Girl Detective

This week’s episode with the boneless woman was more cringe-inducing than usual, and there was no Stephen Fry, so I was a little disappointed overall. Sully said goodbye, but is that the last we’ve seen of him? My husband G. Grod thinks he’ll either be dead or evil by the end of the season. I think evil; perhaps he’s the suffocating serial killer who nearly got Bones earlier in the season? Poor Bones; she does not have a good track record, as Booth so unkindly pointed out to her.

For a funnier use of the term boneless, check out Mo Willems’s Knuffle Bunny. The “K” is pronounced in Knuffle (as it would be in German). And the term for one of Trixie’s tantrum contortions is “going boneless,” which Willems attributes to his wife.

What Do They Put in There?

Stonyfield yogurt
crack for the younger set, in
cup, bottle or quart.

Spring

Sunshine gives, and takes
You banish suicide skies
Yet highlight all the dust.

A fun find from our library, Looking for a Moose by Phyllis Root is one of our new favorite picture books. The text is repetitive and almost rhyming, similar to We’re Going on a Bear Hunt by Michael Rosen, so it’s fun to read aloud. It’s different from Bear Hunt because it’s a one way journey, and because it has a happier ending that teaches the plural of moose. Cecil’s oil paintings are clear and engaging, and several pages have hidden moose.

New Dark Chocolate Altoids. Drake loves them, too, and they’re a relatively guilt-free bribe, e.g., “Get in your carseat NOW; I’ll give you a chocolate mint.”

The Tiny Love Musical Stack & Play is from Drake’s babyhood. The rattly balls, the rings, and the toy itself can be used together or separately. Generally, I shun musical toys, but the music can be turned off.

The Whose House shape sorter was a recent gift for baby Guppy and he loves it. He puts the shapes in the box, he plays with the shapes by themselves, and he puts anything else that fits in the box. The box is soft, so it’s possible to put many things and different shapes into each hole, but I don’t think that’s a bad thing. He’ll get the shapes eventually. Mixing and matching toys is part of the fun.

One thing that makes these toys so winning is that they’re adaptable, with many parts and uses that span multiple development levels. 3yo Drake and his peers still love to play with the elephant toy. 6M to 3+ is an impressive amount of time to hold their interest.

For my husband’s recent birthday, I made a hot fudge pudding cake. We had friends bring over dinner, and afterward I dished up the cake with vanilla ice cream and gave small portions to each of the children, who are 3, 2, and 1 years old. I thought they would appreciate the treat, while we parents would appreciate that they hadn’t ingested a great deal of sugar and chocolate. Instead, we found ourselves on the receiving end of accusatory gazes, and demands for “More cake! More!” None of the three were able to be placated, and all were disgruntled about what they perceived as unfair cake distribution. Here is the recipe, which was easy to make, and turned out so well that it nearly caused a toddler riot. You have been warned.

Hot Fudge Pudding Cake
from Cook’s Country 2/2007

Do not overbake this cake or the pudding sauce will burn in the pan and the cake will be dry, not fudgy. Store leftovers, covered with plastic, in the refrigerator. Reheat individual servings in a microwave on high power until hot (about 1 minute).

Serves 6 to 8
1 cup sugar
1/2 cup Dutch-processed cocoa powder
1 cup all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup milk
4 tablespoons unsalted butter (1/2 stick), melted
1 large egg yolk
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1/2 cup semisweet chocolate chips
1 cup boiling water
Whipped cream or vanilla ice cream

1. Adjust oven rack to middle position and heat oven to 350 degrees. Spray 8-inch square glass or metal cake pan with cooking spray. Whisk 1/2 cup sugar with 1/4 cup cocoa in small bowl.

2. Whisk flour, remaining 1/2 cup sugar, remaining 1/4 cup cocoa, baking powder, and salt in large bowl. Whisk milk, butter, egg yolk, and vanilla in medium bowl until smooth. Stir milk mixture into flour mixture until just combined. Fold in chocolate chips (batter will be stiff).

3. Using rubber spatula, scrape batter into prepared pan and spread into corners. Sprinkle reserved cocoa mixture evenly over top. Gently pour boiling water over cocoa. Do not stir.

4. Bake until top of cake looks cracked, sauce is bubbling, and toothpick inserted into cakey area comes out with moist crumbs attached (see photos), about 25 minutes. Cool on rack for at least 10 minutes. To serve, scoop warm cake into individual serving bowls and top with vanilla ice cream or whipped cream.

