I've got a few things on my mind today and since none of you are here to sit and chat with me about them, I thought I'd do a little blogging instead. Presently, Sam's in dreamland, laundry is in the wash which means the smell of Mountain Fresh Gain is in the air, and a batch of just-baked cookies is cooling on the counter. I bet you wish you were here. And, well, I wish you were because I could use the company, but then I'm still in my pajamas and haven't brushed my teeth yet, so, on second thought, it's probably better that you're not here.
Anyhoo, I'm currently pondering this blog post on The Monica Bird. The post is called "Date A Girl Who Reads":
http://themonicabird.com/post/3273155431/date-a-girl-who-reads-date-a-girl-who-spends-her
And now, I'm going to quote a little of it for you in case you don't make it over there to read it yourself...
I like this quote:
"It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas and for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry, in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does."
And this one:
"She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots."
And this one, too:
"Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads."
What a lovely way to describe those of us who wear corrective lenses because we've spent years with our eyes trained on small type under bedcovers with flashlights long past our bedtimes. I'm also a fan of the romanticizing of those of us who prefer the smell of old musty bookstores to espresso-scented Barnes and Nobles and feel our spines tingle when we stumble into hole-in-the-wall used bookstores and then subsequently lose ourselves there for hours upon hours.
So, I'm pondering these things and wishing that I had more time to read, wishing I was more disciplined about reading, and wishing I read what mattered rather than celebrity sightings, coupon blogs, and JCrew magazines (I realize these don't really classify as "reading"). I'm also lamenting the time I waste looking for deals online, checking email, and wandering around on Facebook when I could be using the very limited quiet time I have to read something that has real value.
I'm wondering how to get back to being a "girl who reads." The precious couple hours I have a day while Sam snoozes are so quickly swallowed up by the taking of showers (somewhat important), the picking up of toys (something of an effort of futility), the Facebook stalking (I just scrolled through all your vacation pictures from 2006). Seriously, I could be reading things that have weight and value and make me someone you want to chat with at parties. But, more than wanting a little intellectual stimulation and a few interesting ideas to bandy about at a dinner party, I want "the world and the worlds beyond it." I want the escape hatch that Narnia and Avonlea offer, the invitation to imagine and believe and wonder.
I've been settling for television and Facebook and magazines. I'd like to hope that I'll be "reciting Keats under my breath" in my old age rather than Michael Scott from "The Office."
Thanks, Monica Bird, whoever you are, for reminding me to read. I needed that.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Monday, February 21, 2011
Suburban Outlaw
So, perhaps you've been wondering what I'm up to lately on this mountain where we live. And, perhaps you've had other, more-relevant-to-your-life things on your mind. Well, regardless of your thinking of me or not thinking of me, here's a little of what we're doing these days.
Today included laundry (obviously), diaper changes (obviously) and a run-in with the law (less obvious). On my way to the post office to drop off a Netflix I happened to be the unlucky driver of the day who was awarded the blue light special. It was unexpected and I must say that when I pulled over, I wasn't really pulling over. I was merely parking at our local post office, minding my own business, and then there they were, rotating blue lights in my rearview mirror. Shoot. It's been about, oh, 11years since I've been pulled over for speeding. And that time, oddly enough, found me traveling at around the same speed I was going today, which was: 44. Part of me kind of wishes that if I'm going to get caught speeding, I could atleast be going somewhere above 65. Oh well. I don't aspire to be Steve McQueen.
Once I realized that there was an officer pulling in behind me, I turned to look back at Sam and wondered what the lasting impact of my 1 year old seeing his mother being interrogated (i.e. asked a few questions regarding speed limits and such) by the po-po would be. The officer made his way to my window and politely asked if I knew how fast I was going. I guessed 40. But, I was, in fact, going 44 speedy miles a hour. However, in a 25 mph zone, this is 1 mile away from "reckless driving," which obviously means I live on the edge of danger or obliviousness.
I glanced back to see what Sam was doing, hoping this little incident wasn't scarring him for life, imagining him remembering me later as a hardened criminal, a suburban outlaw who drove fast in school zones and texted while driving with her knees (this doesn't really happen). Instead, Sam had a big, toothy (all 8 of them) smile on his face and was waving excitedly at the officer at my window. This may have won me some points with the sergeant.
