Waiting on a Friend

It's hard to tell which upcoming event is more anticipated, this Friday's opening of the Sex in the City movie or the return of the 17-year cicadas. I wish the locust would just show up already. I thought they were supposed to arrive in early May? Every week there are articles about them in the papers with the same quotes from the expert entomologist at Barnstable County Cooperative Extension. They're coming, but like bad house guests, no one knows when. I personally can't wait. What could be more exciting for 5-year old and 3-year old boys than a infestation of insects? Tonight at the Captain Kidd I overheard a man at the bar announcing that they were just starting to peek out of holes in North Falmouth. "They're a little sluggish," he told the bartender. Just pushing through to the surface after seventeen years underground? I'd be sluggish too. The guy at the bar said he could vividly remember when the cicadas last appeared. It was the year he got his first bb gun. Guess what he used for target practice? I suppose it beats the neighbor's cat.
At least the Sex in the City movie doesn't keep pushing back it's opening.
Considering I waited until the show started its replays on TBS to begin watching, I doubt I'll go see Sex in the City in the theater. Despite that late start, I count myself as a big fan, having recently compared Carrie's relationship with the Russian to the protagonist of Eat, Pray, Love's affair with the Brazilian.
Whenever I'm on the couch nursing at 11PM I always flip to channel 8. If I'm still on the couch at 11:30 I'll switch over to channel 6 to watch Seinfeld reruns.
Does Sex in the City really need a movie? They wrapped up the series quite neatly in my opinion. In some of the the articles I've read leading up to Friday's big event, the reason given for the movie is the fans need to know what happened to their four favorite New York women. I have to admit being befuddled by this need to know notion. Nothing happened to them - they're television characters. They haven't been living in another dimension somewhere for the past four years. I'm a Seinfeld fan and enthusiastic rerun watcher, but never once have I wondered what happened to the characters, ditto for Scully and Mulder even though there's a new X-files movie coming this July. I didn't wonder about Sam or Diane either, or give much thought to how the cast of MASH reacclimated to civilian life after returning home from Korea. Come to think of it though that would have made an interesting movie, but I guess that was the premise for "The Best Years of Our Lives."
I did wish that I had friends like the women of "Sex in the City." I wished the same thing after reading Bridget Jones' Dairy. I don't wonder about the afterlives of fictional book characters either. I didn't read the sequel to Bridget Jones - she got the guy - what more did I need to know?
To set the record straight though, I do have friends who are equally as fabulous as Samantha, Charlotte, and Miranda, in fact they are even more fabulous because they really exist.
This isn't to say I won't rent the movie when it's available. I surely will. If the cicadas don't hurry up and get here their arrival might end up coinciding with, not the big screen release of Sex in the City, but instead it's arrival in a video store near you. That will be approximately three weeks from now - or when the ground warms up to 65 degrees. Whichever comes first.

song: Waiting on a Friend • artist: The Rolling Stones

I'm So Happy I Can't Stop Crying

The comedy and the tragedy of it all.

song: I'm So Happy I Can't Stop Crying • artist: Sting

We Don't Have To Take Our Clothes Off

There have been many ridiculous ads featuring women in their underwear; not to mention ads for power boats where all the men are wearing khakis and polo shirts and all the women are wearing bikinis that look as if they are two sizes too small. So even though it's a childish attitude and I should be beyond payback, I was gleefully happy to see this ad of the photographer in his underwear.
I picture him lining up a family portrait: mom, dad, grandma, three kids, and the dog.
Photographer: "Okay everybody now just relax and look natural. Don't be nervous. Just smile. Pretend that I'm in my underwear.
Astute five year old: But you ARE in your underwear.
Just look at the size of that camera - will ya? Nothing phallic about that, no sir. It's not the size of your lens, it's how you use it.
Here's the best part, and again I know I'm too old to dissolve into giddy laughter when I say this but, it's the pouch collection.
This reminds me of a book I read recently - to my three year old - called Arthur's Underwear. Have I mentioned that H is obsessed with Arthur? That crazy aardvark. He wears briefs.

song: We Don't Have To Take Our Clothes Off • artist: Soozy Q

Ain't That Lovin' You Baby

I wrote about the twins the other day because I felt guilty that I never write about them. I was looking back over journals I kept when C was a baby and I recorded his every move. I spent entire days trying to ascertain the most effective way to "stimulate the baby." Here's an entry from those journals from a time when C was about the same age the twins are now: "you have also become very vocal, squeaking and squealing and deriving all sorts of pleasure in general noisemaking. We encourage it by asking you to tell us more. 'Really C? Then what happened? You don't say. Tell us all about it.'"
How will I explain to the twins that they spent the first four months of their life propped up in their car seats in the living room with their only source of entertainment being their older brothers. You'd think I could have at least turned on the fan for them.
Maybe that's why N has learned to suck his thumb so efficiently.
They are starting to outgrow some of their newborn clothes. I noticed the yellow jumpsuit that both H and C wore looked a little snug on N this morning. The jumpsuit has a high collar that sticks up and made whichever of my children who was wearing it look like baby Elvis.

song: Ain't That Lovin' You Baby • artist: Elvis Presley

the radish (a couplet in the style of Ogden Nash)

behold the radish
vegetable non gratis

After the Rain has Fallen

Is this the worst spring on record or is the weather just plain cr@p every spring and every year we forget? I realize we've much to be thankful for as there haven't been any earthquakes or tornadoes in the immediate area, but even a meteorological citizen of the world can reserve the right to complain about their own local weather. April vacation week was nicer than the entire month of May so far. I'd like to go out and smell the lilacs but it's too cold.
C spent the morning making lemonade out of an entire bottle of lemon juice. He wanted to set up a lemonade stand. I said it was raining and after lunch he pointed out that the rain had stopped.
"But it's too cold," I said. "People like lemonade when it's hot out and they want something cold to drink."
"We could go down to the bike path and the people who are riding their bikes might be hot."
It's hard to argue with that kind of logic but somehow I managed to get out of going.
As for the garden well let's just be thankful that my family isn't counting on any of that produce as a major food source. The weeds are growing faster than the vegetables. The weeds that thrive on cold, wet, weather that is.
We did harvest some radishes. Radishes - what kind of vegetable is a radish really? It's not the main ingredient in any dish I can think of. At best it's just a salad fixin', and at worst it's a decorative garnish people carve up and don't even eat. I only plant them because they reach maturity faster than any other vegetable, which gives my kids something to pull up early on. They are as close to instant gratification as a garden can get.

song: After the Rain has Fallen • artist: Sting

Stay (I Missed You)

The prom was this past weekend. I was thinking of trying to donate the blue dress I wore my junior year (the dress I bought to match your dad's powder blue Mercades) to one of those shops that will tailor them for girls who otherwise couldn't afford a dress. The websites all request that people only donate dresses that are in style though, I doubt a 23-year old dress qualifies.
Here's what else has been going on.
They've finally started the bike path extension out to North Falmouth. You'd have loved that. Lawrence and Lynch is doing the work and it could be done within a year. Just in time too, you wouldn't believe the price of gas - $72 to fill up the mini van. Remember when I worked bagging groceries at the supermarket and could fill the tank of that big Buick with money from tips?
Deval Patrick was taking heat a while back for a book deal about his life. Shouldn't he at least serve one term as governor before he pontificates in writing about his achievements? His casino plan didn't fly. You'd be happy about that.
They let Bill Buckner throw out the ceremonial opening day first pitch. I remember we were in your Huntington Avenue apartment back in 1986 when that game was being played. We weren't watching it, Mike and Bill were, but we came out at the very end because as you put it, "history's gonna be made."
There's a new Apple store on Boylston Street. The largest in the country. I wish it had been there when we were in school expect of course I wouldn't have had any money to spend and iPods didn't exist back then. They had a picture of the building's facade in Sunday's paper. It's directly across from the Prudential Center. The picture showed that hideous statue of the muscular "superman guy" at the Pru. I know you liked that statue, but I never did.
You know Tower Records is gone. Remember how it used to be open till midnight? We'd go and just rummage through the cassettes (three floors worth) and never buy anything. They've turned it into high end condos.
Sadly, Joyce Kulhawik, entertainment reporter and Simmons grad done good, got laid off from WBZ-TV. I can't remember the last time I watched a theater review on TV news, now I just read them in the paper though it doesn't matter either way because I have four kids and can no longer leave the house. I loved Joyce because she seemed to hate everything she saw.
They are planning to reopen the back entrance to the Museum of Fine Arts. The entrance with the big columns that faces out onto the Fens. The article in the Globe said that barely anyone knows that entrance is there but we used to walk by it all the time. I think I have pictures of you sitting on the steps.
C had kindergarten orientation at your elementary school last week. All us parents were funneled into the cafeteria to listen to school official after school official speak. I know that it's not about me anymore but being in school always has the effect of making me feel self conscious. It didn't help that the twins took turns crying the entire time.
The best news is - they're fixing up Wendell's.

