The Main St. Diaries

How to Entertain an Unwanted Houseguest

2012-01-10T10:33:00.003-05:00

"Oh, yes, we let all of our children play with matches! How else would they learn about fire safety?"

I am a little low on material this week, but if you want to know how to entertain an unwanted guest, Linda Hartley has another post up on Ask Amy Daily about just that problem. You can read it here.
(The illustration above is from the column.)

And if you're looking for a book to read, I reviewed Sarah Levine's "Treasure Island!!!" in this week's New York Times Book Review, which you can see here.

Otherwise, it's quiet here, and unseasonably warm. I am going to go take a nap. But before I do, here is one of my all time favorite headlines from AOL, which appeared on today's front page:

"Angry Woman Makes Startling Move."

(Spoiler alert: she dumps water on a man's head.)

There's an excellent title for a short story or a poem (or someone's autobiography) if I ever heard one.
Angry woman makes startling move.

UPDATE: (1 hour later) Aol changed the headline to "Cooling off."
Shoot! I loved that headline. I hope someone uses it as a title for something else.

Linda Hartley's new column on Askamydaily.com!

2011-12-24T12:03:00.000-05:00

I'm happy to announce that Linda Hartley, the advice columnist from my book, Later at the Bar, has a new column on Amy Dickinson's website, askamydaily.com.

You can see her two part holiday survival guide here:
Om for the Holidays (Part 1)

Om for the Holidays (Part 2)

If you have a question you would like Linda to answer, write to her at: misslonelyhartley@gmail.com. Depending on what time of day she answers, you will get either two cup of coffee advice or two martini advice.

Enjoy!

Fresh Dirt Ithaca Update

2011-12-20T10:08:00.002-05:00

Here's some more dirt on Fresh Dirt Ithaca:

It's now available at the following venues:
Home Green Home
GreenStar
Gimme! Trumansburg
Good to Go in Trumansburg
Red Feet
Buffalo St. Books
Petrune

and should be available at:
Wegman's
Mayer's
Bear Necessities in Collegetown
Jason's Groceries in Collegetown
Commons Market
Lansing Market
Trumansburg ShurSave
Xtra Mart in Freeville
(If it's not in these places yet, it will be there soon.)

If you want to send us feedback (and we'd love to hear it)
write to: feedback@freshdirtmag.com

And if you want to subscribe, email your name and address to: subscriptions@freshdirtmag.com

Finally, if you have ideas for future issues, write to:
ideas@freshdirtmag.com

We look forward to hearing from you, and thanks to everyone for the outpouring of support of the issue!
Cheers!

Fresh Dirt Ithaca!!!

2011-12-08T10:25:00.001-05:00


Photo by Lauren DeCicca

I am SO EXCITED to announce that the magazine my husband and I worked on all summer is out in the world. It's called Fresh Dirt Ithaca and it's a profile-driven local green living magazine.

Here is my husband's editor's letter, (he is editor-in-chief and publisher) which explains the whole mission better than I can:

"The seeds for Fresh Dirt were planted soon after my wife and I bought our first car together, a Prius. It was 2003; we were living in Columbus, Ohio; gas was less than a dollar a gallon; and everyone thought we were nuts.
   As with many people who start to pay attention to the environment, our conversion was jump-started by the prospect of having children. How would we keep them healthy? What kind of world were we bringing them into? What kind of a world did we want to be bringing them into?
      Working for women's magazines, my wife Rebecca was up on the latest health fads--and fears. Beware of BPA! Steer clear of No. 7 plastics! Avoid pesticides! So we fed our kids organic food and used glass baby bottles. Again, people thought we were nuts.
      We were reading--and Rebecca was writing for--Organic Style. After that folded, we found Plenty, whose tagline was, "It's easy being green." But actually it's not so easy being green. It takes work to cook fresh, real, food. It takes more time to hang clothes out on the line than to throw them in the dryer. And it can be pretty depressing to hear the endless litany of doomsday prophecies. It wasn't long before Plenty folded, too.
      We knew we weren't the only ones who recognize how awesome it is to eat real food, how much better the laundry smells when it dries in the sun, and how troubling our addiction to fossil fuels has become. So how, my wife and I wondered, might we take a page from some of the thriving magazines we worked for--People, Seventeen, Real Simple--and find a way to celebrate sustainability?
      We decided our magazine would showcase the amazing things people are already doing: farming without pesticides--or tractors (page 54); making great local food (pages 22, 50, 58, and 60), building innovative, ultra-energy-efficient homes (page 42), fighting fracking (page 27).
      After we formed the idea, we took it to a classroom at Ithaca College. We sat down with 21 students and said, Let's make a magazine. Together we sharpened the mission. We developed the voice. We went out into the community with tape recorders and cameras and hope and excitement.
      We came back inspired by this place and its people, feeling lucky to be able to celebrate it, grateful for how rich it makes our lives. What you see here is possibility. Enjoy!"

--Tommy Dunne
(For the record--we loved Plenty, which wasn't full of doomsday prophecies, and were REALLY sorry to see it go.) Anyway, after a lot of blood, sweat, and begging my family for just a little more childcare (thanks Mom, Dad and Maria and Dave) it's done and out on in the world.

In the premier issue:

*Where local chefs go when they feel like dining out.

*A series of profiles on people who are making art out of life, including the folks at Wide Awake Bakery, The Veteran's Sanctuary, The Good Life Farm (see Melissa Madden, above at her wonderful polycultural farm), Keeley's Cheese Co, and RootsRoseRadish.

*A section on hydrofracking, including a beautiful, moving lyrical essay by biologist and writer Sandra Steingraber (who just won a $100,000 Heinz award!). Oh, and there are apple recipes from local chefs, and cartoons by former New Yorker staffer Marshall Hopkins.

So, if you want to know more about that fab skin care line sold at Petrune, or the man who saved Buffalo St. Books, or the philosophy behind that house on Cascadilla Street with the amazing garden in front, look for this magazine!!

