Meme Sweet Meme

Like several other Gorgeous Ladies Of the Blogo-Sphere (GLOBS), I am also stealing this house meme from American Family.

1. When you walk in your front door, which room do you enter?

A foyer with slate floors and an abrupt staircase. Turn right into the dining room/den, left into the living room, straight ahead into the kitchen.

2. Do you have a dishwasher?

Oh, hell to the yes. And because we have very, very hard water, vast portions of it are stained orange.

3. Is your living room carpeted or does it have hardwood floors?

When we moved in almost two years ago, it was carpeted in a lovely 1980-something country blue. It now has light oak, rustically imperfect 5-inch-plank hardwood floors.

4. Do you keep your kitchen knives on the counter or in a drawer?

Ah - kitchen knives. The Bookish family has either bad habits or bad karma with kitchen knives. We lose them. They break. They disappear. Maybe we have a sprite who steals them, chews their wooden handles to splinters, then replaces them in the wooden knive holder on the counter. Or in the backyard. Whatever. My friend Lolita has a set of knives that look like this. I want them. They look less destructible.

5. House, apartment, duplex or trailer?

House. It was once a 1-room schoolhouse, built sometime before 1854.

6. How many bedrooms is it?

Legally? Three. However, there is a room in the walk-out basement that is roughly the size one might expect from a bedroom. We are "storing" a bed in there. And our son used to also store his clothes, books, stereo, videogames and incense burners in there. He often fell asleep while storing them. But it's not a bedroom.

7. Gas stove or electric?

Electric. Awaiting the day it malfunctions and allows for a replacement with a dual-fuel model.

8. Do you have a yard?

We do - 15 acres of it.

9. What size TV is in the living room?

Our living room has no TV. Which is why we never go in there. Just boring old books and pretty views and peace and quiet. Who wants that? Our den, which is half the size, has a TV, and that's where we spend our time. And the TV is maybe 30 inches? Really, I have no idea.

10. Are your plates in the same cupboard as your cups?

No. The cupboards aren't big enough for that.

11. Is there a coffee maker sitting on your kitchen counter?

Oh. Yes.

12. What room is your computer in?

Our desktop in the room that we variously call the sunroom, the toyroom, the office, the snowroom or the walk-in freezer. It was an addition off the kitchen. It has three walls of windows and is not tied into the furnace heat. We don't go in for 6 months of the year. Our laptops are in whatever room we're in. Mine is usually in my lap.

13. Are there pictures hanging in your living room?

I have a disorder in this department. I can't make a decision. On the mantle in our living room, I have some family photos. I own some other items I would like to get framed and hang, but I have not yet done it.

14. Are there any themes found in your home?

Indecision? Profound disorganization? ADHD? Parenthood? Toddlers? Dog hair?

15. What kind of laundry detergent do you use?

Usually whatever is the cheapest unscented variety. Sometimes specially designed baby-friendly. Sometimes whatever was on sale.

16. Do you use dryer sheets?

Occasionally. One day last week, I used them to smooth Bee's static-sparking hair. I also put one in my pocket while folding clothes, because that is supposed to prevent static shocks from separating dryer-fresh towels and fleece blankets. My HSH pointed out that there is this neat trick of putting one of those things in the dryer and preventing the static build-up.

17. Curtains in your home?

Blinds that were there when we moved in in several rooms. There is a curtain catalog on the side table in my den. (See Questions 13-14)

18. What color is your fridge?

I believe the color is listed as "Almond" in the industry. It came with the house.

19. Is your house clean?

See Question 14.

20. What room is the most neglected?

That depends on the definition of Neglect. There are rooms we benignly neglect, never going into them and never messing them up. There are rooms like the snow room that we actively avoid, quickly depositing toys or stacks of paper or what have you inside, then bolting before frostbite sets in. Then there are the rooms we live in, which seem to be in a near-perpetual state of disarray. We make social plans and invite people over just because we know it will force us to put things in order.

But the saddest neglect in the house has got to be our bedroom, which isn't necessarily messy - or at least not as messy as it could be. But the walls are covered with the wallpaper chosen by the teenage son of the previous owners. It features purple and lime green surfboards against a field of white, and a 12-inch-deep border that is green, purple, blue and metallic silver. The fact that we have slept in that room for a single night without removing the paper is an example of extreme neglect.