song: Stay (I Missed You) • artist: Lisa Loeb

Deja Vu (All Over Again)

These are the top three questions people ask Ken and me about the twins:
1. How do they sleep?
This is also the top question for all singleton babies as well.
Answer: They sleep with their eyes closed just like everyone else.
What these people really mean is: how much do they sleep? The answer to that question is they sleep a lot, just not all in the same big chunk of time. Let's just say that I've heard the "dawn chorus" so often that I can pretty much sing along.
2. What do their older brothers think of them?
This question is the number two question asked of all secondary siblings.
Answer: I doubt that they "think" about their little brothers all that much. They are much too busy bickering with, and just generally annoying each other to notice two sleeping babies.
3. When one twin cries does it make the other one cry?
This question is specific to twins.
Answer: Not necessarily. In fact they can be lying side by side, one asleep the other crying, and if the one that's crying is taken away, the remaining twin will wake up - and start crying.
While these above truths seem to hold water for all babies, all babies are of course different, even twins. For example on Thursday while I was holding S and talking on the phone, he spit up all over the clean laundry that was in the basket waiting to be hung on the line. I had to rewash it. That evening, while I was giving H a bath and simultaneously changing N, N spit up on me- straight down the front of my sporty new nursing bra.

song: Deja Vu (All Over Again) • artist: John Fogerty:

Magazine

Not only do you need to vote in tomorrow's elections, the library needs you to vote right now on which magazines the library should keep, which they should ditch, and to which new ones they should subscribe.
If only ousting bad politicians were that easy.

album: Magazine • artist: Jump Little Children

Don't Worry Be Happy

I did some spring cleaning in C's room this week. Spring cleaning is defined as moving the furniture to vacuum under it instead of the usual which is leaving everything where it is and vacuuming around it. The great thing about cleaning this week is that it's stayed clean. C's been away since last Saturday with his grandparents visiting my dad's relatives in Canada.
It's been strange looking into his room every night on the way to bed and seeing it empty. It's like he's away at college or something.
Since cleaning involved the use of water, H was more than willing to help out.
"C be so happy," he enthused as we sponged dust off the shelves.
"Next we'll clean your room," I said.
"I be so happy."

song: Don't Worry Be Happy • artist: Bobby McFerrin

Jack & Diane

I have often told Ken that, because there's more than seven years age difference between us, I'm his trophy wife. At 40, I suppose my trophy-wife status is a bit tarnished. I could, however, aspire to cougar status if only I had the energy to seduce men half my age. Too bad I don't because I always wanted to be a cat. Remember when the Aristocats came out? That movie had us all running around in our footy pajamas pretending to be cats.
Now that gay marriage is legal in California I hear that Ellen DeGeneres and Portia de Rossi are planning to get hitched. Ellen DeGeneres is 50, Portia is 35. Does that make Ellen a gay cougar?

song: Jack & Diane • artist: John Cougar Mellencamp

Can't You Hear Me Knocking

Purely by chance, H and I read this book tonight before bed. See if you can name it from its opening two lines.
On the fifteenth of May in the Jungle of Nool
In the heat of the day, in the cool of the pool

song: Can't You Hear Me Knocking • artist: The Rolling Stones

Let It Grow II

Good grief. Would it just warm up, please, so my plants would grow. Our lettuce and radishes have been the same height for a month now. None of the seeds I planted last week have even sprouted. Not to mention H keeps systematically knocking over the bean plants we've been growing inside that I moved next to the living room window so they'd get more sun.

song: Let it Grow • artist: Eric Clapton

Let It Grow

Following a recent rash of birthday parties, the goodie bag has become the bane of my existence. While I was driving us home from a party last Sunday afternoon, C, after comparing his goodie bag to his younger brother's and seeing that the items differed, shouted: "there's something wrong with my goodie bag!" I didn't bother explaining that the goodie bag is a nice gesture from the child hosting the party and not your God-given right as a party goer, it didn't seem like the right time for a "teachable moment." The goodie bags my kids have come home with aren't that bad, as in, they haven't been filled entirely with candy. In fact one bag contained some animal trivia cards that were really interesting. Did you know that there are 1,000 different species of bats? And who couldn't use another super ball?
Generally speaking though, the interest kids show in the contents of a goodie bag seem to be in direct proportion to the time it takes to drive home from the birthday party itself. This might explain why goodie bag items often end up being left all over the back seat of the car.
In January H and C both received goodie bags which contained an item called "grow a bug." You remember how these work. You put them in water and they are suppose to quadruple in size in 72 hours. Well in January C was really into the concept of grow a bug. I could see it in his eyes. He was picturing his bug (a caterpillar) outgrowing our bathtub like the picture book, A Fish Out Of Water, which, incidentally, was written by Dr. Seuss's first wife Helen Palmer. We put his bug, along with his brother's (another caterpillar) in the largest tupperware bowl in the house and filled it with water. For the next 72 hours, when C was downstairs, we brought the tupperware downstairs, when he went upstairs to bed, we perched the tupperware on a chair next to his bed. H, meanwhile, thought the bugs were real and kept taking them out of the water and trying to pet them. C would then yell at him to put the bugs back into the water so they could continue growing.
During this last spate of parties C received a "grow a whale," which boasted it would grow to four times its original size. Skeptical because his bugs failed to fill the bathtub, C reluctantly gave the whale a try. While he was at it he found the two bugs and put them back in the water as well (after you take grow animals out of the water they revert back to their original sizes).
This time, instead of starting off with the biggest tupperware bowl in the drawer, I chose a bowl only slightly larger than the bugs (and whale) themselves, which proved to be a smart move. "Look how much bigger they are," C remarked genuinely impressed, though he didn't feel the need, this time around, to keep the bugs (and whale) next to his bed at night. They did look bigger. I transfered them to another tupperware.
I ended up transferring them into three different tupperware containers before we finally conceded that they weren't going to get any larger. Each time I moved our three "pets" I paid tribute to Roy Scheider by remarking solemnly, "I'm gonna need a bigger boat." Nobody got the joke but so what. I thought I was funny.

song: Let it Grow • artist: Eric Clapton

Eye in the Sky

Ah, Esta, Esta, Esta. When I turned 30, wise Shawna from production assured me that my 30s would be lots better than my 20s. I didn't hear her make any such predictions this year when I turned 40.
Coincidentally I went to three birthday parties last weekend too - two five years olds and H, who turned three.
So were my 30s better than my 20s? Who the heck knows. I can't remember yesterday much less ten years ago. I will tell you this though, when I turned 30 I didn't have a husband, kids, a house (either with or without a white picket fence), or money in the bank. I managed to cover those first three this past decade. Without that much effort on my part either I might add. Sometimes life feel a little bit like that Talking Heads song. How did I get here? This is not my beautiful house. I am not someone's beautiful wife.
As for money in the bank - why there's a new book out every week assuring the rest of us that money doesn't buy us happiness (it's buying books about happiness that buys us happiness).
Ken was 39 when he got married and look - now he's got four kids. Which goes to show that you never know what might happen to you down the road.
It's just like you said, "the sky's the limit."
Well really four is the limit for us personally, but for you my friend - the sky.

song: Eye in the Sky • artist: Alan Parsons Project

Witch Doctor

On Tuesday I planted sugar snap peas and beets in our plot at community gardens. C spent his time in the garden on his stomach, elbow deep in the fish pond trying to catch frogs. When he woke up on Wednesday, his left eye was red. Instead of shipping him off to preschool, all five of us schlepped down to the pediatricians, H for the second time this week (he had a well-baby appointment on Monday). They have good toys at the pediatricians though, so nobody minded spending the morning there. If you've ever been to our pediatricians office you'll know that not only are there great toys in the waiting room, there is a collection of lawn ornament animals outside the front and back of the office. From all the exam rooms parents can distract children by asking them if they see the bear in the tree or having them count concrete rabbits. Clever moms can thereby deftly avoid all talk of needles and immunizations.
After I paid my $15 for eye drops and the assurance C wasn't contagious, we left. Being saddled with two babies in car seats I couldn't corral my big boys into the van fast enough. They headed around to the back of the office for a close-up inspection of the animals. Since they weren't headed for the street I let them go and concentrated on getting the twins into the car. When I went back for them they were smack in the middle of the woodland animals trying to identify them.
The scene was a little surreal and reminded me of something from Hansel and Gretel. There were my children, frolicking in this pastoral scene with baby deer and ceramic squirrels, but instead of chirping birds you could plainly hear the cries of frightened children who were all either about to get shots or be pushed into ovens and eaten by a witch.