Right now it's available at Gimme! in Trumansburg, Good to Go in Trumansburg, GreenStar Co-op, and will be available at Red Feet in Ithaca starting tomorrow. I'll keep you posted on other venues as they get confirmed. (We're hoping to get them into Wegman's and Barnes and Noble as well.)

Meanwhile, a big thanks to everyone who contributed and to Ithaca College. We were so lucky to have such a talented group to work with, and such a rich variety of subjects to choose from. This is a a great place and people are doing so many dynamic, interesting things. Join us in toasting it!

Cheers!

2011-11-28T11:17:00.001-05:00

The other night after putting both Liam and Dawson to bed I heard Dawson calling me.
"Mommy! MOMMY!"
      "What?!!" I said.
   "Oh, Mommy, I WANT something but I don't know what it is."
   Oh, Dawson, I thought. You and about twenty million other people.
"I'm sorry sweetie," I said. "That's a hard feeling."
"It happens all the TIME," he said.
"Do you know what you think you might want?" I said.
"I don't know," said Dawson.
"Something to drink maybe, or some food."

So there it is. A little poem that summarizes the human condition.
MOMMY!
I WANT something but I don't know what it is.
Something to drink, maybe. Or some food.
It's like this all the time.
Waiting for sleep is so lonely. *

*(That last line comes from a post I wrote when Liam was around two and really hating bedtime.)

The Trouble is, It is (itals) Funny.

2011-11-28T10:06:00.001-05:00

Yesterday, while stuck in traffic on the way home from visiting my husband's family over Thanksgiving, my husband and I were having a conversation about Pompeii. We had seen an exhibit at the Museum of Science a few days earlier, and had both been affected by it--not just by the tragedy, but by the way the citizens of Pompeii lived before the volcano erupted. Everything was beautiful. My husband had liked the atriums and water running through houses, the way nature was incorporated into the domestic realm instead of actively being kept out. Liam and Dawson had loved the way people peed in pots in the street that were later used to clean laundry. I had loved the public baths, and the way people then seemed to have so much of what we have now, but it was more artistically detailed and crafted.
   We passed a Chi Chi's.
    "I mean look at this," I said. "If a cloud of ash covered us right now and people dug us up centuries later they wouldn't find hand painted frescoes and beautiful mosaics. They would find big box stores, strip malls, and gas stations."
      "You pee, Liam," said Dawson, who was sitting in the back
"Now listen," I said, turning around to face him. "That is enough. No more talk about butts or pee or poop." Dawson, especially, has been obsessed with potty talk lately.
   "It's rude," said my husband.
   "VERY rude," I said sternly.
   "It's funny," said Liam.
   "Butt crack," said Dawson.
"Hee hee hee," said Liam.
   "I mean it," I said. "That's enough. It's obnoxious and makes you seem like little boys with bad manners. Do you want to be little boys with bad manners?"
Which was about the time we pulled up alongside a car with a bumper sticker on the back that said in big red letters:
   "I HEART FARTS."
   "Oh no," I said to my husband.
   "What? What?" said Liam and Dawson.
   "Nothing," I said. "Look at those beautiful mountains."
But it was too late. "Look at that car!" said Dawson. "It says I heart FARTS!!"
"Ha ha ha aha hahahahahhaha," said Liam. "That's hilarious!"
("Don't worry," said a friend of mine who studies classics said later. "Even in Pompeii they probably had fart jokes.")

Anyway. I hope everyone had a great Thanksgiving. And if you get a chance to go to the Museum of Science in Boston and see the "Day in Pompeii" exhibit, I highly recommend it. But be warned, once you've seen a pair of beautifully crafted gladiator shin guards, a gorgeous hand blown aqua glass cremation urn, or hand carved combs and make-up containers, it's hard look at a Pottery Barn catalogue the same way again.

Post Halloween

2011-11-01T13:34:00.002-04:00

I am working on a post about this year's Halloween, which I am sorry to see go (Halloween, that is, not the post I'm working on). But in the mean time, and in the very possible event that I don't finish that post, here is one from 2008 that summarizes the way I feel today:

I feel like I do in January after the holidays are over. I love Halloween--I think I like it even better than Christmas because there aren't weeks and weeks of programs and ads and products devoted to it. And the pressure to get along with your loved ones isn't as cloying. (Loving people seems to have so little to do with getting along. There are people I get along with fine, but don't love at all, and then there is my two year old, who today told me he wasn't talking to me anymore. And he didn't, until he wanted candy.)

But also, Halloween is the most creative holiday of all of them, and I think that's why I love it the best. I love the costumes and the black cats and all the great stuff you can make. I love the way you spend an evening knocking on your neighbor's doors and sometimes visiting for a few minutes. In honor of it, Tommy and I took half the day off and spent all of it quietly working on projects. Tommy made tank engine costumes for Liam and Dawson out of cardboard boxes (Liam was James, Dawson was Thomas) and I made hors d'oeuvres shaped like mummy and cat heads.

Then we went out trick-or-treating and had a post trick or treating party at our house that included five adults and six children (all under ten.)
The next day my house looked like Keith Richards and Mick Jagger drank ten bottles of vodka and got into a fistfight. Seriously. Thomas and James lay on their sides on the floor, the couch was dismantled, (although at least no one put mustard on it--see "At least he's a polite neanderthal" post ) candy wrappers were everywhere, tables were overturned. Give six children a pile of candy and let them run around while you sit and have just the tiniest glass of wine with your friends, and it's like having a frat party in your dining room.

But now everything is clean and the decorations are down, and the leaves have mostly fallen off the trees. The Gurches have already dismantled the haunted house they do each year for the whole neighborhood. I feel a little bereft--like all I have to look forward to is egg nog.

Halloween Craft Week Part II: Black Cats Playing Musical Instruments

2011-10-26T14:02:00.001-04:00

From left to right: Martha on drums, Captain Snodgrass on vocals, Lucy on the trumpet, and Oliver in the front.

