Something out of nothing? Not really.

Well, I sat down here to lay down some of what's been happening this week and find myself not knowing where to start. One reason could be that the week has been so ridiculously busy I have had regular feelings of falling into a deep pit filled with quicksand and 2-headed laundry monsters nipping at me from all directions and another reason is that nothing's going on. Seems a bit contradictory, No? I often wonder how an entire week can go by in a flash. A flash, I say! And I cannot relate to someone just what occurred to make it fly by, since we all know how fast time flies when we're having....fun, is it?

Here are the highlights from the week since the last post:

• Absolutely fabulous meal with our own, personal The Finer Things Club meets Farm Life in Iowa book club and dinner meeting. We discussed the Pulitzer Prize winning "A Thousand Acres". I give it a solid 6.5 out of 10. I give the dinner a big fat 10. There were steaks and melt-in-your-mouth potatoes with fresh chives from the garden, a sinful apple pie, a real, live Jell-o mold, which added a beautiful splash of red to our plates, and a spinach/cheese puff. An All-American Meal. Plus, it was my first night out in what seemed like 14 years. And there was wine.
  
• My first set of power hedge trimmers finally came out of the box and I let out a few tough girl grunts and felt the power surging through my veins as I chopped and trimmed the straggly mess that is our front yard. If ever you find yourself feeling weak and powerless, Power Tools are the answer! Forget self-help books and 12 step programs. Get a weed eater and start whacking! Grab a hedge trimmer and hack up some shrubbery. I don't mind getting dirty and sweaty when I can feel that engine rumbling under my hands. The adrenaline (or is it testosterone?) is intoxicating. No wonder men are so cocky. It's the tools. As absolutely fabulous as an immersion blender is, one has never made me want to say, "HoooYaaa!".
• Lactic Acid Build-up. I have obviously been severely negligent in the muscle development of my legs, because after a workout of many squats and lunge type activities, I'm sure I look like I'm walking with a giant stick up my arse since every step zaps my legs and butt with what I am sure is 50,000 volts of high quality electricity.
  
• The AIA hosted an open house to view the product of their hours of teaching at various Austin-area elementary schools. Big E's class was the only one to actually build 3-D models of homes, so in addition to the farms, igloos, huts, adobes, teepees, and Big E's Le Corbusier-inspired home, we got to see models of small cities, floorplans that included bowling alleys and laser-tag rooms, and house elevations. The architects were very nice and offered Big E a job. We're in the negotiation process now.

Can these guys even be out of college yet?

That about wraps up a week in the life of me. Aside from all the rest of the stuff .

The boy

Once upon a time there was a girl and the girl was going to have a baby. She already had a baby girl, and she felt very, very certain that the new baby would be a baby girl too. And then she'd have two little girls to lock up in the attic when they turned 15. She decided to go to the doctor and have the doctor confirm her irrefutable intuition. The doctor tried telling the girl that there appeared to be a penis in the ultrasound. The girl said "No...look again.". The doctor looked again and said it was most definitely a penis. The girl said "No, it must be the umbilical cord. I cannot raise a boy. Boys turn into men and I don't know how to make one of those". The doctor was not to be swayed from this opinion. The girl was nervous.

The girl told her little girl that she was going to have a new baby brother. The little girl said "That's OK Mommy, there's still time for the baby to change into a girl". The girl said "Hmmm..maybe".

Six months later the girl gave birth to the baby. It was indeed a boy. The boy grew. He grew and grew and grew. Before long the boy crawled and walked and climbed. The girl was tired. Then the boy would climb his little boy body up into the girl's lap and he would cuddle close. He was a warm, snuggly boy when he wasn't jumping and climbing. The girl was happy.

Then one day the boy turned Five. He was still warm and snuggly, but then he said things like, "Your kisses are slobbery". But the girl kissed him anyway. And he laughed his sweet, little boy giggle and gave her big, slobbery kisses too.

And the girl was happy.

Hormonal Wisdom

There must be some things that older women have taken an oath not to share with we younger women....I still count myself among the latter group, thank you....but I think I may have stumbled upon something, some tidbit of knowledge that may make the whole world a better place, and having sworn no oath myself I feel obliged to share it.