After handing over all the information pertaining to my right to drive, I was left to think about what I'd done. And then he was back from his patrol car, letting me know that I was off the hook, for today, that is. Sigh.of.relief. I think a combination of being new in town and Sam being so darn friendly gave me a getoutofjailfree card.
So, what I'm hoping now is that Sam doesn't remember this little incident when he's 16 and getting a license to drive. Odds are, he won't. But, it definitely makes you think when you find yourself on the wrong side of the law (exaggeration here) with your child watching in their carseat behind you. I can't help but wonder how much he's taking in of my bad behavior (eg: that cowboy word I said under my breath the other day when I pinched my finger in the drawer, the 5 cookies I had for lunch, the 2 hours of television we watched today instead of cleaning up the kitchen, etc.) and where that might show up later. Hm. Obviously, these aren't jail-worthy, but I can't help but think about what Sam might be learning from me when I'm not paying attention...
Well, that's about it. Other than my finishing off a jar of Nutella by myself and Sam having just discovered that being outside is way more fun than being inside, that's all the news we've got. Tune in next time for "Renegade Moms Who Run With Scissors" and other cautionary tales of mothers who speed in their spare time.
Today included laundry (obviously), diaper changes (obviously) and a run-in with the law (less obvious). On my way to the post office to drop off a Netflix I happened to be the unlucky driver of the day who was awarded the blue light special. It was unexpected and I must say that when I pulled over, I wasn't really pulling over. I was merely parking at our local post office, minding my own business, and then there they were, rotating blue lights in my rearview mirror. Shoot. It's been about, oh, 11years since I've been pulled over for speeding. And that time, oddly enough, found me traveling at around the same speed I was going today, which was: 44. Part of me kind of wishes that if I'm going to get caught speeding, I could atleast be going somewhere above 65. Oh well. I don't aspire to be Steve McQueen.
Once I realized that there was an officer pulling in behind me, I turned to look back at Sam and wondered what the lasting impact of my 1 year old seeing his mother being interrogated (i.e. asked a few questions regarding speed limits and such) by the po-po would be. The officer made his way to my window and politely asked if I knew how fast I was going. I guessed 40. But, I was, in fact, going 44 speedy miles a hour. However, in a 25 mph zone, this is 1 mile away from "reckless driving," which obviously means I live on the edge of danger or obliviousness.
I glanced back to see what Sam was doing, hoping this little incident wasn't scarring him for life, imagining him remembering me later as a hardened criminal, a suburban outlaw who drove fast in school zones and texted while driving with her knees (this doesn't really happen). Instead, Sam had a big, toothy (all 8 of them) smile on his face and was waving excitedly at the officer at my window. This may have won me some points with the sergeant.
After handing over all the information pertaining to my right to drive, I was left to think about what I'd done. And then he was back from his patrol car, letting me know that I was off the hook, for today, that is. Sigh.of.relief. I think a combination of being new in town and Sam being so darn friendly gave me a getoutofjailfree card.
So, what I'm hoping now is that Sam doesn't remember this little incident when he's 16 and getting a license to drive. Odds are, he won't. But, it definitely makes you think when you find yourself on the wrong side of the law (exaggeration here) with your child watching in their carseat behind you. I can't help but wonder how much he's taking in of my bad behavior (eg: that cowboy word I said under my breath the other day when I pinched my finger in the drawer, the 5 cookies I had for lunch, the 2 hours of television we watched today instead of cleaning up the kitchen, etc.) and where that might show up later. Hm. Obviously, these aren't jail-worthy, but I can't help but think about what Sam might be learning from me when I'm not paying attention...
Well, that's about it. Other than my finishing off a jar of Nutella by myself and Sam having just discovered that being outside is way more fun than being inside, that's all the news we've got. Tune in next time for "Renegade Moms Who Run With Scissors" and other cautionary tales of mothers who speed in their spare time.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Baby Feats of Strength and Other Hobbies
It's raining here. And cold. And drearier than a Charles Dickens' novel. So, because I'm attempting to stave off a serious case of Seasonal Affective Disorder, I thought I'd jot down a few items of interest regarding Sam and his recent doings.
I thought you might be wondering what sort of hobbies 14 month old Sam is picking up these days. I figured I'd list them for you in case you want to suggest them to your favorite child or perhaps even try them out for yourself.