I made this band of cats based on some vintage Halloween cut outs I loved so much I wanted more solid versions of them. I used polymer clay, mostly Fimo, which I like for its softness and the vibrancy of the colors. If you want to make a little guitar player like the one below, here's what you do:

What you need:
Latex gloves. Fimo swears it's non-toxic and it probably is by the current standards, but the main ingredient in polymer clay is pthalates, and since there's a lot of controversy around that right now I use gloves when I work with it.
1 package of black clay
1/4 package of gold or brown clay for the guitar
about an 1/8 of a package of your color of choice for a skirt (I chose purple) and scarf (I chose red)
1/4 package of your color of choice for the stand, and a teeny bit of yellow for eyes, nose and mouth.
4 or six acrylic stars (available at any craft store)
3 head pins
1 tiny snow man cookie cutter or a small paper clip (optional)

What you do:

I usually start with the head. First you make a ball out of black clay (about 1" in diameter) and pinch the top of it to make ears. Then, flatten a piece of yellow clay and either using your fingers or a paper clip, (I used the head of this cookie cutter snowman that I bought in the polymer clay section at Micheal's crafts) make two rounded shapes for eyes.

You can use the discarded clay from the eyes to shape the mouth. (Trim the top part down.) Or shape a mouth by making a small strip of yellow into a crescent shape and pinching the inside with your thumb and forefingers. (See face below)
The nose is kind of hard. You just have to make a tiny triangle and pinch it with your fingers to get the right shape. Sorry, I don't have a simpler way to do it. Although you could just make a little round dot, it might look about the same and be a lot easier. Go ahead and experiment on that one.

Put the eyes nose and mouth on the cat head, so that it looks something like this:

Roll two tiny balls of clay between your fingertips to make pupils and stick them on the eyes. Hello, kitty! Your little cat is cheerful and awake. (Although bodiless.)

Now is about the time I usually go get a snack or make some tea.

For the body, take another chunk of clay, about half the package, and roll it out, shaping it into the body, which should look a little bit the way a cat does when you give it a bath--thin and long-limbed. Push a head pin through the crown of your cat's head, and stick it onto the body.

Next you have to dress your cat. Take about a 1 inch ball of whatever color clay you've chosen for the skirt and flatten it out. (I usually do this with my hands, but you might get better results with a smooth glass bottle.) Wrap it around the cat's waist and pinch it together in the back.

To make the stand, you take another ball of clay, about 1 inch in diameter, and flatten it into a thick circle. Then press your cat's feet into it. You can make it sturdier by sticking pins up through the feet, which feels a little bit like practicing voodoo.
Use the gold clay to make a guitar (or buy a miniature guitar at a craft store--which would be much easier.) I make the guitar by taking a blob of clay pinching two sides of it, then pulling on one end of it to fashion the neck.
Place the guitar on the cat's belly, and wrap its arms around it. (See picture below.) To put on the scarf, (which you make by flattening a thin strip of clay) pull the cat's head up a few inches like this:

Then wrap the scarf loosely above the shoulders as if the cat had a neck. Then gently push the head back down on top of it.

Don't forget to make a tail--roll out a little snake of black clay (about 2 " long) and fix it to the back. (See above. Although note that the picture on the right is of a glazed, decorated cat. Do not put the cat in the oven with the acrylic stars on it, or once it's been glazed.)

Put your cat in the oven and bake it at 230 for about 20 minutes. Take it out and air out your kitchen.
After the cat has cooled, you can glaze it. I used to use a shiny acrylic glaze, but lately I've been using Modge Podge, which gives the piece more of a matte finish. Decorate the skirt with some acrylic stars.

Et Viola! Your cat is ready to play.

PS: If you do try this, please let me know how easy/hard the directions were to follow.

Halloween Craft Week Part I

2011-10-23T20:32:00.001-04:00

Hard Boiled Egg JackO’Lanterns and Mummy Heads.

Halloween always brings out the artsy-crafter in me, and in honor of my favorite holiday I'm devoting the next week of posts to Halloween craft projects. This first one, hard boiled egg mummy heads, are an hors d'oeuvre I made two years ago for a Halloween party. (See above)
When one of my friends saw this picture of them she burst outlaughing and said, “Those look like something a crazy person makes.” I think itwas the lettuce leaves, which admittedly, look a little hairy.

However, I still thinkthese are brilliant and continue to make them every year for our pre-trick ortreating Halloween party. They’re fun to do with children and also a good wayto get some protein into little goblins and ghouls before the onslaught ofcandy. You can present them as either mummy heads or egg o’lanterns, and if youwant to make them really gruesome, you could try them with pickled eggs.

Here’s what you need:

Several hard boiledeggs.

A steak knife,cookie cutters, dried cranberries, or thinly sliced carrots. (Punch holes inthe carrot with a hole punch for eyes.*)

*This might be too complicated and not worth the effort.

Here’s what you do:

Peel the hard-boiledeggs and figure out where the skin is closest to the yolk. (I just kept poking the egg with a knife untilI found a place where I quickly hit yellow--good for aggression.) Carve a faceand gently peel away the whites where you’ve carved. The yolk acts the way acandle does in a jack-o-lantern.

If carving is too intricate, or your kids are too small to handle steakknives, you can use cookie cutters to make shapes or make small craters with amuch less sharp knife and put dried cranberries (red eyes) or currants in themfor eyes and noses.

You can also use other vegetables for hair or hats. I used a hot pepper as acap for this fellow:

Finally, the nice thing about this is that if they start to fall apart oryou made a bigger eye or mouth than you meant to, you can always turn them intozombies (very trendy!):

When you’re finished rinse the eggs with water or vinegar diluted with waterto remove any finger prints. Then, as my five-year-old would say: “Trick orEat!"

Next up: Musical Halloween cats out of polymer clay!

