Fee Fie Fiddlie-I-Oh

So Sassy

It runs in the family. Check out my cousins' new online shop, Zeichen Press. If you've got a messy break-up in your near future, you just have to stash this card away.

My Ear of Corn is Growing

Since I've spent about 25 months pregnant in the last 3 years (hey, who's counting?), you'd think I'd have the gestational growth chart pretty much down pat by now. I still subscribe, though, to an online newsletter which gives me weekly updates as to the new developments of my baby in utero. According to BabyCenter, #3 this week is approximately the size of an ear of corn. Last night, as I lay awake, the corn was jabbing at my stomach in several areas at once. Really. Hard. I don't think the other kids were this powerful at such a young age, and this has to be a bad sign.

A Slow Spring Start

This weekend started off with a bang when Tommy woke up Friday with his classic Croup cough. John and I both had a congested chest cold earlier in the week, so I'd assumed one or both of our kids would catch it. Tommy has been to the E.R. about a half-dozen times for Croup. The cough is always worse at night; they treat his cough and restricted air flow with a nebulizer and oral steroids. Thankfully, for the 1st time, we were able to head off a hospital visit and have our regular clinic prescribe the steroids. Shortly after Lucy was born, Tommy had a very serious Croup case and was actually the in the hospital for a few days. He is still coughing this morning; I'm hoping it passes soon and that Lucy doesn't develop a case of her own.

Due to the illness, our hot date on Friday was canceled. Instead, we rented La Vie en Rose, a fabulous and sobering French picture detailing the life of a rising and falling starlet, Edith Piaf. While John and I generally feel that films these days could stand to have a few minutes edited out, this picture is really worth its entirety.

The weekend overall was casual, with Tommy trying out his new imitation Crocs and John hanging my massive wall mirror in the bedroom. Yesterday, the rain kept us indoors for the most part. This week, I'm on the hunt for picture frames, a rocking chair, and lamps. The dream bed will have to wait.

I hear Lucy calling, "Mama! Mama!" so my weekend is officially over.

Pen to Paper Source

While uptown last night, I visited a spot glaringly absent from the suburbs: Paper Source. This supply store is surprisingly affordable, and caters to both the seriously creative and the casual letter-writers, like me.

The Dating Game

Last night's book club (we've entertained a nomination to rename ourselves as My Book Club Should Really Be Called Wine Club) featured little discussion of our hilarious read, Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim by David Sedaris. That's a positive, though, because in our lack of book discussion, we had plenty of time to discuss the dating disasters of several single ladies. Truly, I don't think I have laughed so hard since we watched Death at a Funeral. I wish I could indulge you with some of these dates from hell, but I think I'll keep them private for the sake of the guilty. Perhaps someday they, too, will find their matches.

As I drove home out of the city last night, I was overcome by a feeling of true female camaraderie. It occurred to me that the women around me were each in their own unique stages of life and love---some single, some dating, some married and pregnant. And yet our laughter and empathy for one another through the trials and successes of these various stages was so genuine. As we stuffed our faces with crudites and hummus, I wondered, can men possibly bond on this level at poker night?

My Secret Sin of Pride

Generally, as a pregnant lady, I really suck. I am a whiner, I hate getting bigger, and I regret to say that I'm not a good sport at all. This time around, though, I have a secret weapon.*

After Lucy was born, I worked really hard to get back in shape. I didn't get entirely where I wanted to be, but my endurance was up enough that I fairly easily continued working out into this pregnancy. This is the 1st time I've really pushed myself in running (or moving, for that matter) while pregnant, and it feels great! I am so much more confident about my body, and I feel so powerful when I realize that people are looking at me at the gym thinking, Wow, that pregnant lady is sure making an effort!

I'm 24 weeks pregnant right now, and I'm not sure how long the running will continue. I've had to slow down a bit, but I still go about 2.5 miles every other day. That's something, at least. I figure when my belly starts to really get astronomical, I'll switch machines or maybe continue the treadmill slowly at a higher incline.

*For those who are unaware, I do have another, more important, secret weapon. He is my doctor, whom I've nicknamed He-Man. Dr. He-Man takes pity on me because my infants come out at about the size of an average 4 month old, and he induces me smartly at 37 weeks.

Bedroom Underway

I love World Market for its affordability and great cheeses. Yesterday, my Mom and I stopped by to check things out, and I bought this large mirror on a bit of a whim. The mirror had a few scrapes, so I haggled with the manager for a discount. He tried to give me just 20% off, but I ended up paying $110, which was 40% off the original price. Little did he know that any Martha Stewart fan would just fill those tiny scratches with shoe polish and **voilla**! The mirror isn't quite the full-length that I envisioned for our bedroom, but I took it because the wood frame was significant and beautiful, the price was right, and on second thought, a mirror out of reach of Tommy's Bob the Builder tool set is probably a good thing.

