Chevy Van

I swore to myself that I wouldn't make fun of the mini van. What useful purpose would that serve? It would be the equivalent of poking myself in the eye.
Yesterday was the most I've gotten to drive the van since Ken picked it up on Tuesday night. I repeat what I said before - it drives effortlessly, even for the uncomfortably pregnant. While in the driver's seat I can't, however, shake the urge to announce, "Good evening everyone. This is your pilot speaking. Would everyone please return their trays to the upright position as we will soon begin our descent into West Falmouth."

song: Chevy Van • artist: Sammy Johns

Non, je ne regrette rein

Never fear, the mini van is in the driveway! We will be able to drive the twins home from the hospital. I have to say, it drives nice, and, it's not that hideous a color (dark gray). C climbed around in it and declared that it was as big as our house and why couldn't we live in it? H was originally similarly enamored with the new vehicle but when he realized his car seat would not be in reach of the button that operates the electric door he declared, "don't like mini van momma," and proceeded to cry the whole way home from the doctors' office.
I've decided to name it Marie. Marie the Parisian Mini Van. The former owners left us a kid's reggae CD and some change in the ashtray. Maybe I'll throw in an Edith Piaf CD for good measure.

song: Non, je ne regrette rien • artist: Edith Piaf

Don't Forget to Remember

I was thinking that I should write something profound about being pregnant. If not profound, at least, descriptive, since this is surely the last time I will be in this condition and someday I might get nostalgic for how it felt to be - as they say - knocked up.
The truth is though, I'm tired of being pregnant, tired of just about every part of the experience. I'm tired of weighing 40 pounds more than usual, of not being able to turn over in bed effortlessly, and of not being able to sleep on my back. I'm tired of my hips hurting and of my back being sore. I'm tired of heartburn and acid reflux, and of having to go to the bathroom all the time. I'm tired of crumbs on my stomach and of wondering which is more unsightly, varicose veins or swollen ankles. I'm especially tired of sitting down and having my lap be completely filled by my stomach, a condition which unfortunately won't be immediately alleviated after the twins are born. My cat is having a hard time with the no lap thing as well. Even feeling the babies move, which is admittedly cool in the beginning, has become a startling out-of-body experience. Sitting around watching your own stomach move through a force of will that is not your own has all the warm fuzziness of the first Alien movie.

song: Don't Forget to Remember • artist: The BeeGees

Keep on Singing

This is the 600th post to the Mommy Rant. Not that that's remarkable. There are an infinite amount of inane comments yet to be made about local events and at least as many stories of my adorable children (born and unborn) with which to bore you.
What I am finding difficult, and what does seem remarkable, is the 600 songs I've used as blog title posts over the past two years. That's 600 songs give or take since I don't use them to title poem entries.
I have always thought that there is a song for every situration. For example, drop your hairbrush into the toilet? That's "Splish Splash" (Bobby Darin), "I'm Going Down" (Bruce Sprintsteen), or even the theme song from Mahogany, "Do You Know Where You're Going To?" (Diana Ross). Burn Dinner? The possibilities are almost endless. There's "Get it Right the First the Time" (Billy Joel), "Accidents will Happen" (Elvis Costello), "I'm on Fire" (Bruce Springsteen), "Guess Things Happen That Way" and "Beans for Breakfast" (both by Johnny Cash), just to name a few. Nine months pregnant with twins and keep bumping into your husband because you can't define where your ever shifting personal space is? Naturally that would be "Don't Stand So Close to Me" (The Police), "My Way" (Frank Sinatra), or even "Get Off of my Cloud" (The Rolling Stones)
Then there are songs in my memory bank that are just waiting for the right situation to be used: Christmas in Prison (John Prine), Little Willie (Sweet), and I can't believe I haven't used this one yet - Superfreak (Rick James).
Like any good gimmick, there have to be some rules. I've been trying not to use the same song title twice and they have to be songs I know or at the very least bands with which I'm familiar. If it weren't for these self-imposed rules I could just open up the iTunes store and do a search for a song specifically titled: "I dropped my hairbrush in the toilet." I picture it as a country tune.
Song titles are a useful addition to the blog as they bring in the occasional google searcher who is, say, looking for the lyrics to "Jeremiah was a Bullfrog," and gets stuck with The Mommy Rant instead.
But I must admit it's getting harder to come up with new titles and there are even times when I write an entry and then have to sit on it for a few days hoping an inspirational song title will pop into my head. Not to mention the hope that I'll be somewhere I can write it down, so as not to forget it, when it does.
So I guess I'm mulling over breaking my own rule some 500-plus song titles later. The occasional second use of a song title, perhaps followed by a #2 to acknowledge that I know it's a repeat title, wouldn't be so bad would it? That said, I also reserve the right to keep using poem titles, those few times when they are appropriate.
In retrospect, it would have been a lot easier to delve into this subject matter about 100 posts ago. I could have titled the piece "500 Miles" (soundtrack to Godspell), or "I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles) by the Proclaimers.

song: Keep on Singing • artist: Helen Reddy

wind energy quatrain

The wind farm
will not harm.
We should rejoice
in this choice.

Paint a Picture of Yourself

Last week C came home from preschool at told me: "Once there was an artist and nobody liked his paintings. His name was Van Gogh."
He went on to describe the paintings "Starry Night" and "Wheatfield with Crows." He told me how Van Gogh killed himself and that he also cut off his ear.
That night after dinner I got out a few art books and together we looked at some of Van Gogh's other paintings. His comment was: "These are nice Mommy, why didn't people like them?"
The school does a whole lesson plan on artists that culminates in a trip to the MFA in the spring so I was interested to hear who they had talked about today; Gauguin maybe, or Degas.
"What did you talk about in circle time today," I asked him on the way home this afternoon.
His reply?
"Don't stick stuff up your nose, cause you might have to have an operation to get it out."

song: Paint a Picture of Yourself (Michael) • artist: Harry Chapin

Perfect World

Despite having recently been dubbed the perfect person to carry twins, I couldn't fall asleep last night. I couldn't get comfortable in any position and finally gave up and came downstairs to sleep on the couch. Even the couch, which usually provides great support, proved to be a challenge. I was wrestling with blankets, pillows, and my enormous stomach when I had a The Gods Must Be Crazy moment. Remember that movie? A native to the Kalahari dessert in Africa tries to return a Coke bottle to the gods - who must have been crazy to drop it on his tribe in the first place.
I couldn't help thinking the gods must be crazy to think it's possible for one person to lug around two babies at once in their stomach. Then I felt relieved that at least Google Maps, the group that posted pictures of the guy picking his nose in the park, hadn't found a way into my living room yet.
Of course you know what they say - it's not easy being perfect.

song: Perfect World • artist: Heuy Lewis and The News

Having My Baby

We rented the movie Possession the other night. I don't recommend it even though it did star Gweneth Paltrow. The plot included a Victorian couple having a love affair who spend one night together and, surprise, have a baby.
I find the plot device of the one night stand resulting in pregnancy unimaginative, and, if my reproductive history included problems conceiving, I'd find it completely annoying if not downright depressing. I realize of course it can happen, but in movies it happens all the time.
You would think there would be some backlash but I haven't heard of any.
The one night stand resulting in pregnancy cuts across all movie genres. Off the top of my head in addition to Possession recent movies include Saved, (teenage angst/coming of age), Cold Mountain, which I know was a book first, even novelists can't resist (historical fiction), Knocked Up, which I did not see but I'm guessing the couple weren't in any sort of long-term relationship (comedy).
Meanwhile, back at what's become my weekly doctor appointments, everyone is always congratulating me and telling me what a great job I'm doing - as if I'm doing anything aside from having the common sense not to run a marathon or take up karate while eight-months pregnant with twins. It's a real ego boost. I was thinking before that it seemed to be my mission in life to give birth to boys - and lots of 'em, but now that's been confirmed by an MD. At Tuesday's appointment I was told my weight was perfect, my measurements were perfect, my blood pressure was perfect, the babies movements were perfect - hell, even my urine sample was perfect. I am the perfect person to carry twins. I always wanted to be perfect in something so I guess this is it. Though it's kind of a disappointment if you want to know the truth.

song: Having My Baby • artist: Paul Anka

I'm Still Standing

Last fall I assumed that by this time I'd be stuck on bed rest, or worse, have delivered prematurely and be dividing my time between C and H and some neonatal unit somewhere. Christmas shopping was finished early and I wrapped as I went along; but here it is, January, and I'm still here. I even had time to read the January book club pick. Since finishing, I checked two books of short stories out of the library, at first thinking - who am I kidding, as if I've got time to read anything else; but then reconsidering. There may not be time for an entire novel, but maybe there's still time to get in a few short stories. This line of thinking has crossed over to the way I drive the car. We still haven't bought that shiny used minivan but any night now I expect Ken to take the Subaru down to the Toyota dealership and trade it in. Consequently I see no reason to fill the tank and give the car dealership extra gas as a perk.
If a novel is the equivalent of filling it up, then I've taken to driving around with little more than an Alice Munro New Yorker piece in the tank.