Baby Cakes: Put a fancy spin on this homey recipe by baking up individual pudding cakes. Spray eight 6-ounce ovenproof ramekins or coffee cups with cooking spray. Fill each with 2 tablespoons batter. Top each with 1 1/2 tablespoons cocoa mixture, followed by 2 tablespoons boiling water. Arrange cups on rimmed baking sheet and bake until tops are just cracked, 20 to 25 minutes.

I’ve noticed, and I’m not sure I’m happy about, my recent entries being more focused on parenthood. I don’t want this to be a mommy blog. I want it to be a testament that it’s possible to be a mom and to keep learning. That’s what my writing, book and movie goals are for. Yet the mommy stuff what I’m living most immediately on a day-to-day basis. I’m trying hard to find the humor and joy in the experience.

Earlier this month, my psychiatrist confirmed what had begun to suspect: my depression is worse, not better. The heartening news is that I’ve got a good group of healthcare people helping me, and a good circle of friends and family. The not-so-good, though unsurprising, news, is that depression sucks. This is not a pull-myself-up, cheer-up, look-on-the-bright-side kinda thing. Rather, this is being tired and angry, lacking focus, taking forever to complete simple tasks, and forgetting things. It’s having a bad day, every day. It’s like moving through mental, physical, and emotional sludge. It’s getting side effects from the medication without getting the benefits.

For distraction, I visit gossip site Perez Hilton. Like other readers, I was horrified when I saw that Britney Spears had shaved her head. Crazy and nuts were two adjectives that leapt to mind. Soon, though, I recalled how only a few months ago I thought about shaving my head. It was just as baby Guppy started hair pulling in earnest. My husband G. Grod talked me out of it; he said it was rude, as people would think I had cancer. I also probably wouldn’t have gone through with it out of vanity. My hair is pretty much my go-to, feel-good-about-myself asset.

It didn’t take me long to wonder whether Britney and her hard-partying, wacky behavior isn’t just a 25-year-old with too much money, not enough sane support, and a whopping case of post-partum depression. Like so much that has come to me with motherhood, I yet again realize that I can identify and empathize, but I sure as heck can’t judge. This is me, eating humble pie, again.

One recent night the kids were in bed, and there were any number of things I should have done: resting, reading, writing, etc. Yet what I really wanted was to go to a bookstore. And when I tried to talk myself out of it (don’t need to, don’t want to buy books, what about the new book vow, etc.) I realized that I didn’t want to go book shopping; I wanted to browse.

Aimless browsing (aimless anything, really) is one of the casualties of this parent’s life. Trips to Target, the grocery store, the library, or anywhere else, are constrained by my kids’ short attention spans and my often depleted reserves of patience. But to browse? To wander hither and yon, with nothing to lead me on but my own whims? I went out directly.

With just over an hour till closing time, I browsed fiercely. I looked at all the Hemingway titles, trying (vainly) to figure out which collection of stories I read in college (turns out it was In Our Time.) I checked out the editions of To Kill a Mockingbird, since I’ll want a new one before I re-read it, and I don’t like the photo-cover TPB they sell at Target. I scanned the new-release tables, with their alluring covers and blurbs, but I was immune to their siren calls. Then I spent a good long time in the kids section going through the maddeningly subdivided board-book section. (Alphabetically by author! What’s so hard about that? I don’t need to look through Disney/Basics/Things That Go/Colors/etc.) I found so many gems in the paperback picture-book section that I had to take home a few. I Stink and Farmer Duck came home with me, but Mr. Gumpy’s Outing, It’s My Birthday, and Fables all went back to the shelf, amid much regretful sighing. I went to the register at the fifteen-minutes-to-closing announcent, and got a dollar off the price of one of the books because it was banged up, and because I asked. So yes, I did buy some books. But I didn’t go book shopping. I went book looking. And that was much more rewarding.

This week we celebrated Guppy’s first birthday, and our first year as a family of four. It’s been a year of big adjustments, as I’ve continued to struggle with post-partum depression. But I frequently tell Guppy that it’s a joy and a privilege to be his mom. He is a good-natured, smiling baby. He loves books and being read to. He splashes in his bath with glee. In stark contrast to his older brother Drake, Guppy is an adventurous eater, even with only two teeth. He says hi and ‘bye, and is very good at waving. He is not yet walking, but is crawling fast and pulling himself up, so it’s not going to be long. For all the challenges of this past year, I am continually glad that Guppy is here to complete our family. I’ve been able to enjoy his babyhood in ways that I couldn’t with Drake because I had a job and we were moving. And I look forward to seeing and helping Guppy become the person he will be.