Potty Chronicle: Day 15

The potty training seems to be mostly complete. Most days, we have just one accident. Usually, it's the end of the day, when Tommy's patience is wearing thin. He's getting really good at telling me when he has to go poop, but I still have to make him go pee about every 1.5 hrs. He never says he has to go pee.

In related news, we seem to be mixing our signals around here and confusing many words for potty-related things. This morning, Tommy was invited to a birthday party. "But I don't WANT to go on the potty!!!" He insisted. No, Tommy. Par-ty. Bennett's party. Also, he just told me he wanted a cookie, and I could have sworn he said he had to go poop.

This is Why I Do It

I never knew my house would be filled with:
-ridiculous quantities of Spiderman underwear,
-denim miniskirts that measure less than 5 inches in length,
-books, books, books everywhere,
-children sighing themselves off to sleep,
-so much love my heart is ready to burst.

Oh, Lucy Goose

My middle child. While categorizing my blog entries this week, I realized with dismay that I've neglected to mention Lucy as much as I should. I really should. Right now, my Goose Girl is climbing into a large, child-sized rocking chair. She can't quite get up there on her own today (because her sweat pants cause her to slip down). She cries out for my help, but in Mama-like stubborn fashion, Lucy allows me to lift her only an extra inch to get into the chair. She won't allow me to seat her there entirely.

Then she sings to her herself, "Raaaaah, raaaah" and looks over at me for an approving response.

And then it's off to the next adventure.

Pottery Barn Dream

In my dream bedroom, I would replace my furniture and actually know what cool things to hang on the walls. Here is the bed we covet: I would get these night tables, reminiscent of a bed & breakfast we stayed at for our anniversary once in Door County, WI. I'd like one of those massive, vertical wall mirrors, a comfortable reading chair, and cute lamps. Someday?

A Novel Affair

The Aurelianos ladies (one of my books clubs) came over on Saturday night to discuss Ann Petry's The Street. Afterward, John inquired as to how much of the evening was spent discussing the book. My response? A goodly amount---maybe 30 minutes.
As usual, the evening focused on food and wine. That's my kind of club. I served Wild Rice soup with an herbed spring mix salad. We started with an appetizer that I lifted directly from Friday night's date: crostini with goat cheese, toasted walnuts, and golden raisins. So simple! Rave reviews ensued.

A Flick of His Switch

Old Benjamin Bunny must have had a son like ours. Despite Supernanny JoJo's insistence, I swear that Tommy does not always respond to discipline in the form of a Time Out. Lately, Tommy has been really fighting naps and bedtime. He quickly realized that his newfound ability to use the potty granted him special permission to get out of bed again...and again...and again.

Last week was particularly exhausting as Tommy exercised this freedom, since John was out of town. Upon return, though, John got right to the heart of the matter---a slight spanking seemed to be all Tommy needed to know staying in bed was the best option.

This is a difficult issue for us. We'd love for Tommy to truly feel remorse and stay in the corner, but he's just not that kid. I remember a few years ago, my nephew, Jack, would actually put himself in Time Out. He'd just stand there, facing the wall, practically crying because he was so sad to have disobeyed his parents. My children, on the other hand, seem to be Sass Boxes who laugh in the face of rules!

How many other parents out there find that spanking is one of the few discipline tactics that get through to their child?

Let me be clear: John and I are both agreed that spanking is an appropriate discipline form only in certain circumstances. We wait until we are calm, and we explain to Tommy in a collected manner why his actions were wrong. Spanking out of rage sends a different message than we want to convey. I want Tommy to know that I don't like to spank him; instead, it makes me sad to do so!

In our society, spanking is such a taboo. And yet I do wonder, aren't there others out there---like us---who feel it's necessary and effective for certain kids?

Unbelievably Great Beef Roast

Every time I use my Crock Pot, I swear I am going to convert all my cooking to this ingenious method. Tonight, I simply combined:

1 packet of Lipton dry onion soup mix
1 can cream of mushroom soup
1 can condensed beef broth

and then added
-2.5 lbs. defrosted beef roast,rubbed with kosher salt and cracked pepper
-4 baby red potatoes
-handful of carrots
-handful of sliced mushrooms

I sliced a bit of onion to cover the roast, and let this cook on high in my Magic Machine for about 6 hours. Fabulous. The result was a tender, juicy roast with a ton of rich gravy. To be honest, I've never been much of a roast person, but with the Crock Pot, it can be so tender as to make me swoon.

