earth hour = lovely blip in time

We had the lights off and a single Method lavender lemongrass candle burning while watching "Mulan" on tv. Which, yes, sort of defeats the purpose, but laying in the big bed with the kids snuggled in on either side in the semi-darkness made for a cozy, lazy, winding down moment. We don't get enough of those.

I have been thinking about memory and what we retain from our childhoods. What would my two remember? Would they specifically remember that moment of warmth and love, or perhaps an impression of that coziness? Am I doing enough to create those positive memories? I am astounded by how much Z remembers from being three and heartened that they are primarily good memories - having ice cream, going to the playground, playing in the backyard of the Chicago house, her bedroom there, making snow angels. I can't shield her or O from the necessary components of growing up, though. Eventually, they will encounter grave disappointment, heartbreak, and loss. But from their positive memories, I hope they develop a foundation of trust in me, that they know that I would not turn them away or judge when unhappiness occurs.

Today was filled with loving moments as well as impatience and anger - all in a day's work when you're alone with two highly energetic children. At the end of the day, we came back to love in the form of snuggling on the bed, O kicking me sporadically. 

school, glorious school

The dust has settled. We got our first choice public school and were waitpooled on all four of the privates to which we applied. Happy, of course, that we have a solid school in pocket, but a little sad about losing the chance for a unique educational experience for Z and O, at least in the elementary years. People have tried to be upbeat and reassuring that the waitlists could clear over the summer, but I see this one opportunity dimming. We'll try again for middle school, but it will be no less difficult, if not more so.

I was seduced by the offerings from the privates. Beautiful campuses, warmth and a sense of community, a fully-loaded curriculum, and - if I had to be honest - a chance to give my kids a leg up in the world. It was a glimpse into an entirely different experience that neither D nor I had as children. It was a gift we wanted to give Z and O, and it was frustrating that we couldn't pull it off. 

We're being philosophical; God is pointing us toward the public. To reinforce that notion, there is a preschool next to the school's campus. I'm touring it in a few weeks, and if my gut says go, I'm submitting an application for O. The ability to minimize the impact of the double drop-off/pick-up is infinitely valuable.

I'm trying to not see this as a closed door but a turn in the road. It's hard not to feel a sense of loss, though. I'm wondering if the mere fact that my older baby is starting kindergarten in a few months is the root of my emotional reaction to the process. 

In the meantime, I'm indulging in fantasies of volunteering in the school library and chaperoning field trips.

work + parenting

I work full-time in a challenging job that by turns exhilarates and exhausts me. I am constantly terrified of screwing up. I have a deathly fear of failure, which I'm trying to get over because paralysis is not an option. 

And yes, I'm talking about both Career Job and parenting the minis.

Being a mother and working outside the home is tough. I have a compulsion to push myself, and it generally backfires on me. There are times when I feel that neither realms are getting the attention they need because I'm being pulled one way or the other. Eventually, everyone's annoyed, and I want to go fetal for a week.

The one lesson I'm learning is that I need to dial back and focus. Instead of doing 20 things, take 10 of those and do them very well. I can't get my act together to bake cookies from scratch with the minis, but I can read books until I'm hoarse. I'm not the most creative brainstormer, but I can ask people about their work and go deep with my understanding of that work. 

Now I need to get off my arse and do it.

her work

I gave Z one of my file folders in an attempt to corral all of the paper she generates. It's a sage green folder that I got during one of the Paper Source warehouse sales (and reason #59 why I miss Chicago). These include half-finished coloring pages and worksheets; she's taken to calling these her work. O accidentally found her notebook, another bargain though from Barnes and Noble, so between the worksheets and filling up the notebook pages, she's got a lot to do. 

Her preferred media is ink. She found some gel pens that I had purchased a couple of years ago so I could write on chocolate brown envelopes for some holiday cards or something, and she has a rather large carousel of Crayola markers at her disposal. 

Watching her work reassures me that she'll be able to do many things when she's older. My job is to remember to leave her alone and let her explore and make her own mistakes. 

a beautiful moment

Both kids are napping, both cats are napping, and I can hear the wind whooshing through the trees in the backyard. It's an all too rare moment of stillness in the house. I'm enjoying it by being quiet and still myself.

And apparently my very loud typing (my computer is in the master bedroom, where Z was crashed out) has now woken up the Z. She's happily eating an apple and two Bonbel circle cheeses for a snack.

this can't be a coincidence

Two bands that I currently dig have distinctly '80s vibes to them. Like this band that sounds like a mashup of The Cure and The Smiths, and a few dudes who put out synth-y, New Wave dance pop.

I likes both a lot. 

no cliches

but it's an awe-inspiring thought that my children will remember Barack Obama as the first of many presidents in their lives. It makes me misty with joy and trepidation. And I'm proud that I did my tiny share by way of tiny, tiny donations and voting. I even dragged the kids with me to the polls, during the primaries and election night. If they need to remember my crazy moments and that being one of them, hell, I'll take it.

trying not to overthink it

Z is in the playdate phase of the private school admissions process. My gut tells me that she's been doing well and that all we need to do now is sit back and wait until March to see what the results are. My brain, however, enjoys tormenting me with thoughts like "this is a waste of time", "we have no chance" and "she will be miserable here and tell you daily as you're bleeding money for the tuition and extras".

My gut tells me that the decision will be obvious and easy; the right school will be made beautifully clear to us. Clarity of the path has been a hallmark of the major decisions that I've made. But try telling my mind that.

birthday festivities

It's that time of year again. We weren't planning on having a party for Z but did anyway. It was on the 28th (coincidentally her due date), and thankfully we had a great turnout even though having a party during the winter break is a risky endeavor. The last thing you'd want to do is scar a child for life by throwing a party where no one came.

The cake was an ice cream cake from Baskin-Robbins. Classic was the way to go - chocolate cake and vanilla ice cream. I try to stay away from themed or branded birthdays, but I couldn't resist getting some Curious George paper goods and masks in lieu of hats.

Really, she did like it. Our current favorite nighttime reading material includes "Curious George Learns the Alphabet".

And what's a birthday post without some cake eating?

photos courtesy of Derrick Wong

new year's eve supper

I was going for a good luck theme:

La Brea Bakery french baguette

Trader Joe's spinach  + artichoke dip

cioppino courtesy of Whole Foods

scampi

deep fried fish stick things for the kids, also courtesy of Whole Foods

very quickly sauteed savoy cabbage with a dash of soy sauce and rice wine

rice pilaf with lentils, Whole Foods rice mix in a box, but hey, it works

tater tots for the kids

The kids and I stopped off at the BR for our free birthday scoops. Rainbow sherbet for the Z, chocolate for the O, and strawberry for me. So, no dessert, I think, though we do have some leftover chocolate coins.

on 2008

I would not say it's been a year of complacency. We've had two job changes, a cross-country move, a major car accident resulting in the loss of my beloved station wagon, and an economy that is not cooperating with our wishes. But all of these upheavals are what makes life less humdrum.

We have our health. We've celebrated five years of marriage and 13 years of a life together. We are parents to two lovebombs of children who never cease in delighting us. We are repairing neglected relationships with family and friends and forging new connections as well. We have our necessities covered.

We count ourselves lucky. Although that knowledge doesn't prevent us from wishing for more creature comforts, we are allowed a little envy. After that wave passes, we emerge to see our children ready for hugs and kisses, the smell of something good wafting from the stovetop, and a stack of books on the bedside table.

neighborhood envy

Today we crashed the playground and library of the neighborhood where we want to live eventually. It's a little posh, but then again, not too much of SF is not posh these days. The big draw is the convergence of three or four Muni train lines at the tunnel that will take you straight downtown - a beauty of a commute. Plus, the library is cozy with a separate children's room, and the playground is smallish but contained and with a bonus grassy field for running with complete abandon.