Food for thought

2011-10-20T10:39:00.000-04:00

I really liked this post on Cara Hoffman's blog about the way the Occupy Wall Street movement is turning predictions experts made about America's youth upside down.

Halloween Trees and the Trouble with Pancakes

2011-10-17T21:38:00.002-04:00

This weekend my husband finally came home after being away for weeks on business, and we all celebrated by getting into a fight before noon.
I blame pancakes.
I made pancakes for breakfast because it felt like a special occasion to have us all home and together but the problem with pancakes is that they seem cozy and delicious and they are--but an hour and a half later the entire family is suffering from a sugar crash and one son is refusing to wear shoes and your husband is saying "Maybe I should go back to New York," and the other son is sobbing, "You promised we would go to mini-golf!" when the only way you'd ever make a promise like that is under the influence of Percoset.

Maybe this is just the nature of a homecoming when one person has been away making money and the other person has been home being a single parent. Everyone feels overworked and out of balance, and everyone has been holding it together as well as they can, and the second the family unit is back in place you almost have to have a fight to clear the air.

Eventually Tommy took the children to mini-golf and I went for a walk with my friend Domenica, where I told her the whole story.
"Pancakes!" She said. "There's nothing like them to make an entire family tired, bloated, and irritable."
"Exactly," I said, happy to be understood, and also happy to be on a walk with my friend. It was a cloudy day, but the best thing about living in upstate New York in the fall is that even on a gray day the scenery is luminous, maybe even more luminous with that steely background, and things like a black bird on branch of orange sumac in front of a bright green pasture seem like miracles. When we parted ways at the crosswalk near my house after covering the subjects of work, our home lives, and the backwards ways we all try to help people we love, I was in a much better mood.

I walked in the living room where Dawson was hiding under a couch holding a cloth devil's tail waiting to jump up and scare me.
All of the Halloween decorations were out and in the corner by the windows where we put the Christmas tree was an eight foot tall black branch with dark brown leaves that had dried as if they were still blowing in the wind.
"Oh!" I said. "It's beautiful."
"Do you like it?" said Liam.
"Boo!" yelled Dawson without coming out from under the couch.
"I LOVE it," I said. "It's fantastic. We should keep it up forever."
"Daddy helped us," Liam said. "We had to go down to the creek but we're not supposed to tell you."
"It needs some color," my husband said. "Maybe some streamers."
I looked at him and was so happy he was back. Halloween is the holiday I love the most and one of my favorite parts of it is getting a Halloween tree. I hadn't had time to even think about it while he was gone and then when he'd come home I'd started yelling at him about how we needed to get some systems in place to make our children help out more and then I'd gone for a walk, and here he had taken the kids and picked out this magnificent thing, which was better than anything I would have found on my own. I looked at the room, with half of our old costumes strewn across the floor and my husband standing in the middle of it hanging a plastic skeleton on the tree. This is why I married him, I thought. No one else would know how to make me such a beautiful, perfect gift.

So here is a picture of our tree. It doesn't quite do it justice, but you get an idea.

And the moral of the story is: Never start the day with pancakes if you want your family to get along.

Raspberry Picking

2011-10-04T13:56:00.003-04:00

After a really difficult summer, I am dedicating October to doing things that give me some kind of enjoyment. (This included not doing laundry at first, but that's getting to be a little problematic.)

Last week I went raspberry picking. I rode my bicycle up the to the farm we belong to, which is full of green beans and flowers and muddy grass. It was a perfect day for picking--crisp, but not too cold, and the sky was just overcast enough so that the sunlight came through the clouds in shafts of gold, highlighting the purple wild asters, deep yellow goldenrod, and the blood red sumac.

I was standing in the raspberry patch thinking about how happy fall makes me, and how nice it is to be able to ride to the farm and pick fresh food. The only other people picking were an older couple bundled up in worn cardigans and scarves who I guessed were Eastern European as they were speaking what sounded like a Slavic language. I picked contentedly, listening to the rhythm of words I couldn't understand, thinking about what a nice couple-y activity berry picking is.

Which was about the time I looked up and saw the elderly woman throw an empty bucket at the the elderly man, barely missing his head, and walk to other end of the patch, muttering something.

This reminded me of one of my favorite fights between two friends of mine the day they decided that blueberry picking would make a nice wholesome family activity and took their three year old twins to a blueberry patch. One of the kids started melting down and the husband was trying to get him into the car, but the wife kept finding more berries to pick and when they got into the car the kids were crying and the husband was furious. "What's your problem?" she said, and he said, "I've been trying to get the kids in the car for half an hour and every time I looked up all I saw was your butt sticking up out of the patch like a planet."
("A planet?!!" she said to me later.
"At least he didn't say it was blotting out the sun," I said.)

It reminded me that sometimes the things we think are most romantic are best left in our heads or done alone. (Either that or that romance is sometimes at it's best with a little dose conflict.)

Anyway I brought the berries home and boiled them with the last of the summer peaches, an Asian pear, some crabapples from my parents' apple tree and a tablespoon of honey. The result was a sweet, tangy raspberry/peach/apple sauce we've been eating with everything. Liam loves it, and has been having it for breakfast and dessert. (He especially likes it as a topping for the ricotta cheese breakfast bars featured in the Kim Boyce piece I have this month in O.)

Personally, I like to put it in a wine glass, pour in some vodka, garnish with frozen raspberries and sip through dinner. It makes doing laundry more enjoyable.

Cheers!

There is a reason I wrote about whiskey, not Southwest cooking.

2011-09-26T13:30:00.005-04:00

In case any readers are interested in whiskey or whole wheat baking, I have two articles out this month.

One, "The Secret to Delicious Whole Grain Cooking," is in O, where I had a chance to interview the lovely Kim Boyce.

The other, "Whiskey Rebellion," is in Saveur where I had the chance to drink a lot of whiskey. (That was lovely, too.)