Worse

Worse than the embarrassment of two screaming toddlers at Target:
The embarrassment of two screaming toddlers at Target and a visibly pregnant belly whereby strangers stare at you thinking, She's in over her head.

Poop Comes From Your Butt

This has been a week of huge revelations for Tommy. I'm drinking my lemonade, he mutters down the hall. And then the lemonade will turn into pee! Another big shocker for Tom has been the knowledge that pee comes from the penis, while poop comes from the butt.

Yesterday, he experienced this in a new way when He. Went. Poop. On. The. Potty.

Personally, I was so excited with this development that I danced and screamed with joy. Tommy, on the other hand, reacted with fright. He wanted a hug. He didn't really understand what was going on. He said goodbye to the poop, and we flushed it away.

I didn't get my hopes up, thinking two days of this miracle in a row would be too much for any sane (much less insane) mother to expect. But then, just now----I need to poop!! And we ran to the potty together.

From the Locker Room: Modesty or Insecurity?

After Tommy was born and my need for some bodily sanity resurfaced, I began working out at a local YMCA. I loved the atmosphere there; I knew all the people around me, and they seemed to be pursuing the goal of a genuine, healthy lifestyle. The people said hello to each other. They work sweatshorts and ripped t-shirt, like me.

When we moved out to the boondocks of this quality small town, no local YMCA was within a drivable distance. I was lured, instead, to a more glamorous gym with a great outer pool and a glitzy spa facility. I can't complain too much: the childcare department is fantastic, and I can even get my hair cut when the kids are having fun in there. On the flip side, though, the atmosphere has definitely changed. The women around me are practically supermodels, striving to sculpt their bodies while applying extra lipstick. They wear fancy ensembles and carry around yoga gear that just emerged in this spring's Lucy collection. No one says hello to you unless they are trying to pick you up. It's less of a community; instead, it feels like a competition.

One of the most glaring differences between these facilities is the locker room etiquette women display. At my new gym, the women prance about in their fancy gear and loudly discuss their upcoming vacations. At the YMCA, though, women inquired about each others' lives and seemed entirely comfortable shedding their clothing and walking around in the nude. I'm not suggesting that these practices are entirely dependent on one another; I'm merely noting this is the way it is. Why are the seeming-rich so inclined to wear clothing when their bodies are far more "perfect"? Everything about their demeanor should suggest they are proud of themselves and their flashy lives.

Grandma Julie's Pie

This recipe from John's maternal grandmother is too good not to share. John's Mom taught me to make this pie with great patience. Yesterday was the first time I think came anywhere near its potential...pie-making takes precision! I baked this pie to celebrate John's homecoming from NYC. I had originally planned to make another favorite of his (pecan pie), but Tommy informed me that he didn't want "nut pie" and instead preferred apple. Tommy's Great-Grandma would surely be proud to know he enjoyed two slices yesterday.


Julie's Recipe for Pie Crust (top and bottom crust)
1 C shortening
2.5 C flour
1 Tablespoon sugar
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
2/3 C milk (added little by little)

Mix flour, sugar, baking powder and salt. Use a pastry cutter or fork to cut the shortening into the dry mixture til it resembles a coarse meal. Then, gradually add the milk, stirring gently after each little addition. The pie dough should be sticky, but not overly sticky or crumbly. You may not use all the milk. Form two balls from the dough for a top and bottom pie crust. (Note: For pie novices such as myself, I recommend forming one larger ball and trying this bottom-only recipe. You can use the extra, smaller ball of dough for a different pastry treat.) Roll out the pie crust and transfer carefully to a 9" glass pie pan.

Julie's Dutch Apple Crumble Pie
5-7 tart apples, peeled and sliced thinly
1 9" unbaked pastry shell
1/2 C sugar
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 C sugar
3/4 C flour
1/3 C butter, softened

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Arrange pie slices in your pastry shell. Mix together 1/2 C sugar and cinnamon. Sprinkle this mixture on top of the apples. Then combine the other 1/2 C sugar with the flour. Cut in the butter with pastry cutter or fork until the mixture is crumbly. Sprinkle this mixture over the pie. Protect your pie crust: using thin slices of aluminum foil, wrap the outer formed (decorative) pie crust so it does not burn in the oven. Bake the pie in a hot oven about 40 minutes or until apples become tender. Note: Watch the pie carefully. When the topping started to brown, I covered the entire pie top in another sheet of aluminum foil to prevent burning. The secret to great pie is a flaky crust that is not overcooked!!

Come Home Soon!