song: Witch Doctor • artist: David Seville

Silence is Golden

As a mother, I often wish I could control time. Take one of my twins (when he's not crying), stop time, and just cuddle him for all eternity. There are also plenty of times when I wish I could fast forward through moments of extreme aggravation.
C was noticing the passage of time recently and commenting how some things are unique to a particular moment. For example, he made a mental note that there are five letters in his name and that he's five years old.
"This is the only time that will ever happen." he said solemnly.
On his younger brother's birthday C took H aside and said, "I have some bad news for you, H."
I thought he was going to pontificate on the passage of time and tell H how he'd never be two again but instead he told him: "It's a rainy day on your birthday."
There's a new book out on the benefits of silence. We've really become a nation addicted to self help books if we need a book to tell us that a little silence is good for the soul. Any mother of young children can tell you that silence is more valuable than jewels. Next someone will write a book explaining how sun and water are good for plants or how moisture is bad for your basement.

song: Silence is Golden • artist: Frankie Valli

Smile

Both the twins are smiling. I noticed S for the first time this week. Baby smiles are so great. They are unreserved and big. Babies smile with their whole mouths. Not like the forced, pinched smile that seems to say, "why are you torturing me," which is what you get when you ask an adult to smile for a photograph.
Last night when we put N to bed he looked as if he'd just had a jolt of black coffee. His eyes were wide open. He lay there on his back in bed fixating on the hand he was waving around; staring at it as if he was stoned.
"Hey man. Check this out. It's my hand."
I know it's impossible for someone to look as if they are simultaneously experiencing both a caffeine high and a pot-induced high - impossible, that is, unless that someone is three-months old.

song: Smile • artist: John Turner, Geoffrey Parsons and Charlie Chaplin

Old

Today is H's birthday. He is three. To celebrate, his older brother gave him a present - a card with one dollar and seventy-five cents in it.
One dollar and seventy-five cents.
Why one dollar and seventy-five cents? Earlier in the week it was only going to be one dollar. How did H's net worth nearly double in the course of the week? I couldn't tell you, but C was really excited about his gift. He couldn't wait to give H this monetary token of his affection.
It's my mother's birthday later in the month. C says he's going to give her a dollar.
As for H, his latest thing is recognizing letters. First it was only H, upper and lower case. He points out H's everywhere. In the usual spots like the pages of books and on street signs, but also in unusual places like the H at the end of Falmouth painted onto the high school track and the H in the middle of FHS.
One night he pointed to my forehead wrinkles, the ones on my nose, between my eyes, and announced "that a H."

song: Old • artist: Paul Simon

I Just Don't Know What To Do With Myself

Yesterday Doug and his girls came over to our house. Doug is the only parent I can have over because our houses are equally messy.
The kids all played in the backyard and got on reasonably well. Having someone smaller than him to push around proved too much of a temptation for H who acted didactically. He gave instructions such as, "don't run in garden!" while he himself demonstrated exactly what running in the garden looked like. He also protested loudly whenever one of the girls picked up a baby toy despite his own penchant for hoarding the twins toys.
Doug's oldest daughter kept calling me by my first name. As in, "Look Joanne, the baby is crying" and "I want to show the ladybug to Joanne." It was nice. Like we were friends instead of me being the nagging Mommy who spends the majority of her day saying things like, "you two need to work it out for yourself," "please put your shoes on the stairs," "put the cat down," and my personal favorite, "everyone wears undies."
Doug thinks that it is only by having children that we are able to get anything done. His theory is that before having children, you might have sat around with a limitless expanse of time and no sense of urgency to get anything done. But as a parent you only have this brief window of free time, which makes you hyper-productive whenever the chance to get things done presents itself. In this way, you can accomplish in 20 minutes what, before children, would have taken hours to complete.
Interestingly, Doug is the only person I know who has managed to take up new hobbies since having children. Most of us are barely able to find time to do the things that, before having children, we enjoyed.
I don't know if this proves his theory so much as it confirms the sainthood of his wife.
When I have an extra 20 minutes the hobby I most often pursue is buying birthday presents for five year olds. I swear that if it weren't for C's constant need for party gifts, I'd never leave the house. Today it was Brady who, thankfully, "likes dinosaurs."

song: I Just Don't Know What To Do With Myself • artist: Dusty Springfield

sour milk (a couplet)

the gartner twins
are spit up kings

Volcano

Out there somewhere is a doctor who saved the life of a patient today; but my magnum opus was creating a baking soda and vinegar volcano out of H's plastic Dairy Queen cup. A darn good volcano too. My original plan was that this was going to be the day I finally cleaned the Christmas greens out of the front door window boxes but it looks as if a sparrow's built a nest in there - again - this year.

song: Volcano • artist: Jimmy Buffett

Eyes Without A Face

The Once-ler and my son - separated at birth?
This picture, the one not by Dr. Seuss, is from the Higgins Armory Museum in Worcester. Highly recommended for little Lancelot enthusiasts.

song: Eyes Without A Face • artist: Billy Idol

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Blue Period

How Picasso got started.

song: Blue Period • artist: the Smithereens

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Anything You Can Do

The Globe printed another letter to the editor from yours truly. If you're so inclined you can follow the link and read the article to which the letter references.
And just for the record I typed this post while nursing a baby as well - so there!

song: Anything You Can Do • musical: Annie Get Your Gun

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Stay Up Late

I've never been one, but I imagine nursing a baby is a like being a ventriloquist. You sit down with this rag doll-like small person on your lap, and drinking a glass of water is usually part of the show. Nursing two babies is like being a ventriloquist who gets invited back for an encore performance.
I was using the breast pump last night (a beastly thing if you've never had the pleasure) and everything went fine until I detached it and went to put it down on the table. There was some milk left on the rim and it dripped onto my computer's speakers. Great. I'll be the only person who has to bring their laptop in for service because it's had breast milk spilled on it.

song: Stay Up Late • artist: Talking Heads

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Color My World

Here's the earth day report. It's eco everything these days isn't it? According to the Boston Globe, the Clear Conscience Cafe in Central Square calls its waitstaff "environmental stewards." Sorry guys, John Todd is an environmental steward, your server at the Clear Conscience, despite the organic coffee, is not.
Cotuit is having an ecofashion show this weekend. The clothing aren't actually eco friendly, the event raises money for a company which supports renewable energy and environmental education programs. I hate to bring this up but real ecofashion means darning (remember darning?) old socks and wearing the same clothes this summer that you wore last summer.
Our grandmothers were environmentalists.
Speaking of grandmothers, my Nana Briana used to force me to color with my left hand. Well force is a bit extreme, she didn't tie my right hand behind my back or anything. The reason she gave for wanting me to learn to color with my left hand was in the event that I ever broke my right (which, remarkably, did happen) I'd still be able to color. Later I decided that the real reason my Nana wanted me to color with my left hand was because we were sitting side by side on the couch and if I colored with my right hand I would be elbowing her. That's the kind of thing you don't figure out until you become a parent for yourself. Instead of saying to a five year old, "stop elbowing me," you propose, "for fun, let's color with our left hand today shall we?"
But now, I think the real, real, reason she wanted me to be ambidextrous was so that years later I'd be able to hold a nursing a baby in my right arm and still be able to function moderately well, typing, eating dinner, or jotting down the date and time in a nursing chart, with my left hand.

song: Color My World • artist: Chicago

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Undercover Angel

The CC Times is asking Mariah Carey fans to contact them for an upcoming story. Their blurb states that Ms. Carey has recently surpassed Elvis in number one singles. Most likely, the paper included the comparison in order to put Ms. Carey's accomplishment into perspective. Elvis died over 30 years ago. I'll bet if the paper ran an article tomorrow asking Elvis fans to contact the paper, plenty of people would call in. Who's going to remember Mariah Carey 30 years from now?
On the other hand, some people need only one hit single to attain musical immortality, at least in certain circles.
Last week, in perhaps my biggest brush with greatness since I met Cheryl Wheeler in the bathroom of Christine's Restaurant during a power outage, Alan O'Day left a comment on my poetry blog.

song: Undercover Angel • artist: Alan O'Day

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It's My Party

On Friday I purchased the perfect present for Will. After C informed be about Will's penchant for chasing the girls around the playground and scaring them, he coughed up this more helpful information, "get something with cheetahs or pirates." He added that, "pirates would be easier to find."
I found a build-your-own pirate ship kit and a small cheetah figurine to tie onto the top of the wrapped present. I thought I'd done pretty well considering I'd again waited until the last minute (the day of the party), to buy a gift.
Unfortunately the party was cancelled when Will came down with a fever, proving that the gods laugh at the best laid plans of mice, men, mostly stay-at-home moms, and five-year-old birthday boys.
The next preschool birthday party is on May 3rd. My only hope is that Brady also covets cheetahs and pirate ships.