The first baby hobby I'd like to present to you is:
"Baby Feats of Strength"
Sam's just recently picked this one up and so we're still discovering what all this particular hobby entails. Basically, Baby Feats of Strength involves picking up objects that are either a. awkward for you to carry b. as big and/or tall as you are c. unnecessary to move d. obviously too heavy for you to pick up. For reference, here's a short list of items that Sam enjoys lifting and/or carrying from one place to another:
a. brooms/swiffers (often at the same time)
b. Matt's size 11 shoes
d. toys that are meant to stay in one place (eg: a toy piano, a music table)
e. a Sam-sized bag of blocks
d. the vacuum cleaner
e. the baby gate
Baby Feats of Strengths are usually accompanied by loud baby grunts as Sam huffs and puffs around the room carrying his unusually large item from chair to sofa to mama and back. It's a good time all around and I'm only slightly concerned that this may translate later into WWF-related hobbies and possibly excessive amounts of time at the gym. But, let's hope not. So far, Baby Feats of Strength is quite the crowd pleaser. It's also a big hit at parties.
The second baby hobby I thought you might be interested in is:
"Baby Prank Call"
This hobby is one that we keep pretty tight reins on, but occasionally, when we get desperate on a long trip with three wet diaper stops, we give in and pass our phones over to Sam. Technology is obviously the new pacifier. Tears instantly dry when the colorful light of a Samsung screen lights up inside a dark car.
Basically, Baby Prank Call is somewhat unplanned, and can happen without any warning so that you may not know it's even happened for days or maybe ever. For example, a recent Baby Prank Call took place on a trip much like the aforementioned one (i.e. full of baby angst) and a bout of gully-washing tears was stilled by the calming glow of Matt's flip phone. This was tossed over the side of the newly purchased front-facing carseat/throne that Sam now occupies. So, my phone with it's fascinating touch screen was hesitatingly passed into cheerio-scented little hands. It too found itself tossed overboard within minutes and we were back to the monsoon of tears and ear-piercing yells. And so we proceeded to give Sam a rousing acapella concert that included the following songs:
The Animal Fair
John the Rabbit
The Moose Juice Song
The Wheels on the Bus
Father Abraham
Blackjack Baby
Twinkle Twinkle Little Star
Old Macdonald
And the list goes on, and on, and on. But, then we ran out of songs. And Sam got antsy. And then Sam got loud. So, without thinking, I found myself belting out "God Bless America" and then "The Star Spangled Banner" and then...we were home. Crisis averted.
The next morning, I found a text on my phone that asked if I was feeling patriotic. I've never been asked that before, but I do, in fact, feel patriotic on occasion. I called my friend to ask what the text meant. As it turns out, Baby Prank Call had struck. Sam's innocent tossing of the phone over the side of his carseat had apparently also included pressing a few choice buttons before the tossing. And, our patriotic concert had been recorded in it's entirety on my friend's voicemail. Lovely.
Baby Prank Call may be a hobby you choose not to share with your little one. We're working on replacing this hobby with a few others that are a little less socially awkward. However, if you get an unusual text or a voicemail that seems a little out of character from Matt or me, chalk it up to Sam's hobby and try not to judge us too harshly.
Other hobbies will have to discussed later due to Sam's nap having come to an end. Tune in next time for: "Baby Streaking" and "Baby Trash the Joint."
I thought you might be wondering what sort of hobbies 14 month old Sam is picking up these days. I figured I'd list them for you in case you want to suggest them to your favorite child or perhaps even try them out for yourself.
The first baby hobby I'd like to present to you is:
"Baby Feats of Strength"
Sam's just recently picked this one up and so we're still discovering what all this particular hobby entails. Basically, Baby Feats of Strength involves picking up objects that are either a. awkward for you to carry b. as big and/or tall as you are c. unnecessary to move d. obviously too heavy for you to pick up. For reference, here's a short list of items that Sam enjoys lifting and/or carrying from one place to another:
a. brooms/swiffers (often at the same time)
b. Matt's size 11 shoes
d. toys that are meant to stay in one place (eg: a toy piano, a music table)
e. a Sam-sized bag of blocks
d. the vacuum cleaner
e. the baby gate
Baby Feats of Strengths are usually accompanied by loud baby grunts as Sam huffs and puffs around the room carrying his unusually large item from chair to sofa to mama and back. It's a good time all around and I'm only slightly concerned that this may translate later into WWF-related hobbies and possibly excessive amounts of time at the gym. But, let's hope not. So far, Baby Feats of Strength is quite the crowd pleaser. It's also a big hit at parties.