Meanwhile, can anyone give me the @#$$#! secret to cooking delicious black beans?
I bought some dry ones last week. First I soaked them overnight. Then I simmered them for at least an hour. Then I put them in vegetable tacos and it was like eating little beads. We're still working our way through them, but it is an arduous task. Any thoughts would be appreciated!

Bed Time Story

2011-09-10T13:34:00.000-04:00

Last night Dawson and I found ourselves with nothing to do before bed. We had all eaten, (the children under duress, as usual. Sigh.) Liam was upstairs in his room reading. Dawson and I were sick of the books we were reading, and no one wanted to take a bath. Finally, Dawson decided he wanted to write something, so he dictated the following to me and I wrote it down. (The exclamation points were also dictated by him--he LOVES exclamation points. Who doesn't? When I was a teacher at OSU I used to tell my students--"No exclamation points! Don't ever use them. That and the word suddenly. Just replace it in your head with "Tah-Dah!" and you'll see what I mean." But I'll admit that when I worked at CosmoGirl! and we used exclamation points all the time, I did really grow to love them. So here they are, unedited.) Liam joined us halfway through...

"Once upon a time, there was a bear who lived in the forest with his mother and had a great time eating muskrats. They met a bird named Blue. She lived with her mom and dad and they lived with their Mom and Dad. So, they had a great time! Running, and having fun eating worms and playing hide and seek. Then one day they met a girl that was an otter that lived in a lake. She had a great time building her house and it was really fun.
All of these animals played together and had fun until one day a big mean bear named Picklebottom who ate pickles all day came to the woods and he was really mean to animals. He threw bricks on their heads, he hit their heads with a bomb, and he said mean things like, "You’re stupid," and, "Shut up," and "I’m going to set your fur on fire!"
Well, none of the animals wanted to go outside and play because they were afraid of Picklebottom.
One day, when Picklebottom was at school they sneaked his toys out of his house and sent them to the animal Salvation Army.
When Picklebottom came home he was mean to his cat, Ryely and Blue. And he didn’t know that his toys were missing because he never played with them.
So they put a bear bomb in his house and set it off. And it set his fur on fire, and he had to run to the lake.
“Be nice!” he said to Otter. “Why did you put a bear bomb in my house?”
“Because you were being mean,” said Otter.
“Oh. It’s because I eat pickles all day,” said the bear. So he started eating bread and changed his name to Captain Breadbottom.

And set his butt on fire. He went to the bathroom and the toilet got set on fire! The toilet sprayed water at him. And then he got to go to the animal hospital. The doctors said,"We’re going to have to set your butt on fire."
“Why?” said Captain Breadbottom. “I just did that and that’s why I’m here.”
“Because you are mean and evil,” said one doctor.
“No no no no!” said another doctor. “Because it’s just something we like to do. Put water on it after we set it on fire.”
OW!! thought Captain Breadbottom. “No way, are you setting my butt on fire. I won’t be evil or mean anymore. Look I’ll say something nice.” And he kissed both the doctors and said, “You are wearing a very nice hat. And YOU are wearing some beautiful pajamas!”
(Eeew!” said a random person outside the story.) And then he ran as fast as he could home, but he accidentally fell into a lava pit and there was a ladder but he went on the breakable one, and he fell in and sat in a big pile of lava.
OW said Captain Breadbottom. This is worse than if the doctors had set my butt on fire. Help!

To be continued……

Back to School

2011-09-07T15:05:00.002-04:00

This elephant clip pretty much summarizes what my last month of summer was like. (That would be me, the big elephant, lying on the ground, and the little elephant would be my children.)

PS: It's better without the sound.

It's so hot.

2011-07-19T15:03:00.000-04:00

Today it is supposed to get to 100 degrees. When I went to the store this morning my neighbor Patricia said that on the radio they were telling people not to go outside in the afternoon, period, for fear of heat exhaustion. "Maybe I'll pick my children up a little early from camp," I said.

I'm on a tight deadline with several other projects, so I'm afraid I'm going to have to republish an old piece again. This is from December, a few years ago, and I'm publishing it to remind myself of the importance of winter, on this boiling hot day, when I can't believe it will ever be cold again, just like in February, when I can't believe we'll ever see another hot day like today.

2008.
Yesterday we had our first snowfall.
"It's snowing!" I said to Liam and Dawson when we opened the door to go down to the coffee shop.
"Oooh, Mommy!" said Liam. "It's like when the leaves snowed down from the tree."
He was referring to a sort of magical moment we had a few weeks ago. It was a blustery October day and the sky was dark, and we were standing on the front porch about to go to school when a gust of wind hit the black walnut tree in the front yard. All of its leaves floated down, a glorious blizzard of deep yellow.
"It's snowing leaves!" Liam said.
"Oh yes!" I said. "Dawson, isn't that beautiful?"
"It's snowing leaves!" said Dawson. Then he said, "Okay, let's go inside. I very cold."

Anyway, we were all so excited about the first snowfall that when we got to the coffee shop Liam told everyone to look out the window and Dawson got down on his hands and knees and kicked up his legs.
"That's my snow dance," he said.
Then he went to get a biscotti, and I told Liam the story of the first time he saw snow. "You were just a little baby," I said. "And I brought you down here to the coffee shop. Mommy was so tired then." It was a pretty tough time. We had just moved to town and into our house, which we couldn't afford to heat. So we were living in the back three rooms of a huge house like a bunch of field mice. We were cold and broke and exhausted and I had just put my foot through the bedroom ceiling while I was up in the attic chasing the cat.
"Anyway," I said. "I brought you down to the coffee shop, and when I held you up to the window to look at the snow you just laughed and laughed and laughed."
I leaned into him.
"I'm so funny," Liam said, leaning back into me. Then he turned around and called his brother a jackack.