song: It's My Party • artist: Lesley Gore

Scenes from an Italian Restaurant

I've been reading the book Eat Pray Love for the past two months and counting. You know the story, divorced American woman travels to exotic locales to find herself. Her first stop is Italy. In between each of Elizabeth Gilbert's chapters, there's this symbol. I thought at first it was a meat ball. It looks like a meat ball. She's in Italy right? Well, I didn't just think it at first, I thought it for the first 39 chapters. Finally I reached the second third of the book and our heroine is in India but the meatballs remain. Then I realized they're not meatballs, they're suppose to be prayer beads, one single prayer bead between chapters.
I may not be on the way to enlightenment but at least now I'm not getting hungry every time I pick up the book

song: Scenes from an Italian Restaurant • artist: Billy Joel

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Always Something There to Remind Me

Isn't it funny how some things that you wouldn't expect take you straight back in time to your childhood. Because it was on sale, Ken recently bought iceberg lettuce. Iceberg lettuce! Who knew they were even growing iceberg lettuce anymore what with mesclun and field greens being all the rage. Iceberg lettuce was a staple of the 1970s at least in our house, right down to the special Tupperware you could buy for it with the bump in the lid to accommodate the head. Growing up, we always had iceberg lettuce in our fridge. It lasted forever and never went bad. Must have been the special Tupperware. Strange though, I remember having iceberg lettuce in our house, but I don't remember ever eating any salad.
Maybe next week Ken will bring home Shake 'n Bake.

song: Always Something There to Remind Me • artist: Naked Eyes

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Girl Happy

There's another birthday party to go to this weekend. This one's for Will. As I still haven't found the perfect universal gift for five year old boys, I'll be making another trek to the toy store and wandering aimlessly up and down the aisles. I asked C for some ideas.
"What does Will like? Does he like dinosaurs? Cars?"
"You know what Will really likes, Momma"
"No. What?"
"He likes to chase the girls around and scare them"
Great. Perhaps he'd like a DVD copy of Alfie.

song: Girl Happy • artist: Elvis Presley

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Why I Don't Know

Technology is making us stupid that's for sure. Now that we have GPS, no one needs to know how to read a map. We don't have to remember phone numbers that are programmed into our cell phones. We don't have to recognize a friend or a relative's voice on the phone either since - knock, knock - caller ID tells us who's there.
The mini van came with Sirius satellite radio. Now, instead of learning something about the world by listening to NPR while driving around, I can turn the dial to the all-Broadway all-the-time channel and play name that musical with myself.
But, even though I'm rotting my brain with Oklahoma revivals, It hasn't completely atrophied.
Case and point, C caught a ladybug last week at Nana and Papa's house which he brought home to live at our house in a jar. Yesterday he told me he was going to put some wood in the jar for the it.
"Why would the lady bug need wood?" I asked.
"Lady bugs eat wood."
"Lady bugs don't eat wood."
"Yes they do, the lady at the pet store said so."
I told him that the lady at the pet store might know about snakes eating mice but that I was pretty sure lady bugs do not eat wood.
"How do you know. You don't work in a pet store."
Later in the day we went to the Spring Fling program at the library. After the naturalist was finished talking about frogs and turtles I told C to go ahead and ask her if lady bugs eat wood.
That's pet-store employee 0, mommy 1.

song: Why I Don't Know • artist: Lyle Lovett

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I'm being swallowed by a boa constrictor

On Friday H and C spent the afternoon with my dad at the Independent Mall pet store watching a snake eat a mouse.
They told me all about it:
H: Momma, snake should not eat a mouse.
C: So whenever the mouse takes a breath, the snake squeezes it harder.
Then they went off to bed. You'd think they'd have had nightmares about it. I wasn't even there and I think I'm going to have nightmares about it.

song: I'm being swallowed by a boa constrictor • artist: Shel Silverstein

Cruisin

C wants to go on a cruise. Not just any cruise either, the other day he asked me when we could go on the Queen Mary.
I don't know where he even heard of the Queen Mary. The only cruise ship we ever talk about, is the Titanic.
"Isn't the Queen Mary the boat they made into a restaurant in California?" I asked my five year old; because if anyone could tell me, it would be him. He didn't know about that but any boat turned into a restaurant sounded appealing to him, "when can we go on that?" he wondered.
Later I told him about the Queen Elizabeth II. Why settle for the Queen Mary I told him. Then came the bad part. The price starts at $2,000 per person, plus we would have to get home from London once the cruise was over.
"So that's $12,000 for all of us," he announced with breathtaking accuracy.
"Yep."
"I'll give you $2 of my money," he offered after some consideration.
Woah, a two-dollar discount? Southampton here we come.

song: Cruisin' • artist: Smokey Robinson

Shades of Gray

These are some color descriptions from the Land's End summer catalogue. Close you eyes an picture: island lime, vivid yellow, rich red, leaf, white, and admiral blue. One could wonder about leaf, is that a leaf in spring, fall, or winter; but since it's the summer catalogue, picturing a green leaf is a safe bet.
Now, close your eyes and try to picture some of the colors described in two of my earthy-crunchy outdoorsy catalogues: silt, charcoal, ash, moss, mud, acorn, rust, sand, coal, surf, granite, dirt, fern, yam, clay, salamander, flamingo and stone.
I appreciate a little creativity but this is going too far. Like a child mixing paints who just can't seem to stop until everything turns to brown, these catalogues need to quit before they get either too confusing or too ridiculous. It's as if they are trying to outdo each other in "green" color descriptions. Not only is it confusing, some of it's down right unappealing. For starters, what kind of salamander are we talking about? The black ones with the yellow spots that are getting all kinds of press lately? The little orange ones we've seen in Four Ponds Conservation Area? Frankly, salamander just makes me think slimy thoughts, not something I want to think about when I think of new clothes. And how about mud? Mud makes me think of what my kids clothes look like after it rains and they've been out playing in the - well - mud. Again, not how I picture new clothes.
There's a skirt I was thinking of ordering but I can't choose between dirt and fern. I should probably go for dirt, that way, when it gets dirty, no one will notice. Yams aren't a vegetable I want to eat much less wear. At this stage in my life yams remind me of baby spit up and I have that on my clothing already. As for coal, isn't coal a dirty, non-renewable pollutant?
A lot of the colors are all just the same color. A sweater for example that comes in henna, mud, and rose. I'm having a hard time choosing because basically they're all brown.
When the earthy-cruncy catalogues aren't coming up with 50 different mud-based ways to say brown they have another way to say it: coffee. There are sweatpants in espresso, t-shirts in coffee, pants in java, a reversible cardigan in latte, and a skirt in hazelnut.
I finally decided on some tunic pants. In black.

song: Shades of Gray • artist: The Monkeys

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My Hometown

I'm not saying any of this ever happened to me - but here are some things that could happen to you if, as an adult, you still live in your own home town.
1. You might give directions using landmarks that no longer exist as in, "the parking lot for the bike path is just after Lil' Peach."
2. You might have to skip the cereal aisle at the supermarket because you can hear that your loud-mouthed ex-boss from a decade ago is conversing there. 2a. You might spend 10 minutes in the supermarket locked in conversation with someone whose name you can't remember.
3. Your sons might end up attending the elementary school behind which you and your high school boyfriend did unspeakable things.
4. You might run into a former classmate in line at the coffee shop and when he asks you "what's new," you blurt out rudely, "in the past 20 years?" instead of the more appropriate, "not much."
5. You might realize that you are now older than all your teachers were when you were in high school and junior high school.
6. You might run into those same teachers at bars.
7. You might segway straight from being paranoid that all the cool kids in high school are talking about you, to being paranoid that all the cool moms at preschool are talking about you.
8. You might run into the good friend of an exboyfriend and tell him his little boy is adorable. Then he'll tell you that's his daughter.
9. You might run into people who still, after 25 years, insist on adding an "a" to the end of your first name.
10. You might run into people who say, "I know you, you're (insert your own younger/older sibling here) sister."

song: My Hometown • artist: Bruce Springsteen

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I'll Never Find Another You

C met the girl of his dreams the other day at the Children's Museum. She likes to hide and he likes to count. It's a hide-and-seek match made in heaven.

song: I'll Never Find Another You • artist: The Seekers

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867-3509

C has been typing e-mails and sending them back and forth to me and Ken, first on one computer, then on the other. It's cute, I get all these e-mails that say "I love you mommy" since that's all he knows how to type. The problem is that I feel guilty putting them in the trash, they're cute, but I'm not sure I need to save all 20 of them.
Sometimes he includes our phone number in the message since he knows that as well as "I love you." Then the e-mails start to look a little like porn spam directed at someone with a mother fixation, "I love you, but you know you need a spanking, call me at this 1-800-number, your momma."

song: 867-5309 • artist: Tommy Tutone

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Busy Being Fabulous

Celebrate Christine's birthday!
song: Busy Being Fabulous • artist: The Eagles

Pillow Talk

The Boppy has always reminded me of the thneed. The thneed is the seemingly useless object the Once-ler makes out of truffula trees in my favorite Dr. Suess book, The Lorax. Like the thneed, the Boppy is a "fine something that all [babies] need." It offers, according to its website, "ergonomically correct support" for expectant mothers, nursing mothers, babies in need of tummy time, babies who just need a little help sitting up, and, the family cat.

song: Pillow Talk • artist: Doris Day

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The Greatest American Hero

Being the mother of two-month old twins, or teeny tiny twins as the woman at the post office called them today, occasionally has its advantages. One is that people's expectations of you are really low. If I can drag myself and the boys out of the house, even if I'm wearing the same clothes I've had on for three days people, still tell me that I'm incredible. A woman in the toy store the Friday before Easter told me I was nothing less than "remarkable," and when I told one of the mother's at the preschool pot luck that I was nursing the twins she said, "you know you're a superhero don't you?"
So that's what it takes to be a superhero. And to think that on Friday I was happy just to be a mechanic.

song: The Greatest American Hero • artist: Joey Scarbury

ps. It seemed easier to put the poem of the day on its own website so that's what I did. Click here for today's poetry fix.