song: I'm Still Standing • artist: Elton John

Broken Wings

It's an undisputed fact that everyone is different, so why people, myself included, are surprised when siblings have completely opposite personalities is a mystery. Here's just one example of how different C and H are from each other. When C was two years old and he broke something, he would burst into tears and bring the object to me to fix. He does the same thing now. When H breaks something his general attitude is "score one for team H!" He'll proudly announce, "I broke it," and then bring the object to me, not to fix, but in the same way a cat leaves a dead bird on the porch, as if it's a trophy.

song: Broken Wings • artist: Mister Mister

Obvious Child

Did anyone else find it odd that the Parade section of yesterday's paper featured an interview with Benazir Bhutto, obviously written a while back, which never makes reference to the fact that the woman was assassinated two weeks ago?

song: Obvious Child • artist: Paul Simon

Forever Young

A Christmas card from my dad's cousin Flossie, advised me to "have your children while you're young."
Flossie lives in Lower Wedgeport, Nova Scotia, my grandmother's home town, where many of my cousins (several times removed) are lobster fishermen and all of them are cut-throat cribbage players. My parents visit every year but it's been a while since I've been there which could explain why Flossie doesn't remember that it's about ten years too late for me to heed her wise advice.
They say though that having children keeps you young. If that's the case I should be twice as young next month, despite my birthday, than I am right now.

song: Forever Young • artist: Rod Stewart

The Weight

And I've stopped taking my shoes off when getting weighed at the doctor's office. As if it makes a difference.

song: The Weight • artist: The Band

Big Time

Three weeks to go. Even my "big sweater," the one I'm surprised I didn't throw out after having worn it every day when I was pregnant with H, is getting tight.
I feel like Alice in chapter two of her adventures in Wonderland. After eating enchanted cake and growing tall she wonders of her own feet, "who will put on your shoes and stockings ... I'm sure I sha'n't be able! I shall be a great deal too far off to trouble myself about you: you must manage the best way you can."
I don't even look like a normal pregnant woman. I look like one of those women who tells her friends she's pregnant just to get some attention. After making this announcement she walks around with a perfectly round beach ball stuffed under her shirt for four months. Pretty soon I'll take an extended holiday, come home, and announce that the dingo ate my baby.

song: Big Time • artist: Peter Gabriel

Wicked Game

H has learned how to use the stereo remote so now he can play and replay "Itsy Bitsy Spider" to his heart's content. He also likes to replay "This Old Man" except that he calls the song, "This Snowman."
And speaking of snowmen, and we really don't speak of snowmen often enough do we? I got the scarecrow out of the front yard just in time to replace it with a snowman. Now nothing remain of either of them except a pair of knee-high rubber boots that Ken says used to belong to Margie.
H is wicked into Frosty the Snowman; all aspects of Frosty: the song, the video, and the song lyrics in book form. Frosty was always my least favorite Christmas special. The greenhouse scene was too sad for my sensitive tastes though it doesn't seem to bother my heart-hearted children.
And speaking of wicked, I heard a five-year-old at the Children's Museum announce that he was "wicked good" at some thing or another - I can't remember what since I was so surprised to hear a little kid say "wicked."
But back to Frosty. Most adults are content to be finished with Christmas by afternoon on December 25th. If only the Christmas tree would vanish from the living room at exactly 6PM on Christmas Day like all the holiday music on the radio does, then we'd be happy. But for kids, December 25th is just one piece of the puzzle and by no means the final piece. My kids register no shame in listening to Christmas CDs weeks and weeks after Christmas, reading Frosty every night, wondering what Santa is doing now (maybe he's the one who found C's glove in the driveway, brought it inside, and placed it on the drying rack), and watching "A Charlie Brown Christmas." And so, following many numerous readings of Frosty which has allowed me to analyze the song more than anyone ought to have time to do, I've come to this conclusion: Frosty is Jesus.
Let's examine the evidence. Frosty "comes to life one day," without the intervention of any parents, which sounds like a virgin birth. Children are essential to the Frosty story and in the Bible Jesus commands: "suffer the little children to come unto me (Mark 10:14)." Before leaving, Frosty leads a parade through "the streets of town." Palm Sunday anyone? Finally he, "waved good bye saying don't you cry, I'll be back again someday." Duh! And here's even more proof, check out this illustration from one of the two Frosty books currently in my possession, the little boy is actually waving a palm during Frosty's foray into town!
Unfortunately, I'm not the first one to notice this - perhaps because it's just so obvious. If you want to learn more, google Frosty and Jesus, there's something like 300,000 hits so the jig's up but just remember - you heard it here first.

song: Wicked Game • artist: Chris Isaak

new year's resolution (a quatrain)

No Britney Spears
In this new year's.
And her little sister?
We surely won't miss her.

Sixes or at Sevens

I'm going to miss 2007, but not for any rational reason. I'm going to miss 2007 because I like to write the number seven. Not the word, the number. I like to write the number seven and then cross it through the middle like my high school math teacher, Ms. Spindel used to.
Do you think she would take pride in that? In knowing she had influenced the way I write my sevens? It's not like I majored in math or anything. I considered it but for some reason I thought graphic design would be more useful. They say that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. Of course upon further consideration, majoring in math and then going on to become an engineer or physicist and telling the young journalist interviewing me my for my Nobel Prize that I owed it all to my high school math teacher would probably have been a wee bit more flattering.

song: (Say, Why is Everything Either at) Sixes or at Sevens? • artist: Gilbert & Sullivan

Moondance

I try to discourage my son from using "bathroom talk," especially in front of his highly impressionable younger brother. Often times, what qualifies as bathroom talk can be hard to define but like pornography and the U.S. Supreme Court, I know it when I see it - or in this case - hear it.
Sometimes the word is just gibberish but I can tell by the tone of voice that's being used that it's bathroom talk gibberish. Sometimes it's the tone of laughter that follows the conversation that clues me in to the subject matter.
This is why it always strikes me so funny when C recites the names of the planets for his younger brother. He sails right over Uranus without flinching; while I, juvenile mother that I am, stand in the background trying to stifle giggles.

song: Moondance • artist: Van Morrison

Hard Headed Woman

Technology is a funny thing. The technology may advance, but do we? I received an iPod for Christmas and after much downloading, what’s the first thing I’ve listened to? Cat Stevens “Greatest Hits,” circa 1975.
And these ear buds aren’t any more comfortable than the ones on my Walkman.

Song: Hard Headed Woman artist: Cat Stevens

All I Ever Wanted

C woke up this morning musing about how he wished he had more presents to open. He went to bed last night bemoaning the same thing. After breakfast, when he launched into wondering out loud why the neighbors weren't lining up to bring him gifts, I thought I might remind him that he wasn't, after all, the Christ Child and no one was required to bring him anything. Instead, I briefly explained that there were children in the world who'd received less presents than him, and there were children who'd received more, but that the important thing was for him to be happy with what he had. Because if he couldn't be happy with what he had, he would never be happy.
And that about sums up my entire philosophy on life. I think my job is done. What else can I teach him?

song: All I Ever Wanted • artist: Michael Stanley Band

If I had a Hammer

It should come as no surprise that C did not get a box of magic yesterday from Santa, despite the detailed note left on Christmas Eve that requested "a box of magic to make me fly and make it don't do bad things."
It reminded me of the year that I asked for a puppy and instead got a note from Santa telling me to keep my room clean. Santa can be pretty tough.
C was up at 7:30 on Christmas morning and by 8:30 he had declared that this was the best Christmas ever, even without a box of magic, because he got a real hammer from Santa in his stocking.
Santa really lucked out because as far as I know, he wasn't even aware that the runner up gift to a box of magic was something as simple as a child-sized hammer. Lucky guess for Santa.

song: If I had a Hammer • artist: Peter, Paul, and Mary

christmas couplet #6

I see by light of the full moon
that Santa will be arriving soon.

christmas couplet #5

This very night
Santa takes flight!

