Tax season with kid(s) is like having two Mondays a week. Monday is Monday, and Sunday is Monday, too. Either that, or it's like starting the week with a Wednesday and going back to Monday on Monday. (But that makes less sense.)
To wit: I am carless and 100% in charge of Miss M.
Although Taxman argues that Sunday is not Monday, because he leaves for work a little later and gets home before Miss M goes to bed, the midsection of the day feels like Monday to me. Even worse, there is no 9:00 Sesame Street! But the programming on the Food Network is better, i.e. not infomercials, so in a sense it balances out. Every once in a while Miss M is all about Rachael Ray.
Thankfully today was a park day, because you can't beg, borrow, or steal a playdate on a Sunday. Everyone else is too busy running errands! Argh.
Sunday, April 02, 2006
Friday, March 31, 2006
Feeling cranky
People are nice. Or trying to be. Everyone is complimenting me on how great I look for this late in my pregnancy.
"I can't believe you're almost due!"
"I can't believe you're out and about and running around at the park!" (Frankly, dealing with Miss M at home is worse. Due to the I-must-climb-EVERYTHING stage she is in, it's better to be in a place where climbing is appropriate.)
"You're all baby!" (I get this a lot. It's mostly true, except for the weight that went directly to my thighs--but I don't wear shorts.)
"You look so small!" (This is a LIE, I'm sorry. I look like I've stuffed a huge bowling ball into my shirt.)
I have to tell you though, all of these statements make me incredibly cranky. In my head they are reinforcing what my OB has been reporting: My body is not ready to give birth. From what I hear it is uncomfortable to walk around for weeks at 4-5 cm dilated, but I wouldn't know.
The two best comments I've gotten all week were from another playgroup mommy that I ran into at the doctor's office. She said, "You look so low!" (I don't think I've dropped, but it was encouraging to hear), and when I mentioned that I was still nursing Miss M, she asked if I was planning to tandem; I said yes, and she said, "Wow, that's great."
I know I am lucky that I don't suffer in my pregnancies. My body handles it well. I don't get sick; I don't get terribly uncomfortable; I don't get swelling. But based on what happened in my last labor (when Miss M was in the wrong position and/or too big to get out), I get nervous when people offhandedly tell me I look so great and not pregnant from the back. I'd rather look a little haggard and sleep deprived--true!--and have people tell me they'd bet I'll be in labor within 3 days.
"I can't believe you're almost due!"
"I can't believe you're out and about and running around at the park!" (Frankly, dealing with Miss M at home is worse. Due to the I-must-climb-EVERYTHING stage she is in, it's better to be in a place where climbing is appropriate.)
"You're all baby!" (I get this a lot. It's mostly true, except for the weight that went directly to my thighs--but I don't wear shorts.)
"You look so small!" (This is a LIE, I'm sorry. I look like I've stuffed a huge bowling ball into my shirt.)
I have to tell you though, all of these statements make me incredibly cranky. In my head they are reinforcing what my OB has been reporting: My body is not ready to give birth. From what I hear it is uncomfortable to walk around for weeks at 4-5 cm dilated, but I wouldn't know.
The two best comments I've gotten all week were from another playgroup mommy that I ran into at the doctor's office. She said, "You look so low!" (I don't think I've dropped, but it was encouraging to hear), and when I mentioned that I was still nursing Miss M, she asked if I was planning to tandem; I said yes, and she said, "Wow, that's great."
I know I am lucky that I don't suffer in my pregnancies. My body handles it well. I don't get sick; I don't get terribly uncomfortable; I don't get swelling. But based on what happened in my last labor (when Miss M was in the wrong position and/or too big to get out), I get nervous when people offhandedly tell me I look so great and not pregnant from the back. I'd rather look a little haggard and sleep deprived--true!--and have people tell me they'd bet I'll be in labor within 3 days.
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Mr. Agreeable
I love Instant Messenger. Taxman and I use it all the time. I don't have to involve his secretary--I'm convinced she doesn't like me--and most often what we are discussing doesn't require an immediate answer, so a 20 minute lag (or whatever) doesn't matter.
Today Taxman needed to know whether to order more tax-season overtime dinners, paid for by his firm, for next week and beyond. Essentially, he wanted to know when the b2b would be showing up. Umm. If only I knew!