Here it is.

PMS does NOT cause us to view the world in an irrational way. I admit it can seem that way to wary onlookers, among whom I have been for many, many years. It is very much the opposite. The rush of hormones that flood our bodies bring us the GIFT of finally seeing the world with a clarity that normal human beings, aka men, children and non-PMS women, can neither see nor appreciate. The super-human PMS woman can see finally how absurd and ridiculous it is to cajole her children to eat their dinner. A perfectly nice, child-friendly dinner. Consuming food is a necessary bodily function! Why must a child be encouraged to eat? Do we fall overselves telling them "Way to go! You breathed all day today!"?

This revelation came to me last week as I sat at a favorite kiddie hot-spot enjoying the free Wi-Fi while Little A terrorized the bacteria tubes. The mom seated behind me was gushing praise over her two children for what a great job! they were doing eating their french fries. Really? Must praise be showered for consuming a french fry? A couple of days later, I found myself gently encouraging, cajoling, bribing, reminding my own children to eat their dinner. Then the hormones kicked in and I saw oh so clearly! If they don't want to eat what I put before them at night they can make their own dinner! Or better yet, not eat at all! They can take their behinds upstairs and go to bed hungry! Yes! It's just that simple. No more wrangling. No more pleading. Dinnertime bliss and a glass of wine.

I have PMS to thank for this eye-opening experience. I can hardly wait to see what pearl of wisdom next month will bring. I'm so excited. I know they are too.

Giving Thanks

We fooled all the other travelers by waiting until Thursday morning to begin our journey to OKC for Thanksgiving with my family. Except that when we stopped at That Coffee Place That Shall Not Be Named in Hillsboro everyone in the whole wide world was there too. The poor kids working there all looked like some unfortunate soul who has a crazy person shooting a gun at their feet while screaming at them to "DANCE!". I thought to myself that when my turn came I should be sure to be upbeat and cheerful, wish them a very happy Thanksgiving and leave them with a big fat tip to help make up for the living Hell they were experiencing on what is supposed to be such a nice day. But when my turn came up an hour and a half later I was doing well to remember what I was there for in the first place. While I'm fairly sure I managed to not be unpleasant I definitely forgot to tip which I realized about 10 miles down the road and then, the guilt. I'm hopeful that this semi-public confession will act as a small penance and even out my karma a bit.

Dinner at my parents' house was a delight. Big E and Little A had a MARVELOUS time with their cousins. Big E can hardly contain her energy and goes full throttle from the moment her eyes pop open around 6:30 am until she loses the battle to keep them open just one more minute around midnight. Little A found himself sleeping in his and Big E's old bed (which now belongs to Little M). A moment of sentimentality washed over me as I tucked him in for the night. Then I heard someone opening a beer and I gave him a quick peck on the forehead and a "'night!" as I raced out of the room for a night of Taboo. AmySooLoo and I make one HELL of a Taboo team, let me say! We were on FIRE! RW and BB seem to think it had something to do with us living together for 15 years and talking on the phone every day for the last 9 years, but whatever! They're just trying to look for excuses for their embarrassing, ego-crushing loss. So, I guess I'm thankful for kicking ass at Taboo.

Other things I'm thankful for....Big M and her awesome moves and skills and for letting me know that I don't HAVE to say "freakin' God", Little M actually gave me three kisses (a record!) AND let me get her tummy, AP's pumpkin pies, AmySooLoo's mashed potatoes (there better NOT have been cauliflower in there!) and a bed to crash on, Mom and Dad's turkey and gourd-shaped salt and pepper shakers (three complete sets!), Uncle D's lesson on the ring around the moon (right again!), RW is Johnny-on-the-Spot with the DP, Boy cousins who love to play Monopoly. Family. Friends. Health. Big E. Little A. Bubble Boy. Good times.