21. Are the dishes in your sink/dishwasher clean or dirty?

The ones in the sink are dirty. The ones in the dishwasher are clean. And my guess is that the glass you'll find under the sofa is dirty.

22. How long have you lived in your home?

We bought the house on Valentine's Day 2006 and moved in on March 9.

23. Where did you live before?

We lived in a 3-bedroom, 1918 bungalow that had survived a hurricane.

24. Do you have one of those fluffy toilet lid covers on your toilet?

A toilet? You mean indoors? That's crazy future talk.

25. Do you have a scale anywhere in your house?

We have a scale in our spare bedroom because the bathroom is really too small.

26. How many mirrors are in your house?

Five - one over each bathroom sink, one over the dresser in the spare room, mirrored doors on the spare room closet, one over the upstairs bathroom sink and one over the dresser in my room.

27. Look up. What do you see?

A window that overlooks a snow-covered valley.

28. Do you have a garage?

Yes. Double car.

How Deep Is Your Love?

Several small things and one big thing. First, the big thing.

Love Without Boundaries is competing in the Facebook cause challenge. For those unfamiliar with the organization, you can read more here. This group is staffed completely by volunteers and works 24-hours a day 7-days a week to improve the lives of children in Chinese orphanages by providing medical care, formula and other nutrition, foster care training and education to children who may never be adopted. I cannot say enough about the amazing work this group does.

Right now, they are running neck-and-neck with Tibetan Freedom Movement and Fight Poverty. Clearly, those are both worthy organizations.

I am going to be joining and donating to LWB, and I invite you to do the same. The organization that receives the most new donations of at least $10 will receive an award of $50,000. Love Without Boundaries plans to spend the money on 10 children who need heart surgery.

Seriously - for $10 you can save 10 kids' lives. What are you waiting for?

http://apps.facebook.com/causes/view_cause/51591

Little Things

When we were in Boston, I went to Lila's salon sorceress for a haircut, and it is fabulous. Photos? No, you'll have to trust me on this one.

As we were leaving, the haircut assistant gave me a list of the products that were used in my hair, including the shampoo, conditioner and leave-in conditioner, something shinifying, something curlifying, something holdifying.

My HSH looked at the list and said: Is this covered by insurance?

Teachers' Pet

I finally got my grades for my first semester back in school in 15 years, and I got two solid B+es. And while I ordinarily would be flagellating myself for not achieving straight A's, in this instance - when the courses in question were a science class and a social science course on the Middle East - I'll take it.

This semester proves to be as challenging, although a little closer to my comfort zone. One class is about the health care system in America, and the equity or inequity thereof. I am reading a heart-wrenching book called "The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down." I want to blame someone.

I'm also taking a fiction writing seminar with a professor whom I have not yet met.

Partay

We attended a party last weekend where the primary activity was playing This Game. It was lots of fun, although I didn't get up and perform. I may have to get a copy for home so I can practice enough to go out in the world and represent.

The best Christmas ever

I probably wrote that last year, too, but whatever.

Here's a quick rundown:

Best gift given: Krups Coffee Grinder & Brewer for HSH because he hates our coffee. And because I am the prototypical 1950s housewife, I find that equivalent to his hating my housekeeping skills or blowjobs. Because I'm a lady like that.

Best gift received: A small Guan Yin, which makes me think of taking both of my daughters to the Six Banyan Tree Temple for a blessing, one of which was cut short by a cell phone call received by the monk.

Two other amazing gifts: A phone call received from Xerxes before we had a chance to call him. The Soundtrack to Office Space, worth "Damn It's Good to Be a Gangsta," alone.

Best food consumed: Vegetarian lasagna on Christmas day.

Runners-Up for best food consumed: Trader Joe's truffles and Lila's chocolate chip cookies.

Best drink consumed: Tempranillo brought by Lila (help  me out here with the vintner, L), around which she tied beautiful red and green ribbon. Edited to add: It wasn't tempranillo - it was rioja. With Pure Spanish Character. (Thanks, Lila.)

Best feat of engineering and persistence: Four adults (two of them Ivy leaguers) assembling a kitchen playset at midnight Christmas Eve. I was not one of the Ivy Leaguers. But I was sharing the Tempranillo with one of them.

Worst gift decision: Buying a T-shirt online.