It's not to say that our 'hood is unacceptable, but having a more direct commute to the working world makes life much easier. And having a three screen  movie theater within walking distance seals the deal for us. When D-Money and I lived in Tarzana, we were a five-minute walk from the local multiplex and a quick drive from an independent movie place in Encino. In Chicago, we lived in Lincoln Square for a while and loved taking in movies at the Davis, which cost $5 per ticket - perfect. If we stayed in Chicago, we would've hunkered down in LS or headed out to Oak Park with its architectural history and - yes, you guessed it - movie theater on the main drag.

Not so much to ask for, right? Will it happen? We can only hope. And play the lottery a little more often.

best moment of the day

Because D-Money is home for the holidays and can wrangle O, Z and I had a luxurious half hour of mama-daughter time, which we spent reading. We like Richard Scarry's books for his nearly OCD attention-to-detail illustrations and spend more time talking about the pictures than actually reading. 

I like these impromptu moments. Some nights we don't even get to reading, unfortunately. And I wonder if the kids will remember these positive times or the times when I have had it and lose my temper. 

I thought I was immune to caffeine

but it's past midnight and I'm still wide awake. Granted, I took a brief unexpected nap in Z's bed earlier because she wanted a little co-sleeping time. But I'd like to think it was that Thai iced coffee at 2 p.m. I can give or take the 'bucks but Thai iced coffee, how I love thee!

At least I got one private school app done. Woohoo!

we're in an economic downturn?

I wouldn't have noticed because I'm always broke, or close to it.

what Sundays are like.

A chicken is roasting in the temperamental oven, Z is coloring, it's close to six p.m. and O is still napping. Laundry folded and ready to be put away. Making a to-do list for the week.

important now

[psst...the pic on the left will make sense if you read the last paragraph in this post first]

This fall I've been consumed with the whole process of finding a school for Z and O. They're spending the next, oh, six or even nine years there, so it behooves us to pick a solid one.

The public schools that we've toured are pretty darn swell. We looked at one top SF public and came away underwhelmed. It's not to say it didn't deserve its good rep, but in comparison with others we've seen, it was comparable to a host of other district schools. We have one that is our top choice - we plan on eventually moving to that neighborhood, the principal is down to earth and straightforward, the parents who led the tour we were on were also down to earth, and the kids looked like they were having a good time. So we'll turn in our app with seven choices and try to forget about the process until late March when the results roll in.

We've toured four private schools as well. They also have their strengths, and, to be honest, they will be a better fit for the kiddos in the long run. However, the admissions process is competitive, based on a number of factors including parent interviews and screening of the kids. It's more personal and, as a result, generates many feelings of insecurity and inadequacy, at least on my part. We'll do our best to provide thoughtful answers to the essay questions, be ourselves at the interviews and tours, and submit our apps, then wait for the March letters.

All in, we're applying to 11 schools - 11 schools that'll work for our family. It's an incredibly stressful experience; even though we've done our research and due diligence, what if we're completely wrong? Part of the whole torment of parenting is that feeling that somehow you're going to screw things up no matter what your good intentions are.

***

I took Z to a family open house at one of the private schools. It was two hours; I fully expected to stay a hour tops. But Z had a ball. We hung out in the kindergarten classroom for a good hour, took a snack break, then headed up to the library. We didn't even hit the art room (I'm starting to suspect that she, like me, likes to create in solitude) and revisited the kindergarten classroom to close the day. I rarely get to see her in action in this kind of setting, and I have to say it was pretty neat to see her pretend play with these old school Fisher Price Little People toys. We're talking the ones from the '70s, like this a-frame house that I had when I was not that much older than her. Now I kind of want to find one just to have. I know, good luck with that, right?

just like home

The dust has settled from our near cross-country move. Camping out in an empty house for a week whilst waiting for your goods to show up was an experience. It wasn't horrible, but I have no desire to repeat it.

The kids are sharing a [very pink] room and have adjusted quite well. Better than I had hoped. They are stressed out, though. Naptimes are random and unpredictable, middle of the night awakenings more common than not, tantrums more explosive, appetites wane and wax. Despite the disruptions, they've been flexible and forgiving. It is wonderful to open the doors separating the master bedroom from the deck that leads directly to the backyard and have dinner there. The kids next door have taken a shine to my kiddos, and it's sweet to hear them playing together, albeit in our respective yards.

My happiness at being here is tempered by melancholy. I miss Chicago and the friends I left behind. I have great love for a number of people, places, and things. I'm glad that I had the opportunity to live there and to develop relationships with all sorts of wonderful characters. I have to believe that these ties I established will never be severed. We may drift apart but will come back together. I have friends from the LA years whom I've rediscovered recently. I hope that holds true with my midwest peeps. For me, it's always about the people.

shifts

Here's the story on the move.

On a whim, I applied for a job in my field for a great company that's located in San Francisco. In my mind, I thought I didn't have a shot since I live in Chicago, and this is not the kind of job for which you would recruit outside of the city. Lo and behold, I got a phone call for an interview that snowballed into a job offer. I accepted it, and have spent the last few months in cold sweats and sudden panic attacks.

Moving is one of my least favorite activities in the world. To date, I have not packed a single thing, though I have gotten rid of bagfuls of random assorted items. I have to confess that I'm overwhelmed. This would be one of the opportunities where a magical fairy being would be really, really helpful.

Z is excited about moving to San Francisco. She's looking to the future. O has no concept yet; it'll hit him after we move. Regardless, it'll be a rough year. I'm fully not expecting us to feel comfortable for a while.

I will say that, as I was randomly driving around Monday evening and cruising down streets that were slowly becoming familiar to me again, I thought, "this is home. I've run away, and now I'm coming back. but not in shame or defeat. I'm not the callow person I was when I left, and maybe I've seen far too much of a lot of things, but I'm coming back as a wiser adult. would that make things different?" I was an angry young woman when I fled for L.A., and I'm not sure how much of that anger has truly dissipated. I know better than to blame people for old wounds. Perhaps I've come back at this point in time to make peace.

karmic balance

bad:
frickin' tree in our backyard dropped a huge branch in the yard. 'twas large enough that it covered most of the backyard and took out a dead cable line.

good:
no one and nothing was seriously damaged by said huge branch.

bad:
tree has lived past its prime, according to our tree guy. so it needs to come down. no shade come summer for poor D.

good:
we'll plant another tree.

bad:
kiddos and I won't be around to enjoy the new tree.

good:
but the robins and squirrels will.

what I'm pissed off about today

I'm conducting my annual purge the closet exercise, which is all the more urgent given that we're getting ready to relocate to my beloved hometown of San Francisco [more on that saga later], and I came across a pair of dark brown leather pants. They are simple, stylish, not overtly rock 'n' roll, with a slim cut, no pockets, and a subtle boot cut leg. I try them on. I cannot pull the zipper up. I am flabbergasted. For you see, these fancy pants are pre-pregnancy, pre-Chicago, pre-a whole lot of things. They fit perfectly well seven years ago!

Goddamn it.

I'm not sure why I'm even perturbed about it. I've had no occasion to wear leather pants, first of all. I can't complain about not shedding any pregnancy weight gain. I can't even complain about my post-pregnancy body because, yes, things are not as jaunty and firm as they once were, but neither has everything gone to pot. Entirely. I know better than to bare my midriff these days, at any rate. My vanity has only gotten a flesh wound in this instance.

But they're cute on, and it kills me that they will never grace my body with their cuteness again. Off they go to the thrift store [where I found them in the first place] for some other soul to discover.

to Z on her fourth birthday

success!,
originally uploaded by urban mama.

My memories of you. Falling asleep on my chest after nursing in the waning hours of the night. Your tentative delight of being in a warm bath. Your exertions and accompanying vocal effects when you were trying to lift your head for the first time. The grin when you took your first steps toward me. The refusals to nap. Eating lunch at Café Selmarie and then spending endless minutes in the toy shop up the street. Your curiosity and calm when your brother made his first appearance into the world.