Stuffing

There are certain things that once mentioned or experienced will form a memory that will be forever linked to another experience or thought. This may occur out of repetition such as a child misspeaking a word so many times that in the future anytime you hear this word (or the word it was supposed to be) you will hearken back to the memories of their chubby little smeary face talking with grand enthusiasm about the asthma that oozes out of volcanoes. And you hate anyone who dares to correct them. Let them grow up thinking asthma comes out of a volcano. WHO CARES? It's adorable.

Or it can occur because it coincides with an important event. The morbid of these is when a death happens close to a holiday those sad events are inextricably linked forever. The happy of these is when you can connect something, like a birth, to an event, or a song, or a particular blanket, etc...Such as when Bubble Boy and I drove to the hospital to experience the horror that was birthing Big E we listened to a Smashing Pumpkins CD, so whenever I hear 1979 I will forever think of that chilly early morning drive. It invokes those feelings of uncertainty during my last moments as not-a-mom, The bladder-emptying fear. The bladder-emptying excitement. Or maybe that was just a big, 2 week overdue baby. Either way.

So, today when I began making the stuffing for the Thanksgiving dinner I pondered the making of the same stuffing five years ago. The recipe was new, from Mrs. E, who has since abandoned me for "family" and "no fire ants" in California. I was making a gigantic batch...one for a potluck, one for our dinner and one to freeze because Uncle K was coming to visit and it's nice to have a back-up. I was hugely pregnant with Little A (he weighed in at 9 lbs, 7 oz - no petite flower...I blame the Halloween candy), and was chopping and sautéing my little heart out when da! da! DA! my water broke. I was beyond elated to have had my water break. This was THE event I wanted to experience in my life more than anything else. Big E was 2 weeks late and even after an induction was loathe to enter the world (that stubbornness? don't know where she gets it and yes, it HAS lingered), so having the water break meant good things! I won't go into the whole birth story because really? who needs to read how it went really brilliantly and then we had a crazy-ass nurse who was convinced he had a raging infection and SHE was the only reason he was still alive? No one. So.....moving on.

Forever and always I will think of That Moment when I'm making that stuffing which I will make every Thanksgiving. And I want you to never make another stuffing either. Everyone MUST make this stuffing, so now you can all think about my water breaking when you make it. Won't that be nice? So, here's the recipe.

Pistachio Cranberry Stuffing

1 lbs bulk sausage
½ cup butter
1 maui/Vidalia onion
1 ½ cup chopped celery
1 T minced garlic
1 1//2 cup dry white wine (or drink the wine and use chicken broth)
1 lbs dried herb stuffing (dry)
12 oz dried cranberries (soaked and drained)
1 cup shelled pistachios, coarsely chopped
¼ cup Grand Marnier or zest and juice from one orange
2 eggs lightly beaten
salt and pepper

Cook sausage in skillet and put in large bowl. In same skillet, add butter and sauté celery, onion and garlic. Add wine and cook 2 minutes. Add stuffing, sausage, and sauté mix in large bowl. Add dried cranberries, pistachios, orange juice, and eggs. Mix well. Place mixture in greased casserole and bake at 350, 30-40 minutes. (Cover with foil).
Add chicken broth or OJ if too dry. (or amniotic fluid if you have any)

Family Project

Big E has had the privilege to have a group of architects come into her third grade class this year and teach the kids all about architecture. It's been a great experience and we feel very lucky that she's had the opportunity. What a great way for a business to do some community service and smarten up some kids! She's learned about details, scale, types of architecture, etc... They even had the chance to draw a blueprint of their dream house, although they caution against the inevitable bowling alleys, race tracks...you know, the kinds of things you see on Cribs (I'm thinking Tony Hawk's abode, specifically). So when she came home saying they needed to create a 3D model of their dream house, I wasn't particularly surprised. I was surprised by the fact that we only had one week to complete said project. Usually the assignments are given out in Plenty o'Time to accommodate other homework and activities. So, we set right to work. Loooooong story short, Bubble Boy ended up cutting a helluva lot of foam core since we didn't consider it prudent to put a razor blade in Big E's hands. Who knows what kind of long harbored ill wishes might come out? Big E did a lot of measuring and gluing and approximately 5000 hours later this is what we ended up with.