Ode to National Poetry Month (a couplet)

In honor of April being National Poetry Month, in addition to my usual incredibly witty banter, I propose to publish an original poem every day, and, (thankfully for you), some prose by a real poet.

Ode to National Poetry Month (a couplet)
to rhyme one line
takes little time

Because I didn't acknowledge March as Women's History month (just wait till next year), this first poem is by Dorothy Parker.
 
One Perfect Rose
A single flow'r he sent me, since we met.
All tenderly his messenger he chose;
Deep-hearted, pure, with scented dew still wet -
One perfect rose.
I knew the language of the floweret;
'My fragile leaves,' it said, 'his heart enclose.'
Love long has taken for his amulet
One perfect rose.
Why is it no one ever sent me yet
One perfect limousine, do you suppose?
Ah no, it's always just my luck to get
One perfect rose.

Double Vision

I admit, I'm a children's book snob. If it's not a classic I enjoyed when I was a kid, or if it lacks a Caldecott award on its cover, I'm skeptical. My kids, however, sometimes like to choose their own library books, and so I've had to embrace the likes of Jack and Annie and their magic tree house, and Arthur and all his politically correct little animal friends.
In one story, Arthur's Uncle Fred, who wears a sporty red cardigan, secretly puts Arthur's gift tag on the present he bought for Arthur's mother after Arthur's gift for his mom gets broken. Come on, there's no one that nice. Or is there?

song: Double Vision • artist: Foreigner

Block Cheese Dance Party

Here's a little story meant to illustrate that when you pull yourself together, leave the house, and do the errand that needs doing, something good and unexpected can happen.
On Friday the one thing had to do, and I had all day to do it, was drive to the store for cottage cheese. I needed the cottage cheese to make the macaroni for the preschool pot luck. If you remember, it was rainy and cold on Friday. I contemplated asking my neighbors to sit with the twins while I ran out but the babies had been crying on and off for most of the day and I didn't trust myself to return home. I thought of calling work and asking Pam or Esther to drive some cottage cheese to my house. Don't worry you guys, I'll hit you up next time, when I've got all four of them at home and I'm craving chocolate covered almonds.
At four o'clock I drove one mile down the road to the West Falmouth Market. I schlepped the boys into the store, grabbed two containers of cottage cheese and checked out. Taking twins shopping in their infant car seats generates a lot of attention. The cashier and a woman in the store said how cute the babies were even though they were crying. They got the door for me. In the parking lot a man waved me over to tell me my right front tire was low (can I blame that on Bush too?). I got out of the mini van and took a look. A little low was being kind, it was flat. I drove it home and called Ken. He talked me through using the air compressor to inflate the tire. Look at me I thought. I'm a mechanic.
And why is a flat tire a good thing? Because finding out my tire was flat at 4:15 was a lot luckier than finding out two hours later when I would have panicked with four kids loaded into the car and a double batch of macaroni and cheese in the front seat.
Even without a flat tire we were still the last family to arrive at the pot luck. It was worth it though. The children showed off what they'd learned about reading, William's dad brought steamed mussels, and the funniest thing happened but I can't write about it because it would embarrass Ken.
So I wanted Susan to know it was a good thing I went out for the cottage cheese after all, though next time I'll go with the chocolate covered strawberries or maybe I'll get that calzone recipe from you.

song: Block Cheese Dance Party • artist: Toe Jam Puppet Band

Thank You

Being a mom means graciously accepting, and putting in a vase, the cut flowers your sons bring you.
Flowers they picked off the top of the compost pile.
Flowers you put on the top of the compost pile on Tuesday.
At least I put them in a different vase.

song: Thank You • artist: Led Zeppelin

Mail Myself To Yo

A friend passed along an e-mail of funny questions posed to computer tech support personnel. Things like customers who call in and say, "Hi, good afternoon, this is Martha, I can't print. Every time I try, it says 'Can't find printer'.  I've even lifted the printer and placed it in front of the monitor, but the computer still says he can't find it..."
They are all very funny though I can't confirm whether on not they are true. I once interrupted my college video production professor in the middle of a staff meeting because I couldn't get the video editing equipment to work. As it turned out, it wasn't plugged in, which explains why today I'm not a Hollywood film producer.
When I worked for New Wave Printing and fax machines were a novelty, a woman came in to fax a letter. After the letter was sent she wanted to also fax the envelope.
"Why do you want to fax the envelope?" I asked.
"Because the letter will need an envelope." she replied.
"But it won't be an envelope when it comes out of the other fax machine." I said.
"It won't?"

song: Mail Myself To You • artist: Woody Guthrie

Ain't No Mountain High Enough

Perhaps it's not that our children grow up that makes us sad, but rather that they lose all the great qualities of childhood: innocence, belief, and imagination being some of them.
The other day C explained to me how he thought God made mountains.
"He poked his fingers up and pushed them out of the ground," he said.
Then he said that God must have made Mount Everest with his longest finger. He elaborated by showing me which finger that was, thereby flipping me off in the name of creation. I looked around for Alan Funt and the hidden cameras, but because he's five, he was being totally sincere. I thought that it will be sad someday when somebody tells him that's an inappropriate gesture. Of course by then he'll have forgotten the day he used the gesture to explain how mountains were made. Maybe I should have told him but I didn't. Not yet.
Today we were driving down to Peterson Farm and I could see him in my rear view mirror. He was turned around in the back seat of the car looking out. We were stopped at a traffic light and the man in the car behind us was tapping rhythmically on his steering wheel. C lifted his hand and gave a little wave. Knowing we have tinted windows and that the man didn't see my son made me sad. How insular we've become. On the one hand it's great to have built-in tinted windows and to know the sun isn't beating down on my children. H was always ripping the suction cup pull-down shades we used on the Subaru. But here was my eldest son trying to wave to people in surrounding cars, something that every kid has done, and he can't do it. Remember how great it was when the occasional driver would wave back? And the driver too, he missed out, though he doesn't know it. A greeting from a five year old is nothing substantial really, but charming enough to be uplifting, if only briefly, on a gray March morning.

Song: Ain't No Mountain High Enough • artist: Diana Ross

Runaway

C has taken to asking me to stop the car at the beginning of our street so he can get out and run home. Not my idea I assure you but once daddy lets him do something it's hard for me to take it back. We live six houses in, on a dirt road, and so far we haven't passed another car when he's been out running though I give him a big lecture about looking out for cars every time he hops out of the mini van. My real fear, given Ken's moniker of "the fastest man in Falmouth," is that the neighbors are going to see him running by and think, "that poor five year old, his cruel parents are making him train for the track team already."

song: Runaway • artist: Del Shannon

Jump II

The twins and H were all loaded into the mini van this morning for a well-baby check up when the car wouldn't start. I called AAA, the doctor's office, and Ken, and then trooped everyone back into the house. For a few minutes I cursed my bad luck and reveled in a why-does-everything-bad-happen-to-me moment. Then I remembered that I was a middle-class, stay-at-home mom, who was late to a doctor's appointment for her healthy children, all of whom I have health insurance for; and that I was waiting in my warm house for a service technician to come out and jump start my paid-for mini van. So okay, no one was really going to feel sorry for me. But I'm still a citizen of the United States, and as so, it was my god-given right to look for someone to blame. Could it be my fault because I let my children play in the car yesterday afternoon and leave interior lights on? No, it's un-American to take responsibility for your own actions, there had to be someone else. Was it the fault of my children? Of course it was but they are a little too young to shoulder the blame. What it Ken's fault? Of course it was. He should have noticed when he came home from work that my interior lights were on. But it was still light outside making it hard to notice auxiliary lighting. No, I blame the President. If he hadn't moved daylight savings back a month it would have been dark out when Ken got home. He would have noticed that my lights were on and I wouldn't have had a dead battery at 9AM this morning.
Yep, just another thing to blame on George W.

song: Jump • artist: Van Halen

Jump

It's March Madness with the Lopez, I mean the Gartner, twins!