My husband G. Grod is a Philadelphia Eagles fan. Every season since Drake was born, G. has tried to watch the games and create an early father/son ritual. Unfortunately, Drake has never been on board with this plan. During his first season (he was weeks old), Drake slept through most of the games. During his second season (1+yo) he didn’t look at the screen at all, and ran around the basement, getting into dangerous items. During his third season (2+yo), he would watch a few plays, then get up, run around, and be distracting. And in this fourth season (3+yo) he would watch the TV, but be bored during the game, and fixate on the commercials. Progress has been slow, and not encouraging.

One commercial in particular got his attention, Dodge “Street” with rock-em, sock-em robots. Drake got upset at the violent robots, even when G. Grod explained that no one was in the truck, and the robot didn’t hurt the truck. Drake continued to talk about the commercial and the “bad robots” in a tremulous voice. It was in heavy rotation, so eventually, he was watching a game, the commercial came on, and no one was near the remote to pause or mute it. I heard his shrieks of fear from across the house. I spent some time calming him down.

This has now been weeks ago, and we still occasionally hear about bad robots. Something will remind Drake of it and he’ll become upset, or he’ll wake from a nightmare about them. We’ve been trying to invent examples of good robots.

In spite of individual hatred and a nomination for worst commercial, I’m sure the commercial will air during the Super Bowl, so Drake won’t be watching. I hope that the next several months will bring a bit of critical understanding so that he can like the game, and ignore the commercials.

Also, I’m not going to buy a car from a company that makes a violent commercial that frightens my 3yo and gives him nightmares. Nice one, Dodge.

I know, from experience and professional training, that unrealistic and vague goals are destined to fail. In defiance of this, I have decided 2007 will be the year I get my sh1t together.

Deluded? Probably. For purposes of this delusion, I define my sh1t as: disorganized finances; blowing and drifting piles of paper; teetering piles of magazines; unopened boxes from the last x? moves; bookshelves crammed with unread books purchased long ago; random stashes of junk throughout the house (why, yes, I do think I should keep these seven keychains, because I never know when I might need this exact one.)

I have to stop there. I’m just depressing myself.

In preparation for this unrealistic and amorphous goal, I’ve done a little acronyming. The 2007 goal is hereby named CMP. Take your pick what it stands for: Crap Management/Minimizing Program, or Clear the Crap, Manage the Money and Purge the Paper.

See, all those years spent in corporate America weren’t for nought. Now if only I could get a budget for snacks and authorization to conscript a team:

Drake, Guppy, it’s time to clean house. Put your toys away! Pick up those crayons! Get that train out of your mouth! If you do, we’ll have a post-mortem meeting with Cheddar Bunnies, Veggie Booty, and juice.

That’s right. I’m a stay-at-home mom, so I don’t work. Today I took care of my virus-addled baby, had friends over to play, changed half a dozen poopy diapers (some of which were diarrhea), got puked on, was smeared with snot from shoulders down, spent quality time with my 3yo who told me the other day I didn’t love him, listened to twenty minutes of infant hollering, bent back a fingernail cleaning the kitchen, sang eleven songs from Dog Train, and made lunch for five. I am woman; hear me roar.

Her parting look was grateful; and her parting words, ‘Oh!…the comfort of being sometimes alone!’ seemed to burst from an overcharged heart, and to describe somewhat of the continual endurance to be practised by her, even towards some of those who loved her best. Emma, chapter XLII

Drake, Guppy and I spent nearly two weeks out east visiting family. I am quick to correct those who call it vacation. For me, a vacation is time away for R & R (rest and relaxation; reading and writing. Either pair works.) Family visits are enjoyable, and may include some of those Rs, but since they are not exclusively, or even largely, about them, I don’t equate them with vacation.

We returned to a messy house, piles of mail, loads of laundry, and a mostly empty fridge. There was work to be done. By Thursday, I felt completely tapped out, and contacted a local retreat center. They had space, so I got me to a nunnery from Friday night to Sunday morning. I got all the Rs, plus some quiet, solitude, and time for meditation. I shunned my tendency to make a to-do list, and instead tried to go with the flow. I was interested to see that my day unfolded reflecting the life priorities I recently clarified: Rest, break fast, read, work on novel, sup, exercise/fresh air, rest, tea and snack, weblog, dine, read, rest.