Sigh. He started this a few days ago when he was in the car with my husband Tommy.
"Hey," he said. "You jackack!"
"Where did you hear that?" Tommy said.
"Aunt Maria," Liam said. "We were in the car and she said, 'Get going you jackack.'"
"So she said it when she was driving," said Tommy.
"She said it again when we were walking to the library," Liam said.
("I didn't think ever think I'd have to scold anyone other than my wife about swearing in front of the kids," said Tommy later.
"Sorry," said my sister. "The person on the way to the library really deserved it, though.")

So. The first snowfall! All us jackacks are very excited.

Good Vibes

2011-07-10T20:09:00.025-04:00

Today in the parking lot of the food co-op, I heard myself say to my children,
"If you two don't stop fighting over the Luna bars, I am going to murder you. I am not kidding."

Then I put my organic, pleasantly raised sausage, and all natural mood lifters into the trunk and got into the car.
"You are kidding," Liam said. "You would never do that."
"Do what?" I said.
"Let us die," said Liam.
Oh, I thought. Dammit.
"You're right," I said. "I would never, ever, ever murder you. That's a terrible thing to say. I'm sorry."
"Or put us on the curb," said Dawson.
They both started giggling.
"I might put you on the curb," I said, instantly forgetting what I'd just learned.
Liam and Dawson started gigggling harder.
"We would have to be sooo naughty," Liam said.
"We'd have to say the f-word, and the h-word, and shut up," said Dawson. (The h-word is hate.)
"And play with matches," said Liam, happily munching on a Luna bar.
"I think it would probably take a little more than that," I said.

Like sitting in your room at 9:00 at night yelling, "CHOOKABAKA LA LA! CHOOKA BAKA LA! IT IS NOT NIGHT NOW! IT IS NOT NIGHT!" at the top of your lungs, after you've already been fed, bathed, and read to, which is what Dawson is doing now. (Daylight savings time kills me in the summer.)"MAMA I NEED YOU! DOO DOO DOO! Ma ma ma ma mam am. Mommy, mommy, I love you. I love you. MOM! Is it a week night? Remember a long time ago, you said if it's a week night, we can make Liam and my lunches. So let's go do that now."

But I'm going to forgive him because he called me a few days ago from his grandmother's house where he'd spent the night to tell me that he was a pretty good guitar player. "Do you want to hear me?" he said? Then he got the guitar and sang a song that went like this, "Rock out, come on let's rock out. Rock out. I love you, you are so good at what you're doing, come on let's rock out. Yeah, yeah, let's rock out, I love you so much."

Which is exactly the what you should sing to your mother to insure that you don't get put on the curb. I love you so much, you are good at what you're doing. Come on, Mama, let's rock out.

It's also, by the way, very good advice. I haven't rocked out in a very long time.

A new old post

2011-06-16T12:05:00.004-04:00

I'm a little low on material this week, so I'm reposting a post I wrote a few years ago when my husband was out of town. It was called, "Sometimes you just have to swing.." (It's slightly edited from the original version.)

Tommy is gone for the week in Ohio helping his parents move. This is one of the reasons I married him--because he is a nice person who does nice things for other people, and I still love this about him. But the children and I have been alone now for three days, and I'm remembering what it was like when I was left to my own devices in graduate school. The house is a wreck, we're running low on food, and I suppose the lawn needs attention. Yesterday at the coffee shop, Barry, one of the men I have coffee with in the morning said, "I think I saw a lion lurking in the Savannah behind your house."

Then tonight the boys were in the tub and this is what I heard myself say:

"Liam! For God's sake, do NOT lick the scrub brush! That brush is disgusting!!!"

I couldn't say exactly why it was disgusting, but I had a vague memory of saying recently to myself, "I should throw this out," and then thinking, "Oh I might as well keep it. It's not like anyone is going to put it in their mouth."

"Am I being naughty?" Liam asked.
"No," I sighed. "I guess not. I never told you not to lick the scrub brush. But if you do it again you'll be naughty."
"MY PENIS!" Dawson shrieked as if he'd just discovered electricity.
I took a diaper into the other room to throw it out, and when I came back Liam was swinging on the shower curtain.
"LIAM!" I said, as the curtain rod on slowly gave way. "For heaven's sake! Oh, honey, you broke the shower rod. Daddy is going to be really, really mad."
"MY FEET!!" shouted Dawson happily.
"I guess THAT was naughty," Liam sighed. "Sorry. I really just felt like swinging."

I used to think bath time would be such a blissful experience. How much trouble can they get into in the tub? I thought. Now I know. FYI: A) They can drown. B) They can lick scrub brushes you should have thrown out. C) They can swing on the shower curtain and tear it down when all you did was turn your back for one second to throw a diaper in the garbage.

But what are you going to do? If you have to swing, you have to swing.
You deal with the wreckage later.

How to Break That Leaving the House Inertia

2011-06-02T11:20:00.009-04:00

The other day, a Saturday, we couldn't figure out what to do. We were all sort of restively wandering around the house--starting projects with blocks and legos (the children) folding laundry, (me). Doing something in the kitchen (my husband.)
Finally we decided we had to get out of the house, at which point we all fell into that leaving the house confusion/inertia that always seems to set in the second we make a decision. Liam picked up a book and began to read. I couldn't find my glasses. Tommy decided it looked like rain and he needed to put a tarp over something. Dawson had the devil in him, and was just wandering around pulling things off shelves.
"Okay," I said. "That's it. Everyone get into the car, now, I don't care what you're wearing or if we forget the library books. Just go."
"I don't have shoes," said Liam.
"Go upstairs and find them," I said.
Liam went upstairs. Five minutes went by. When I went upstairs, Liam was making a cat trap out of blocks.
"Liam!" I said. "Put on your shoes!"
Dawson, who had come up the stairs with me, went into my room where he found a shoebox under my dresser full of stockings that he began throwing over his shoulder as fast as he could.

