walk please, I implore.

Who Let the Dogs Out?

Why little boys are like dogs.
If you tell them it's okay to pee in the backyard, they will go five times or more in an hour. Why don't they just go once and get it over with?

song: who let the dogs out? • artist: Baha Men

The Candy Man

I see that the ever opportunistic M&M Company is releasing its new M&M's White Chocolate Pirate Pearls to coincide with the release of the upcoming movie: Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest. I'm sure you don't need me to point it out - but I'm going to anyway - eating White Chocolate Pirate Pearl M&M's will not make you a pirate. Nor will it up your chances of meeting Johnny Depp; who would just think you a sucker for buying them, because that's the kind of cool anti-establishment type of guy his publicists want you to think he is.
Eating a bag of White Chocolate Pirate Pearls will merely fatten you personally, along with the pockets of those smart folks over at M&M's who are no doubt busy right now trying to work out their next product tie in.

song: The Candy Man • artist: Sammy Davis, Jr.

Goody Two Shoes

Yesterday I met Adam Lazarus. Adam is an ant expert. That his name is Adam, as in Adam Ant for all you lovers of bad 80s music, must not go unnoticed though I somehow forgot to point it out during our meeting. Adam has studied ants all over the United States and in South America. Adam has an ant tattooed on his shoulder and a degree in film that he pursued merely as an excuse to spend more time watching ants. His senior thesis? A film about ants of course.
I am envious of people like Adam. People who have known, seemingly from day one, what that one thing is that they were meant to do in life. Most of us are more like me, dabbling in a lot of different things which we're pretty good at but not outstanding. Over the course of a day I'm a caretaker and teacher, a housekeeper, and cook, and a writer-slash-supplement coordinator. I do all of these things adequately, but not spectacularly. Over the course of a few weeks, in the few minutes that pass for my spare time, I may dabble in painting, drawing, guitar playing, gardening, knitting, quilting, and belly dancing. Again, adequately, but not spectacularly.
Driving home from the interview I thought about other people who are like Adam. I thought of our senior class president, Craig, who read the news on our school's morning TV program, Perspectives. Twenty years later, Craig co-anchors the news for a Miami TV station.
I'm only in touch with two high school classmates, which seems odd given that I still live in my hometown but it stands to reason as I never was much of a joiner.
At home I got the run down on the day's events from my parents: who ate what for lunch, who napped, and why my older son has a big red mark on his cheek. Then I checked my e-mail. In the middle of the myriad of Freecycle listings was a message from one of those two classmates passing along the specifics of our 20th high school reunion.
The message directed me to a Yahoo group specifically set up for the class of 86 and the most recent message on the post was from Craig!
And it's odd because although you may reminisce about high school constantly, I don't, much. Though knowing that this reunion is only two months away will probably have me thinking about it more. I may not have one grand passion that's been my life's work, but at least I've got a bunch of interesting facts about ants I can use as conversation starters if I do end up going to the reunion.

song: Goody Two Shoes • artist: Adam Ant

rainy day haiku

Rainy Saturday.
Slugs and mushrooms rule the yard.
We stay in the house.

Say You, Say Me

I've gotten an exciting two comments since the paper's included this blog on its website. It may not seem impressive to you, but that's twice as many as I'd received up till then. There's nothing a mostly-stay-at-home-mom craves more than contact with the outside world. So, thank you, I say, even though one of my two responders was someone I know and the other someone I went to school with! It's all good! And yes, the library is yet another place where, ironically, books are being read but signs which request that we refrain from eating, sadly, go unnoticed. Someday there will be a letter to the editor in the paper from some angry taxpaper stating that they'll never frequent the library again because, (gasp!) they have ants! Go figure.

song: Say You, Say Me • artist: Lionel Richie

Can't You Read the Sign?

Yesterday I was at the Children's Museum in Mashpee with the kids. The building has several signs posted about not eating or drinking in the museum - but I look around me and everyone is feeding their kids! There was this puppet show and we're all sitting on the floor watching it and this baby who is with his mom and older brother is sitting next to me eating PB&J or maybe it was just PB because I didn't actually see any J. Anyway, the baby crawls over and smears peanut butter all over my dress, which wasn't the worst because it's a print pattern and besides I'm used to being smeared with gross stuff, remember the white shirt incident? But the mom didn't seem to see it or to acknowledge that her kid was smearing me with mushed sandwich and I didn't have any Kleenex on me because I am "unprepared mom." I'm sure all the other mom's had Kleenex in their pockets probably those little travel tissues or better yet, travel diaper wipes. I didn't want to ask the mom if she had a napkin because I didn't want it to look like I was trying to point out that her kid had smeared me - kind of like the Seinfeld Big Salad episode. So I sort of casually wiped it off and wiped it on the rug, which I know was gross, but I didn't feel like I had any other options. I could have gotten up, hoisted up my baby, and gone all the way across the museum to the bathroom but I don't know if my older son would have gotten upset, plus I would have had to maneuver through all the other seated moms and tots and it would have made kind of a scene.
Then at the end of the puppet show when we finally did get up to leave there were all these cracker crumbs in the corner where we were sitting and the snack wielding mom had already cleared out so now it looks like I'm the guilty party. There were even some half eaten crackers on the floor that of course my baby tried to finish off. Not to mention that I don't think PB&J or just PB is a very appropriate snack to sneak into the museum. First, it's messy. Second, for Pete's sake, there are kids who are deathly allergic to PB! But, since I learned my lesson from the M&M women, I didn't say anything. What I could have said was, "Hey! What do you mean bringing PB into the museum! Are you trying to kill someone?" That would have been effective.