The second baby hobby I thought you might be interested in is:
"Baby Prank Call"
This hobby is one that we keep pretty tight reins on, but occasionally, when we get desperate on a long trip with three wet diaper stops, we give in and pass our phones over to Sam. Technology is obviously the new pacifier. Tears instantly dry when the colorful light of a Samsung screen lights up inside a dark car.
Basically, Baby Prank Call is somewhat unplanned, and can happen without any warning so that you may not know it's even happened for days or maybe ever. For example, a recent Baby Prank Call took place on a trip much like the aforementioned one (i.e. full of baby angst) and a bout of gully-washing tears was stilled by the calming glow of Matt's flip phone. This was tossed over the side of the newly purchased front-facing carseat/throne that Sam now occupies. So, my phone with it's fascinating touch screen was hesitatingly passed into cheerio-scented little hands. It too found itself tossed overboard within minutes and we were back to the monsoon of tears and ear-piercing yells. And so we proceeded to give Sam a rousing acapella concert that included the following songs:
The Animal Fair
John the Rabbit
The Moose Juice Song
The Wheels on the Bus
Father Abraham
Blackjack Baby
Twinkle Twinkle Little Star
Old Macdonald
And the list goes on, and on, and on. But, then we ran out of songs. And Sam got antsy. And then Sam got loud. So, without thinking, I found myself belting out "God Bless America" and then "The Star Spangled Banner" and then...we were home. Crisis averted.
The next morning, I found a text on my phone that asked if I was feeling patriotic. I've never been asked that before, but I do, in fact, feel patriotic on occasion. I called my friend to ask what the text meant. As it turns out, Baby Prank Call had struck. Sam's innocent tossing of the phone over the side of his carseat had apparently also included pressing a few choice buttons before the tossing. And, our patriotic concert had been recorded in it's entirety on my friend's voicemail. Lovely.
Baby Prank Call may be a hobby you choose not to share with your little one. We're working on replacing this hobby with a few others that are a little less socially awkward. However, if you get an unusual text or a voicemail that seems a little out of character from Matt or me, chalk it up to Sam's hobby and try not to judge us too harshly.
Other hobbies will have to discussed later due to Sam's nap having come to an end. Tune in next time for: "Baby Streaking" and "Baby Trash the Joint."
Monday, January 17, 2011
Power to the Cookie
A few months ago, at my lovely friend Molly's house, Sam was introduced to The Cookie. These weren't your run-of-the-mill chocolate chip but were instead "smart cookies," which are good for you AND taste good. This obviously means you're a smart cookie for eating them instead of a package of high-fructose-corn-syrup-infused Oreos.
So, Molly shared her recipe with me and after a few practice batches, I managed to bake a superb batch of smart cookies and the Rieger household rejoiced. We now have these cookies at our fingertips atleast once a week. We are also gaining weight in places we would rather not. But, I keep making them despite our tight-fitting jeans because the Samster is crazy about them and we happen to be crazy about the Samster.
Three or four batches of smart cookies ago, Sam started pointing at things around the house and we were enthralled, because anything our one and only child does is pretty much amazing. Two or three batches ago, Sam started pointing toward a blue tupperware container housing cookies on our kitchen counter. He would sit in his high chair and point across the room, his pointer finger and thumb poised mid-air looking a little like a baby finger gun (this amuses me for some reason). Pretty soon, he was toddling into the kitchen to position himself in front of the counter and dramatically point up at the tupperware container of cookies. And soon after that, he started to "talk" as he pointed, letting us know that something on the counter was apparently in need of his attention. This behavior quickly escalated as the power of the smart cookie began to take hold.
A few days ago, I opened the container of cookies to get one out for Sam and heard him give a shout from behind me that sounded something akin to all his dreams coming true at the same time. I turned around and there he was with both arms in the air, staring at the cookie in my hand. He could hardly contain himself. The wild look in his eyes was one I had seen before: my reflection in the glass of a chocolate shop window.