Best gift decision: Buying Superbad for my brother from Amazon, and then having to buy it again because it had not arrived in time. Special gift for me - Cash Back!

Bee's favorite gift: Real makeup from Grandma.

Posey's favorite gift: Four consecutive days at home with four adults = four consecutive days of lap sitting and death defying for an audience.

Photos soon.

Goodbye, Norge

What follows is a column I wrote about getting rid of my Mommyvan.

Au Revoir, Mon Amie

It felt a little like taking an old dog to the vet to be put down.

Yesterday morning, I got into my cherished, beautiful, powerful, convenient Mommyvan, knowing it would be the last time I would ever drive her to work.

I patted her dashboard.

"You know I love you, right? This isn't because I don't love you. And I would keep you if I could."

It wasn't a lie. I do love that van. And when Honda came out earlier this year with the new ad campaign for the meaner, leaner 2008 Odyssey minivan, and commanded all of us to Respect the Van, I bowed in submission. Oh, yes. I do. Respect the van.

I do not, however, have the means to spend what it would take to get myself into a model with  the ability to climb a snowy driveway. And my poor Mommyvan - this is just so sad - can scarcely make it over a thin layer of wet leaves without spinning her sweet little wheels.

"Come on, girl, you can make it. You can do it - I think you can, I think you can, I think ... I'm going to have to walk up the driveway."

I've known since last winter, when the Mommyvan spent more time parked at the bottom of the driveway than at the top, that a new vehicle was going to be a necessity. But knowing it would happen hasn't made it easier.

But we've made the most of it. We've taken some fun trips together. She's criss-crossed New York at least a dozen times, and we even drove all the way to Florida and back. And if anyone doubts the sheer muscle of the Mommyvan, I need only produce the speeding tickets she has facilitated.

Sure, she got me into some trouble. But she also got me down the East Coast in supreme comfort. And except for that one little flaw of propelling with only two wheels, she has been nothing but reliable.

She was there when we had to take Posey to the emergency room because she was croupy, and when she had a staph infection and when she was dehydrated from throwing up all night. She drove us over the river and through the woods to holidays and birthday parties and dinners out when we were too tired to cook.

She just couldn't always bring us all the way up the driveway when we got home. It's only one flaw, but it's a big one.

We drove to the car dealership at lunchtime. As I cleared the last of my stuff out of her glovebox, I told her to cheer up.

"You'll find a great new owner. You'll have lots of fun and go on lots of trips. They'll probably even keep you clean and not let the kids eat trail mix in their carseats. Won't that be great? You're gonna be fine."

I handed her keys over to the car sales person, and she gave me the keys to my new ride. I chose an Outback because, well, it drives on all four wheels. And what it lacks in sheer square footage and number of cup-holders it makes up for in fuel efficiency. She's not quite as powerful as the Mommyvan, but she has heated seats. She's built for Upstate winters.

And she's pretty enough, shiny and black and nearly new.

When I got her back to work, where three of my four co-workers also own Subarus, my boss said, "Oooh, I see you got the ninja Subaru. Nice."

That's right. If I can't drive a road-owning Mommyvan, I'll drive a Subaru with ninja upgrade package. A Ninjaru.

Respect the Ninjaru.

NaBloPoMo

First of all, I love the idea of NaBloPoMo - National Blog Posting Month, in which the goal is to post every day during November. I also love that - as of Nov. 5, I'm already five days late. Hey - maybe I can use the technology to "go back in time" and "post every day."

What I love most about the initiative is that it is an alternative to NaNoWriMo, and allegedly more achievable. Ha.

In short, yes, I am blogging daily and pestering my colleagues to blog daily for Ye Olde Companie Blogue, as Figlet so aptly called it. And I'm doing a much better job of it there than I am here.

But this I will promise you: I will blog more than once in November. Whatever occurs, I will blog for you.

In the meantime, perhaps you would enjoy some photos from Halloween and Posey's 2nd birthday party.

It's funny because it's true

My trip to Florida was both wonderful and difficult. It was great to see my friends, and awful to realize - once again - just how much I miss them. And how unlikely it is that they'll be visiting me in New York any time soon.

It is what it is.

Smiley's baby shower was just lovely, and included the appearance of a full and total rainbow - visible end-to-end - arcing over the island where the party house is. I know that people took photos - how about someone send me one?