song: Jump • artist: Van Halen

Money For Nothing

Can someone explain to my son why he can't take the hard-boiled eggs that he decorated on Thursday and sell them to our neighbors?

song: Money for Nothing • artist: Dire Straits

Neighbor, Neighbor

There's a story I once heard about Mr. Rogers that goes something like this. A little boy wrote to Mr. Rogers asking him where he could buy a train like the one on the show (it's really a trolly but let's not quibble over the details). Instead of cashing in with a free trolly in every happy meal, Mr. Rogers wrote the little boy back and suggested he try and make himself a train out of a cardboard box.
I'm wearing my sweater. Are you?

song: Neighbor, Neighbor • artist: ZZ Top

Morning Has Broken

We visited the newly-renovated library yesterday. It's so beautiful it almost made me cry. Of course lately, everything makes me cry. Two rainy days in a row can make me cry. Luckily we have 24 eggs to decorate for Sunday. That should keep H and C busy for at least 20 minutes.
What makes white eggs more fragile than brown? I just hard boiled four of them and two came out cracked. I'm going to let the kids paint them anyway. Maybe I can even convince them that they cracked them.

song: Morning Has Broken • artist: Cat Stevens

Bus Stop

The first thing that crossed my mind when I heard about yesterday's bus vandalism was: "The town has 40 busses? That sure is a lot of busses." As a taxpayer and a parent I realize I should be outraged at this deliberate destruction of property. However, compared to school shootings and bomb treats, which is what we usually hear about, flattening tires, even 92 of them, seems harmless in comparison, even quaint.
As for the possibility, as a taxpayer, of having to foot the bill or pay for extra police detail to patrol the area around the busses, that's routine as well. I'm already paying off the 60 million the government spent to shoot down that disabled spy satellite last month and I hear that the farm bill is full of pork again, so what's a little more money for cops and new tires.

song: Bus Stop • artist: the Hollies

If I had a Million Dollars

The Subaru is finally sold. This is the first time we've ever had a car to sell that was worth something.In the past our old cars have had to be hauled away on flatbed trailers or pawned off on a friends. Selling a car is like giving away a puppy, what you really want is a good home for it. So when people start to pick the car apart by implying the breaks are shot or commenting on superficial scratches, you bristle a little, it's like they're asking if the kitten sheds or does the puppy chews shoes. Sure, there's normal wear and tear on the vehicle, but in my mind the car is perfect in every way except that it doesn't seat six. Go ahead, take it for a spin and kick the tires, just don't insult it.
To paraphrase Mark Twain, reports of the death of newspaper classifieds have been greatly exaggerated. The more colorful responses came from Craig's List, like the woman from New Jersey who wanted to come see the car (they don't have Subarus in New Jersey?). Then there was the woman from New York who's moving to Boston and having twins in April. I gave her all sorts of expert twin advice over the phone and still she never called back. But in the end, the people who bought the car saw the ad in the newspaper. They said they liked the way the car handled, that they were "impressed with it." Which again is like saying they think your puppy is not only adorable, but also well behaved.
In dealing with people over the phone it's interesting who asks for directions and who doesn't. I think people who don't want my directions are missing out. I'm very thorough with directions. Yes, it's nice that you have map quest or GPS but to me it's more reassuring to get directions from a real person. Those directions will include descriptions of reassuring landmarks such as "Old Silver Beach on your right," or "the set of lights by the House of Pizza." It's more colorful. I even advised one couple who were coming from Foxboro to stop for lunch at the Silver Lounge.
Initially C suggested we sell the car for a million dollars. I explained that nobody would buy it for that much money so he wisely lowered his asking price:
"Let's sell it for two dollars," he said.
"Then we wouldn't make very much money," I said.
"We'd make two dollars," he said in a way that left me thinking he'd make two dollars and the rest of the family would make squat.
Also not appreciated in the car selling process are people who come out to see the car and then ask what I want for it as if they didn't read the price, which was clearly printed in the ad.
"Well I was asking a million, but for you, how's about two dollars?"
When the couple came to get the car last night they asked directions to the very restaurant I would have recommended for dinner, Chappy Grill.
The Subaru could have driven there itself.

song: If I had a Million Dollars • artist: Barenaked Ladies

Get Out of this House

This weekend started off with the ice show on Friday. Then there were dinner preparations Saturday morning, running out to the beach to collect scallop shells for the twin's baptism, dinner for 10, birthday cake, and the ice show again. Sunday was the baptism, the last ice show, finally selling the Subaru (phew!), and dinner at Alex and Laela's.
When you consider that the most excitement in my day usually consists of preschool pick up, it was a busy weekend
The other night Ken came home from a meeting and asked me if I'd heard about a certain restaurant on Main Street that might be going out of business. Unless someone physically came up the driveway to personally deliver me that news, how would I know, I said, coping an attitude not unsnarky.
In the boy's dressing room (a concrete utility closet) Friday night C asked me if I was ever in the ice show.
It's bad enough I never leave my house, now I'm a has been as well.
Of course I was in the ice show, I told him. I was in it dozens of times. I soloed for six years.
He was unimpressed.
"What's concrete made out of," he said.

song: Get Out of this House • artist: Shawn Colvin

My Ride's Here

In the ob/gyn office the other day I pondered why the nurses always ask me how many pregnancies I've had. They follow that question up by quizzing me on the number of times I've given birth. It's the ob/gyn office - shouldn't this information be in bold letters on page one of my chart? Besides, now it's getting confusing. Do twins constitute two births or just one? After some consideration I've decided the questions are more of a litmus test to see if, as a new mother, I'm still sane. Similarly, at the hospital as one way of checking for confusion they ask patients if they know who the president is.
Yesterday H insisted on bringing our red rotary phone in the car with him when we left for afternoon preschool pickup. The red rotary phone no longer works, unlike the white rotary phone that I still keep in the guest room for when the power goes out or I can't find where I've left the cordless phone. I've been keeping the red phone for use in a still life painting that hasn't materialized yet. Beyond being a prop, any parent can tell you that no toy is ever as interesting as real things: old telephones, a keyboard, a typewriter, or tupperware. As so, the red telephone sits on the bottom shelf of our built-in bookcases, waiting to be called into action like it was yesterday.
I drove through North Falmouth while H placed imaginary calls to Nana and Papa.
"Hi Nana, how ya doin?"
I felt like I was the secret service driving the president around while he placed informal calls to foreign heads of state.
That's President Bush in case you didn't know.

song: My Ride's Here • artist: Warren Zevon

H keeps telling me that the milk in his sippy cup is too cold. Do you think he's got sensitive teeth or do you think he's just trying to to mess with me?

song: Cold as Ice • artist: Foreigner

Time Passages

Kindergarten registration was last week.
I tried to persuade the school administration that the twins were precocious and that I was signing them up for fall semester, but they didn't buy it.
In examining the passage of time I wondered if the past five years felt like five years or did it feel more like that Monty Python skit "The Argument?"
"That was never five years."
"Yes, it was."
"No, it wasn't."
"Yes, it was."
What I do know is that when school registration rolls around for my other children each time it will feel as if it came up faster than the time before. It's like seeing a movie for the second time, once you know what's going to happen, the film seems half as long.
At the elementary school, lots of paperwork needed to be filled out, most of it names and phone numbers. On the creative writing side, one question asked parents to describe activities their child enjoys. I drew a blank at first but then pulled it together and scribbled something about blocks and making up games with his younger brother. Too bad I couldn't think up a more colorful response, sometime along the lines of, "my son enjoys taking apart and rebuilding small engines and creating computer programs."

song: Time Passages • artist: Al Stewart

Girls, Girls, Girls

Since the one thing I can do while nursing a baby (or two) is order things off the internet, I was going to order some new nursing bras.
But I won't be ordering them from the Motherhood website.
Couldn't they get a model who looks as if it's remotely possible that she gave birth in the last three months? If this woman's had a baby then I've flown the space shuttle. Even the baby looks incredulous.
What's more, this pseudo mom's not even doing it right. She's got the baby all arranged to nurse in a cradle hold on her left side and she's unhooking the right side of her nursing bra.
I know I'm tired and cranky and I smell like spit up - but I am not stupid.
Speaking of stupid, H keeps getting up on the couch and demanding that I bring him a twin.
"I nurse him," he asserts.
"Only girls can nurse babies," says C in his best, boy-are-you-stupid voice.
I don't bother pointing out that H isn't that stupid; at least he wants to nurse a real baby. When C was the same age and had only recently become a big brother he insisted on nursing his stuffed animals.

song: Girls, Girls, Girls • musical: The Merry Widow

Fee

Boo hoo to Major League Baseball. They aren't making enough money hawking logo emblazoned sippy cups, key chains, beach blankets and Christmas tree ornaments - now they need a piece of the Cape Cod Baseball League as well. Hope they don't find out that last spring my son's T-ball team was called the Red Sox. We'll have to hold a bake sale to raise money for royalties.

