Sometimes I just want to be a trucker.

My sister just helped my mom move up here from Seattle by driving the UHaul for her. Normally I would think that was a nightmare job. I don't even LIKE driving, let alone for hours on end. But then she told me she got to listen to books on tape uninterrupted and chain smoke with no one to judge her cigarette consumption. That sounded SO wonderful for some reason. Me, all by myself, smoking like a chimney* and listening to a book for hours on end. With no small children crawling all over me and trying to hold on to my ankles while I walk and following me around like a small accessory dog because they've heard too many Halloween stories lately and are now afraid of the bathroom closet and every other closet for that matter and will they please just leave me alone for two damn seconds?

I think I need some alone time.

*For the record, I haven't smoked regularly in 5 years, but it still sounds sooooo good.

Called out!

Maybe you didn't think I'd be able to see the search terms you used when you found my blog, you sick freak. I don't think I'm that naive, but I really didn't think there was anyone out there that fantasized about trying that sort of thing. I think you may be violating several laws of nature if you actually do it. I'm feeling a little sick just knowing that there are people like you just blending in with the general population.

Click here to see what they wanted. May not be work/child safe.

A riddle

Fiona: "Mommy how many bumps does a cannibal have?"
Me: Hmmm, this must be some sort of riddle... "I don't know sweetie, how many bumps does he have?"
Fiona: "No, I'm asking you, how many bumps does a cannibal have?"
Me: "Bumps? A cannibal?"
Fiona: "Yes, you know, a cannibal! One bump or two bumps?"
Me: "Ohhhhhhhh. A CAMEL!"
Fiona: "Yes! A cannibal!"

Grandparents

Every summer for a number of years, my sister and I would fly to North Dakota to spend six weeks with my grandparents. We spent the summers riding our garage sale bikes around town, trying to see what daredevil feats we could perform. The big events were attending various Sons of Norway functions and church potlucks with an occasional trip to the Natural History museum or the state capitol building. Have you ever seen someone do the chicken dance onstage dressed in a bunad to live accordion music? I have. More than once. I remember these trips as being more bonding experiences with my sister than with my grandparents. While I know we were very precious to them being their only grandchildren, we weren't really close. I never called my grandmother just to chat and would never in a million years have talked to her about things like boys or periods or anything of a personal nature. Maybe it was the generation, I don't know, but I felt like my grandparents wouldn't really understand how a kid felt. I mean, sure, we watched Days of Our Lives together every day during the summer, but it just didn't seem like enough to really form a close relationship. I don't know what was missing. Time maybe? Spontaneity? We couldn't just run over to Grandma's house whenever we wanted. We couldn't flounce out of our parent's house in a huff and run over to Grandma's house for solace and cookies.

When Andre and I got married, we didn't really consider the grandparent factor when we were trying to figure out where to live. We weren't really thinking about kids, let alone our parents' relationships with those hypothetical kids when we chose to move to Seattle. It was more of a "I hate Los Angeles." "Well I hate Arizona" "Fine, let's move somewhere else then." "How about Seattle?" "Sure, I've never been there, but I'm sure it'd be great," kind of a conversation. Then our unexpected little Fiona appeared a year later and we had the grandparent quandry. Andre's parents live in New Hampshire and mine lived in Arizona. I think all of the grandparents feel like they've really missed out on the first few years of Fiona's life, seeing her usually only twice a year. I know I've certainly missed out on free babysitting.

I really want the girls to have better relationships with their grandparents than I had with mine. I'd like for them to spontaneously say, "Hey, I'm going to call Gramcie to see how she's doing" or "Hey! I got an A++ with my stupendous brain power, I'd love to tell Grandpa about it," rather than having to force them to call the grandparents. And I'd love for them to have a safe place to flounce off to, because wth Fiona in the house, I see a future filled with flouncing.