In addition to all their other magical qualities, smart cookies have turned out to be the catalyst for my son's venture into the English language. Just the other night, Sam was, once again, pointing at the tupperware container and staring a hole in the side of it. I looked at him and said something very mom-like, "Eat your beans and you can have a cookie." Sam smiled and then said in a soft, breathy baby voice, "Cooh-keeh." Matt and I looked at each other in total awe. The First Word. I am seriously considering shellacking one of those cookies and placing it in a decorative shadow box.
Just last night, after a weekend of being sick with a high fever, Sam sat in his high chair eating a little chicken noodle soup I'd made. After a few bites of broth, he was done and because I give him anything he wants when he doesn't feel good (that's ok, right?), I pulled out a cookie from the tupperware and put it on his high chair tray. I watched as he picked it up, held it with a grin on his little face and said to himself "Cooh-Keeh." It felt a teensy bit like Gallum and his "My Precious," but I tried not to think about that.
So, smart cookies, with their whole wheat flour and applesauce, have given me cause to consider Sam's college fund and his scholarship chances. I'm also aware that we can't hoard the magic of the smart cookies any longer. The world needs this recipe, and so, with Molly's gracious permission, I give to you The Smart Cookie Recipe:
Smart Cookies:
Ingredients-
1/4 cup of applesauce
2 tbsp of butter
1/3 cup white sugar
1/2 cup brown sugar
1 egg
1 tsp vanilla
1 cup whole wheat flour (I usually add an additional 1/4 cup of flour to make them more fluffy)
1 tsp baking soda
3/4 tsp salt
1 tsp cinnamon
3/4 cup oatmeal
3/4 cup chocolate chips
Cream butter and sugar and add other wet ingredients. Mix. Add dry ingredients. Place spoon-fulls of cookie on baking sheet. Bake 10-12 minutes. Makes around 18-20 cookies.
So, Molly shared her recipe with me and after a few practice batches, I managed to bake a superb batch of smart cookies and the Rieger household rejoiced. We now have these cookies at our fingertips atleast once a week. We are also gaining weight in places we would rather not. But, I keep making them despite our tight-fitting jeans because the Samster is crazy about them and we happen to be crazy about the Samster.
Three or four batches of smart cookies ago, Sam started pointing at things around the house and we were enthralled, because anything our one and only child does is pretty much amazing. Two or three batches ago, Sam started pointing toward a blue tupperware container housing cookies on our kitchen counter. He would sit in his high chair and point across the room, his pointer finger and thumb poised mid-air looking a little like a baby finger gun (this amuses me for some reason). Pretty soon, he was toddling into the kitchen to position himself in front of the counter and dramatically point up at the tupperware container of cookies. And soon after that, he started to "talk" as he pointed, letting us know that something on the counter was apparently in need of his attention. This behavior quickly escalated as the power of the smart cookie began to take hold.
A few days ago, I opened the container of cookies to get one out for Sam and heard him give a shout from behind me that sounded something akin to all his dreams coming true at the same time. I turned around and there he was with both arms in the air, staring at the cookie in my hand. He could hardly contain himself. The wild look in his eyes was one I had seen before: my reflection in the glass of a chocolate shop window.
In addition to all their other magical qualities, smart cookies have turned out to be the catalyst for my son's venture into the English language. Just the other night, Sam was, once again, pointing at the tupperware container and staring a hole in the side of it. I looked at him and said something very mom-like, "Eat your beans and you can have a cookie." Sam smiled and then said in a soft, breathy baby voice, "Cooh-keeh." Matt and I looked at each other in total awe. The First Word. I am seriously considering shellacking one of those cookies and placing it in a decorative shadow box.
Just last night, after a weekend of being sick with a high fever, Sam sat in his high chair eating a little chicken noodle soup I'd made. After a few bites of broth, he was done and because I give him anything he wants when he doesn't feel good (that's ok, right?), I pulled out a cookie from the tupperware and put it on his high chair tray. I watched as he picked it up, held it with a grin on his little face and said to himself "Cooh-Keeh." It felt a teensy bit like Gallum and his "My Precious," but I tried not to think about that.