School's Out

Today I added my alma mater to the list of links off this blog. I did this out of guilt because I just recycled their annual appeals letter despite having recently had a pleasant phone conversation with the sophomore who was saddled with the job of calling up deadbeat alumnae and asking them for money.
Surely because of this link Simmons will receive lots of website hits which will make up for the money I did not send them. Here's another plug for my old school: "I went to a single-sex college, and, it wasn't that bad." In fact, in retrospect I wouldn't trade the experience. There are lots of obvious reasons why: small school, small classes, party invites to other colleges every weekend, whole city of Boston at your disposal. But more importantly, if you attend a women's college you won't wake up on Saturday morning to find puke in your hallway and overflowing toilets in the bathroom. You won't wake up to find a naked, drunken stranger wrapped in an American flag in your roommate's bed (ask Ken about it). They serve tea every Friday and you can wear sweats to class without worrying that you might pass that cute guy you had your eye on while crossing the quad. I don't like the sweatpants look myself, having never been one to hang around in my pajamas for extended periods, but whatever floats your boat.
People often confuse Simmons with Smith. When this happens people will then mistake you for someone much smarter.
You might even have a gay roommate, who will turn out to be the best roommate you could hope for, and you can marvel at the fact that she shaves her legs even though she's gay while you, a straight woman, rarely shave yours. When your boyfriend comes to visit he and your gay roommate can collectively ogle the girl in the adjacent dorm building who exercises in her underwear even though she must know everyone can see her through the windows.
On the downside, you'll go around for the rest of your life correcting people who say "all girls school," and reminding them that the proper phrase is "women's college."

song: School's Out • artist: Alice Cooper

LA Woman

H and I were at the Cape Cod Children's Museum on Wednesday and we met a mom who - surprise - had twins. Her name was Heather and she was from LA where she was president of the local twins club. She spoke quickly. I don't know if that was a result of being the mother of twins, or the result of living in LA. I'm basing all my knowledge of LA on the 1991 film LA Story starring Steve Martin. Weren't there some fast talkers in that movie? Heather was especially excited for me because next year's National Organization of Mothers of Twins Club Convention is going to be held in Boston. So - I can go! Let's hope they're planning to have lots of childcare I thought to myself. She also told me that her twins, which are the same age as Henry, still sleep together in one crib, that the Double Snap N Go was a good investment, and that the Double Boppy was unnecessary.
I didn't let on, but being the world's most uninformed soon-to-be-mother-of-twins, I didn't know what a Double Snap N Go was. Turns out it's a generic double stroller frame made to hold two standard infant car seats. This would facilitate my getting the twins into the doctor's office and the little library since they sit one in front of the other instead of side by side, thus making the Double Snap N Go able to fit through a single door frame.
Ken checked it out on line and said, "Why? You have two arms." But he placed the order.

song: LA Woman • artist: The Doors

christmas couplet #4

kids run about, making mom's thoughts grow hazy.
hurry Christmas, before they drive me crazy.

The phrase "christmas couplet" gets more hits than "thanksgiving couplet." Lots more. Seems that the readers of this blog are just a bunch of would-be poets. Again I say, anyone can write a couplet. Try it and see. Heed the words of Gilbert and Sullivan and their not-very-tough pirates of Penzance:
For what, we ask, is life without a touch of poetry in it?

christmas couplet #3

Ornaments from the Christmas tree
Are dislodged by children frequently.

Who Loves You

So I thought I might suggest to C that Santa isn't solely responsible for every present under the Christmas tree.
I posed this question: "Who else who loves you might bring you presents on Christmas?"
"God?"
"Anybody else?"
"Nana and Papa?"
"Anybody else?"
"Grandma and Opa?"
"Anybody else?"
There was a long pause and a blank stare.
"How about Mommy and Daddy?" I offered.
"Oh." he said flatly.
It's not that I mind taking a back seat to God and my parents but, heck, I wasn't even going to make the list. I suppose that's what I get for not buying him anything the other 364 days of the year.

song: Who Loves You • artist: Frankie Valli & The Four seasons

Orange Crush

The comment I'm hearing most often these days is, "you're not as big as I thought you'd be."
What does that mean? That they were expecting a duplex and I'm only as big as a single-family home? I don't know for sure but I expect it's a close to a compliment as I'll be getting for some time.
The craving of the month has been clementines. I like to eat three or four of them at once. At least the twins won't have scurvy.

song: Orange Crush • artist: R.E.M.

The Twelve Pains of Christmas

I was reaching to hang an ornament on an upper branch of the Christmas tree when my protruding stomach knocked a glass bunny off the tree. It smashed on the floor. Damn twins - breaking ornaments already.
C has decided to ask Santa for a "box of magic" so he can "fly around." I suggested that Santa might not be able to swing that but he insisted that "Santa can do anything." It would be a lot easier if he just wanted an Xbox.
On the way home from the office Sunday night I heard a version of "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" on WHJY. It sounded like AC/DC or some other heavy-metal band's interpretation of this classic. It was scary sounding. The underlying message seemed to be that you'd better lock all the doors and arm yourself with a baseball bat because "Santa Claus is coming to town" and boy is he freakin' pissed!

song: The Twelve Pains of Christmas • artist: Bob Rivers

Substitute

You know how in the comic strip "Family Circus," Bil Keane will occasionally use little Billy as a substitute cartoonist? Billy will make observations like, "sometimes daddy calls mommy his dear," which will be followed by a child-like drawing of a deer wearing pearls and high heels. Well frankly I find the Family Circus characters too saccharine for my tastes. Nothing bad every happens to those kids. I prefer "For Better or For Worse" where at least the kids grow up and once they had to deal with the dog dying.
Anyway, I'm taking a cue from Mr. Keane and giving myself today off. I leave you instead with a story from C.
Once I went to the cranberry bog but there was no one to see except too many frogs. But I went home and I thought no one would see me but I was wrong. That night I woke up and I heard something outside and there was a huge scary monster outside. I saw it and I closed the door and locked it. Then there was a big storm! And the storm blew the house down! It was rumbling and rumbling and then there was a big bang! The house hit a rock and I was scared. I said, "I hope this storm will stop soon."

song: Substitute • artist: The Who

christmas couplet #2

When decorating the Christmas tree,
Children hang ornaments indiscriminately.

I'll Fly Away

On Tuesday night we decorated the Christmas tree. I think that next year we should skip the tree, hew down one big branch, and prop it up in the living room. The kids hang every ornament on the same branch anyway, why confuse them with a whole tree?
We went to the tree farm on Sunday and after we cut the tree down and brought it home, we put it out in the yard for the afternoon before bringing it inside that night. When we brought it in, it was covered with winter moths. In the brightness of the living room they all took flight. It was like a B-grade horror movie: "Revenge of the Moths," or "Holiday Moth Attack." Ken wanted to bring the tree back outside but it seemed to me that we'd come this far and shouldn't retreat. Besides, you have to look at it from a five-year-old's point of view. From C's stand point at least, aside from having Santa put presents under it, being infested with moths was about the best thing that could happen to a Christmas tree. We armed ourselves with flashlights and fly swatters and C got to pick moths off the tree and squish them, with mommy's approval, for a half hour. H had a good time pointing to moths that were on the floor or flying around the lamp. Heck, even the cat got to eat a few.
After we'd picked off all we could find, Ken came through with the vacuum cleaner to suck up the ones that were trying to hide on the ceiling.

song: I'll Fly Away • artist: Albert E. Brumley

You Say It's Your Birthday

12/12/84
You are still older than me.

And when your sorrow is comforted (time soothes all sorrows) you will be content that you have known me.
You will always be my friend.
-Antoine de Saint-Exupery, The Little Prince

song: You Say It's Your Birthday • artist: The Beatles

History of Us

I don't know what's worse, being asked questions about Santa that I can't answer, or being asked history questions that I can't answer.
Yesterday they were talking about Pearl Harbor on the radio so of course C asked me about that, me and my sketchy history, the Titanic I know plenty about, but Pearl Harbor not so much. Then last night we started a book of American tall tales, the first being about Davy Crockett. The introduction to the story mentioned how Mr. Crockett achieved legendary status after dying at the Alamo. This led to me having to describe the Alamo, which, having been to the Alamo I was in a slightly better position to do than Pearl Harbor. Still in all, it gave my history-deprived brain quite a workout.

song: History of Us • artist: Indigo Girls

I Think I Love You

I think I've met the mom of my dreams. We were all at the Woods Hole playground last week, her and her three boys, and me and my two. C insisted on bringing our garden clippers so he could plod into the woods, cut sticks, drag them back to the playground, and build with them. I told him we had to ask Aidan's mom before taking the clippers out of the car. Not all mom's approve of having their children play with recently sharpened gardening clippers I explained, though what I really said was the textbook, "different families have different rules."
Aidan's mom answered, "Sure. If I had known, we would have brought our clippers too."
I think I'm in love.

song: I Think I Love You • artist: The Partridge Family

You Can't Do That

Pumpkins should be incorporated into Christmas decorating. The average Christmas tree, cut in Nova Scotia and brought to Cape Cod, lasts about two weeks while a uncut pumpkin is good for at least three months.
Back when I didn't have kids, I would hear parents negotiating with their offspring or offering bribes for good behavior, and think smugly, "when I have kids I'll never say that." But you never know what's going to come out of your mouth when faced with frustrating circumstances. Thursday I threatened C with the old December stand by, "Santa won't come if you don't..." In this case it was, "if you don't stop vexing your brother." That's right, I told him Santa wasn't coming, and, I used the word vexing on him.

song: You Can't Do That • The Beatles

Christmas Wishes

What do you mean I have to get them presents for Christmas? Two new, younger siblings isn't enough?

song: Christmas Wishes • artist: Anne Murray

christmas couplet #1

'Tis the season,
To shop without reason.