Yes, that IS an Olympic size pool. And a trampoline the size of my entire living room. We had lots of fun on this little project, so it didn't hurt quite as much as it could have when we found out that the project didn't actually have to be their DREAM house, it could be any kind of living structure, including teepees, igloos, huts, etc... And it wasn't quite as painful to discover when on the morning we carried this thing to school that the entire project was OPTIONAL. Maybe it'll be worth millions when she's the next Frank Gehry.

Swell Season Indeed

Thursday, when this current go-round of feeling like I'm breathing through toothpaste was just a little glimmer on the edge of the horizon, Bubble Boy and I had a living breathing babysitter come entertain the children with her finely honed abilities of texting faster than speaking. We hadn't had a hired babysitter (someone other than family) to go out at night for over a year, I think. We did that Sunday morning date back when Spiderman 3 came out but have been reluctant to go out at nighttime since our favorite sitter hiked her rates to [GULP] $14/hour and the Bubble kids have been well-trained to resist any effort to get them to go to bed. Their bedtime avoidance skills are among the best I've heard about and takes an assertive, nay aggressive, personality to prevent them from completely overpowering the situation.

SO, the circumstance for our diving back into the babysitter circuit was to go see The Swell Season. I've had them on the margin here as "being on my iPod" for a few weeks, because since my day of Skinny Dippin' a while back I just cannot get enough of their music. It was serendipity to find that they would be performing in Austin.

After scrambling to do my normal afternoon activities plus make myself stunning (I wore a skirt! boots with heels!) for a night out on the town I headed downtown to pick up Bubble Boy. I slowed down to slightly slower than speeding for him to hop in the car and we began the search for parking. How can there be so little parking? Isn't there a city manager or something to kinda make sure the city is workable? It's great to have this thriving downtown scene but how the hell can people get to it? Whatever. I was confirmed in my feelings that I am basically introverted because when it all comes down to it, I hate people. No, No...not you. Not individuals. Masses. Throngs. Crowds. I found myself starting to shut down and lash out. Finally got some food and a beer and things started to mellow, much to Bubble Boy's relief, because I think he was ready to start pretending he didn't know that woman who Hates People.

Then the show started and all was good with the world again. I didn't mind the fact that I had to stand the entire time, much of it on my tippy toes in my high heeled boots since I am one of smaller stature. I didn't mind the chill in the air. What I did mind was Texas Hair Blonde Woman in front of me who would not SHUT UP. She apparently felt the need to comment on every verse of every song to her much older boyfriend/husband/sugar daddy. Her hair was so big (how big was it??), she could've been hiding a week's worth of groceries in there, so everytime she leaned over to whisper something witty, entertaining, annoying to her man I had to take two steps to the right to see around her again.

But I didn't let it get me down. The show was too fun and good to let something like crowds and big hair ruin it for me. After the show we walked down 6th Street for a while to check out the goings-on. I enjoyed looking at the names some of the other bands performing at the many live-music venues. My favorite was Lyin' Bitch and the Restraining Order.

When we got home the kids looked angelic as they snoozed in their beds and the sitter gave a glowing report. I'm so happy to be back in the babysitter market.

Piling it on

I have broken the hearts of ten 8 and 9 year old girls.

For months I've had this day highlighted in my calendar as GIRL SCOUT CAMPOUT. The first time my friend and I were to take these little adventurers on a real tent camping trip. True, we were only going as far as her backyard. But! she has a large, undeveloped tract of land on the other side of her fence, so in reality it is more secluded than any of the campgrounds I've been to in the last year. The bathroom was closer, but other than that, it was to be truly roughing it. Well, except for the trampoline and playscape. But besides those things....hard core camping. I wasn't even going to take my air mattress or crockpot.