So, smart cookies, with their whole wheat flour and applesauce, have given me cause to consider Sam's college fund and his scholarship chances. I'm also aware that we can't hoard the magic of the smart cookies any longer. The world needs this recipe, and so, with Molly's gracious permission, I give to you The Smart Cookie Recipe:
Smart Cookies:
Ingredients-
1/4 cup of applesauce
2 tbsp of butter
1/3 cup white sugar
1/2 cup brown sugar
1 egg
1 tsp vanilla
1 cup whole wheat flour (I usually add an additional 1/4 cup of flour to make them more fluffy)
1 tsp baking soda
3/4 tsp salt
1 tsp cinnamon
3/4 cup oatmeal
3/4 cup chocolate chips
Cream butter and sugar and add other wet ingredients. Mix. Add dry ingredients. Place spoon-fulls of cookie on baking sheet. Bake 10-12 minutes. Makes around 18-20 cookies.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
This just in: Local Woman Overdoses on Snow
Another snow day, which means another day of wondering if I'll ever see civilization again. Sigh. I realize this sounds dramatic, but I could use a little drama around here. Don't get me wrong, having 2.5 days with a husband at home has been pretty darn fun. AND it's meant that someone else has been here helping to wrangle the restless native also known as our son.
But, let's be honest, there's just something unnatural about a girl from Georgia waking up consecutive mornings to a winter wonderland at every window. There's also something unnatural about not being able to make a Target run if and when one feels the need.
Currently, my husband has just been picked up and driven to work by his fearless employer and the Samster is fast asleep in his longjohns upstairs, which leaves me in the kitchen having my first moment alone for approximately the last 106 hours. I don't mean to complain, I'm just saying. 106 hours, people.
So, I thought I'd take a moment to take a deep breath, drink my green tea and write a few sentences about how I may possibly explode if I don't make it off the mountain soon. I'm realizing that Matt's secret dream that we go to Sweden as missionaries is probably not ever going to happen. Atleast not unless I am well-stocked with Prozac and have my very own tanning bed for those long months of 4 hour days with little to no sunlight.
I will say that, despite my current spiral into claustrophobic cabin fever, I have to admit that the snow is more than a little beautiful and it has afforded me with some serious quality time with my two favorite people. I've baked cookies and flipped pancakes, read "The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe" (for the 4th time) with the aforementioned favorite people. I may have converted Matt into a fan of Kathie Lee and Hoda's morning show (he'll deny it if you ask him). We've made snow angels and hopped around the 8 inches of snow in our yard with our snow baby. In addition, there has been serious Sam snuggling, Netflix marathons, mugs of hot chocolate, pajamas until noon and time to look up random things on Wikipedia that I've been curious about (i.e. who is Vince Vaughn's baby mama? Has Howie Day been in jail the past few years? When was the last Ice Age? What did Snookie get for Christmas? How much did that soup pot I just bought at TJ Maxx retail for? and, etc.) So, that's been fun and, I must admit, only made possible by the buckets of snow in our yard.
Hm. So, that quiet I mentioned earlier is coming to an end as The Babe, who is more of a toddler now than a babe, is letting it be known that his nap is over. But before I rescue the little guy from his crib, I'm headed to the pantry for another handful of chocolate chips and hoping that the chocolate doesn't run out before the snow melts. If that happens, things could get ugly.
But, let's be honest, there's just something unnatural about a girl from Georgia waking up consecutive mornings to a winter wonderland at every window. There's also something unnatural about not being able to make a Target run if and when one feels the need.
Currently, my husband has just been picked up and driven to work by his fearless employer and the Samster is fast asleep in his longjohns upstairs, which leaves me in the kitchen having my first moment alone for approximately the last 106 hours. I don't mean to complain, I'm just saying. 106 hours, people.
So, I thought I'd take a moment to take a deep breath, drink my green tea and write a few sentences about how I may possibly explode if I don't make it off the mountain soon. I'm realizing that Matt's secret dream that we go to Sweden as missionaries is probably not ever going to happen. Atleast not unless I am well-stocked with Prozac and have my very own tanning bed for those long months of 4 hour days with little to no sunlight.