The conversation then drifted to related topics:
OTE: i wish i had some sort of SIGN that this baby would be coming soon! mucus plug, SROM, or *something*
Tx: i hear ya
OTE: do you have any idea what SROM is?
Tx: no
OTE: ok. just checking.
Tx: so, what is it?
OTE: spontaneous rupture of membranes
Tx: k
He didn't even say "Ewww." (Although he did ask me to put a towel under the mattress pad last week.) What a guy!
Today Taxman needed to know whether to order more tax-season overtime dinners, paid for by his firm, for next week and beyond. Essentially, he wanted to know when the b2b would be showing up. Umm. If only I knew!
The conversation then drifted to related topics:
OTE: i wish i had some sort of SIGN that this baby would be coming soon! mucus plug, SROM, or *something*
Tx: i hear ya
OTE: do you have any idea what SROM is?
Tx: no
OTE: ok. just checking.
Tx: so, what is it?
OTE: spontaneous rupture of membranes
Tx: k
He didn't even say "Ewww." (Although he did ask me to put a towel under the mattress pad last week.) What a guy!
Monday, March 27, 2006
Joy
Watching your toddler literally strip off winter, leaving behind coat, hat, and mittens, in order to run around the playground in the sunshine and boldly challenge the five-year-old boys who dared to linger at the bottom of the slide.
The playground was the highlight of our day. Unfortunately, there were a lot of lowlights:
*waking for the day at 6.
*a too-short nap that ended in an unexplained screaming jag.
*a fragile ego...or something like that. When I refused, politely, to share her lunch, she cried. Big, fat tears. Weird. Trying to dissect--related to the b2b?
*bathtime=flood in the bathroom.
I hope tomorrow will be a more gentle day. Starting at 7. Please, please, please.
The playground was the highlight of our day. Unfortunately, there were a lot of lowlights:
*waking for the day at 6.
*a too-short nap that ended in an unexplained screaming jag.
*a fragile ego...or something like that. When I refused, politely, to share her lunch, she cried. Big, fat tears. Weird. Trying to dissect--related to the b2b?
*bathtime=flood in the bathroom.
I hope tomorrow will be a more gentle day. Starting at 7. Please, please, please.
Saturday, March 25, 2006
All kinds of crazy
Me:
Confession: We watch way too much TV. But now we partially justify it because with a DVR, you can skip the commercials. One of the other nice things about a DVR is that you can pause or rewind live TV, for those times that I need to run to the bathroom at an inconvenient time, or we are not thinking fast enough to catch all of the witty banter on Gilmore Girls.
A few days ago the alarm clock (set to AM news radio--you know, the "traffic and weather every ten minutes" people) went off at its usual 6:35 or whatever. And I was not quite ready to be awake, clearly, because my thought was: "Oh, I missed the end of that sentence. Where's the remote so I can rewind?"
My daughter:
Runs her hands through her hair (curly) at night, getting her fingers snagged, and then pulls the hair out, and wakes up crying and desperately futzing with her hands to try to unwrap the strands from her fingers.
The world at large:*
This particular mother does not install a car seat for her son in a cab when she takes one. Apparently, the New York City Taxi & Limousine Commission vehicles are exempt from the New York State law that requires car seats/child restraints for children under age 7. Whether or not drivers may or may not pass judgment on those caregivers who choose not to install them is mysteriously not cited in the article.
For some reason, it seems like the New York Observer, in its quest to be a hip and trendy paper, finds the kookiest mommies in the five boroughs and has them write stuff. A few months ago it was the pregnant woman who had pretty much decided not to breastfeed, although she readily admitted it was nutritionally superior (blah-blah; she Knows For A Fact that breastfed babies get sick too!), because she wanted to be able to share feeding responsibilities with her husband or someone else. She didn't want to feel tied down: to her baby, to pumping, to the expectations of other educated mommies. (Unclear if anyone had tipped her off that parenting is kind of a long-term commitment.) And she really missed wine and soft cheeses while she was pregnant and shouldn't have to be subjected to such torture any longer than was necessary!**
Now it's the lady who really can't be bothered to deal with silly safety contraptions. Hey, her mom used to take her unbelted in cabs all the time and she was fine! Why should her son be any different?