The limitless love I have for you is tinged with exasperation at your burgeoning defiance, fear that you are prone to giving up too easily, concern that I’ve passed along my obsessive-compulsive, perfectionist, fear of failure tendencies to you. You exhaust me with your sheer joy and the ebb and flow of your energy. Yet, somehow, you’re able to step up to the challenge at precisely the right moments and wow me with your empathy, your innate understanding of the world, your capacity for deep wells of emotion.

You have already called me your best friend and that you always want to be with me. Although I make light of it, I am touched by the pureness of your love for me. I've done nothing but bring you into this world, and I'm not sure if I've fully equipped you just yet. I will try not to screw it up, though I’m afraid eventually I will disappoint you. It is inevitable. But, I will always be your mother and your safe haven.

[almost] first snowfall of the season

Shuttling groceries and other sundry items between the garage and the house, I stopped for a minute and listened to the falling snow. You can hear the quiet it brings. It sounds like a whisper.

Something about snow dampens and softens the sounds of the city. Street noise is muted; it's almost as though the main drag near the house moved further away.

the time sucker known as Facebook

So I've jumped the shark and started populating my Facebook profile, which was originally set up in 2005 - eons in the social networking world. I can't remember exactly why I started messing around with it, but, suffice to say, it's taken up precious minutes that should be spent filing the mound of never-diminishing paperwork on my desk here at home, sorting the laundry, preventing the kids from making new holes in the drywall, and other important activities.

The thing that takes up a vast amount of time is navigating the add-ons for Facebook. I still haven't figured out the Flickr app and have taken more movie compatibility quizzes than I care to admit. The most time-sucking of these apps is Scrabulous, an online Scrabble game which is terribly, terribly addicting. Particularly when good friends beat the pants off you and you desperately need to save face. But immediately.

happy birthday, little man.

happy birthday, little man.,
originally uploaded by urban mama.

I’m gonna tell my son to grow up pretty as the grass is green
And whip-smart as the English Channel’s wide...
Liz Phair, “Whip-Smart”

Mr. Guy,

I cried when the nurses put you on my chest for the first time. Maybe it was because I wasn’t expecting you for another two weeks. Maybe it was because your sister - all 21 months of her - was present for your birth since the sitter came down with strep and was sitting in an emergency room waiting for treatment. And maybe it was because it was the start of an incredibly complex relationship between me and you, mother and son. You were born when a show called “The Sopranos” was big and that deals with the ramifications of a twisted mother/son relationship, among other things. You’re not allowed to watch it until you’re at least 18, by the way. I don't need you going all AJ on me.

I promise you that I will never hold you back from what you want to do, unless I sense that what you’re about to do has nothing to do with what you feel in your heart but more about what other people are telling you to do. I had a friend once whose mother was slowly dying of cancer. He wanted to move across the country to live out a dream but didn’t want to leave her. She made him go, saying that it would be selfish of her to keep him tethered when he had an entire life to life. That’s how I feel about you and your sister. You have grand opportunities waiting to be seized. Don’t hold back.

For now, as you turn the Important Age of Two, I will delight in your open mouthed kisses, your tackle hugs, your fake whiny cry which sounds a little like a broken ambulance siren, your anger at being thwarted from causing yourself real bodily harm, your willingness to try anything on my plate - even the garnish, your persistence and patient determination in opening doors you’re not supposed to open, and your mischevious, grabbing life by the balls, joyful disposition. In the words of Marge Simpson, you’re my special little guy. And yes, you can watch “The Simpsons” before you’re 18. It’ll probably still be running.

it never fails.

You're dressed in a drop dead killer outfit, wearing heels that cause other women to stop you and ask you where you got them, walking in a full on confident stride that screams, "I am an independent, strong, self-assured woman and I kick major ass", and you trip on a flippin' sidewalk crack.

eaten alive.

For the first time in years, I'm being attacked, gleefully, by mosquitoes and other blood-sucking critters. It may have something to do with the torrential rainfall we've experienced here in Chicago lately; them skeeters like humidity and pools of standing water. I've slaughtered three that I found in the house today. Hell, it's not enough that I'm feeding the little bastards - they want to hang out here rent-free? Forget it.

the eating habits of the very young homo sapiens

O has the palate of a burgeoning gourmand. He has sampled lobster and requested more after the first taste. He has been witnessed running around with a chicken and apple sausage clutched in a pudgy hand. He likes a bit of avocado with his soft tacos. He is not a fan of fast food, though like Jeffrey Steingarten and the late, great Julia Child, he loves McDonald's fries to the exclusion of any other offering from the golden arches. In fact, he prefers Boca burgers. There's nothing in the world that smells like a toddler who's had a load of garlic-infused soy.

Z, on the other hand, is a fan of processed foods. The faker, the better. She does love any sort of fruit - fresh, dried or hanging out in liquid, which offsets her love of the dinosaur-shaped mystery chicken nuggets. I considered it a major coup that she'll eat the chicken from the chicken chow fun we order from the local Chinese takeaway. It's difficult for me - someone who loves everything from four-star restaurant fare to $1.50 greasy cheese pizza slices - to accept this resistance to the myriad possibilities of food. As long as you need to eat, you may as well have some fun keeping yourself alive, right?

All this talk about food is making me hungry. Where are the wasabi peas?

if I were a Simpsons character, I'd look like this.

when the f*** did I get so old?

I dropped off a package at a client's office a few days ago and decided to walk most of the way there and back. This was probably about three miles in all. A leisurely stroll down Michigan Avenue and Upper Wacker Drive in high humidity. I wore some Diesel kicks. Not a strenuous walk, right?

Right, except that by the time I got to Washington and Wacker from Erie and Michigan, my left knee was feeling a little sketchy. Not that it was making noises but it felt sore. Tired. Unhappy with my walking. It was none too pleased that I was trying to live a sustainable lifestyle by not taking any form of transportation requiring fossil fuels.

The following day, I crashed into a doorframe while chasing the kids around. Now the right knee has a bruise.

I've also been extraordinarily tired for someone who doesn't do damn much during the day in terms of physical labor. I've taken to passing out on Z's floor when I'm putting her to bed; she likes me to stay for a while after kissing her goodnight. So I lay on her rug with a giant floor pillow under my head and one of her tiny blankets covering me, and I fall asleep before she does.

I'm used to being Indestructible, Resilient Amy. This slow falling apart is not cool. I was the one who could drink copiously without fear of hangovers. I could out-eat most men. I went to the gym regularly. Now red wine gives me a major headache, I get heartburn, and my body after two kids has gone to mush. Even thinking about joining a gym exhausts me.

And the checkout girl at Whole Foods didn't even card me when I bought the giant bottle of Belgian Trappist Monk ale yesterday.

Getting old sucks.

it is done.

I finished the last Harry Potter last night. I am sure I'm not saying anything new here when I say that it's a fitting finale to the series. Now I have an urge to reread all seven books to pick up on everything that I missed the first one or two times.

The best "children's" books - and I don't even want to call them that because it's a limiting label - are the ones you have on your bookshelves when you're well into adulthood. I for one have the "Wrinkle in Time" trilogy and the Narnia books from my youth and the "His Dark Material" trilogy [Daniel Craig as Lord Asriel - nice bit of casting in the upcoming movie version of "The Golden Compass"] and Harry Potter from the recent past. And as I'm typing, it hits me that these books deal with alternate worlds and realities inhabited by very human characters. All are variations on the classic hero's quest construct as popularized by Joseph Campbell.

Reading is an immersive experience. We expect to take something away, be it raw knowledge, escape or a different perspective. Phrases stay with you. Visuals inhabit your waking life. You reference the book in everyday conversation. I'm not expecting to call anyone a Muggle anytime soon, but I do love the "Voldemort Votes Republican" bumper sticker I saw on a beater of a car recently.

brb

Like practically everyone else, I'm reading the new Harry Potter. I expect to finish it in a week. Smell ya later.

sky blue sky

the view from the lawn,
originally uploaded by urban mama.