I stayed with my BFF(F!) Lolita. At the shower, we were sitting next to each other on the sofa, and I realized we were both wearing rather ordinary clothes - your basic shirts, pants, jeans sort of combo. But on our feet were leopard-print ballet flats (her) and red suede shoes with the most delicious ribbon trim (me).

Lolita: Look at our snappy shoes.
Me: You know, 10 years ago, we both would have been wearing vintage cocktail dresses to this shower.
Lolita: I know. I would have been all, "What is Bettie wearing? A poodle skirt and a feather boa? I'll wear a flamenco dancer's dress and silver platform pumps."
Me: And I'll wear a sequined Mardi Gras gown and a Crystal Gayle wig.
Lolita: And I'll wear a Native American headdress and a flapper costume.
Me: And I'll wear a bustier and snowshoes.
Lolita: And I'll wear a babydoll nightie and drywaller's stilts.

It went on from there.

I miss you, Lolita. Come visit.

I have a horrible feeling my seat will be next to theirs

airport blogging

I'm in the airport, getting reay to leave for five days of Florida-Brand Fun.

I love airports. I especially love how liberated some people feel when they're in an airport. People like this, who are about to join the mile high club before EVER LEAVING THE GROUND.

loveydove

Hello, Netflix

We're killing out television. Well, OK, not killing it. Just giving it a bypass.

A week or so ago, the "input" key on the remote stopped working, so we were forced to survive on meager rations of DVDs. The thing is? It's not that bad. And it's really pretty great for the kids, since we get to be all intentional about their programming.

Although I still assert that there's nothing wrong with using TBS reruns of "Sex and the City" as a babysitter. They're certainly not going to learn how to be slutty, shoe-mongering anorexics from me. I will never be anorexic.

So we haven't had any television, and we've survived pretty well. Yes, I miss the whole nightly Jon Stewart/Stephen Colbert sandwich o' political satire. But we've been busy watching Season 2 and 2.5 of "Battlestar Galactica," so we're pretty frakkin content.

I've also been hard at work with my new classes - Middle Eastern culture and migratory patterns (that's two classes, not one. Although I'm thinking now that I might be able to kill two term papers with one thesis...)

And then there is Xerxes. My son is travelling right now. He is visiting friends in Florida. I don't know when he's coming back. I miss him.

Oh, oh yeah. Did I mention that we have a contract on our Florida house? We're supposed to close a week from today? I guess this means we're really staying in New York.

Send a good thought or two.

Multitasking, bitch

So I was in the hospital for five days with "cellulitis." This is NOT code for "I had a little lipo" (wit ya money...)

It's an infection under the skin - like a pimple gone horribly, terribly, atomically wrong. Or like a staph infection.

(FRANK MEDICAL DESCRIPTION ALERT)

It started with a little pimply bump on my upper thigh kind of adjacent to my bikini line, but not directly on it (Thank you Baby Jesus.). Underneath the bump was an area about the size of a quarter that was painful and sort of firm. After Posey's experience, I went right to the doctor and got oral antibiotics. And the doctor told me that, if the area got too painful, I should take Tylenol.

Two days later, the firm area was the size of a kiwi and I was in serious, um, discomfort. There also was an area the size of a dinner plate on my thigh that was red and tender.

And still I was surprised when my doctor decided to admit me for inpatient treatment. Because I am a moron.

And also because I am a cancer survivor, and the fear of recurrance lurks behind every sniffle and every ache and every kiwi-sized cellulitis.

When the phlebotomist came in to take my admission bloodwork, I told her to ask the doctor to order a CA125, the ovarian cancer marker, just to have it in the mix. If something's there, I thought, I want to know.

Once I got into a hospital room, the inpatient doctor came around to have gander at my kiwi and immediately ordered morphine and a surgical consult.

The surgeons came and decided that, yes, they needed to get involved, but that they could do an IND bedside under local anesthetic.

The doctor warned me that, because of the nature of the infection, blah, blah, blah, the anesthetic would be difficult to deliver and the procedure would be "pretty uncomfortable." That is code for "you will feel like you're getting waxed by a shark."

Oh my crap, it hurt. And even the probing conversation about my doctor's take on what it's like to be Asian in this small town did not distract me from the pain. I have devised several accurate analogies, but I hesitate to even use them here, for fear that my readers will all begin abusing narcotics after reading them.