Song: Signs • Artist: Five Man Electrical Band

Blowin' in the Wind

My one-year-old's newest trick is blowing his nose. Well, pretending to blow his nose. On napkins, tissue, scraps of paper, diaper wipes. Goes to show you how often he was sick this winter and spring. So the repetoire is: waving bye bye, clapping, and nose blowing. What a clever baby! My older son never got into waving bye bye, too gimmicky I guess.
Forgot one. Turning the lights on and off, he can also do that. Unfortunately it's not a trick that travels well, you can't really show it off in a restaruant or the library.

song: Blowin' in the Wind • artist: Bob Dylan

NHL couplet

Hockey playoffs in summer?
What could be dumber?

summer haiku

Summer brings fruit flies.
They drown in my glass of wine.
Someone bring a spoon.

How Can I Tell You?

Here's how it started. I got one of those often-forwarded e-mails from a friend about the pink and white M&Ms and how for every 8-ounce bag you buy, Masterfoods will donate 50¢ to a breast cancer research foundation. Have you seen this e-mail? It's fairly popular. It implored me to "pick up a bag" and to tell "all my family and friends." The kicker was the quote at the bottom from Robert Kennedy about how each of us can work in a small way to change history. Like Bobby Kennedy is referring to M&Ms!
This whole thing was irritating. I'm suppose to eat junk food, and encourage my friends to eat junk food, in order to cure breast cancer? What's Masterfoods going to do to cure the heart disease we are all going to get from downing bags of M&Ms? If I want to give money to support breast cancer research I can just write a check myself, which I did to my cousin who recently completed the Avon Breast Cancer Walk. And if Masterfoods wants to give money to breast cancer research, they should just do it and not sucker consumers into buying candy. Well, my kids must have been out of the house that day and I had nothing else to do because I finally Googled a section of the e-mail and it brought me to a site called "Fact or Fiction" which said that this promotion had expired a while ago.
So, I wrote a message in response to the e-mail, something along the lines of, "not only is it inane to think that eating candy is going to help cure breast cancer, this offer is expired." I put in a link to the Fact or Fiction website. It wasn't worded exactly that way, but it was along those lines. Yes, I could have put it more gently, but I was irritated, remember? These people want consumers to believe that going out and buying a bag of candy is a good thing. And people do believe it. So I hit "reply all." In retrospect I should have just informed my friend who sent the original message and let her decide whether on not to tell the other people on her list but easy access is one of the caveat's of e-mail isn't it?
So, I get an e-mail from my friend saying a benign, "leave it to you to look into this;" then I get e-mails from her friends telling me among other things that: a) I'm a bad person, b) I better hope I never get cancer, and c) it's a wonder anyone tries to do anything good in this world with jerks like me around?
I was going to bring up the fact that I'd recently donated $25 for breast cancer research and I didn't even have to eat 50 bags of M&Ms to do it, and, the only people benefitting from this promotion was the M&M company, not to mention the promotion is expired so the whole thing's a moot point, but I let it rest.
But I ask you, though maybe I shouldn't, was I wrong?

song: How Can I Tell You? • artist: Cat Stevens

Who's Crying Now?

It says in the paper, our paper, that Shane Holt cried when he found out he wouldn't be able to attend his high school graduation. "I'm not afraid to admit it. I cried." Good for you Shane! Lots of people would have been afraid to admit it. Kids learn quickly. Observations from my son include: papa says only girls have pocketbooks/only girls can have their rooms painted pink/girls wear light colors, boys wear dark colors/only girls wear skirts/girls don't drive trucks. Okay, I was able to convince him that girls do drive trucks and I tried to spin the others to be inclusive even to the point of telling a three-year-old about Scottish men and kilts, but it won't take long before he bunps a knee and someone tells him not to cry because "only girls cry." And then when that happens, at least I can tell him that Shane Holt cries, and he's not afraid to admit it.

song: Who's Crying Now? • artist: Journey

Jeremiah Was A Bullfrog

My older son caught this toad in our friend's driveway Saturday night and insisted on bringing it home. He kept it in the terrarium we recently recreated out of an old aquarium we acquired through freecycle. Now the toad is gone (deposited under a hosta in the backyard) but I can only find 3 of the 6 land snails that were in the terrarium before Mr. Toad's visit!