Any Old Kind of Day

You asked me once why I never mentioned H. Was it because "he's such a little guy, he doesn't do much yet?"
That was the case a year ago but lots has changed since then.
Last Thursday H and I were at the playground outside the Cataumet Arts Center. Towards the end of our time there another little boy showed up with his father. The boy, Matthew, wasn't much bigger than H though it turned out he was only two weeks shy of his fourth birthday.
When H began climbing up to where Matthew was, the older boy announced to his dad, "here comes a baby." To which H responded, as clearly as though he'd never mumbled an unintelligible phrase in his entire life, "I not baby."
The Wednesday before Thanksgiving I was home with both the kids all day. We couldn't get our act together to get to story time at the rec. center, so by 11AM they had already started to fight over stuff and yell at each other.
I decided to take them down to Megansett. In typical preschooler fashion C protested. He didn't want to go to the beach. He didn't want to go for a walk. He didn't want to be cold. You get the picture. I drag them down anyway and the tide is out, way out, and in no time C is digging up quahogs with a stick and H is collecting snails (hundreds of them) off the jetty rocks. They collected shells and walked on the rocks and watched a man launch his kayak. Basically they had a great time for ninety minutes, then, out of nowhere H ran straight into the water. I don't know if he meant to or if he just didn't realize the tide was coming in and there was less beach to run on but suddenly he was in the water screaming. I ran out to scoop him up and then I was soaked. As I carried him to shore I looked around sheepishly because the only thing worse than having your two year old knee-deep in November ocean water is having another parent witness it and thereby label you worst, most negligent, mother of the year; meanwhile H is going into his hold-your-breath-till-you-pass-out dance. I hustled him and his bucket full of snails to the car. At this point C started crying because he didn't want to leave.
"We have to leave, your brother is soaking wet," I say, adding "if you were wet and cold, wouldn't you want to leave?"
"The water's always cold," he countered, but it was too late because I already had him in the car.
I took H's shoes off, they were filled with water, along with his wet socks and pants. I put the car blanket over him and it seemed to cheer him up.
I suggested to C we go home and do a stuck shell project, which seemed to cheer him up.
Ken returned the snails to the ocean that night after everyone was in bed, which I'm sure, cheered them up.

song: Any Old Kind of Day • artist: Harry Chapin

Eternal Flame

Ken took the kids to the parade yesterday. Somehow I've gotten out of that gig for the past three years. Not that I haven't put in my time at past parades. I remember marching or riding on a float for either the girl scouts or the figure skating club every year. I have this memory of being in the parade one year when I was in high school; it's one of those memories that always makes me laugh though I'm unsure it will translate well. It was an olympic year and the figure skaters had made a float featuring the five olympic rings. Leigh Ellen and I were going to carry the FFSC banner and walk in front of the float and Aletha was going to walk behind us carrying an olympic torch. The torch was made by a boy scout who had two sisters in the club. It consisted of a coffee can on a stick. I don't know what was in it to keep it lit but whatever it was, it burned out completely while we were still in the mall parking lot waiting for the parade to start.
Undaunted, Aletha walked the entire parade route carrying a can on a stick with no flame.

song: Eternal Flame • artist: Bangles

Goin' By The Book

At the bookstore on Friday I saw a new, illustrated, version of The Elements of Style. Why would a book about grammar, composition, and style need to be illustrated? Maybe along with the mantra "omit needless words," Strunk and White should have included "omit needless illustrations."

song: Goin' By The Book • Johnny Cash

On The Radio

The Martha's Vineyard radio station I frequently listen to is fund-raising this week. At least they had the decency not to hold their beg-a-thon the same week as the local NPR station (that was last week). As if on cue the station is obscured by static on the kitchen radio. Can they control that? Can they actually make their station not come in so as to make me feel guilty, ("they can't even afford enough bandwidth to broadcast in Falmouth.") Should I send them some money?
Wait, no. I can still get them in the living room.

song: On The Radio • artist: Donna Summer

Her First Mistake

I stand corrected. Actually I'm sitting corrected. A friend who is much more fashionable than I told me today that it's a cowl neck, not a cow neck. Who knew? Everyone but me no doubt. They've got turtle necks, why not cow necks? Because it's a stupid name - that's why.
Let's see, is this more or less embarrassing than the time I wrote "mute point" in one of my articles. It's "moot point" but you already knew that. It's definitely not as embarrassing as the time we were in Canada and I tried to order jimmies on my ice cream. The woman behind the counter just kept staring at me while I repeated my request two, three, four times. Finally Connie jumped in and saved me, "they're called sprinkles, Joanne."
But look, I'm not the only idiot out there.

song: Her First Mistake • artist: Lyle Lovett

Hurt So Good

Tonight I noticed that I posted more comments this past week about being pregnant than I did about my cute, already-been-born kids. Originally I thought that being pregnant with twins would provide endless fodder for The Mommy Rant, but as long as things are going along pretty well, there's not much to say. Who wants to hear about my varicose veins or inch-high belly button? Compared to accounts I've read on-line, things could be much worse. At least my pregnancy ailments have occurred in a linear fashion, that is, one after the other and not all together. Thankfully my back wasn't still hurting when it felt like I'd pulled all the muscles in my groin. Good thing my groin wasn't hurting the week I woke up every night with leg cramps. The other night, even without cramped up legs, I hurt myself sitting on the couch. There I was, with my feet up, taking it easy, and when I went to get up I, ouch, pulled something.
So that's it about being pregnant for this week, and now back to our regularly scheduled programming, already in progress.

song: Hurt So Good • artist: John Cougar Mellencamp

Lovefool

Speaking of maternity clothing, I finally wore, for the first time ever, the sweater that my cousin gave me as a hand-me-down five years ago. I've been meaning to dye it burgundy (it's pink) for forever but now it can't be done because I need a top-loading washing machine which we don't have. I imagine the laundromat frowns on people using their machines to dye sweaters in.
It's also got a cow neck. Remember those? When did they go out of style - 1984? Whoever thought that "cow neck" would make a good name for a design feature in a sweater? Who wants a neck that looks like a cow?
Even though the sweater isn't exactly me, I wore it because it fits which is more than I can say for most of my clothes.
So I'm wearing the sweater and H is sitting with my in the computer room and he leans over too far because he's mad that he can't find a picture of a lighthouse in the book we are looking at, falls off his chair, hits his face on the edge of the desk, gets a bloody nose and proceeds to bleed all over - the pink sweater.

song: Lovefool • artist: The Cardigans

Forever in Blue Jeans

Lately there's been a range of reactions to the size of my stomach, everything from "you look great! Are those even maternity jeans?" to "boy, you're getting big, you must really be tired."
The answer is of course they are maternity jeans, are you high? I have finally been forced to embrace the jeans I bought when I was pregnant with H and never wore. I disliked them because they have a mini-bell bottom-type cut. What's that for, enormous swollen ankles? They are also at least five inches too long despite being a size small. This means only one thing, that tall skinny women are the only people who should be getting pregnant. But, it was either roll up the jeans and wear them or have only one pair of wearable pants, which would mean having to go around naked on wash day.
The best reaction to my "condition" was the complete lack of any reaction by the salesman at the Plymouth Winery. I stopped in for wine to go with Thanksgiving dinner and he asked me not once but twice if I wanted to sample the wines I was purchasing. This means either, a) he wasn't paying attention at all, or b) he's been burned in the past and now refuses to assume a woman is pregnant until she shows up at the shop with an actual baby.

song: Forever in Blue Jeans • artist: Neil Diamond

Amnesia

People are so predictable. We are constantly amazed by the same things over and over. The other night's full moon for example. I stepped out the door from work and there it was - amazing. I stood awe struck. My parents took the kids outside later that night for a viewing.
You'd think, by the way people talk about it, that a full was a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence instead of something that happens once a month.
"There's a full moon tonight."
"Did you see the full moon?"
"Look how bright it is outside tonight because of the full moon."
How about this phrase which everyone utters in some form or another every December:
"I can't believe how dark it is out, it's only 4:30."
Or how we all marvel at a particularly colorful sunset, or how we can't help but to comment (over and over again,) on how fast time seems to go by once one is over 30.
It's like the human race has collective amnesia.

song: Amnesia • artist: Pousette-Dart Band

Free Falling

I wonder. Have I recently become more of a klutz due to the power of suggestive thinking, as in "don't drop this because it's too much of an ordeal to bend over and pick it up. Opps. Damn."
Or have I always been this way?