The best part about Ravinia: laying on the grass after a little vino and seeing this above your head.

cooking = love

I read an article on nytimes.com today, where the writer, Leslie Kaufman, discusses how to cook meals for entire family consumption with the understanding that certain younger members of the family will eat one thing out of the seven you bring to the table.

The one line that resonated with me was:

"I committed to cooking a family meal when my first son was born...not because of any psychology study about the well-being of children, but because it gave me comfort."

Cooking for la familia is a means by which I express my love. Even if we're having hot dogs, there will be fresh fruit and maybe a vegetable or legume snuck in there. I put a lot of thought into balancing flavors and food groups. By cooking, I feel as though I'm extending a part of myself to those who consume the meal. Through the meal, I'm saying, "I want you to enjoy this meal in the present, and it's okay if you don't remember it in the future. When you eat what I prepare, I want you to feel comforted, loved, relaxed."

I work full-time, so my time spent at work is vague and incomprehensible to the minis. It doesn't make an impact, yet, to discuss things like wages, inflation and the cost of living. But if I can manage to assemble dinner daily - okay, we get takeout every so often - I'm hoping that I'm establishing a ritual of sorts. Long after they've left for college or other pastures, they will retain some internal memory of mama providing something to eat almost every day. It'll be part of my legacy.

everything they say is true.

Proportion,
originally uploaded by urban mama.

1. They grow up so fast.

2. They're frickin' cute kids.

3. O looks like me, and Z looks like D.

4. Boys are from Mars, and girls are from Venus.

5. At least Z isn't wearing pink this year.

today's playlist: music for deadlines

Sound of Silver | LCD Soundsystem
Renegades | Rage Against the Machine
Is This It? | The Strokes
Decksanddrumsandrockandroll | Propellerheads
Paul's Boutique | Beastie Boys
Hot Fuss | The Killers
Beaucoup Fish | Underworld
Reggatta De Blanc | The Police
American Idiot | Green Day

set adrift on memory bliss

I've been the proud owner of a Mac Mini for more than a year, and I love that li'l white box. Its predecessor was a bondi blue G3 tower with a now laughable 6 gig hard drive. We had wonderful times, the G3 and I. That's a post for another day.

Last night I finally pulled my personal work off the G3 - portolio, tax returns, cover letters and resumes, and the piece de resistance: fiction and columns spanning nearly 20 years. Twenty! I reread the novel, a work in progress since I was 18. I looked at articles written for webzines and friends' websites. I found a chat transcript from 2002 where W. and I were attempting to resurrect our '90s webzine; five years later, we're still talking about it.

I came away with a single happy thought: I found my voice around 2000. The voice hasn't changed, but the writing, I'd like to think, has become more fully realized and complete. And the voice is one of wryness, honesty, rapidfire wit, passion, a "screw it, I'm going to say this, and people can take it in whatever way they want" mentality, a little precious, maybe too much in love with being clever.

I miss writing. Specifically, I miss the luxury of time + energy + inspiration that jumpstarted the flow. Looking over my past work last night has relit the fuse. I've a book in me yet. Or, I'll collect my various bits and bobs and label it a collection of my best of.

why I love the peeps at America's Test Kitchen

Today's e-mail newsletter had this wonderful, genius tidbit of advice:

KITCHEN ADVICE: Leak-Free Ice Cream Cones
The real tragedy of a dripping ice cream cone isn't the mess, but the loss of the last little bit of ice cream. One solution to a leak-free cone is to create a barrier between the melting ice cream and the cone tip. Two kid-friendly obstructions are an upside-down Hershey's Kiss and a mini marshmallow.

Brilliance, I tell you. Sheer brilliance!

snapshot: today's iPod playlist of music for working girls

Feels Like Home | Norah Jones
Corinne Bailey Rae
Poses | Rufus Wainwright
Plans | Death Cab for Cutie
various NPR Fresh Air and Music podcasts
The Mix-Up | Beastie Boys

parlez-vous français?

I am pleased to report that one of Z's favorite songs right now is "Sympathique" by Pink Martini. Lyrically, I think it's about ennui; my French skillz are less than poor, so I'm not the most reliable translator. There is something about smoking: "Et puis je fume". But the tune is catchy so we sing the song phonetically in the car and call it a day.

In related news, O has a huge aversion to Prince in all of his incarnations. Any Prince or The Artist Formerly Known As Prince song elicits shrieks of dismay and protests. And a general, emphatic "no!"

to the left, to the left

I'm listening to Beyonce singing "Irreplaceable"*. It is a sterling example of a pop song done right. Catchy melody, girl power theme, kicking bad boyfriend to the curb - what else does one need?

The premise of the song is interesting. Seems that Beyonce's man has been misbehaving - "Because you was untrue/Rolling her around in the car that I bought you" - and he's a kept man to boot. She's kicking him out of her house, taking back all the gifts, telling him, "I can have another you in a minute/Matter fact, he'll be here any minute."

Snap!

Despite all the tough chick posturing, she allows one moment of vulnerability: "So since I'm not your everything/How about I'll be nothing/Nothing at all to you?" That's why we fall in love; we want to be the center of the universe, the locus of our lover's life. And when we fall out of orbit, it's a disorienting feeling. We feel betrayed, unwanted, insecure. We reach the crossroads: do we continue with this person for whom we fell so deeply, or do we roll the dice and find another?

The trade-off for high passion and the rush of being with someone new is tending a slow burning and oftentimes unexciting flame. Let's be honest - relationships are hard work. Otherwise, you wouldn't see as many people giving up as you do. But there are times when something has run its course, and we need to be intuitive enough to recognize it.

Then we can step off to the left and move on.


* yeah, I know this song was released ages ago. And it's still damn good.

J'aime voyager.

I've got it in my head that my next off-the-beaten-track excursion should be to Montreal and Quebec City. Many good reasons to travel there exist for these destinations:

1. I've never been to Canada.

2. Chicago is not far from these cities - a two+ hour flight.

3. I can pretend I'm in France.

4. The subway system in Montreal seems efficient and a good way to get around.

5. I need to get more stamps in my passport.

6. It's not terribly expensive overall. Unless I choose to make it so.

7. It would be a recon mission to explore the possibilities of dual citizenship in case I need to flee the US.

I should take a crash course in traveler's French just for fun. If nothing else, learning the correct pronunciation of various words will make it easier to order something with, say, beurre blanc sauce at a schmancy restaurant.

today's car conver

Z: I'm the sun! Mommy, you're a cloud.

me: I'm a cloud?

Z: yeah, and O is a cloud too!

me: okay, so you're the sun, and O and I are clouds. Gotcha.

Z: and Daddy is the rain!*

No, I don't know what this all means either.


* D-Money's brilliant quote re: post: "Every Mommy has a silver lining and into every life a little Daddy must fall."

eq

Z is now getting into the habit of saying "I love you" at spontaneous moments. I thoroughly encourage this. When she gets to be of a certain age, the ability to say "I love you" without reservation to the love[s] of her life will be crucial.

I didn't grow up in an emotionally open household; to this day I repress a lot of things that I shouldn't. It's plain unhealthy. This is one thing that I don't want to bequeath to my children. The repression, I think, keeps me from being completely emotionally involved in relationships. True intimacy is very scary. When I've tried to be more open with my feelings, I've been shot down, ridiculed, dismissed. And that makes me even more angry and withdrawn and disinclined to be deeply and truly involved.

But what I can do is not let this manifest in my kids. I've horrified myself by hearing the words "That's not a big deal, stop crying" come out of my mouth. Why not just say, "Whatever you're feeling is unimportant"? Same effect, no? I freely admit it's an ass pain to be endlessly patient, infinitely understanding, but I see in Z now that approaching problems with logic and compassion goes much further than saying "Because I said so." She's a fabulous little girl and goddamnit, I'm not going to hinder her emotional development in any way.