Seriously, where do they find these people?
*Apologies to Anita, who has seen my rantings on these pieces more than once!
** Good grief, I sound sanctimonious. Look, despite the fact that I am a card-carrying member of LLL, I have known enough people who can't nurse for a million reasons. I'm not saying it is the be-all and end-all of mothering. But it does make me sad when it doesn't work out. And makes me even more sad when a mother-to-be (all medical issues being equal) won't even try.
Confession: We watch way too much TV. But now we partially justify it because with a DVR, you can skip the commercials. One of the other nice things about a DVR is that you can pause or rewind live TV, for those times that I need to run to the bathroom at an inconvenient time, or we are not thinking fast enough to catch all of the witty banter on Gilmore Girls.
A few days ago the alarm clock (set to AM news radio--you know, the "traffic and weather every ten minutes" people) went off at its usual 6:35 or whatever. And I was not quite ready to be awake, clearly, because my thought was: "Oh, I missed the end of that sentence. Where's the remote so I can rewind?"
My daughter:
Runs her hands through her hair (curly) at night, getting her fingers snagged, and then pulls the hair out, and wakes up crying and desperately futzing with her hands to try to unwrap the strands from her fingers.
The world at large:*
This particular mother does not install a car seat for her son in a cab when she takes one. Apparently, the New York City Taxi & Limousine Commission vehicles are exempt from the New York State law that requires car seats/child restraints for children under age 7. Whether or not drivers may or may not pass judgment on those caregivers who choose not to install them is mysteriously not cited in the article.
For some reason, it seems like the New York Observer, in its quest to be a hip and trendy paper, finds the kookiest mommies in the five boroughs and has them write stuff. A few months ago it was the pregnant woman who had pretty much decided not to breastfeed, although she readily admitted it was nutritionally superior (blah-blah; she Knows For A Fact that breastfed babies get sick too!), because she wanted to be able to share feeding responsibilities with her husband or someone else. She didn't want to feel tied down: to her baby, to pumping, to the expectations of other educated mommies. (Unclear if anyone had tipped her off that parenting is kind of a long-term commitment.) And she really missed wine and soft cheeses while she was pregnant and shouldn't have to be subjected to such torture any longer than was necessary!**
Now it's the lady who really can't be bothered to deal with silly safety contraptions. Hey, her mom used to take her unbelted in cabs all the time and she was fine! Why should her son be any different?
Seriously, where do they find these people?
*Apologies to Anita, who has seen my rantings on these pieces more than once!
** Good grief, I sound sanctimonious. Look, despite the fact that I am a card-carrying member of LLL, I have known enough people who can't nurse for a million reasons. I'm not saying it is the be-all and end-all of mothering. But it does make me sad when it doesn't work out. And makes me even more sad when a mother-to-be (all medical issues being equal) won't even try.
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
Three weeks to d-day...food for the soul
And by that I mean the Jewish Holiday Causing the Most Mental Anguish.
Here comes Pesach!
To make it all better, here's my recipe for Raspberry Brownies (suitable for Ashkenazim)
Nonstick vegetable spray
16 Tablespoons "light" olive oil
12 Tablespoons cocoa
4 (large) eggs
2 cups sugar
1/2 cup raspberry or strawberry jam
1 cup cake meal (like matzah meal, but more finely ground)
Preheat oven to 325. Spray 9" x 13" inch shallow metal pan with nonstick spray.
Combine ingredients in a large bowl and blend well.
Bake brownies until tester inserted comes out with moist crumbs attached, about 18-20 minutes.
If these are not moist enough for you, I would suggest either upping the amount of jam or adding a little more olive oil (a teaspoon). The original (nonpesach) recipe calls for berry liqueur--if available that's nice too (a tablespoon or 2).
For lovers of all things chocolate, especially easy and impressive chocolate cakes, the recipe from which this was adapted is superb.
The one year Taxman and I cleaned our apartment (Hell.on.Earth.) and actually stayed home for part of Pesach, we hosted a meal and served these brownies as dessert. (A granita would be a nice touch, not that I did that.) Other menu items included Strawberry-Pear Soup and poached salmon with mango salsa. How I remember this, I have no idea...it's taking up space along with the John Hughes movies, I guess.