I will say that, despite my current spiral into claustrophobic cabin fever, I have to admit that the snow is more than a little beautiful and it has afforded me with some serious quality time with my two favorite people. I've baked cookies and flipped pancakes, read "The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe" (for the 4th time) with the aforementioned favorite people. I may have converted Matt into a fan of Kathie Lee and Hoda's morning show (he'll deny it if you ask him). We've made snow angels and hopped around the 8 inches of snow in our yard with our snow baby. In addition, there has been serious Sam snuggling, Netflix marathons, mugs of hot chocolate, pajamas until noon and time to look up random things on Wikipedia that I've been curious about (i.e. who is Vince Vaughn's baby mama? Has Howie Day been in jail the past few years? When was the last Ice Age? What did Snookie get for Christmas? How much did that soup pot I just bought at TJ Maxx retail for? and, etc.) So, that's been fun and, I must admit, only made possible by the buckets of snow in our yard.
Hm. So, that quiet I mentioned earlier is coming to an end as The Babe, who is more of a toddler now than a babe, is letting it be known that his nap is over. But before I rescue the little guy from his crib, I'm headed to the pantry for another handful of chocolate chips and hoping that the chocolate doesn't run out before the snow melts. If that happens, things could get ugly.
Friday, January 7, 2011
New Year's Resolutions for 2011
In this new year, I resolve to:
1. Floss More: (This just in: flossing every day can lengthen your life by six years. I think this means I can start telling people I'm actually 26.)
2. Drink more water: (Egg nog, hot chocolate and Chic fil a milkshakes do not count).
3. Stop shopping at American Eagle: (No one over 30 should dress like Miley Cyrus).
4. Limit Target visits: (Stopping in for the occasional "1 or 2" things is probably going to be the reason why Sam will never inherit anything from us.)
5. Get out more! (Hermits become unabombers)
6. Spend time with friends more often: (Kathie Lee and Hoda do not count).
7. Cheese is not a food group: (This isn't really a resolution, just a reminder).
8. Write more (Status updates and text messages are not "writing").
9. Stop worrying about everything: (Sam will probably not grow up to be a professional ice dancer, our house is not infested with brown recluse spiders, and my cell phone is not giving me a brain tumor. Right?)
10.Live more: (The laundry will get done eventually, the bills can wait until tomorrow and it's ok if we eat pb&j instead of a five course meal tonight because I spent the afternoon with Sam at the park instead of in the kitchen).
Sam's still working on his list of resolutions. I'll post them as soon as he emails them to me. He's a little slow getting them in this year. Something about not knowing how to type, I think. Stay tuned.
1. Floss More: (This just in: flossing every day can lengthen your life by six years. I think this means I can start telling people I'm actually 26.)
2. Drink more water: (Egg nog, hot chocolate and Chic fil a milkshakes do not count).
3. Stop shopping at American Eagle: (No one over 30 should dress like Miley Cyrus).
4. Limit Target visits: (Stopping in for the occasional "1 or 2" things is probably going to be the reason why Sam will never inherit anything from us.)
5. Get out more! (Hermits become unabombers)
6. Spend time with friends more often: (Kathie Lee and Hoda do not count).
7. Cheese is not a food group: (This isn't really a resolution, just a reminder).
8. Write more (Status updates and text messages are not "writing").
9. Stop worrying about everything: (Sam will probably not grow up to be a professional ice dancer, our house is not infested with brown recluse spiders, and my cell phone is not giving me a brain tumor. Right?)
10.Live more: (The laundry will get done eventually, the bills can wait until tomorrow and it's ok if we eat pb&j instead of a five course meal tonight because I spent the afternoon with Sam at the park instead of in the kitchen).
Sam's still working on his list of resolutions. I'll post them as soon as he emails them to me. He's a little slow getting them in this year. Something about not knowing how to type, I think. Stay tuned.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Late Night Rendezvous with The Internet
So, tonight I'm thinking about the internet's effect on my brain and how it may very possibly be shrinking my IQ, slowly but rather surely. For instance, after a long, arduous day of housewifery and motherhood, after which I am partially braindead, part of me wants to read that book I've been meaning to finish (i.e. start) and the other part of me wants to surf the net and read about where Scarlett Johanssen had breakfast yesterday. Additionally, I find myself trudging through the randomness of Hulu.com which offers a plethora of General Hospital and One Life to Live episodes as well as gems I've never heard of like Naruto Shippuden.