I don't let a day go by without saying "I love you" to each of them. Maybe I overcompensate by kissing and hugging them all too much. But I've never know a kid their ages to turn down a kiss and a hug. Somehow, I'm doing something right.

the happy prince

I've had a couple of days this past week with some heavy-duty mama and son time. I don't spend nearly as much time with O as I should because Z lays first claim to my free time constantly.

On one of the days, he had some 24-hour stomach bug that caused copious vomiting, and we spent the day at home recuperating. He wasn't that sick; he demanded a wagon ride around the block and enjoyed the sprinkler action on various lawns. I put him down for his nap and held his hand until he was nearly out. It's a special move that we have.

We had grandparents in town this weekend, and it was a whirlwind of food and activity. On Sunday, D-Money took Z down to Oak Park, where they were staying, so O and I trekked to the supermarket to get a few things. I broke one of my self-imposed cardinal rules and opened a bag of goldfish crackers so he could munch while we shopped. But he thoroughly enjoyed himself and was fascinated by the piles and stacks of seemingly endless food. Not once did he try to escape the cart - a new milestone.

The one thing I'm working on right now is weaning him from the milk bottle. He's ready. It's a bit of a wrench - though not as much as stopping breastfeeding - but he's been able to fall asleep without needing the bottle for the past several days. It's time.

So now I'm without a baby in the house. After three years, it's an odd feeling. Sad, but liberating. No more dragging of huge tote bags filled with baby paraphenalia - back to normal-sized, cute handbags for mom. No more double stroller - both kids demand to walk or run amok. No more special baby food - O will eat everything from gnocchi to lobster.

Back to my happy prince - he's a good egg. A destructive, highly energetic, mischievous, charming egg, but a good one.

these peeps are funny.

truly. go laugh at them. points if you can guess my connection to one of the hosts.

http://bwtmpodcast.blogspot.com/

a surreal moment

I took Z to a somewhat chichi kids' haircut place today. If you've never been to one of these places, they're usually stocked with toys, books, tvs playing kids' shows and video game consoles for the older child. The decor is whimsical Alice in Wonderland/fairy tale. So, a big hit with the mini set.

Anyway, we were walk-ins and hung out for a bit. We ended up watching a Wiggles segment, a wacky live action show from our Aussie friends. A musical number came up involving pirates and dancing, and the first line of the song sounded familiar. Very familiar. As the song progressed, I realized that it was "Six Months in a Leaky Boat", an old Split Enz song...which was confirmed by the appearance of a bemused Tim Finn playing guitar with the lead Wiggles guy.

Z was slightly riveted by the dancing pirates before wandering off elsewhere. I was completely riveted.

I have to say, though, that my favorite Split Enz song of all time is "I Got You".* Early Neil Finn [of Crowded House] songwriting. It's much simpler lyrically than his later work, but the darker undertone set against a cheery pop melody is very much in evidence.

*so many links in this post! To paraphrase a friend, I'm always peddling music for the greater good.

favorite words

confluence

unclear

mirepoix

allegedly

fabulous

well...

songs that moved me today

Hallelujah / Jeff Buckley

Accidental Babies / Damien Rice

what summer feels like

Hanging out in the park, surreptitiously sipping alcohol in plastic Solo cups and being nonchalant in front of cruising cops, enjoying the warm weather, watching people going about their business on bikes, tennis courts and softball fields, laughing, eating whatever everyone brings to the potluck, and watching other people set up the net and play badminton.

Summer is all about the total chill time. Summer weekends? Leave the watch and the Blackberry at home. Never be on time. De-accessorize. Libertad!

best. night. ever.

photo by joel didriksen for kingpinphoto.com

The day started off with seeing friends, eating cinnamon rolls and general fun 'n' games. Now I'm sitting here listening to Rufus Wainwright live in concert at the Gramercy Theater in NYC courtesy of NPR and the lovely peeps at WNYC. I really should spring for computer speakers; the one on the Mac Mini does not cut it.

RW is a lyricist in the old-fashioned sense - words structured in such a way that he says things quite plainly, but it hits you a second or two after you hear the line. He is heavily influenced by all that opera to which he listened between the ages of 14 and 24 [I think that's right], and that was it. No rock, no jazz, no folk. Just opera. Not only can he write circles around most, he sings with a whole lot of moxie and grace.

I can die happy right now.

why blog?

I've never kept a diary in my life, save the time when I was eight and wrote about a crush I had on some older guy [he probably was 12 or thereabouts] in Chinese class and my mom naturally read the entry and subsequently gave me a lecture on love crap that to this day makes me go red. Mortification, my soul is yours.

Anyway. Being publicly anonymous has its advantages. I'm speaking to an unseen audience and thusly can be freer in what I want to say. [note: what is the sound of one hand clapping?] I'm not interested in competing with everyone else on Blogger and elsewhere. This is a haven for me and random friends stopping along the way. Some inside jokes, some catching up with the news from my front, some thoughts that generally have no place in everyday conver.

It's also a good place to experiment with turns of phrase, such as "mortification, my soul is yours." My everyday speech is decidedly more pedestrian. Then again, I can't go around talking like a weird 19th century grunge refugee either.

awakening, part II

I'm now getting the itch to be outdoors, rather than indoors in a climate-controlled environment. Spending warm weekend afternoons lounging around the porch and backyard is contributing to my increasing flakiness. My eastward view looking over the Chicago River with representative buildings from every era - from the Lyric Opera building to the Sears Tower to shiny stainless and glass modern fare - doesn't help either.

I've never been much for the outside life. I am not a happy camper, literally; I prefer my nature bug-free and amenity-rich. Now I can sit in a swarm of gnats and not become too grossed out. Fat earthworms creeping slowly toward me is another matter entirely.

I'm even thinking about getting a bike (and those of you know me really well are thinking, "holy f***stacks! pang wants to get a bike!"), and I want one from these guys. Tell me that is not the best looking bunch o' bicycles you've ever seen. Give me the Townie in turquoise floral fade. And dang it, I want a basket in front.

omigod, omigod, OMIGOD!

In August I'm going to two cool concerts: Rufus Wainwright at Ravinia and Crowded House at the House of Blues. I've seen the latter maybe three or four times since the early '90s before they disbanded. Hot damn!

Now my project for the summer is to coerce someone(s) into going with me since I bought pairs o' tix and there's the looming chance that D-Money won't be interested in either. Campaign starting in three, two, one...now.

We're also getting a group of ex-co-workers-who-are-still-fast-friends together for Lyle Lovett and k.d. lang at Ravinia later this month. That'll be an interesting crowd, and we'll be part of it.

I am a music dork. I should wave the hipster card and go to Pitchfork like a proper indie Gen-Xer, but why be so predictable, right?

awakening

Since we moved to Chicago, I feel as though I'd been living in a period of dormancy insofar as writing and other creative pursuits go. Now that the kids are less dependent and I've found a cool, new group of friends who are invigorating and awesome in so many ways, the sleeper is awakening. For a month, I've been trying to write something, no matter how short, every day. The blog counts. I viewed my sad posting history; I'm going to surpass 2005 and 2006 with posts from 2007 alone! And it's neat to see the files piling up in their special folder on the hard drive.

I'm still working on the resolutions. Again, what is September going to bring? I need to get working on that time machine.

I'm getting good at this camera phone stuff.

mama and daughter ready for close-up,
originally uploaded by urban mama.

Today was a washout of a day in terms of social activities, so Zee and I walked down to the DQ for some icy cold goodness. I started messing around with the camera phone and took this groovy shot. I'm damn proud of myself. I wish I could've gotten more of her face, and less of mine, but still, not bad!

The DQ cone I got her was about as big as her head. It was allegedly a "small". Ha.

random moment no. 912

The minis having a "laughing party" - Zee's words - in the back seat of the station wagon during a supercraptastic commute home. I don't know what inspired the party, but I can report that there was chuckling, chortling, giggling, guffawing and full-on belly laughing.