song: Free Falling • artist: Tom Petty

Holiday

There seems to be some general holiday confusion around my house.
On Wednesday C asked me:
"Is Christmas Jesus's birthday?"
Instead of a short lecture on the winter solstice and how early Christians adapted pre-existing pagan holidays as their own, I simply said:
"Yes."
"When is it God's birthday?," he wondered out loud, "on Thanksgiving? I think we should have a cake."
On Thursday morning, before anyone had come over he was in the living room with his little brother when he announced excitedly:
"H! Today is Thanksgiving!"
H, equally excited, said:
"I be pirate!"
"No!" big brother corrected, "you don't dress up for Thanksgiving."
Well you can dress the turkey - but I thought it best not to bring that up.

song: Holiday • artist: Madonna

Do-Re-Mi

So it's Thanksgiving evening, why aren't they airing "The Sound of Music" on any of my 50 television channels?

song: Do-Re-Mi • Soundtrack: The Sound of Music

Poetry In Motion

Through the wonder of Sitemeter it's possible for me to see what Google search has led someone to this blog. Usually, because we're such a high-brow bunch, it's people searching for the lyrics to Jeremiah was a Bullfrog. Every now and then something more unusual comes up. Today, for example, I expect that the individual from Kingston NY who was searching for "mommy you sexy" was disappointed with The Mommy Rant. This month I've noticed that the words "Thanksgiving couplet" are turning up frequently. I wonder who these people are who search for Thanksgiving couplets. I can almost understand "mommy you sexy" more. Are they poetry enthusiasts? College students searching out inspiration for a writing assignment? A journalist perhaps, looking for a clever opening to a holiday article? Assuredly they are disappointed as well when they get to my site; but what were they expecting - Robert Frost?
On the other hand I hope my words aren't being pirated by some 18-year old who is too lazy to come up with a couplet of his own. If I can come up with a couplet despite the distrations of my children, anyone can. In fact, I encourage everyone to give it a go. A couplet is two lines that rhyme, nothing more. It's best if the meter of both lines match but it's not imperative. Look here are several I thought up today while hanging out in the front yard with the kids, C was climbing a tree in order to "put on a show," and H was climbing on our upside down dory, his "kayak," and subsequently trying to wrench the pen out of my hand so he could draw with it.

song: Poetry in Motion • artst: Johnny Tillotson

thanksgiving couplet #5

Turkey, stuffing, and mashed potato
Eat till you can't move from the table.

thanksgiving couplet #4

Thanksgiving Day
Well on its way

thanksgiving couplet #3

Yearly Thanksgiving meal
Universal appeal

I am the Walrus (I am the Eggman)

As if the irony of preschoolers wasn't enough, how about the irony of supermarket eggs?
If I get plain old no frills brown eggs they come in a cardboard carton, which, though it isn't suppose to be put out with my curbside recycling (can someone tell me why?), I can tear up and toss into my compost pile outback or burn in the fireplace along with those pizza boxes I'm also not suppose to recycle. But, if I upgrade and buy the eggs laid by chickens that are fed organic feed, then my eggs come in either a plastic container, which I can't throw out in the backyard, or they come in a Styrofoam container, which I can't recycle at all.
This makes it impossible for me to have my cake and eat it too. Especially if I want to include an egg in that cake mix.

song: I am the Walrus (I am the Eggman) • artist: The Beatles

Mama We're All Crazy Now

The woman who led the talk about birds at the recreation center said it was possible to get a chickadee to eat out of your hand. What was required was to stand outside everyday for ten minutes with a small amount of seed in your hand until the birds grew accustomed to your presence.
Of course C wanted to put this to the test right away. He stood on the deck the first day with his bagel covered in birdseed and the kitchen timer set to 15 minutes. The next day he decided to try again. H took his seed-covered bagel and tried to follow.
"Don't let him come out. He's too loud," C commanded.
I told him he merely need to explain to his younger brother that it was important to be quiet.
This is my new tactic. If I encourage C to rationally explain a situation to his two-and-a-half-year-old brother, surely H will cooperate.
So they both went outside even though the wind was gusting and there wasn't a bird in sight.
In a few minutes all can hear is C yelling at the top of his voice:
"Stop it! Be quiet! You're making too much noise!"

song: Mama We're All Crazy Now • artist: Quiet Riot

I Can't Stand Up For Falling Down

Scarecrows, I find, provide a harsh lesson on the deterioration of man at an accelerated rate. When first filled with leaves they prop themselves up sturdily. For a while he sat proud and tall observing the oak leaves falling in the yard. Oak leaves which rarely turn interesting colors, only brown. After a few weeks though, the scarecrow slumped in his chair, inches shorter than when he first came into being. Try as I might it was impossible to rearrange his drooping bodies in such a was as to regain his former presence. No wonder the crows laugh. Little harbingers of the grim reaper that they are, watching us trying in vain to stave off the march of time.
Perhaps next year it would be better to decorate the yard with bales of hay. Scarecrows are too depressing.

song: I Can't Stand Up For Falling Down • artist: Elvis Costello

Lady

Another reason to hang clothes outside on the line even in November: ladybugs in your clothes basket.

song: Lady • artist: Styx

fall couplet #3

falling leaves
naked trees

Just One Look

I know it's not the Virgin Mary appearing in my French toast, which is too bad because then I could auction it off for big bucks on Ebay; but doesn't this knot in our piece of plywood look like a spider?

song: Just One Look • artist: Linda Ronstadt

Sample in a Jar

Now that I have started saving jelly jars to use as drinking glasses, it would appear I am skipping right over turning into my mother and moving straight on to becoming my grandmother.

song: Sample in a Jar • artist: Phish

Today

We've got some big days coming up this week, starting with Wednesday as Reusable Bag Day in Massachusetts. Forgot your reusable bag at home this morning? Well, just designate Thursday as Reusable Bag Day For Those Who Weren't Aware That Wednesday Was Reusable Bag Day.
But wait, no can do because Thursday is already National Bundt Pan Appreciation Day.
Is there a Bundt pan in your cabinet? My mother made all her cakes in Bundt pans. She used to let me grease and flour the pan when it was cake-baking time. I thought this was pretty special but in retrospect greasing and flouring a Bundt pan is, well, a big pain in the Bundt, which is why, now that I'm a grown up, I don't own a Bundt pan. That's right, I'm on to you now, Ma.
I let my kids grind nuts and break eggs. Now that's fun.

song: Today • artist: John Denver

I Can't Explain

My eldest son used to say that when he grew up he was going to marry me. Last night he and H came downstairs having played together without incident for a record-setting 20 minutes and he announced: "I really love H. When we grow up we can get married."
I suggested that he and his little brother could be best friends when they grew up instead. Why couldn't they get married he wondered out loud. Was it because boys had to marry girls?
No, that wasn't the reason I told him.
Can boys marry boys he asked.
Yes, but it's unusual I said. "Do you know what unusual means?"
"It's not happening all the time."
"That's right."
"But it happens sometimes."
"That's right."
"Do sometimes boys marry boys?"
"Sometimes they do, but you still can't marry your brother."
To make a long story less long, I went on to explain why brothers and sisters and cousins can't get married. That it's a better thing for a baby to have different genes (not the kind you wear) instead of similar genes which is what would happen if you married your relative. I reminded him of the talk we had about why he and his brother both had blue eyes (because mommy and daddy have blue eyes), and that babies might get sick if they have parents who are relatives.
None of this actually had anything to do with why he couldn't marry his brother since he and his brother wouldn't be able to have babies, but, thankfully he was distracted enough not to pick up on that.
Fifteen minutes later he asked me when daddy would be home.
"In a half hour. It's only 5:30."
"But it's so dark. Why is it so dark?"
"Because this time of year it gets dark early."
Gay marriage and hemophilia, those are topics I can tackle, but daylight savings time? How do I explain that?

song: I Can't Explain • artist: The Who

holiday couplet

Thanksgiving approaches,
but Christmas encroaches.