Strawberry-Pear Soup (serves 4-6)
4 cups hulled and sliced strawberries
1/2 cup water
2 ripe pears, cored and cut into medium dice
3/4-1 cup apple juice
2 teaspoons fresh lemon juice (or more to taste)
1/4 cup white sugar
Using an immersion or regular blender (I used a food mill one year--more trouble than it's worth), puree strawberries with water, diced pears, and apple juice. Add lemon juice and sugar to taste; how much sugar is necessary will depend on the berries themselves. Serve very cold with strawberry slices for garnish if you're feeling fancy.
To be honest, I have no recollection where I got the recipe from, but I've changed it enough from the original that I don't feel like I am stepping on any toes.
The main course was salmon poached in white wine, in a recipe I cribbed from one of my mom's cookbooks. I don't remember if it was from the Joy of Cooking or the New York Times cookbook (most likely candidates). I'm sure everyone has their own favorite recipe for that. We served mango salsa (replacing the serrano with a jalapeno) as a topping.
The frustrating part about Pesach is that there are so few starchy options. No pasta, no rice, no bulghur, no barley. Just lots of potatoes. Quinoa, because it is a seed that grows with grasses, not grains, it is actually acceptable for Pesach. But I'd be hard-pressed to find anyone who would bring it into their house on Pesach without Passover certification, which I've yet to find. If I were willing to check all the seeds, I might be able to swing it, but this year I'm going to be a little busy.
So for now, it's a lot of meat, fish, potatoes, eggs, fruit and veggies. And Pesach is the one time of year I treat myself to salted butter. And brownies, of course. Lots of brownies.
Here comes Pesach!
To make it all better, here's my recipe for Raspberry Brownies (suitable for Ashkenazim)
Nonstick vegetable spray
16 Tablespoons "light" olive oil
12 Tablespoons cocoa
4 (large) eggs
2 cups sugar
1/2 cup raspberry or strawberry jam
1 cup cake meal (like matzah meal, but more finely ground)
Preheat oven to 325. Spray 9" x 13" inch shallow metal pan with nonstick spray.
Combine ingredients in a large bowl and blend well.
Bake brownies until tester inserted comes out with moist crumbs attached, about 18-20 minutes.
If these are not moist enough for you, I would suggest either upping the amount of jam or adding a little more olive oil (a teaspoon). The original (nonpesach) recipe calls for berry liqueur--if available that's nice too (a tablespoon or 2).
For lovers of all things chocolate, especially easy and impressive chocolate cakes, the recipe from which this was adapted is superb.
The one year Taxman and I cleaned our apartment (Hell.on.Earth.) and actually stayed home for part of Pesach, we hosted a meal and served these brownies as dessert. (A granita would be a nice touch, not that I did that.) Other menu items included Strawberry-Pear Soup and poached salmon with mango salsa. How I remember this, I have no idea...it's taking up space along with the John Hughes movies, I guess.
Strawberry-Pear Soup (serves 4-6)
4 cups hulled and sliced strawberries
1/2 cup water
2 ripe pears, cored and cut into medium dice
3/4-1 cup apple juice
2 teaspoons fresh lemon juice (or more to taste)
1/4 cup white sugar
Using an immersion or regular blender (I used a food mill one year--more trouble than it's worth), puree strawberries with water, diced pears, and apple juice. Add lemon juice and sugar to taste; how much sugar is necessary will depend on the berries themselves. Serve very cold with strawberry slices for garnish if you're feeling fancy.
To be honest, I have no recollection where I got the recipe from, but I've changed it enough from the original that I don't feel like I am stepping on any toes.
The main course was salmon poached in white wine, in a recipe I cribbed from one of my mom's cookbooks. I don't remember if it was from the Joy of Cooking or the New York Times cookbook (most likely candidates). I'm sure everyone has their own favorite recipe for that. We served mango salsa (replacing the serrano with a jalapeno) as a topping.
The frustrating part about Pesach is that there are so few starchy options. No pasta, no rice, no bulghur, no barley. Just lots of potatoes. Quinoa, because it is a seed that grows with grasses, not grains, it is actually acceptable for Pesach. But I'd be hard-pressed to find anyone who would bring it into their house on Pesach without Passover certification, which I've yet to find. If I were willing to check all the seeds, I might be able to swing it, but this year I'm going to be a little busy.