Instructions for Life

I've been meaning to put this up for some time. It's all over the net but hell, I always need reminding. Incidentally, it's really not by the Dalai Lama, contrary to popular belief.

• Take into account that great love and great achievements involve great risk.
  
• When you lose, don't lose the lesson.
  
• Follow the three Rs: Respect for self, Respect for others and Responsibility for all your actions.
  
• Remember that not getting what you want is sometimes a wonderful stroke of luck.
  
• Learn the rules so you know how to break them properly.
  
• Don't let a little dispute injure a great friendship.
  
• When you realize you've made a mistake, take immediate steps to correct it.
  
• Spend some time alone every day.
  
• Open your arms to change, but don't let go of your values.
  
• Remember that silence is sometimes the best answer.
  
• Live a good, honorable life. Then when you get older and think back, you'll be able to enjoy it a second time.
  
• A loving atmosphere in your home is the foundation for your life.
  
• In disagreements with loved ones, deal only with the current situation. Don't bring up the past.
  
• Share your knowledge. It's a way to achieve immortality.
  
• Be gentle with the earth.
  
• Once a year, go someplace you've never been before.
  
• Remember that the best relationship is one in which your love for each other exceeds your need for each other.
  
• Judge your success by what you had to give up in order to get it.
  
• Approach love and cooking with reckless abandon. [this one is too near and dear to my heart.]
  

my favorite new saying, no. 2

"Engage the filter."

Otherwise known as, "Self edit! Self edit!"

calling child services

We had a big Memorial Day bash at the house today that was designed to capture everyone who didn't already have plans.

Children ranged from non-walking babies to strapping preschoolers. Nearly full nudity abounded. Mud and water play was rampant. Curious sipping of alcoholic beverages by toddler was witnessed, as was sidewalk chalk chomping. Many a child was passed out as the day drew to an end. Someone had scrawled a big "Thank You" with baby-drool covered chalk on the concrete walk. The grass was littered with food that even the rogue squirrels terrorizing the 'hood won't touch.

So all in all...success!

so effing good

If you people haven't gotten your hands on a copy of Wilco's "Sky Blue Sky" yet, what the hell are you waiting for? GO DO IT NOW. For God's sake.

Plus, Tweedy lives near me. Nyah nyah nyah!

i'm married to whom?

from the files of D-Money:

office conversation turned to who would play whom in a movie. D-Money's list, as decided upon by his staff, was:

• Keanu Reeves (assumption that this is shameless ass-kissing, but personally, I wouldn't mind having a Keanu lookalike around the house.)
  
• Ethan Hawke (spot on. When we first started hanging out together, he reminded me of a young EH, especially in "Before Sunrise".)
  
• Steve Carell (hopefully based on his character in "The Office" and NOT character in "Little Miss Sunshine" - not so much of the gay aspect but more that living with the world's foremost Proust scholar would be insufferable)
  

welcome, mid-life crisis

2007 has been turning into a year of deep thought and decision making. It may have something to do with the impending 20th high school reunion for the class of 1987. [yikes!] It's in October, and I don't know if I want to go. Not because I don't think I can hold my own against former classmates, but because I don't feel the need to revisit a really crap time in my life.

I think a lot about my younger years. I know that we'd all like to go back to our 20s armed with the knowledge we've amassed since then, and we all know it's a seriously flawed construct. I for one am very glad not to be in my 20s anymore. It was a decade of very bad behavior, deep insecurity and terrible decisions. We used to mock the people who whined, "I need to find myself." You're right there, buddy. But a lot of us were lost, trying to straddle the line between being a kid and suddenly being a grown-up with little guidance. I applaud the people who had goals early on and achieved them, but I couldn't (and still can't) think past next Thursday without getting hives. You are not going to ever find me on a 40 under 40 list. But maybe, just maybe, I'll be a wise old guru to whom people go for sage advice. Sitting in my cozy cave on the top of an easily scaleable mountain. The walk to get to me will be pretty and verdant. I'd serve high tea - earl grey, those tiny sandwiches, lemon curd, scones.

The 30s thus far have been awesome. I can always beat myself up for not achieving more, but given my propensity for being noncommital, I've done okay. I can't complain.

So, the 40s will most definitely kick ass! The kids will be older, and we'll do a lot more traveling. If we're lucky, we can take one trip a year, to cool places like London, Shanghai, Sydney. I suppose we should do the Mt. Rushmore road trip thing too. And the Grand Canyon.

It's all about not being static, but changing and going with the flow. I read somewhere that your destiny (if you believe in destiny) is always the same; the journey to get there is the process that's subject to change.

the book pile

I have no business buying any more books because the current pile of unread, untouched goodness now includes:

Special Topics in Calamity Physics/Marisha Pessl
Cloud Atlas/David Mitchell
The Omnivores' Dilemna/Michael Pollan
Dreams from My Father/Barack Obama
Toast/Nigel Slater
What is the What/Dave Eggers
Animal, Vegetable, Miracle/Barbara Kingsolver
Arthur & George/Julian Barnes

And I just ordered a signed 1st of Michael Chabon's "The Yiddish Policeman's Union" (because I love him) and Haruki Murakami's "After Dark". I am going to become the crazy old woman who is crushed to death by piles of unread literature.

Let's not forget the last two Harry Potters AND the new one coming out in July that I've already pre-ordered. Come on, it's a landmark event! The kids will inherit those anyway (except for the special first edition Bloomsbury hardcover. That one will end up on Antiques Roadshow one of these years.). Oh, how I like to justify the addiction.

Someone, please, tell me to stop. But not really.

the nicest thing anyone's ever written about me

I was poking around on Friendster - nice that I haven't looked at it since 2003 and forgot about it. So I updated my profile slightly. And saw Kennedy's comment:

Amy is smart, creative, pretty, and has a
wonderful smile. But don't let that fool you.
She will kick your ass if you get on her bad
side, and you'll be all "what the..." and she'll
be all "that's right, bee-yatch!!"

I heart ya! Mwah!

separation anxiety

I was in California for a work-related trip - the first I've taken since leaving my job in L.A. It was easier then: throw everything into a suitcase, pick up trashy reads at Hudson News and shut off the brain when in flight. Now that there are kids in the equation, factor in coordination of husband's schedule, draft menu for days gone, make copious amounts of food so there's no excuse for not eating...in addition to all the post 9/11 alert issues and remembering to wear socks and shoes because otherwise you're going barefoot through the security gate.

I admit to having mild, concealed panic attacks on the cab ride to the airport. Not that I don't trust my children's father to take adequate care of them, but I've been so attached to them from day one that it felt as though they were being ripped from me. I bitch all the time about their demanding little natures but at the end of the day, I'm the mama.

It was good to be away and to have a sweet reunion. Zee hugged me, and O gave me the stinkeye before bursting into tears. Though I don't know if he was overwhelmed with emotion or peeved about his poopy diaper.

On a lighter note, my new favorite band no one's ever heard of: http://www.thegostation.com/audio.htm. "C'mon" is perfect for warm weather listening. Sort of a mishmash of Brit pop and Third Eye Blind. Whatever. I like them.

home, sort of

We were in San Francisco on a family visit and neighborhood vetting tour recently. You can't go home again, but, seeing the city from an expat's perspective, I understand now why people enjoy living there, despite the cost of living (though you can argue that London and Tokyo would be worse).

What I loved:
- Considerably less traffic than I expected. Now, we drove during non-commuting hours and stayed in a residential neighborhood, but not once did I get the blood boiling sensation I get in Chicago or L.A.
- Great food can be found in holes-in-the-wall for very reasonable prices
- California chill-out attitude
- The cool little playground the kids and I frequented almost every day while we were there
- Dogs everywhere
- All of the renovations going on in Golden Gate Park. The massive Children's Playground at the east end is getting some groovy stuff in. If they still had the equipment that I used to climb on 30 years ago, I would be concerned.