“What the??!” I said. “Oh my God! Dawson, what are you doing? What has gotten into you?"
“That’s a dollar,” my husband said.
“What?” I said.
“Every time the kids say oh my God I make them pay me a dollar,” Tommy said. "Plus you swore earlier, so that's two dollars."
“I am not giving you a dollar,” I said. “Did you see what Dawson just did? He was like a crazy person.”
“Two dollars,” said my husband.
“Ooooh,” said Liam. “Ha ha ha ha ha ha! Mommy owes Daddy two dollars. You need to give me two dollars, too, Mommy!”
“Yay!” said Dawson. “Give us all your money!”
“I am not giving anyone any goddamn money,” I said.
“That’s three dollars,” said my husband, calmly holding out his hand. I gave him three dollars.
“I’ll get you for this,” I said under my breath.
“Guess you won’t have enough for a cappuccino tomorrow,” he said happily, putting his wallet in his pocket. Then they all went out to the car and buckled themselves in, easy as you please.

This is the trouble with having rules in the house--I keep breaking them. Like pick up after yourself or don’t watch more than an hour of TV a day. No sneaking peaks at True Blood in the afternoon, when you should be writing. Don't swear.

But at least now we know what to do next time we're having a hard time leaving the house. Get Mommy to swear. Then everyone has a little money to buy ice cream.

Meanwhile...

2010-09-14T14:00:00.004-04:00

If you're looking for something to read, check out my friend Cara Hoffman's new blog. Then be on the lookout for her new book, "So Much Pretty." (Due out in March.) It is beautiful and terrifying and her sharp prose shines a bright, hard light on the horrific way we see women as disposable things.

A Boy Named Sue

2010-06-08T10:07:00.007-04:00

Last week Liam and Dawson listened to Johnny Cash's "Boy Named Sue," nonstop.
Liam was a little upset about the part where Sue's father cuts off a piece of his ear, ("That part has always bothered me, too," I said.)but Dawson loves it.

One day after lunch I was up in the front room reading to Liam and Dawson was in the playroom/bedroom where Tommy was organizing their wardrobe.
"My name is SUE!" Dawson was yelling. "HOW DO YOU DO?!!!"
"Very well, thank you," said Tommy, who was trying to explain the clothing system he'd set up. "Now see," he continued. "This is your side, and this is Liam's. Your shorts are here, short sleeved shirts are up here..."
"MY NAME IS DAWSON!" Dawson yelled. "HOW DO YOU DO?! I LOVE YOU DADDY!!!"
"He never gets the words right," Liam said.
And yet somehow he does, I thought.

Rebel Without a Cause, 2

2010-06-06T12:19:00.014-04:00

..or what we're actually teaching our children when we're trying to teach them something else.

The other day Dawson came home and said, "We need more plastic around here."
"What?" I said. I have been trying to wean us from plastic for a year and a half, with a fair amount of success and many glass jars.
"All the other kids in the world use plastic and we should, too," said Dawson.
I went into a long explanation about the island the size of Texas floating around in the ocean, the way it chokes sea life.
"Can we go to the candy store?" Dawson said, before I could get into the chemicals that leach into the food and the environment.

A few days later he saw a pair of red Fisher Price binoculars in the used clothing store down the street. "Can I have them?" he said, "please? please? please?"
They were a very handsome pair of binoculars and I figured I could redonate them when he was done with them so I bought them.
Later when we were walking down the sidewalk to the post office I heard him singing softly to himself.
"What are you singing, Dawsie?" I said.
"Ha ha de ha ha," he sang to the tune of nah, nah nee boo boo. "I haaaave plaaastic. You doooon't like it. I have plastic."

Survivor XVIII: Stop the @#$%! Oil Spill

2010-05-26T12:59:00.010-04:00

I'm still so sickened about the oil spill. All of those sea mammals, that beautiful coastline, that huge piece of the natural world, poisoned. And then there are all the people who have lost a way of life, and the way this is going to effect us for years. I remember when the stock market crashed, thinking "Well, this is terrible. We'll probably have to give up a lot and learn to live in a different way." And then I remember looking out the window at the trees in the back yard and hearing the sound of the creek at the foot of the hill and thinking, "But we still have all this."
And now I feel like, what if we don't have all this anymore? What if we ruin all of it, and all we're left with is no jobs and a barren world?

"You know what they should do?" I said to my sister yesterday. "They should make a reality TV series called "Survivor XVIII: Who can plug up the @#&! oil leak the fastest," and the person who does it first wins a million dollars."
"That's a good idea," she said.
"I have lots of them," I said.

My solution is still to use the car less, bike more, and give the money I'm saving on gas to a charity that is trying to help clean up the mess.
"You rode your bike here?" a friend of mine said when I arrived at her birthday party out of breath and a little sweaty.
"I'm mad at the oil companies," I said.
"It's uphill the whole way," said someone else.
Tell me about it. That's what being a one woman protest is all about.

However, so far, I've donated $80.00. Partly because by riding my bike everywhere, I was able to give up my gym membership.

2010-05-24T11:49:00.007-04:00

Yesterday in the car Liam and Dawson were talking about what a soul is. I said that I thought it was where God lived, or whatever it is that's in us that links us to our higher selves.
Dawson said it was what made us talk.
"No," said Liam. "Your sound box is what makes you talk."
"Okay," said Dawson. "The soul is three things. One, it makes you throw up."
(He has has an upset tummy for a few days.)"Two, it makes you grow. And three, it's for drinking coffee if you like coffee."
"What do you think the soul is?" I said to Liam.
"It's what makes you a person," he said. "You can't be a person without a soul."
"You don't think animals have souls?" I said.
"Some do," Liam said. "Turtles, maybe. And snakes. I think all animals have souls."
Me, too. And coffee shops, for that matter.

Meanwhile, it was so nice to take a trip to New York. The reading was excellent--if you live in Brooklyn and get a chance to check out the Steamboat reading series (third Thursday of every month, 7:30, at Green Light Bookstore on Fulton) you should. It's very entertaining and well attended and the bookstore is wonderful.
So it was fun to be a part of a great event and then the next night I went to the One Story debutante ball, a benefit for one of my favorite magazines.