It's a strange tug of war that goes on in my brain in the evenings and to be honest, I often give in and waste valuable brain cells on pop culture gossip or on a television show I've already seen and don't really care that much about. And in the process, I fear, the internet wirelessly streaming into my computer (and subsequently, my brain) is slowly and painlessly making me less and less intelligent. Hm.
It's not that I want this to happen, mind you. I'd like to keep all those little IQ points that power my ability to form sentences and pat my head while at the same time rubbing my stomach (this valuable skill may, in fact, have nothing to do with my intelligence quotient). I dream of writing a book about an ordinary couple who drink large amounts of Earl Grey and have secret rendezvous at local Whole Foods Markets. And sometimes I imagine that I'll just stay up late after Matt and The Babe have "released me" from my aforementioned roles so that I can pen my great American novel. However, this never happens. Instead, I stay up a little late and end up on People.com. Argh.
So, to sum up, this post is simply me confessing to intellectual laziness and and an odd addiction to reading about the dysfunctional dating lives of people I don't know. It's also me documenting the apparent slippery slope I'm on that will eventually find me struggling to articulate anything other than what the Kardashians are up to. Ok, that's a little extreme because I don't really know that much about Kim, Khloe or Kourtney. But, seriously, I need to break this cycle and I can't hold out until Sam is 18 and off at college, leaving me with free time to pursue all those creative, educational and spiritual ventures I've been wanting to pursue.
Is it weird to dream about being in my fifties, my kids grown and off at college, and me at home reading all the books I meant to read and writing all the stories I meant to write? Maybe it's not weird, but it's definitely a little unnecessary and perhaps a little unrealistic because obviously, in my fifties I'll be running marathons and organizing large charity events and won't have time for silly things like reading and writing.
Well, friends, I've used up all the brain cells I have for this evening and need to shut this thing down. But, for the record, let it be known that motherhood uses copious amounts of the brain's resources and so, maybe it's ok to "veg out" a little in the evenings. There'll be time for intellectual pursuits one day, right? And, until then, I'm hoping you'll still be my friends even if the only things I can talk about are how many boxes of raisins Sam ate yesterday and what restaurant Jennifer Aniston met her mystery man at last night. Right? Please say yes.
It's a strange tug of war that goes on in my brain in the evenings and to be honest, I often give in and waste valuable brain cells on pop culture gossip or on a television show I've already seen and don't really care that much about. And in the process, I fear, the internet wirelessly streaming into my computer (and subsequently, my brain) is slowly and painlessly making me less and less intelligent. Hm.
It's not that I want this to happen, mind you. I'd like to keep all those little IQ points that power my ability to form sentences and pat my head while at the same time rubbing my stomach (this valuable skill may, in fact, have nothing to do with my intelligence quotient). I dream of writing a book about an ordinary couple who drink large amounts of Earl Grey and have secret rendezvous at local Whole Foods Markets. And sometimes I imagine that I'll just stay up late after Matt and The Babe have "released me" from my aforementioned roles so that I can pen my great American novel. However, this never happens. Instead, I stay up a little late and end up on People.com. Argh.
So, to sum up, this post is simply me confessing to intellectual laziness and and an odd addiction to reading about the dysfunctional dating lives of people I don't know. It's also me documenting the apparent slippery slope I'm on that will eventually find me struggling to articulate anything other than what the Kardashians are up to. Ok, that's a little extreme because I don't really know that much about Kim, Khloe or Kourtney. But, seriously, I need to break this cycle and I can't hold out until Sam is 18 and off at college, leaving me with free time to pursue all those creative, educational and spiritual ventures I've been wanting to pursue.
Is it weird to dream about being in my fifties, my kids grown and off at college, and me at home reading all the books I meant to read and writing all the stories I meant to write? Maybe it's not weird, but it's definitely a little unnecessary and perhaps a little unrealistic because obviously, in my fifties I'll be running marathons and organizing large charity events and won't have time for silly things like reading and writing.
Well, friends, I've used up all the brain cells I have for this evening and need to shut this thing down. But, for the record, let it be known that motherhood uses copious amounts of the brain's resources and so, maybe it's ok to "veg out" a little in the evenings. There'll be time for intellectual pursuits one day, right? And, until then, I'm hoping you'll still be my friends even if the only things I can talk about are how many boxes of raisins Sam ate yesterday and what restaurant Jennifer Aniston met her mystery man at last night. Right? Please say yes.
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