My mom is moving here this weekend. Until she figures out where she's going to work and where she'd like to live, she's going to be a mere five minutes away. Andre's parents are planning on looking at condos while they're here for Thanksgiving. Suddenly, a wealth of grandparents! I'm so excited by the possibility that Fiona and Amelia will know and appreciate their grandparents better than I did mine. That maybe someday I'll have one of them say, "Hey mom, I'm going over to Gramcie's. We're renting some movies and popping some popcorn. Can I borrow the flying car?" (This is the future we're talking about after all.) Fiona's already called my mom several times to ask her if she'd like to go trick or treating with us. I'm excited for her to share these holidays and fun times with the girls, but also the little moments. The just hanging out time. The don't have to do anything special because we can see you whenever we want time. The building a relationship time.

And the free babysitting.

How do you tell...

A four year that instead of writing "Dear Great- Grandma" she has painstakingly scrawled "Dead Great-Grandma?" Oops.

Things that irritate me because I'm crabby today...

1. The Amazing Race family edition. I'd like to meet the genius who thought that a race to places like the world's largest office chair and an Alabama trailer park would be interesting. Because it's not.
2. Amelia's insistance on grabbing giant pinching handfuls of my breast while she's nursing. I pull off her grabbing crab-like pincher fist and she grabs me again. Over and over and over again.
3. Fiona's complete inability to walk in the house when Amelia is sleeping. I can't tell you how many times she's woken the baby up with her galloping down the hall like a shetland pony made out of lead.
4. Mildew on the ceiling of my bathroom. I can't reach it to clean it and it's gross. I feel like I'm showering in prison.
5. I spent two hours going to two different grocery stores to get ready for a party at our place tomorrow and I still forgot a key ingredient in two dishes. Stupid coconut milk, I'm mad at you.
6. That I cleaned all day and still have more to do.
7. I waS TYPING THIS AND KEPT HITTING THE FUCKING CAPS LOCK BY MISTAKE.
8. Amelia was sitting in my lap and managed to create a geyser of poop straight up out of her diaper and into my crotch and then all over the couch and for a second I really wondered if it was me that pooped on the couch since my jeans were all warm and wet with poop.
9. I can't think of anything more, I'm too crabby.
   

What's that strategy called?

The one where you present a really, really terrible option first to make a second semi-terrible option that you actually want sound really good? I'm starting to think that Harriet Miers is the first option. I really hope so at least. She can't really be a real nominee, can she?

Homebodies don't have good stories

It's getting harder to come up with interesting things to write about without yammering on and 0n and on about the kids. Amelia blows raspberries! Fiona still likes to torture the cat and pretend he's a dog! That's pretty much all I've got. As much as I'm glad I'm not working anymore, it certainly does limit my daily life to a much more boring routine. I don't have anyone wishing me death anymore and I don't have put up with corporate bullshit, but I also don't have much to talk about. "Say did you see that exciting episode of Arthur this morning? Were you as amazed as I was by Buster and his book report?" I could talk about how accomplished I felt when I actually had dinner in the crockpot by 10 am, but then that kind of made me a little sad that I was so pleased with it, so maybe it's best just to skip over that.

I got nuttin'...

Questions from the audience?

Anything?

I thought we were sooooo smart

Apparently not. At least I'm moving up the list a little bit, Arizona is number 48. Seriously though, number 30? It must be Eastern Washington dragging us down.

How smart is your state?

Lime jello makes everything better

I've been going through my grandmother's recipe boxes, trying to figure out the easiest way to make the recipes accessible to the family. Website? Cookbook? I'm still working out the details. She gave me four stuffed boxes filled with recipes she had accumulated since the 40s. Most are handwritten copies of family and friend's recipes. Some are clipped from newspapers or magazines and church cookbooks. I've flipped through all the old favorites: Swedish meatballs, lefse, sour cream raisin cookies, candy Lucy. All yum.