What I didn't love:
- The insularity of the natives (best place to live according to you)
- The pushing out of lower income residents
- Ugly residential architecture
- Goofy public school lottery system
- Overall lack of diversity from a socioeconomic standpoint

That being said, I'd still want to move back if given the chance.

my favorite new saying

"Stupid should hurt."

Go on, spread the love!

what lives in the grass

Yesterday’s commuting conversation between me and the three year old:

Zee: Mommy, do you know what lives in grass?

Me: Hmmmm…worms? Worms live in grass?

Zee: No. Flowers!

Me: Right, flowers. Flowers live in grass. You’re absolutely right.

[Pause]

Zee: Doggie poo poo lives in grass, too.

no words necessary, just click on the link.

http://youtube.com/watch?v=Vp-is6S_b_g

i dig my new job

I started a new job last Monday. Without giving away too much, I am writing and coordinating proposals for an E/A firm. It's corporate, but it's good corporate, meaning that there's a genuine desire to maintain a work/life balance and people generally are well-intentioned.

Ten years ago, I would've thought this was too square of a place to work. Having worked for "cutting edge" firms, I can say that, yeah, I landed in a good place. The problem with being cutting edge is that there is constant, unrelenting pressure to be cutting edge all the damn time. You can't. You just can't. But a lot of people think you can, and therein lies the problem. I'll take less stress in a less glam industry, thank you. I'm treated well, am respected by co-workers, have access to free coffee and water, leave at 5 p.m. and have the option of bringing the laptop home if I need to...not a shabby trade-off at all.

In other news, we're gearing up for our weeklong trip to SF. We've already got a full schedule - brunch here, birthday party there, dinner over that way. I'm looking forward to exploring my hometown with the minis. Not that they'll remember too much, but in a way, I'm sharing my experience as a kid with them.

M to the c to the D

I'll admit we are McDonald's patrons, a little more frequently than I like. A franchise is literally around the corner from our house, next to the Dairy Queen. The fast food temptation is a daily battle.

Our default purchases are:

D-Money - Royale with Cheese meal with a Coke

Zee - Chicken McNugget Happy Meal with apple juice and apple dippers.

Mr. O - Filet o' Fish, with most of the tartar sauce wiped off. I kid you not. He'll also help himself to some of my fries, as does Zee.

me - Big Mac meal with a Coke. Love that special sauce!

the vocabulary of a 17 month old boy

Our Mr. O has been diligently expanding his vocabulary. Below is a current list of favorite words.

snuh = snow

snah = snack

nana = banana, also a code word for "give me something that's good 'n' tasty to eat because I will expire from hunger in three seconds if you don't"

baba = bottle, of course. Can also be code for "sippy cup"

meh = milk

da = downstairs, also "what's that?", also an all-purpose term for anything for which we don't know the word yet

Mah! = Max, the name of one of our cats

Mah! = Coco, the name of the other cat

Cah! = cat

mama = mama

dada = daddy

duhduh = Zee

Duh! = duck

Cuh! = cow

aaaaaaarrrrrrrr = growling sound, can be related to polar bears, lions, tigers or bears in general. Occasionally related to pirates.

Dun! = done, as in "I'm done with dinner. I'll throw it on the floor if you don't clear my placesetting fast enough...oops, you're too late."

boh = book

baf = bath

No! = No!

i'm now a kids' tv connoisseur

Zee and I are into a new show called "Wow! Wow! Wubbzy!". The animation is reminiscent of the Powerpuff Girls. The stories are silly and good-natured with a soundtrack of feel-good-about-yourself pop which reminds me of the music you find on the original Scooby Doo cartoons as well as The Monkees.

The minis are also fans of "Jack's Big Music Show". A lot of the music seems to be written and performed by alt-music peeps who had kids somewhere along the way, or have encountered kids in a big way. Mostly pop, again, though I saw one hip hop-ish video at some point. How can you not like a show where Jon Stewart makes a guest appearance playing a reporter who is trying to interview a groundhog in honor of Groundhog's Day?

Top 5 Kids' Shows at the House

• Wow! Wow! Wubbzy
  
• Jack's Big Music Show
  
• The Wonder Pets
  
• Pingu
  
• Thomas & Friends (because we all need a little Anglican instruction once in a while)
  

today's question

Pirates or ninjas?

No, I'm not telling you the answer.

the sort of e-mail that

makes you feel like you're missing something. From a good friend who's going to grad school right now:

"I went to Iceland last week for four days with my studio, and had a
wonderful time there exploring the place and generating ideas for our
theoretical music venue."

Shouldn't I be the one who's writing that e-mail to everyone? Where did I go wrong?

when did I become such a sap?

Two of the most beautiful people I know - I'm talking full-package, all-around, inside and outside beautiful - just welcomed the birth of their second son and sent a Quicktime movie to all of us. I sat, watching and trying not to weep loudly, as the tiny one kicked, stretched and made newborn mouth movements. He has an older brother who's a couple weeks shy of 16 months old and who's also a beautiful, sweet little man.

This movie nearly sealed the deal for me having a third kid. Almost.

more clothing I will never wear, no matter how trendy it is

1. Neither skinny jeans nor leggings.
2. Any kind of tiered skirt, short or long.
3. Camisoles as outerwear.
4. Satin baseball style jackets.
5. Giant furry hats.

My Generation X has been searching for ways to differentiate itself in the parenting arena. You have your hipsters, queen bees and wannabees, the new radical stay-at-home movement for both dads and moms, the "why can't we be it all" post punk/goth baby disco contingent and a whole host of ways to differentiate oneself from the "typical" parent of the boomer and previous generations. We fight against overscheduling kids, jockeying for the one spot at the coveted school while pitching in to make the urban public school system work and eschew crass commercialism.

I've seen posts on not allowing kids to listen to crap pop music and banning branded merchandise. There are onesies emblazoned with snide witticisms and political stances. Any trendy piece of adult clothing can be had in mini. I am guilty in putting Zee in the Gap's "skinny jeans". Well, folks, they were on sale, and she's skinny - part of the 10th percentile club, dontcha know.

At the end of the day, are we any different? Does our dogmatic hipster, or what have you, attitude make us any better than the far right or overambitious parents who were molded in the '80s?

Even more so than the boomers, we want to maintain our individuality. In the end, we're all the same - hopessly in love with our spawn and wanting nothing but the best experience for them.

lofty goals

Even though I know better, I like checking my horoscope to see how often coincidence comes into play. This list contains my personal sign's resolutions for the year:

1) Allow true intimacy into your romantic relationships.

2) Open up your friendships to deeper trust.

3) Let new, fiery acquaintances enter your life in time to motivate you.

4) In September, your creativity will reach its peak, in time for you to resolve to accept any opportunity to make your hobby your work.

5) Allow yourself to believe in yourself - as much as others do.

I am completely fascinated by #4, namely because I don't have any hobbies per se.

sad = not happy

From a recent conver with Zee:

"Mommy?" [said in a small, dramatically quiet and emotion-laden voice]

"Yes, baby."

"I'm sad."

"Why are you sad?"

"Because I'm not happy anymore." [said in a matter-of-fact, yet mildly petulant and accusing manner]

There is a philosophical school of thought for this, though I can't think of it right now.

Mr. O's no longer the big cheese.

Mr. O has graduated from the infant to toddler room at daycare. Shocking news for him - he's no longer the big dude, and there are GIRLS in his room. His infant room was a bastion of testosterone for a year. Yet he learned how to blow kisses. He was a little put out by the transistion at first, but perks such as getting his own little chair and eating Cheerios with a spoon have won him over.

In related news, Zee was holding hands with one of the young men in her classroom, and they were running around and laughing maniacally when I went to pick her up. They were partners in a Go Fish tournament, and they must've done well. Her father is not pleased.