So for now, it's a lot of meat, fish, potatoes, eggs, fruit and veggies. And Pesach is the one time of year I treat myself to salted butter. And brownies, of course. Lots of brownies.
Monday, March 20, 2006
4 horsemen of the apocalypse
The end is near. The end of what, I'm not sure. Hopefully this pregnancy. It's now 4 weeks at the outside (so I've been warned by my OB, who has an OR booked for me on the 17th).
Here are my signs, in no particular order:
1. I slept last night. Sure, I had the usual wake-ups due to baby bladder and Miss M. And yes, I barely slept Saturday night. Nevertheless--when Miss M cried out at 1:15 and 3:15 and 4:15, I wasn't already awake!
2. My shape now approximates either Hitch or Fudgie. When I was pregnant with Miss M, Taxman frequently told me I looked like a "miracle in progress." (Awww.) Now he's openly guffawing at my size.
3. I caught a glimpse of a package of cotton candy in the Passover aisle at the grocery store yesterday. In big letters, it said REAL Cotton Candy. In much smaller letters above that, it said "artificially flavored." I am having a hard time wrapping my brain around these opposing ideas. First of all, would you consider artificial flavors and food dyes real? (I guess they are real in the existential sense.) Or do they mean real cotton candy in the sense of it being authentic? What is authentic cotton candy, anyway? Is it the fluffy, air-spun sugar that you find at fairs and ballparks and the circus? If that is the real cotton candy, a dense wad of artificially flavored and colored sugar stuffed into a small package with a clown face doesn't seem to qualify as the true representation of cotton candy. Who decides these things? Why am I occupying brain space with this? Surely because I don't want to think about other things!
4. Today is the first day of spring. The weather seems to take issue with that, however, as it is going to be 40 and windy all week long. Is this Mother Nature being super nasty to the stay-at-home parents of toddlers? Is this revenge for the Bush Administration denying that global warming is as much of a threat as the science indicates, to the tune of having lawyers/petroleum lobbyists rewrite climate documents? I didn't have anything to do with that! I hate the Bush administration! New York is a blue state! C'mon, show some pity! I've got to get my kid to the park!
If anyone has any tips for getting the 2028 Olympic gold medalist in judo out of me as quickly as possible....you know where to find me.
Here are my signs, in no particular order:
1. I slept last night. Sure, I had the usual wake-ups due to baby bladder and Miss M. And yes, I barely slept Saturday night. Nevertheless--when Miss M cried out at 1:15 and 3:15 and 4:15, I wasn't already awake!
2. My shape now approximates either Hitch or Fudgie. When I was pregnant with Miss M, Taxman frequently told me I looked like a "miracle in progress." (Awww.) Now he's openly guffawing at my size.
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3. I caught a glimpse of a package of cotton candy in the Passover aisle at the grocery store yesterday. In big letters, it said REAL Cotton Candy. In much smaller letters above that, it said "artificially flavored." I am having a hard time wrapping my brain around these opposing ideas. First of all, would you consider artificial flavors and food dyes real? (I guess they are real in the existential sense.) Or do they mean real cotton candy in the sense of it being authentic? What is authentic cotton candy, anyway? Is it the fluffy, air-spun sugar that you find at fairs and ballparks and the circus? If that is the real cotton candy, a dense wad of artificially flavored and colored sugar stuffed into a small package with a clown face doesn't seem to qualify as the true representation of cotton candy. Who decides these things? Why am I occupying brain space with this? Surely because I don't want to think about other things!
4. Today is the first day of spring. The weather seems to take issue with that, however, as it is going to be 40 and windy all week long. Is this Mother Nature being super nasty to the stay-at-home parents of toddlers? Is this revenge for the Bush Administration denying that global warming is as much of a threat as the science indicates, to the tune of having lawyers/petroleum lobbyists rewrite climate documents? I didn't have anything to do with that! I hate the Bush administration! New York is a blue state! C'mon, show some pity! I've got to get my kid to the park!
If anyone has any tips for getting the 2028 Olympic gold medalist in judo out of me as quickly as possible....you know where to find me.
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