song: Fee • artist: Phish

I've Gotta Get a Message to You

Diapers have images on them, both front and back. With the exception of the most generic of diapers, these images are of licensed characters, my least favorite thing. It seems a waste on a newborn diaper, the baby can't see the diaper well enough to form a lifetime attachment to Pooh or Thomas or Baby Muppets. Unlike toddlers, who the diaper manufacturers hope might be media savvy enough to state a preference for a particular diaper character. Normally this diaper preference would be stated in a very loud voice while said toddler was prostrate in the baby aisle of the supermarket. So far my two year old hasn't shown much of a diaper preference. Perhaps he'll grow up to be like his dad and buy whatever is on sale without a bit of brand loyalty. Instead, what H has become adamant about is putting the diaper on himself. I say, if he's big enough to put on his own diaper, he's big enough to use the potty.
But infant diapers should forget the cartoon images and put useful information for exhausted, sleep-deprived parents on them instead. "Front and back" would be good for starters. "You left the car keys in the refrigerator again," would be even better.

song: I've Gotta Get a Message to You • artist: Bee Gees

What's Up

Time to weigh in on some of Falmouth's pressing issues, as reported on in the news and op/ed pages of my favorite local and locally-owned newspaper, The Enterprise.

40,000ft Supermarket on Rte. 151 in North Falmouth:
I think Mr. Callahan should "grow corn there." It would certainly taste better than anything that comes out of that, or any, supermarket.

Logos on Obits:
Flags on obituaries are causing quite a debate but if the paper acquiesces where will it end? First it will be flags, and then the war protesters will want peace signs. Then the Masons and the Eastern Star will want their symbols or maybe it will be a college seal or a family crest. The simple solution is to have people read the obituary, and, as John Hough said, if the deceased was a veteran it will be in the article.
Those little flags in other papers are paid for you know.

Wind Farm:
And as for the the folks who don't want the see Nantucket Sound "gone forever," define gone forever? There's no eel grass anywhere in the water anymore so the bay scallops are gone, and fish stocks are down all over. The only thing that seems to be up is nitrogen and the number of recreational boats out on the water. What does "gone forever," actually mean? Where is the Sound going to go? Is Cape Wind planning to drain it? It seems to me that it doesn't matter if there's anything left living below water level in the Sound as long as wind farm opponents can look out over it or skim across it via a 200 horsepower engine with an unobstructed view.

song: What's Up • artist: 4 Non Blonds

Your Time is Gonna Come

So I'm at the coffee shop (me and the twins) checking e-mail because the internet is down at the house and to quote my husband, "it will be down for a while." A while being at least tomorrow morning between 8 and 11AM when Comcast is due to arrive. Anyway - here at the coffee shop they are playing Led Zeppelin I. It's funny, I want to claim Led Zeppelin as music of my era but the truth is they were old even when I was in high school. I think every generation "discovers Led Zeppelin."
Sunday at the skating rink I noticed one of the ice show group numbers is performing to a Go Gos song. Everything old really is new again.
Speaking of old, recently I read that after age 40 people start being less adept at handling doing more than one thing at a time. Great, now that I really need to multitask I'm not going to be able to. In fact I'm not sure I can handle typing and drinking this cup of tea - heaven forbid one of the boys should start to cry.

song: Your Time is Gonna Come • artist: Led Zeppelin

glenway's birthday (a couplet)

I wanted to think of a clever rhyme,
but the day's half done and I'm out of time!

Everybody Wants to be a Cat

It's a Herculean task to get everyone into the car these days what with coats, hats, gloves, car seats, and fighting over who gets to push the button to open the mini van's electric sliding door. What used to take five minutes now takes fifteen, so we have to plan a half hour ahead just to drive five minutes down the road. Then there are the unexpected tie ups. For example, I was late picking C up from art class last Thursday, not because I underestimated how long it would take to get the twins into the car but because I didn't factor in H insisting on crawling to the mini van on his hands and feet.
And why was he crawling around the driveway on all fours in February?
Because he wasn't a two year old, he was really a cat - of course.

song: Everybody Wants to be a Cat • soundtrack: The Aristocats

Dancing Queen

The lovely and talented Elena!

song: Dancing Queen • artist: Abba

endangered species lament

with apologies to the late Reverend Martin Niemöller

First they came for the frogs
and I did not speak out - because I was not an amphibian

Then they came for the bees
and I did not speak out - because I was not an insect.

Then they came for the bats
and I did not speak out - because I was not a nocturnal flying mammal.

Then they came for me -
and by then there was no one left to speak out for me.

Half Breed

At the dermolotoligist's office yesterday the doctor asked me how old my children were. I immediately said that C was five and a half. Then I laughed at myself. C would have described himself as five and a half, that extra half being crucial, but without him in the room it seemed ridiculous for me to include it. No adult ever does that. In fact we probably do the opposite. People who are 39 most likely claim to be 39 right up until the clock strikes midnight.
When asked my own age I'm unlikely to announce, "I'm forty and a half."
That's because I'm not forty and a half. I'm only forty and one twelfth.

song: Half Breed • artist: Cher

What Do You Do For Money Honey

I hate to resort to this but is anyone looking for a new car? We need to sell the Subaru in order to buy more diapers.

song: What Do You Do For Money Honey • artist AC/DC

99 Red Balloons

C's latest question is this: why does a balloon make a loud noise when you stick it with a pin and it pops?
I muttered something about rubber being stretched very tightly and air under a lot of pressure, but I don't think I was too convincing.
How about it someone?

song: 99 Red Balloons • artist: Nena

Winter Wonderland

Looking out my office window (home office that is), I muse over how babies are like snow storms - beautiful, yet slightly inconvenient. And even though they're all fresh and clean to begin with, they sure get dirty quickly.

song: Winter Wonderland • artist: Felix Bernard

Overcome

I'm not one who usually cries at the movies. Love Story? Hated it. Beaches? Contrived. The English Patient? I side with Elaine Benes who once said "Quit telling your stupid story about the stupid desert and just die already!"
Over the years there are a few though that have choked me up. I was thinking of this recently because people have been asking me about postpartum depression. I don't suffer from postpartum depression, which can be very serious, but I do attribute hormones to my recent obsession with the easy listening radio station and my strange urge to sing along with Kenny Rogers.

1. Wuthering Heights - The first time I saw this was at the Coolidge Corner movie theater. I cried exiting the theater, I cried waiting for the T to come. I cried on the subway all the way back to Kenmore Square. I might be crying still except that my then-boyfriend told me I'd better stop because people were starting to look at him suspiciously.
The second time I saw this I rented it on Nantucket after Thanksgiving so my relatives could all have a good cry too.

2. Out of Africa - (warning: spoiler!) No relationship is that romantic but I still shed a few tears at the end. My boyfriend cried exiting the theater on this movie. I thought he was crying because Robert Redford died, but it turned out he was really crying because the space shuttle Columbia had exploded earlier in the week. He was always the more sensitive half of the relationship.

3. Champions: A Love Story - This one's only memorable to those of us who grew up figure skating. Those of you who have never heard of this movie can think of "Ice Castles" instead. It was an equally sappy film but no one died - they only figure skated competitively while blind - how realistic!

4. A Night To Remember - Obviously I didn't see this in the theater (it's from 1958). But I did tape it onto Betamax off the TV back in high school and I watched it a lot. I would turn all the lights off on the living room on Wednesday nights when my dad was at the Knights of Columbus and I'd cry at the part where the purser picks up the little boy on the slanted deck after all the lifeboats have left and tells him "we'll be saved." I'd usually pull myself together by the time the Carpathia arrived on the scene.