Sister Golden Hair

They didn't have my usual tea tree conditioner at Amber Waves. Instead I had to choose between the conditioner for "damaged hair" and the one for "fine, limp hair." They didn't have one specially made for "rapidly graying hair," which would have been the most appropriate, so I went with fine and limp. "Damaged," sounded too much like my hair had suffered some kind of emotional trauma and was in need of therapy. I'm not a big fan of therapy, not even for my hair.

song: Sister Golden Hair • artist: America

Tell 'Em the Truth

Recently I met a very nice mom with three very nice, well-behaved, young sons; and a dog named Whiskey. I thought that Whiskey might be an inappropriate name for a family pet, but then I reconsidered. Perhaps the kids named her that because she has a lot of whiskers. After all, when I was five we had a cat named Reefer. She came off a windjammer my dad captained in the Bahamas. Maybe the crew had to reef the sails a lot; or maybe she was named after the coral reefs. I'm sure it was something perfectly innocent. Really. I'm sure.

song: Tell 'Em the Truth • soundtrack: Reefer Madness

Thing of Beauty

The fern on my desk is dead. That makes two ferns I've brought to work and ultimately killed. Now that I only work part time I find myself too busy with actual work to perform frivolous tasks such as taking deceased plants outside and dumping them alongside the building. In retrospect, I guess I was also too busy to perform the frivolous task of watering. Subsequently, the dead fern has been sitting on my desk for many weeks now. It didn't kneel over or anything, it just dried out. I've always been partial to dried flowers. It doesn't look half bad sitting there, frozen and zen-like, next to the lucky bamboo, I think I'll keep it.
What's lucky about lucky bamboo you ask? Lucky bamboo is lucky it isn't a fern.

song: Thing of Beauty • artist: Hothouse Flowers

1979

Because I'm sure you all run right out there whenever I mention what's in season at Coonamessett Farm, today we bought a large pumpkin for two dollars. Two dollars! They don't grow pumpkins at the farm so I can't say as they were local pumpkins, and I know that the season to carve them has past but guess what else you can do with pumpkins? Eat them! I won't bore you with my recipe for pumpkin bread which is no more innovate than any you'll find in your own cookbooks, but it sure is better when the pumpkin doesn't come out of a can.
The three of us went to Coonamessett today because C was bent out of shape that H and I went yesterday while he was a preschool. We visited the chickens, the sheep, the goats, and ducks, the alpacas, and the miniature donkeys, but the animal that made the biggest impression on H was the farm cat. It followed us around and H became enamored with it yelling out bossy instructions whenever it started meandering off into the woods. You'd think it was some exotic animal and that we didn't have a cat of our own at home.
When C was small he was afraid of the goats and the sheep because they were loud. That's ironic given how loud he now is himself. But anyway, one afternoon, in an effort to prove that the goats were friendly, I was bending down to pet one when the hem of my dress got into the pen and the goat started chewing on it. There I was trying to yank back my dress and C is screaming and crying because as far as he was concerned not only were goats loud, now they were trying to eat his mommy.

song: 1979 • artist: Smashing Pumpkins

A Sorta Fairytale

The fairies at our house can't seem to win for trying. After cleaning the wrong sink they were invited back to work their magic on the bathroom sink, a fixture that, happily for the fairies, is easier to clean than the kitchen sink.
But the next morning C wasn't a bit interested in the fairies or whether or not they had performed their requested task.
Two nights later he was brushing his teeth and finally he asked:
"Did you clean the sink?"
"Nope."
"Did Daddy?"
"I don't think so."
"Daddy! Did you clean the sink?" he yelled downstairs, because what five year old believes their mom?
"The fairies must have done it!" he exclaimed.
"Look how shiny everything is!" he marveled.
Mommy can't win for trying either. My task was to purchase a gift for a five-year-old classmate of C's who was having a birthday party this past weekend.
"What does Sam like?" I asked C.
"I think he likes super heros."
Great. Not auspicious advice for the mom who likes to eschew everything licensed-character related.
So I went to the toy store, and with all due respect to William Wordsworth, "I wandered aimless as a cloud." I picked up a toy, wondered whether a five-year-old boy I'd never met before would like it, and then put it back. It's likely I'd still be at the store except that it closed at 6PM. As if I were in a game of musical chairs, the shop turned off their music to signal time was up and I dutifully took the last toy I had in my hand and brought it to the register. I ended up with a Zoobdude Rock Climber. The description on the box said he was an "Adventure Hero." I don't think that's the kind of super hero my son had in mind.
Having completed this task, I stopped off at the Windfall Market. Still contemplating my choice and not feeling at all satisfied with it, I roamed the aisles of the supermarket. I got myself some chicken salad for dinner and a can of Ghirardelli double chocolate hot cocoa mix with which to cheer myself up. "I wonder if Sam would like some European dark chocolate," I mused.
The party was cancelled because of Saturday's weather.
I should have bought the chocolate.

song: A Sorta Farytale • artist: Tori Amos

Blinded by the Light

Here's some helpful advice from the voice of experience.
When there's a nor'easter predicted and you expect that the electricity could go out, it's best not to get your flashlights out and organize them on the countertop in anticipation. This is because your children will inevitably take them down and play with them. When the lights finally do go out you'll be left standing in the pitch black going "where the ?&$&!!*$% are the flashlights!"

song: Blinded by the Light • artist: Bruce Springsteen

post-halloween couplet

Happy jack-o-lantern grins at me
Innocent of what his fate will be.

post-halloween quatrain

Searching out a healthy treat
Something good for mommy to eat
I find halloween candy
Irresistibly handy

The Wind

Poor Colin Murphy. He doesn't want a wind turbine near his house. "I don't want to hear it or see it, and I don't think I should have to be bothered by it," he is quoted as saying in the Enterprise about Webb Research Corporation's plan to erect a wind turbine on their Technology Park property. With the turbine Mr. Webb hopes to provide electricity for his company using a renewable energy source.
That Mr. Murphy objects to possible noise caused by the wind turbine is ironic given his line of work in the tree industry. I can think of nothing more objectionable than having to listen to chain saws, leaf blowers, chippers, and lawn mowers when they are working at houses in my neighborhood.
More ironic however is Mr. Murphy's statement itself. The rising level of carbon dioxide (CO2) in the Earth's atmosphere, a phenomena some people refer to as global warming, is a process that can't be seen or heard, but it's for certain that Mr. Murphy, or his children, will someday "be bothered by it."
So what's it going to be Mr. Murphy? Fight the devil that you can see or give some serious consideration to the one you can't.

song: The Wind • artist: Cat Stevens

Two Months Later (a list poem)

Your dog
Your truck
Your books
Your bike
Your rollerblades
Your shark teeth
Your York Barbells
Your hot air corn popper
Your Mack Truck collection

What happens to your things, without you?

Communication Breakdown

It's important to be specific with kids. They are very literal little people. Sunday afternoon C went skating, the first Sunday session we've gone to since the club started. I explained that unlike Tuesday nights, there was no group lesson, he was just to have free time for 45 minutes. He seemed to get it but then he got on the ice and went immediately to the back and glommed onto the basic skills class Katie was teaching. Katie either took it in stride or didn't realize he wasn't signed up to be in the class.
After the session was over he informed me:
"You were wrong, momma, there was a lesson."
Monday night I was trying to get everyone undressed in order to get them into their pajamas and subsequently into bed. I had already asked C numerous times to take off his sweat pants when the kitchen timer went off and I had to go downstairs and take some stuff out of the oven. When I got back upstairs he was stark naked and rearranging the furniture in his brother's room.
When I yelled at him and declared I wasn't going to read him any books because he still wasn't in his pajamas he said:
"But momma, you didn't say to put my pajamas on."
Of course the reverse is also true. It's important to get specifics when they tell you something.
Last night C dictated this letter which I dutifully wrote down:
A note for the fairies
Please make sure at [sic] everything goes back in its place. Make sure you have cleaned the house and please wash our sink. If you would like to, you can do it with your wands.
Thank You,
C

So, before going to bed I washed down the kitchen sink and cleared everything off the countertop. I don't know where he's getting this notion of fairies, if I wanted him to be well acquainted with fairy lore I'd send him to the Waldorf school.
First thing in the morning he's up.
"I wonder if the fairies came," he mused.
Then he went straight into the bathroom and looked in the sink.
"It's still dirty!"

song: Communication Breakdown • artist: Led Zeppelin

Pirate King

Better far to live and die,
Under the brave black flag I fly,
Than play a sanctimonious part,
With a pirate head and a pirate heart.
Away to the cheating world go you,
Where pirates all are well to do.
But I'll be true to the song I sing,
And live and die and pirate king.
• • • •
When I sally forth to seek my pray
I help myself in a royal way.
I sink a few more ships it's true,
Than a well-bred monarch ought to do.
But many a king on a first-class throne,
If he wants to call his crown his own,
Must manage somehow to get through,
More dirty work than ever I do.

song: Pirate King • artist: Gilbert & Sullivan

clerihew for lancelot

Robert Goulet
died yesterday.
His fans loved him a lot.
Elvis Presley did not.