God-frickin'-dangit

Mr. O has some malady whereby his symptoms include not eating and general crabbiness. I have even asked him, rhetorically, "What. Do. You. Want?!" No response but wailing. There is nothing so frustrating in the world as a screaming child who can't quite communicate in complete sentences what the problem is. Hugs were no good. Offerings of graham crackers and bananas were met with an emphatic "no" via head shaking.

We'll ride it out, but this is one of those times where a magic cure-all elixir would be very helpful.

one of the better stories I've told my kids

We took the Christmas tree down last Saturday and took it over to the park for recycling. Everyone should do this. If you can get a tree in the house, you can take it to a recycling center.

D-Money was able to sneak it out without arousing suspicion. But keen-eyed Zee immediately noticed something was amiss when she walked into the living room.

"Mommy, where's the tree?"

"Daddy took it back to the forest."

"Why?"

"Because the tree lives in the forest and wants to go back to see its friends."

"Oh."

"We'll see the tree again next Christmas."

"Okay."

A bit of a lie but I don't think I can adequately explain recycling to a three year old. The fault is with me.

song in my head today

Morrissey's "Everyday is Like Sunday". Not a bad thing.

I forgot how much I like Spandau Ballet.

I am now obsessed with '80s music circa 1983. I'm listening to Spandau Ballet's "True", and yep, I still like the album. And who could forget the sample of the song proper in P.M. Dawn's "Set Adrift on Memory Bliss"?

typical Chicago winter

the house in winter,
originally uploaded by urban mama.

The first snow this year was not benign. We had about four inches or so, but it sure does make the house look purty. The lights around the porch and the wreath that is on the door (which is not visible in the photo) is all we've done so far as exterior holiday decor. I think that's just peachy.

rolling into the holidays

I'm excited about the holiday season this year. The one cloud is that my father passed away during Thanksgiving weekend last year, so it will forever be a melancholy time of year for me. But, I am happy that the babies are doing well and are as happy as they can possibly be. They are such swell kids.

The big joint present this year is an old school style rocking horse similar to what D-Money had when he was wee. I think they'll both like it, and they'll both fight over it. Other than that, they'll get the usual assortment of books and fun things. Zee is getting the FP Kid Tough digital camera for her birthday and probably a small paul julius t-shirt. And a stuffed penguin that's two feet tall. I fear that she'll take it into her tiny and already overflowing with stuffed animals toddler bed with her. She's learned how to walk like a penguin and will perform on demand for a change. It is good stuff.

Intellectual strengths: Zee is excellent with puzzles and games, patterns, logic. O is excellent with problem solving (physical and mental) and building Duplo structures, and he's a charming little guy to boot. They have the makings of being evil geniuses if we don't instill any ethical standards with them.

I should be working.

It's slow today, and I'm spending my time messing around with Flickr and stalking home prices in the SFBA. Then I'll go home and coddle Mr. O, who's been stricken with a nasty illness that combines a super-stuffy nose, raging ear infection and scalding hot fever. Poor little man!

In related news - I came across a house in the LS that looks decent and that we could've afforded. Drat! I don't dare bring it up to D-Money. I can hear the groans of disappointment already.

Mr. O's birthday bash

cakes for all,
originally uploaded by urban mama.

Mr. O turned 1 on October 1. Amazing. We had a few of (my) friends over + one set of grandparents. It was the first party I've hosted in the house, and it went very well. I am now emboldened to hold future gatherings.

the uniform

Today I am wearing:

Wide-legged grey wool pants
Black cashmere turtleneck
Robert Clergerie black platform wedges from a few years ago

I still have my screaming pink wool dufflecoat by Isaac Mizrahi for Target, though I should cycle that out and keep it as a weekend coat. It's great for the playground and doing errands. The pockets can manage a big sippy cup. Don't tell me that's not handy.

Ssshhhh, I'm trying to read.

Am reading "Bel Canto" by Ann Patchett, finally, and the book follows me around everywhere. Next is "Longitude" by Dava Sobel and then that Calamity Physics book that just came out. I wish I could still take public transportation so I can maximize my reading time.

it's the plank for the likes of you.

Zee has been into pirates lately. She goes around the house chirping, "Ahoy, mateys!"

I finally ask her, "Is that what pirates say?"

"Nooo."

"Then what do pirates say?"

"Aaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrr".

well, it's been a while, hasn't it?

A friend who is positioning herself to become the next Marisha Pessl (or someone similar) has shamed me into posting a blog update. I am not going to make excuses, but I will say that there has been a significant amount of deep thought and reevalution. Basically, that means I've gotten myself a new job, one that hopefully will give me some management experience (I've got a staff of three, woohoo!) and more of a work/life balance.

I'd like to throw out there that Jane Austen is the first celebrity chick-lit author. Of course I'm right.

when books go bad

There have been an alarming number of recently released books dedicated to the occupation of motherhood. Books detailing the "war" between stay-at-home and working moms, the agonies of raising a child in upper middle class society, and so on, and so on, and so on.

I've made the executive decision to neither purchase nor borrow any of these mommy books because all they will do is cause self-doubt. Parenting is hard enough without the background chorus calling into question your every decision. The best feedback? Hearing your babes laugh every single day, and really laugh.

In other news, Mr. O is now the proud owner of one emerging bottom tooth. We have lift-off! He loves the outer space sticky on his wall. I was delighted to see that it had glow in the dark stars. It rocks the free world.

I caved and bought Zee a Dora the Explorer dvd. This one features a pirate episode with tons more music than usual. It's pop opera for the minis.

okay, now back to the house

we did buy a house! I was going to chronicle the process, but there really wasn't much to talk about. We're moving to a neighborhood in the city called Portage Park, which no one knows about and there's not a Starbucks in walking distance. So what it lacks in sheer hipness, the house more than makes up for it. It's a 1909 American 4-square - well-proportioned, a tasteful blue-grey in exterior color and with some original woodwork inside. It's not a huge house at 1400 sf or so, but it's just enough house for us and it felt good.

We've been talking up the blue-grey house to Z, and though she seems excited by it, she'll probably bunk with us for a week. She's been more clingy than usual lately and gave the new (and probably never returning) babysitter a lot of hell yesterday. D-money thinks she was disappointed that she wasn't spending the day with Mommy and was acting out. Good grief. Can I do anything without her freaking out?

The unfortunate, or maybe not, thing is that she is so dialed into my moods that they affect her more than I'd like. I've been tired and pensive lately and probably not the fun mommy of legend and lore.

I made some little Easter baskets for Z and O. Very modest with a few toys and books and candy that D-money and I are going to pilfer for ourselves. For D-money, I got a chocolate Peeps egg, which has to go down in history as one of the best ideas EVER. Did you hear me? EVER.

rollin' OX

OX's latest project is rolling over from his back to his belly. I let him have at it last night on our bed. He made all kinds of loud noises - yelps, squeals and grunts. He's almost got it; he just needs to get that one arm out of his way. And, when he does get close, he seems angry that his body betrayed him and flipped him over without his permission.

In other news, Zee went on her first field trip yesterday to the Shedd Aquarium. I had no feedback other than she was in a great mood when I went to pick them up. She likes these excursions, and on Saturday we may go to one of the children's museums or the nature museum in Lincoln Park for some mommy and Zee time.

he does NOT.

D-Money just said that OX looks exactly like...Yul Brynner.

No comment.

new topic: The Househunt

We've decided to become fully functioning adults by purchasing our first house. Now, said house has not fully presented itself to us yet, but I will be journalizing the process because it thus far has been what we call "very interesting".

oh, my baby boy.

Today is my last day of maternity leave. I'm sad. O did a series of Greatest Baby Hits today - spat up three times all over my clothes, pooped through an outfit, batted his eyes at the Baby in the Mirror - and we ended the day with him snoozing in my arms. He's my Ferdinand the Bull.