It was a tremendous relief to get this 36-hour break. When I again saw Drake and Guppy, they were crying, screaming, not listening, and not changed at all by my time away. I’m not sure I was changed by it, either. But I did get a bit of time and space to replenish my reserves of patience so I could wade back into the fray. I think it’s naive to think that a brief break will magically make us more tranquil. It did make me feel less tapped out. And that’s something.

There, I’ve said it. You know it’s true. You want to believe (like I did) that putting your kid in front of a video of classical music paired with bright, colorful images will stimulate their brains. Well, it will, but more toward ADD than genius. I tried to be polite about my dislike of this line when I wrote about Mimi’s Toes, since I have many friends who love it. But the Baby Einstein creator is an honored friend of Laura Bush, and a Forbes article reminds us that there is no evidence that baby electronica is helpful, and much to suggest that it’s harmful.

Baby Einstein is mediocre stuff that targets parents’ hopes and fears about their children’s intelligence. Don’t fall for it. Instead, read a well-written book to your child. Play a non-electronic game with her. Take him outside for some fresh air and exercise. Play some real music, instead of the Muzack-y baby classics. Our son Drake enjoys the Paste magazine CD samplers.

I’m writing in our basement, where the temp hovers in the mid-fifties. I have on a coat, scarf, warm socks, slippers. I put on gloves when the cold impairs my typing; I take them off when their bulk does same. Why type in the cold basement? The light is bright, even augmented by a few windows. There are fewer distractions. And it is two floors down from the napping boys, so I am less likely to wake them if I move around.

Sadly, Drake is having one of his ever-more common non-napping days, and baby Guppy did not get the memo that afternoon naps should last over an hour. Since I believe strongly in 2-hour naps, we’re having some conflict. It would seem I’m cold down here for nothing.

As Drake and Guppy require more attention and nap less, I’ve pared down and prioritized the other basics of my day:

Journal
Read book
Exercise/go outside
Work on novel
Write for weblog
Read and reply to email
Read online feeds
Housework (laundry, cooking, cleaning)

Since I only get short breaks, or none at all, it’s easy to get distracted by the silly stuff. This list helps me focus in the midst of disruptions.

I know parents who have given up on all sorts of things once they had a child. Movies, books, writing, restaurants, even clothing and makeup. All these things matter to me, though, so I make time for them by not doing other things. Clothing and makeup might seem trivial or superficial compared to the others, but I haven’t given up on those, either. Much of my time as a mother is spent on the physical needs of my toddler and baby. Time for my physical needs helps at least a little. I sometimes wonder, when I’m running late, if it’s worth it that I have makeup or accessories on, or that my outfit fits and matches. My preparation is an oasis of autonomy among the negotiations and acrobatics required to get the kids out the door.

I have begun work on my second novel in longhand rather than on my computer. This didn’t start consciously but rather circumstantially. I found myself without my machine, so I grabbed a journal and started to write. Ever since, I’ve continued in longhand, typing up passages later for my writing group. This works well for me, since baby Guppy doesn’t nap often or for long. Though the computer seems like it would increase efficiency, it’s a false economy. By the time I boot up the computer, open the programs, and attach the mouse, precious minutes have gone by, and my resolve to work has lessened.

My friend Rock Hack noticed after her second child that she could manage accessories or makeup, but not both. I find myself living that dichotomy on a regular basis. Today I have on a bracelet and earrings that match my sweater, but not a jot of makeup. Thank goodness for tinted moisturizer.

Another friend said that having another child meant that she could do the laundry, but couldn’t manage to put it away. I’m living that one all the time too. I shift my pile of clothes back and forth between the top of my dresser and the bed for days.

Currently recovering from trip east to visit family. Plane delayed for 90 minutes because of weather, but boys were magically well behaved. Drake stayed in his seat for most of the flight and Guppy flirted shamelessly with the flight attendants. While some of the good travel experience with kids is just luck, some of it is also preparation. Both boys received a pre-flight diaper change and dose of Tylenol. I brought two new books for Drake, I Stink and Farmer Duck. I brought snacks aplenty for all of us. I pulled out Drake’s Doodlepro, lollipops, and a toy car at strategic moments.

My travel credo remains: Enjoy it if it’s good; don’t flip out if it goes wrong.