I Want Candy

Only two more days until Halloween C reminded me yesterday. As if I'd forgotten. He'd like to know why there's school on Halloween since it's a holiday. Surely in a country where we get free tacos for stolen bases, and kids get to miss school because some Italian merchant with a few ships accidentally "found" the new world and mistakenly proclaimed the natives "Indians," we ought to get a day off to gorge ourselves with candy. It almost seems unamerican that we don't.
Someone asked me if I was the kind of mom who passed out toothbrushes for Halloween. No, I'm not quite that bad. This year I got individual bags of goldfish crackers instead. C, picked them out, they're the ones in all the different colors - how all-natural looking. It's not that I don't like candy, it's just that the kids get enough of it without our house adding to the pile. Take my neighbors for example. We live on a dead end, dirt road, with perhaps 35 houses, half of them empty this time of year. On the whole street my two kids and one other little boy make up the only trick or treaters likely to come calling. That's three kids. So if it were me, I would buy three candy bars, maybe four to err on the side of caution. But at every house we go to there's a big bowl of candy - a big bowl. When we get to the house (we usually team up with Matthew and all go out together), it's always the same, the homeowner will say something to the effect of "well, looks like you boys are the only trick or treaters we're going to get (it's all of 6:15), why don't you go ahead and take more than one piece." In this way, even though we only trick or treat to a dozen houses (maybe less), including our own, where three bags of goldfish sit in a relatively tiny bowl, the kids still come home with enough candy to choke a dentist.

song: I Want Candy • artist: Bow Wow Wow

Get it Right the First Time

There's frost predicted tonight so I covered up the plants in the garden in an effort to keep them alive until spring. We planted garlic, onions, parsnips, kale, and radishes; something ought to make it. Having never tried to winter anything over, I don't know what will happen. I suppose if everything dies we'll just be staring from zero again in the spring which is where we usually start from. I love the book Being There where the caretaker, Chance, talks about the garden and everyone assumes he's using the garden as a metaphor for life, when in reality he's just talking about the garden.
Gardening is a metaphor for life. It involves accumulating knowledge slowly, season by season, year by year, one mistake at a time. It involves working with outside forces that are often beyond the control of the gardener. One should never start a garden and then stop after just one season, just as a homeowner should never single-handedly lay a wood floor in just one room. Once the knowledge has been acquired, it must be used over and over and tweaked to fit new circumstances - in the bedroom, in the hallway, in the living room, and so on.
The same could be said for parenting. It stands to reason that we should gain experience, learn from our mistakes, and become better parents with each offspring. What a waste to take all that hard-got parenting know how and not put it to work a second time. On the other hand, and from a personal perspective, have I really learned that much in the past five years? I've learned that you can't believe what you read in parenting books and magazines. Kids like choices for example:
me: "Do you want to stop hitting your brother or go straight to bed when we get home?"
(long pause)
me: "Well? What's it going to be?"
him: "I'm thinking."

song: Get it Right the First Time • artist: Billy Joel

Let's Spend the Night Together

With the Cape Cod Marathon happening tomorrow, Ken's friend Duke and our friend John Evans are both spending the night at the house. I spruced up the guest room and put some blankets and a pillow in the living room (the small couch pulls out).
C wanted to know why Duke and John couldn't just sleep in the guest room together.
"Because they're too tall," I said.

song: Let's Spend the Night Together • artist: The Rolling Stones

Carry that Weight

At an ultrasound appointment last week the technician estimated that each twin weighs about one-and-a-half pounds. That means I'm carrying around three pounds of baby - and 17 pounds of what else?

song: Carry that Weight • artist: The Beatles

I'm Slowly Turning Into You

There are a million tiny ways in which we can turn into our mothers. When I was a kid my mother was a perfectionist when it came to costume making and doll clothes. All the outfits my Barbie had featured matching hats, ponchos (it was the 70s after all), tank top shirts, and bellbottom pants. All hand knit and packaged with little color-coordinated high heel shoes. My mother would lie the ensembles on styrofoam trays, that, in a previous lives had served as the backing for some store-bought vegetable or another. The packages was neatly arranged and then finished off by securing clear plastic wrap over them.
She sewed perfect hemlines in skating costumes that got worn on the ice for all of two minutes when other moms simply cut skirts off at the right length and didn't even bother to turn up the bottom.
On Sunday I made my first-ever scarecrow. As noted previously, it doesn't have a penis.
It's a decent scarecrow, but not anything to crow about. I tried to complete it in an afternoon and not obsess over details. In my sixth grade after school art class we made life-size dolls, from pillows, tights, and wigs. My doll had a nylon heads that I hand-stitched a face onto. I called her Suzie. It took all my willpower not to take scarecrow creating to the level of life-size doll making. I worked hard to convince myself the scarecrow didn't need a wig. It didn't need any hair. It didn't even need a face. For clothing I settled on a plaid shirt and resisted putting my old frayed-around-the-sleeves jacket on over it. For the head I ended up using a plastic shopping bag stuffed with other bags, covered by a baseball hat. The only problem being I couldn't find the duct tape to secure it and it's been windy every night since Sunday, meaning that every morning the scarecrow's head is somewhere in the yard.
I think this lends a legend of sleepy hollow-type air to the whole thing.
I carried the don't-sweat-the-small-stuff philosophy, otherwise known as "don't become your mother," into last night as well when I spent two hours sewing white stripes onto C's pirate vest. A pirate vest should have stripes, I reasoned; but after using the better part of two hours to sew three stripes onto one side of the front of the vest and still having the stripes on the other side merely pinned on, I revised my position on the subject. A pirate vest should have stripes on the front. The back could be left empty. After all, it only has to make C happy and he was perfectly happy without any stripes at all.

song: I'm Slowly Turning Into You • artist White Stripes

San Franciscan Nights

I see in the paper that the co-inventor of Rice-A-Roni has died. Surely I owe this man a debt of gratitude. I'm not clear how one co-invents a rice product, but Mr. DeDomenico would no doubt be pleased to know that his jingle lives on in my heart and his little boxes of Rice-A-Roni fill my kitchen cabinets.
So here's to Mr. DeDomenico for keeping me awash in Spanish rice in the style in which I've become accustomed.
I wonder if the inventor, or co-inventor, of Near East is still alive.

song: San Franciscan Nights • The Animals

The Entertainer

Recently I told another mother that C was heartily entertained for two hours one afternoon gluing a big clump of acorns together using my glue gun. The other mom was surprised I'd let a five year old use a glue gun. "He did burn himself once," I admitted, but think of those two hours! Heck, I'd let my kids play with power tools if it entertained them for 10 minutes.

song: The Entertainer • artist: Billy Joel

Across the Universe

It looks as if H is going to be as succinct as C is loquacious. When asked by the library staff where is brother was (at preschool), H answered:
"Gone."
When pressed he elaborated:
"Gone in daddy's truck."
Yesterday when he was upstairs I yelled up to ask what he was playing with:
"Toys."
Over on the other side of the world - yesterday C asked me which way the earth moved around the sun, and, was the earth moving around the sun as fast as it takes his fingernails to grow.
The answers? I don't know, and, I don't know.
They both have one thing in common though, independently of each other they both pull things out of the trash and tell me:
"Don't throw this away, Momma."

song: Across the Universe • artist The Beatles

My Name

Sorry, I know the women of production have already heard this one. I was thinking that really we only have to come up with one more boy name that we like. Say we decide to go with Matthew. One twin can be called Matthew, the other, "not Matthew."
We will not however, under any circumstances, be naming either twin Boston.

song: My Name • musical: Oliver

Rain on the Scarecrow

This afternoon C suggested we make the world's first anatomically correct scarecrow.
"Is he going to have a penis," he asked as I stuffed moth-chewed oak leaves into a pair of Ken's jeans.
"Even if he had one you wouldn't be able to see it," I said, though I don't know why I answered that way instead of saying, "of course not!"
"But you could make him going to the bathroom," suggested C.
I'm sure the neighbors would love that.

song: Rain on the Scarecrow • artist: John Mellencamp

My Life

Earlier today I was thinking that my life was like a credit card commercial:
Two pirate hats: $17.99
Two eye patches: $2.58
Two plastic swords: $9.98
Two scarfs from the thrift shop to wear as sashes: $4.00
One vest from the thrift shop: $1.50
One white shirt from Woods Hole Child Care Center's Rummage Sale: $2.00
Watching my children chase each other around the backyard in their Halloween costumes: priceless
But then this happened. Driving home from the Silver Lounge tonight we passed a car on the side of the road - the driver was changing a flat. A second car was on the scene with its lights shining on the first vehicle. I commented to Ken: "look at that poor guy changing a tire."
C: What?
Mommy: That car had a flat tire.
C: What?
Mommy: That car by the side of the road.
C: Where?
Mommy: That we just passed.
C: When?
Mommy: Just now.
So you see really my life is like an Abbott and Costello sketch.

song: My Life • artist: Billy Joel

Eleanor

H likes to sing Happy Birthday To You. He breaks out into it at odd times and for no reason that I can detect. He sings it when we're driving in the car, during dinner, whenever the mood strikes him. It's disconcerting since I'm often confused about details such as what day of the week it is or what month of the year it is, now I have to stop and consider "whose birthday is it today?"
It just so happens that today is Eleanor's birthday. We were at the Silver Lounge tonight (the caboose) and from the main dining room we heard an enthusiastic rendition of Happy Birthday To You being sung to someone named Eleanor. I turned to H and said, "they're singing your favorite song," then I turned to Ken and said, "I'll bet Eleanor's turning 90."
Turns out Eleanor was turning 99.