But alas, it is not to be. Despite my best efforts at denial over the last two days my body has succumbed to Yet Another Illness. It's not like I go around licking toilet seats and shopping cart handles. So what gives? Did I not properly cleanse my body of toxins TWICE this year? Yes I did. A total of 6 weeks of deprivation and herbal concoctions to boost my immune system which apparently now is about as strong as the dried up crispy wisp of a leaf that flew in the back door yesterday. I had a couple of weeks of feeling strong and healthy and here I find myself in bed hacking, sniffing and typing of my woes while Bubble Boy and children are off enjoying the last game of the soccer season and the trophy party. And I had to make the phone calls to inform the girls that the camping trip was canceled. I tried to blame part of it on the chance for rain, which is slightly more than slight. But we all know who the culprit here is. I will shoulder the guilt but I feel an overwhelming urge to go out and buy them all puppies and kittens to make it all better.

Flashback

Not much going on today. Which translates into there's all kinds of crazy stuff going on today..and yesterday...and tomorrow. I try to not think about anything beyond the next 12 hours because that would send me straight into Shut Down mode with no hope of rebooting until Dec 1. Why is November so nuts? Of course, I will be thinking the same thing a month from now as I scramble to throw a festive holiday together. That'll be me rocking uncontrollably in the fetal position as I mutter recipes, party obligations, and tips on making those holiday traditions extra-special for your family or else you're a horrible person whose children are doomed to grow up to be the next Jeffrey Dahmer and it will be all because you didn't make a Gingerbread House with them.

Speaking of whom...that provides a nice segue into the topic of 1994. Remember then? Good times, when not all of us carried cell phones and those who did lugged large bricks with antennae around on their hips. Or when you actually had to go to the Computer Lab to do your college assignments that required a computer because no one had laptops. You were doing great to have a 12" color monitor that weighed in around 100 lbs with a computer that had something like a 20 MB hard drive? and maybe an internal, dial-up modem. And it was new to have the Internet in your very own home. Ah, AOL and your hourly rates for us to connect at 56K. Verra verra special indeed.

Which brings me to this. I may not have mentioned previously my addiction with all things CTU-Related. That would be Counter Terrorist Unit. CTU-Los Angeles, specifically. Workplace of none other than the venerated Jack Bauer (aka Kiefer Sutherland). I'm speaking of '24', of course. I know people rag about it being right-wing propaganda, but it's just so exciting! True, it's become a tad formulaic, but still. A better cliffhanger-show, I have never seen.

So, I'm a bit nervous at the prospect that it won't be starting up in January, as promised, due to the writer's strike. Obviously some other people are worried (and nostalgic for the good ol' days of '94) so they have created for our viewing pleasure, '24 - 1994'. I'm not savvy enough to embed the video here (meaning it wasn't available on YouTube and there was no pretty paragraph of code for me to copy), so it's a link. It's about 3-4 minutes and I promise will make you laugh at how much things have changed in just a few short years. Here's the link again in case you don't want to scroll back up to the first (or second) link. I'm helpful that way.

Taking a breather

Having already messed up my daily blogging attempt I feel no pressure to keep trying. It's like the healthy eating thing. If I make a small exception at some point in the day to eat, say, a piece of Halloween candy (which is quickly becoming a true addiction - somebody help me!), when I happen to stroll through the kitchen an hour later then it seems only acceptable that one more piece won't hurt, I've already lost today. Tomorrow. Tomorrow I'll be better. And later I go into the laundry room (where yet another stash is hidden), and figure Why Not Another? And so on, and so on. It all falls apart and goes to hell while I just shrug Eh, Whatever.

Meanwhile....

Bubble Boy's mom flew in from the Twin Cities for a quick visit this weekend. The kids enjoyed leading her through the house showing her various things. Look at my report card! See me throw this paper airplane? Check out my beads, Little Pet Shop, Hot Wheel collection, Webkinz, Watch me jump, Watch me hurtle off the stairs at a frightening speed, See how I can ride my bike with no hands? Look at me! No don't look at him, look at ME! Stop looking at HER and watch ME do THIS! And on, and on, and on, and on. I know she's a patient woman because I was ready to scream TAKE A BREATH! STOP TALKING FOR 15 SECONDS! GET THE DUCT TAPE! about 10 minutes after she got here.

But really it was a lovely weekend. Beautiful weather, soccer, parks, shopping, cooking and eating. Can't ask for much more than that.