song: Jeremiah Was A Bullfrog • artist: Three Dog Night

Ordinary Average Day

So today I spent the morning sitting at the Subaru dealership getting a duplicate of my key and remote key entry system, which cost me $88 and seemed to take an awful long time. The must have sensed it was taking too long, in addition to being overprices because they ran the car through the car wash as an added bonus. That's right, throw the mom a bone. The little waiting room had a giant flat screen TV broadcasting endless Fox news so I got to hear about the woman who was strangled with a bikini top about 50 times until the guy with the earbuds half in and half out finally got up and walked out and I turned off the TV. Then he came back when I thought he had left for good so then I felt kinda guilty for turning off the TV except that there weren't really any new developments in the murder investigation. They weren't even saying if it was her bikini, it was just "a bikini." Which I know isn't funny and those humorless M&M-loving woman would really come down on me for pointing out a detail like that but don't you just hate it when they belabor something when they don't really have anything new to say? They just wanted to keep flashing photos of the girl and her college friends. So anyway, earbud guy came back but didn't turn the TV back on. I think that if you turn off the TV other people are too embarassed to turn it back on, they don't want to be singled out as the low brow who wants to watch FOX news at 10 in the morning. So then the baby and I went to the bank and I opened a passbook savings account for him and deposited his life savings which amounts to $50. Then we went to the water store as toddler #1 calls it, where you can fill up your own gallon containers with "spring" water for a quarter. I'm probably paying a quarter for town water but anyway... I made a Seinfeld "big salad" for lunch, using Laird's recipe for hard boiled eggs, which might have been the high point of the day. Baby #1 had left overs and pooped in his high chair. Husband #1 took the baby to town with him after lunch (he's on vacation this week). He fell asleep in the car (the baby, not the husband) so I got to go to the vet with just the cat. The cat has been shut in the bathroom for three days because she hasn't been using the litter box and she's been spot peeing all over the house, which is nasty. So she got a shot of penicillin and a rabies shot which cost me $75 plus we have to give her antibiotics twice a day for the next week. Gads. I have the most boring life! After the vets I returned books to the library and dropped off some stuff at the the office, requests for story contacts that the sales reps will just ignore because I'm not assertive enough so no one takes me seriously! Back at home I took down the slimy shower curtain, cleaned it and hung it back up, plus started bleaching mold off upstairs bathroom walls, for some reason when they added on to our house and put in a second bathroom no one had the foresight to put in a fan which just goes to show that the people who lived here before us weren't the brightest bulbs when it came to home improvements. It's like our house is a magnet for the home improvement-challenged.
Oh and to wrap things up? I had to tear myself away from a rerun of the Simpsons just to finish this e-mail to you!

song: Ordinary Averyage Day • artist: Joe Walsh

You're my best friend

Earlier this month my 3-year old found a caterpillar in our garden. He decided to keep it and deposited it in a old cottage cheese container that he loaded up with moss, acorns, leaves, dirt, rocks and other assorted goodies that he figured caterpillars liked to eat.
He displayed him proudly to daddy when he got home and announced he was going to keep the caterpillar until Friday so Nana and Papa could see it.
At bedtime he brought the contained upstairs and put it under his bed so the caterpillar could "sleep with me." Then he declared that the caterpillar was "my best friend." A caterpillar is his best friend? That's so pathetic! I've got to get the kid more playdates or a puppy.
Since the caterpillar we've had an earthworm, and slug, and today it's one of those woolly caterpillars although I haven't actually seen this one move - ever. Of course if it's dead that will only make it easier for us to care for, and if it was dead when he picked it up I don't have to feel guilty that I'm letting my son kill wildlife in order to develop an appreciation for nature.

song: You're My Best Friend • artist: Queen

We Need a Little Christmas

So my three-year-old keeps asking me "when is it going to be Christmas?" Enough already! It's January 24th! I can't decide if this is better or worse than last year, when we had to listen to the recording of "doggies bark jingle bells" until well into March.

song: We Need A Little Christmas • artist: Mame Soundtrack

In Your Eyes

I thought toddler #1 had conjunctivitis but it turned out he only had an ear infection. He woke up in the middle of the night on Monday and his eyes were all goopy and he's yelling "I can't see!" Like he'd been struck blind. So I carried him in the bathroom and propped him on the toilet and went to get the basket of washcloths and then he slid off the toilet and fell on his head! So then he's crying even more and it took forever to wipe all the goopies out of his eyes. That was Monday and he's woken up every night since then unable to see as well and crying "I can't open my eyes, don't drop me off the toilet!" As if the two are somehow related and perhaps the cure for eye goopies is a swift blow to the head.

Song: In Your Eyes • artist: Peter Gabriel

Give me just a little more time

I just read an article in the paper about the lack of tinsel being put on live Christmas trees and I quote "people don't decorate the way they used to, they don't have the time." THEY DON'T HAVE THE TIME? Whoa. I've heard about people who don't have time to clean their houses or bake cakes from scratch or write letters, work in the yard, knit, join committees, vote, etc., etc. But not having the time to hang tinsel off a Christmas tree? What they heck are people doing with their time anyway? I drive home an night and see a TV screen glowing from just about every house I pass - do you really mean to tell me that during commercials people can't hoist themselves up from their Lazy-boys and throw a little tinsel on a Christmas tree? Wait? Isn't this a job for the kids to do anyway? Are they too busy as well? That's just pathetic!

song: Give me just a little more time • artist: The Chairman of the Board