Then came the salad section. Lest you think we're dealing with something as innocuous as Waldorf salad or three bean salad, let me tell you right now, this is a whole different kind of salad. This is midwest salad. This is Lutheran salad. This is potluck salad. Each and every recipe included either jello or pineapple. Usually a combination of the two. I wanted to share the most hideous salad I could find with you, but it was a tough choice. The two runners up: Cucumber Delight Salad (contains both lime jello and cucumber) and Prune Ambrosia Salad (contains cooked prunes, coconut, and French dressing). The winner is a salad that my grandmother liked enough to copy down from a friend or family member. Its repulsive combination of ingredients makes it seem like it's really two recipes melded into one Frankensteinian potluck nightmare. For your consideration:

Olive Wreath Salad

1 can (2.5 cups) crushed pineapple
1 3 oz pkg lime jello
1/2 cup grated American cheese
1/2 cup chopped pimento
1/2 cup finely chopped celery
2/3 cup chopped walnuts
1/4 tsp salt
1 cup heavy cream, whipped
small stuffed olives, sliced

Drain pineapple. Heat pineapple syrup to a boil. Add to lime jello and stir until jello is dissolved. Cool. When jello begins to thicken, add pineapple, cheese, pimentos, celery, nuts, salt, and olives. Fold in whipped cream. Pour into mold and chill until firm. Serve on lettuce.

Serves 8-10

My grandmother added this note: Made on 2/1/1975. (Best for a luncheon.)

Enjoy!

M-O-P

"Mmmmmm-awwwwww-ppppppppppp. Mop!" said Fiona as she read her magazine. She then proceeded to the next word "and" and started guessing wildly, "Animal? Adventure? Angry?" so we're not exactly there yet, but still! She read a word!

Amelia somehow managed to move two feet off of her blanket and I don't think she was rolling. I caught her trying to get her knees up under her belly. No way, missy! That's not happening yet! I promptly picked her up and won't allow her anymore tummy time if that's the way she's going to behave.

This crazy ride is going much too fast.

Huh? Whuh?

It's a little late, but I think this whole baby business is finally catching up with me in the exhaustion department. Amelia's been a relatively good sleeper from the start, sleeping in 3-4 hour spurts most nights, a little gentle fussing and squirming when she wakes us, quick to fall back asleep again. The past couple of weeks though she's been waking up more frequently during the night and has decided that the proper time for little babies to get up for good is 6:00 am. She'll lie there and wiggle, kick me in the stomach a few times like a jackrabbit, and then start talking about how lovely the day is, "Ahhhhhhh! Eeeeeeeee! Ahhhhhh?" When I finally stop playing possum and open my eyes, she gives me a huge grin and gets all excited that I'm actually awake.

Yawn.....

I can't remember the last night I had an uninterrupted sleep. A year ago, maybe? When I was pregnant I was up every single night at least once to pee or to kick Andre for snoring too loud or just to stare at the clock in dread of going to work in the morning. Wouldn't it be just glorious to sleep for say, 8 hours, all at once? Even 7. Seven would be good. Heck, I'd even for pay for 6 solid hours.

So I'm feeling a little discombobulated now. Still feeling lucky that I don't have one of the babies that gets up every couple of hours and screams, of course. I don't think I have that much to complain about or anything. It could definitely be worse.

Zzzzzz... Huh? What was I saying?

I did notice something that disturbed me today though. Apparently I've unwittingly adopted the uniform of the preschool mother. When I was picking up Fiona from school today I looked around and over half of the other moms were wearing jeans and a black shirt. Maybe they've seen me wear this outfit every single day for the last two weeks (not the same shirt every day, I'm not that hard up) and they think I'm so cool that they all want to dress like me. The other half was wearing yoga pants and athletic shoes, but I'm pretty sure they weren't doing anything more athletic than rolling out of bed before school. Maybe I'll have to look into those yoga pants.

Dear Joss,

I'm sorry I let you down this weekend. It seems like some of the other geeks did too. I swear I'm going to go as soon as I can. I think I'm going to have to bring Amelia though since she just looks at the bottle like we're crazy people and I didn't want to go with all of the fanboys looking askance at me and a little baby and my enormous boobs.

I wish you had gotten to number one, but number two ain't bad.

I'll see you soon,
Me

Who, me?