song: Eleanor • artist: Low Millions

You Sexy Thing

There's this magazine called More, maybe it's new or maybe I just never noticed it before. More is a magazine for women forty and over, I guess the idea being there's more to life than being youthful and shapely though you'd never know it from the magazine's advertising; but that's another rant. The issue I picked up (in the free bin at the library) included a feature about how men find gray hair sexy. This is news? Sorry, but in my, albeit limited, experience, men are turned on by any woman they think they might be able to get into bed - they might not be interesting in a long-term relationship - but long-term relationships weren't the focus of this article. The article merely examined the idea that men find women, even women with gray hair, sexy. I know I'm generalizing here and of course this doesn't apply to my darling husband, or the sensitive men my sons will grow up to be.
In their own defense men are up against many millennia of conditioning. Here's a similar take on the subject using males of a different species. According to the book Elephants on Acid, scientists at the University of Pennsylvania were intrigued by a male turkey that tried to mate with a lifelike female turkey. They decided to remove parts of the turkey model one by one to see how many turkey appendages they could take away before the male turkey would lose interest. They ended up with nothing but a fake female turkey head on a stick and still the male turkey was interested in a proverbial roll in the hay.
There was no data in the report on whether the fake female turkey head had gray hair or not.

song: You Sexy Thing • artist: Hot Chocolate

Five O'Clock World

Ah Fridays. When I can come to work. Where it's quiet. Where no one asks me to play chess, and I can feed my unborn children junk food from the office vending machine. This Friday was better than most food wise though, Cindy left me some fruit and I snuck some coffee cake out of sales.
Speaking of fruit - did you know that technically speaking any type of produce that contains seeds is a fruit and not a vegetable? That means: tomatoes, squash, cucumbers, and peppers are all fruits. And it means Ronald Regan was wrong when he tried to classify ketchup as a vegetable in school lunches. Just an interesting fact you may want to use at the next cocktail party.
It cracked me up to hear the song Five O'Clock World being played in Betsy's Diner on Thursday with the defiant refrain, it's a five o'clock world when the whistle blows. No one owns a piece of my time.
When does the whistle blow when you're a mother? At 8:30 when the kids are finally asleep? Then it's time to start the second shift, cleaning the kitchen, bringing laundry downstairs, picking up and folding clothes and making lunch for preschool tomorrow - lunch, by request, with a lot of snacks in it. Even asleep they own a piece of my time.
Now if I was sentimental I would point out that the Vogues song ends like this, 'Cause everytime my baby smiles at me, I know that it's all worthwhile.

song: Five O'Clock World • artist: Vogues

Stumblin' In

C had a well-child appointment at the pediatrician's office last month. After a few minutes in the waiting room we were called in by the nurse for weighing and measuring and then it was time for all three of us to pile into the bathroom so C could "leave a sample."
At our pediatrician's office you just leave your sample in a Dixie cup. H saw the cups and demanded a drink of water. So I poured him one. Yes that's right, I let my kids drink tap water.
Since I hadn't received any further instruction on what to do with it, I left the sample on the back of the toilet. We exited the bathroom with H in the lead, still clutching his cup of water. The nurse saw us coming and a look of horror spread across her face as she immediately jumped to the conclusion that I'd let my two-year-old son carry his brother's urine sample.
"It's just water!" I yelled out as H tripped and spilled it on the floor.

song: Stumblin' In • artist: Chris Norman & Suzi Quatro

Abbey Road

C has been helpful lately in offering up name suggestions for the twins.
"How about we name one of the twins Abbie?" he said.
"Well, Abbie is mostly a girl's name and the twins are boys." I said.
"Why can't we name one Abbie anyway?"
"Won't that be confusing? People will think the baby is a girl when it's really a boy."
"What if we name one Mr. Abbie?"

Album: Abbey Road • artist: The Beatles

The Way

On Thursday I took the kids to the Green Animals Topiary Garden in Portsmouth, Rhode Island. The garden and mansion are part of the historic Newport Mansions, overseen by the Preservation Society of Newport Mansions . It was mid-week in October meaning, while not completely empty, there weren't a lot of visitors to the garden that day. So much the better since it meant no one caught my kids touching the topiaries, shaking the bamboo, trying to eat the grapes off the arbor, and stirring sticks around in the fish pond, all activities I'm sure the preservation society would frown on.
Upon leaving, we went to a conservation area that was recently mentioned in a Boston Globe travel article. According to mapquest, the spot was less than two miles from Green Animals but I went by it at least three or four times before finally figuring out where it was located. The reason being, the road came off the circular driveway of the elementary school with no street sign to suggest the driveway was anything but the entrance to the school. It seems to me the Globe should have mention such an important detail. Something along the lines of "to get to the conservation land you must pull into the Melville Elementary School," but alas, I was on my own.
Strangely though, I knew where I was. It was exactly where Gene and I got lost and had to do several turnarounds trying to find a fishing spot while researching On The Water's Fishing New England: A Rhode Island Shore Guide. It dawned on me when I pulled into this small shopping plaza thinking maybe it would lead to the conservation area. The name of the road was King Charles Drive and I remembered Gene and I did the same thing. We took the road thinking perhaps the location we were seeking, Weaver Cove, was just behind the shopping complex. The road led to neither conservation land nor fishing hole, just the shopping mall.
Not to criticize the Globe, but in our fishing guide, we gave both specific directions, and, a darn good map of the area. In fact I wish I'd brought my guide book along on Thursday, since I also recall that the fishing spot was a lot nicer than the conservation land turned out to be.

song: The Way • artist: Fastball

free verse #1

Cat go
A mouse
Catch that mouse
- a poem by C

Another Brick in the Wall

On Monday evening C came home with a broken piece of concrete. Preschoolers collecting rocks is nothing new, but this piece of concrete looked suspiciously like my chunk of the Berlin Wall. A historic piece of concrete that was procured through the sweat and toil of my friends Clayton and Peter back in 1990, when the three of us were in Berlin and the Berlin Wall was still in Berlin as well instead of being in little pieces in people's desk drawers.
"You could sell it on ebay," suggested Ken of my chunk of German history.
I could, but how could I verify that it is an actual piece of the Berlin Wall and not just another piece of concrete my five year old brought home from the sports center?
I could enclose a photograph of the piece being held after it was hacked off the wall. That might be convincing, but still, a photograph can be staged.
There's a funny story about my piece of the Berlin Wall. When we arrived in Berlin we had to walk along next to where the wall used to be for some time before we came to a spot where there was still some wall left to chip away. While we were walking, one of the three of us picked up a piece of metal. I'd say it was three inches by eight inches-long. It was all we had to work with to attain our goal - free souvenirs from Berlin. We got to the wall and began hacking away. We, being a relative term, Clayton and Peter hacked, I took photographs. During the time the two of them were hacking, a bus load of Japanese tourists pulled up. The group, equipped with pick axes, exited the bus. In minutes, using their superior tools, all the Japanese tourists had their souvenirs. Many then returned to the bus, but some stayed behind and took video of - you guessed it - the ill-equipped American tourists who were woefully unprepared for their encounter with the wall.
Somewhere out there is copious video footage of two unshaven Americans banging away at the Berlin Wall with a piece of metal. If only I could get a hold of one of these clips I could use it to authenticate my ebay posting.

song: Another Brick in the Wall • artist: Pink Floyd

Ring Ring

On Monday I squandered my first day of having C at preschool until 3:30. He's been asking me since the first week of school when he could stay and have lunch with his friends. Signing him up for lunch seemed like a bad deal for mommy because a) I'd have to pay another $5 a day, and b) I'd have to make him lunch. Sending him for the full day, twice a week, seemed like a better solution.
So, with the whole day, until 3:30, stretched out in front of us, I took H to the outlet mall in Sagamore to buy ski pants for C to wear to ice skating this week. It was a great plan but it was foiled when, after parking the car, I realized I didn't have my wallet with me. H and I persevered and went in to price ski pants anyway before giving up and going to feed rainbow trout at the fish hatchery.
In the ladies room at the mall we got to witness a woman answering her cell phone in the stall next to ours. That she answered the phone didn't surprise me that much, that she told the other party she was going to the bathroom struck me as more information than the caller might have needed to know. She didn't offer to call her friend back, she talked through the rest of her business, through the flush, and through the hand wash. She was still talking when we left her meeting up with her husband outside the bathroom.
Is there any situation when people consider it inappropriate to answer a cell phone? During sex? At a funeral? While giving birth? While your wife's giving birth?

song: Ring Ring • artist: Abba

Anniversary Song

Happy anniversary to my husband Ken.
However would the leftovers get put away so efficiently without you?

song: Anniversary Song • artist: Cowboy Junkies

Lightnin' Strikes

Lying on my back in bed at night with my hands on my stomach, I wait for a kick. At this stage it's like trying to watch for a bolt of lightening during a storm; even though you're scanning the skies and covering as much ground as possible, you're never looking in the right spot.
Here's a fact, the chances of a woman having twins increase as she ages, regardless of family history or use of fertility drugs. Identical twins are a truly spontaneous occurrence, again not dependent on family history.
Now they tell me!

song: Lightnin' Strikes • artist: Lou Christie