5. A Tale of Two Cities - This is also from 1958. For some strange reason movies from that year affected me. Unlike "A Night To Remember" I've only seen this movie once, but maybe I'll order it up again from the library since searching the CLAMS network is one of the things I can effectively do one-handed while nursing a baby (or two). I saw this in school, freshman year.
Yes, I cried in the high school auditorium, but I had stopped by the time the lights came back up so I doubt anyone knew. I think the entire freshman class saw this movie together. All the other English teachers brought popcorn for their students. Ms. Spring brought us granola. Even though that's reason enough, that's not why I cried. I cried because Sydney Carton was so dreamy and Lucie didn't appreciate him at all.

song: Overcome • artist: Live

The Company Way

February 19, 2008: the twins first trip to the Enterprise where in the future they'll be working as interns for auntie Pam and auntie Esther.

song: The Company Way • soundtrack: How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying

More Than Words

"Kennedy is every bit Koch's match as a joker in the deck, but the kinship pretty much ends there: Laconic and piquant where Koch is raucous and frenetic, Kennedy has always found his calling as a mordant wit in the old-school mold, a dab hand at the dapper style of snappy raillery and gadfly waggery that delivers its licks by way for formal prosody."
The above is taken from a Boston Globe review of five recently released books of comic poetry.
Now I'm a reasonably intelligent person, I've even been known to read a book or two, but there are a lot of words in that sentence that I'm unfamiliar with. When I read I'm okay with not knowing a word or two per book chapter. In fact I like the idea of exposure to new vocabulary. If I have a pen handy I'll jot them on my bookmark and look up their meanings later. But a half-dozen words in one sentence? That's quite a sentence. Is the writer trying to show off? Is he trying to make really good use of that Word-A-Day calendar he got in the office Yankee Swap? What are the chances that mere mortals like myself will go out and purchase any of the five books that were reviewed after being unable to understand the review? This review makes me feel like a bloomin' idiot. It's as if not only did I not understand the novel, I couldn't even grasp the CliffsNotes. The review's author, David Barber, is the author of his own book of poetry, I won't be picking that up any time soon either.
On a brighter note, another review in the same issue of the paper told me, in words I could comprehend, that I can change my brain and boost my brain power by simply changing the mug I drink my morning cup of tea out of. I'm fond of that mug, but I might give it a try. Perhaps with that extra brain power I'll be able to decode Mr. Barber's cryptic sentence.

song: More Than Words • artist: Extreme

Wasted Time

There's nothing worse than nursing your baby, lying him down, and then watching him spit up three-quarters of his meal. I feel badly for them when it happens but I also feel like shouting in my best mommy voice, "Stop! What are you doing? You're wasting it! Breast milk doesn't grow on trees you know!"

song: Wasted Time • artist: the Eagles

Drive

The Daytona 500 is today. Have I made this analogy yet? Babies are like race cars. They can go from sleeping peacefully to crying hysterically in less than 15 seconds.
And what's up with them not wanting to nurse while lying down? Who among us doesn't want to eat in bed?

song: Drive • artist: the Cars

Long May You Run

Note to the folks on Quaker Avenue with the three Mitt Romney signs on their front lawn: He's not in the running any more.

song: Long May You Run • artist: Neil Young

Late In The Evening

Even though we bought a package of perfectly acceptable Snoopy valentines, (yes, I know Snoopy is a licensed character but at least he's not licensed by Disney) C insisted on making homemade valentines for his classmates. I should have been pleased sine that's just the kind of obsessive compulsive crafting behavior I normally engage in. He's got 21 classmates, however, which means he didn't finish making Valentine cards until 9:15 last night. There used to only be 17 kids in school but they've added five new students since the first of the year. I think those kids joined up solely to reap the rewards of Valentine's Day.
Now nine-fifteen may not seem all that late, but it's well past C's bedtime and well into mommy's time to sit on the couch with a book, a baby, and a big glass of wine.

song: Late in the Evening • artist: Paul Simon

I Love You

A Valentine for Ken: I love sheep!
Just kidding!
-Joanne

song: I Love You • artist: Climax Blues Band

Stuck in the Middle With You

Things they didn't cover in the Nursing Mother's Support Group: What to do when you're about to nurse your crying baby and you realize the zipper to your fleece vest is stuck and won't unzip. Damn. Why didn't I burn this On The Water vest after H was born? It was one of the only things that fit me then too. I remember when I first got that vest and thought to myself, "what the heck am I going to do with a size XXL, black vest?
Other recent wardrobe malfunctions have included putting my arms through the extra holes in my nursing pajama tops, and being generally flummoxed over how to turn my nursing turtleneck from wrong side out to right side out.

song: Stuck in the Middle With You • artist: Stealers Wheel

Dirty Work

Doesn't it make you suspect when you cut up a leek and there's no dirt in it whatsoever? I mean where did this leek grow anyway? Certainly not in the ground.
Speaking of suspect - I haven't heard the cat snore since Priscilla noticed that her purple collar had a choke hold on her neck. I suspect you cured her!

song: Dirty Work • artist: Steely Dan

It's Still Rock and Roll To Me

That last post reminded me of being in the 9th grade and going to the big Strawberries record store in Downtown Crossing after Saturday morning drawing class at the School of the Museum of Fine Arts. I was looking for a cassette tape of Lynyrd Skynyrd because I liked the song Freebird. I couldn't find anything by the band because I was looking under "S" for Skinard, Leonard. Thank goodness now we have Google to prevent embarrassing moments such as that from repeated occurrence. I eventually figured out my mistake, but I never did purchase anything by Lynyrd Skynyrd at Strawberries or four years later when we used to browse through Tower Records on Newbury Street because it was something to do, and, because it was open until midnight.
I probably bought something by Billy Joel instead.

song: It's Still Rock and Roll To Me • artist: Billy Joel

nightime blues (a senryu)

At night babies cry
First on my right then my left
Everyone's hungry

That Smell

Ever notice that it's possible to put a dozen messy newborn diapers into the bathroom waste basket without having to empty the basket, but one stinky toddler diaper? That puppy needs to be disposed of pronto.

song: That Smell • artist: Lynyrd Skynyrd

Do You Want to Know A Secret?

song: Do You Want To Know A Secret? • artist: The Beatles

Skinny Legs

song: Skinny Legs • artist: Lyle Lovett

Put Your Hand in the Hand

song: Put Your Hand in the Hand • artist: Ocean

With or Without You

Used to be I'd break out in a cold sweat thinking I might run into you while I was at the school on election days. It's worse though, knowing I definitly won't be seeing you.
Our state went with Clinton for the democrats. I would have figured you for an Obama kind of guy.

song: With or Without You • artist: U2

We Are Family

My cousin has been staying with us for the past few days. She's been wonderfully helpful petting our neglected cat, playing concentration (using the Snoopy cards) with my two-year old, and holding the twin who's not currently being fed. In addition to that - she helped this clueless mom fill in the blanks in the boys' baby books about current events, fashion, movies, popular songs, tv shows, and bands.
Speaking of the cat, she lived up to her end of the bargain we struck 17 years ago and managed to stay alive until my 40th birthday. Hurray for Rufus! In appreciation for this Herculean event, I practically choked her to death with a tight-fitting purple cat collar. Thankfully Priscilla noticed, thereby likely saving the cat's life. Maybe now she'll make it to 41.
In typical twin fashion, both umbilical cord stumps both fell off today.

song: We Are Family • artist: Sister Sledge

To The Lighthouse

Saturday was my birthday, my 40th birthday. It was a substantially better day than my last birthday when I was struck on the nose with falling ice. This year I have two beautiful new babies instead of a swollen proboscis to take my mind off aging and the even more pressing issue - what does it all mean?
Don't we always expect, on milestone days like birthdays, births, and the beginning of a new year, that somehow proverbial lightening will strike us and we'll discover - without the aid of introspection - the meaning of life?
Perhaps. But if it didn't happen to Virginia Woolf, what hope do I have that such a revelation it will come to me? I think Ms. Woolf summed it up the meaning of life (and I agree with her assessment) better than I could hope to: What is the meaning of life? That was all—a simple question; one that tended to close in on one with years. The great revelation had never come. The great revelation perhaps never did come. Instead there were little daily miracles, illuminations, matches struck unexpectedly in the dark.

book: To The Lighthouse • author: Virginia Woolf

Say It Ain't So Joe

The newly pregnant, at their first visit to the ob/gyn, are usually showered with reading material. There's always a book on pregnancy and child birth. Each time I have been pregnant the book has been different. I seem to have hung on to only two such books and I just put them both into a bag with some maternity clothes that I'll not be using again. The title of one of the books is The Illustrated Book of Pregnancy and Child Care, the other is Your Pregnancy and Birth.
Your pregnancy and birth? I don't know about you, but my pregnancy, which culminated on Jan. 23, 2008, had little to do with my birth, 40 years ago today.
It's bad enough new mothers have to be subjected to sleep deprivation and sore nipples, must we be assaulted with bad grammar as well?

song: Say It Ain't So Joe • artist: Roger Daltrey

Moonlight Feels Right

In the hospital it seemed as if all the nurses had different advice on what was right for the twins. Some insisted that I tandem nurse, which is awkward at best. Others said I should stick with what I found comfortable. Some swaddled the twins up like stuffed grape leaves before handing them over to be fed, others stripped them down to "wake them up" before a feeding. Some were militant about babies being fed every three hours no matter what, others echoed my own personal philosophy "never wake a sleeping baby." Some put them in their own separate cribs, others insisted that they "liked to be together." Some changed diapers as a matter of course, others I had to request they do it (hey! I just had major abdominal surgery here!).
All this conflicting advice would have been confusing if I were a nervous first-time parent, or the kind of person who really thrived on taking the advice of experts instead of being who I am: the kind of person who would rather blunder through something on my own. On the other hand, it was comforting that none of them agreed on how things should be done. It leaves the door open for us blunderers to go with whatever feels right.

song: Moonlight Feels Right • artist: Starbuck