But my hospital stay wasn't all bad.

There were the painkillers, which were mostly effective at eliminating the pain of the excised kiwi.

There were my roommates, two of them, who both got good news. There is nothing better than good news in a hospital.

There was my new Photoshop and other graphic design software***, which may have been easier to learn had it not been for the painkillers. (See my new banner - I did it all by my seyulf!)

And there was my CA125 result. Anything under 35 is considered to be in normal range. A year ago, before we left Florida, my test came in at 6. In August, it was 4. Today it's 2.

Like I said, there is nothing better than good news in a hospital.

***I got Adobe's Creative Suite, which has Photoshop, InDesign, Illustrator, GoLive and a nice new version of Acrobat. I have no idea how to use any of it yet, despite reading the help guides for the past three days.


 

Mmmmm, tasty

Not long ago, Angela Marie wrote about the notoriously underdeveloped palates children have when it comes to fine baked goods, and she offered as evidence the fact that her child's classmates enjoyed a batch of chocolate cupcakes that were less than perfect.

The description she gave of the cupcakes was so intoxicating that I begged for the recipe, promising never to make or distribute them in her home state.

She was generous enough to oblige, and yesterday, Bee and I made a batch.

That's my son's ladyfriend, who is unanimously adored around Bookish Farm.

Also, she has been known to read this here Internet Thingy, and even has the charming decency to be mildly shocked at how often I use the word fuck.

She's a sweet girl.

I'm not a seasoned pastry chef. Cooking is just not among my meager talents. I'm not even a very good eater, for that matter. I'd be perfectly happy eating the same two or three dishes* every day for the rest of my life.

*Dishes that, ironically, are not available in any restaurant in a 60-mile radius of our home.

The point is that I don't cook often or particularly well, which speaks volumes about Angela Marie's cupcake recipe, because (cover your eyes H-------) holyfuckingwiltonpans those cupcakes are delicious.

Bee and I made them to welcome home our Hot Shot Husband/Papa, who returned last night in lake effect snow warning conditions from Florida, where his sister has surgery last week.

We made regular cupcakes, and we also made a pan of heart-shaped cakes. Those were Bee's favorites, and she sighed blissfully as she frosted one of them: "They make me want to love."

These cupcakes are, without exception, the best cake product I have ever eaten. My only dilemma is deciding what to call them.

  • Angela Marie's Effing Good Cupcakes
  • Blogcakes
  • Breakfast, Lunch and Dinner
  • Internet Strangercakes, because every time my husband sees me reading a blog or hears a story about something I read, he asks if I'm checking in with my Internet Strangers.

Thank you, Angela Marie. You've changed my life. And probably my jeans size.

I AIN'T SAYING SHE'S A GOLD-DIGGER

Last week, Bee announced over dinner one night that she and a little girl in her class named A---- had gotten married that day.

"That sounds like a lot of fun," I told her. "Is A---- one of your really good friends?"

She didn't answer because she was too busy humming the wedding march with her mouth full of pierogie.

"Why did you and A---- decide to get married?"

This is going to be great, I thought. In her little girl innocence, she's going to say something about the nature of love that we adults should all take to heart. I opened my mental notebook and prepared to take dictation.

She shrugged. "A---- and I got married to N------- because he was a prince."

TEETHING, CLIMBING, RENOVATING

Baby Posey has had a fussy week, what with her HSP being out of town. In his absence, she latched on to me even more forcefully. You should see the bruises.

The constant trail of saliva that has been hanging from her mouth like a fire escape ladder tells me that she's also teething, which couldn't have helped matters.

When she's not drooling or clenching one of my nipples in her vicelike little manhands because I threatened to put her down, she has been climbing. She climbs on the chairs. She climbs onto the dowels under out trestle-style dining table. She climbs onto the base of her highchair and looks like she's sailboarding.

She is not afraid of anything. Yesterday, she tried to climb onto the front of the Dyson - while I was vacuuming.

She and Bee are such different creatures. Bee covers her ears and flushes the toilet with her elbow. Posey wants to ride the vacuum.

She is not only fearless, but amazingly strong as well. Here she is crawling away after pulling up a slate tile from our entry hallway.

And while Bee likes to lick the chocolate batter from the beaters

Posey drinks hot sauce straight from the bottle.

I'm a good mom.