I'll confess that I'd been feeling a little grim about the future of short stories and maybe publishing in general, but it was so great to be in the company of all of these people supporting the written word and storytelling. Several people there had just sold books they'd been working on for years, which was exciting and hopeful news. I came home relaxed and creatively invigorated and just a little tempted to move Brooklyn.

2010-05-12T14:25:00.008-04:00

Yesterday Liam said, "You look old, Mommy."
I was in the bathroom, trying to do something with my hair, which is in a shaggy stage between short and long.
"What do you mean?" I said.
"You look old," he said. "Your hair looks like an old lady and your face looks like an old lady."

At least I'm still a lady.
And who isn't aged by facing a mountain of laundry that seems to be slowly consuming the bathroom?
"You look very young," I said.
"I know I do," Liam said. "I'll probably be this way for a while."
Then I asked him if would help me with the laundry and he said, sure, as long as I gave him 25 cents.

How to Talk to Anyone

2010-05-09T10:55:00.004-04:00

Yesterday at lunch my children as usual were circling the table, standing on their chairs, etc. and then Dawson said he wanted to build a storage building for everyone in the house.
"We can do that after lunch," I said. "But right now we are going to SIT DOWN..." Dawson got up to change the cd, Liam got up as well.
"With our bottoms in the chairs," I said again.
"I need to pet the cat," Liam said.
"Sit down with your bottoms in the chairs," I said.
Both boys sat down, finally.
"Now," I said. "We are going to have a conversation. Do you know how to have a conversation?"
"How?" said Liam, picking up his sandwich.
"The best way to start a conversation with someone is to ask them something about themselves," I said."Try it."
"How much money do you have?" Liam asked.
"About twenty five dollars," I said. "Try again."
"How much do you love me?" Liam said.
"How much do you love ME?" Dawson said.

More than there are stars in the sky, I said.
And that was the end of the conversation, which I think might just summarize most conversations people are trying to have half of the time. Maybe not in that order.

I stand corrected.

2010-05-05T11:10:00.002-04:00

It's whepple. Johnny Yuma was a whepple. Dawson made that very clear to me yesterday. And Liam would like to add that Don't Take Your Guns to town is no longer his favorite song, because it's too sad. He likes Johnny Yuma and the mining song.

It's like living with fact checkers.

You heard it here first.

2010-05-03T19:59:00.010-04:00

Today in the car Dawson (age 4) said, "Mom. Hey Mommy. What's the word on the street?"
"I don't know, Dawson," I said.
He had been sitting in the back singing "Johnny Yuuuuma, was a pebble, dee daaaah dee dee dee dee." (The real lyrics are "Johnny Yuma was a rebel, he roamed through the west...") Both the boys are obsessed with Johnny Cash right now. They listen to one of my cds from the complete works every morning, and their favorite songs are Johnny Yuma and Don't Take Your Guns to Town. The latter is about a boy who doesn't listen to his mother and ends up dead, so I'm all for it.

"MOMMY!" Dawson yelled.
"WHAT?!!!" I said, nearly driving in to a fire hydrant.
"What does it say?"
"What?" I said.
"The word," Dawson said, as if I was an idiot. "The word on the street."
"I don't know, Dawson," I said. "You tell me."
"I think it says pair," said Dawson. "That's what it is."

So now you know.

Turned in the novel revisions last Friday. (Thanks for asking, Charles.) So that feels good. Although the thing about books is they're almost never done.

Read this beautiful poem!

2010-04-07T13:22:00.001-04:00

The Hereafter, by Andrew Hudgins.
(from Poetry Daily.)

My Birthday Card

2010-03-07T11:00:00.008-05:00

This is the card Liam made me for my birthday.
"Do you know why there are so many hearts?" he said. "That's how much I love you."
"Oh Liam," I said. "I LOVE it. It's wonderful."
Liam nodded. "It's a love pigeon," he said.

Meanwhile, I have a new essay in the April issue of Food and Wine. I'd never written for them before and it was a total pleasure. The piece is called "How I Learned to Love Winespeak," and is about how my brother-in-law Dave and my friends at Hazlenut helped me learn to appreciate wine. (As opposed to bourbon, which is still my true love.)

Second Snow Day in a Row

2010-02-26T14:51:00.004-05:00

I need ten thousand margaritas.
"When I say don't climb on me, what do you hear?" I said today, after hearing myself say "Don't climb on me," many times.
"We hear 'don't climb on me,'" said Liam.
"Then WHY are you climbing on me?" I said.
"It's funny," Liam said.
And I don't know what happened to Dawson's clothes. He was wearing them a few minutes ago.

Dammit.

2010-01-06T11:08:00.003-05:00

There goes one resolution.
I resolved to be more generous this year, but yesterday when Liam tried to give his portrait of Santa to my father in law, I'm afraid I took it out of his hands and said, "No, no, that's Mommy's."

We did end up giving my father-in-law another monster, which was pretty fantastic (it had long green arms and was inhabited by rabbits), just for the record.

Happy New Year

2010-01-03T17:32:00.005-05:00

I know it's a little past the season, but I had to post this portrait Liam drew of Santa. I think it's genius.

White Collar

2009-11-23T13:24:00.013-05:00

My husband and I have been watching White Collar, which is quickly becoming my new favorite TV show. (Next to Ugly Betty and Glee.) In the name of full disclosure, I'll confess that I'm a huge fan of Tim Dekay, who plays FBI agent Peter Burke. We went to the same high school, and I thought he was exceptional as Fagin in Oliver, loved him in Carnevale, Tell Me You Love Me, and now, he really showcases his talent in White Collar. He plays an FBI agent in charge of a beautiful ex-con who has agreed to wear an ankle bracelet and help the FBI solve crimes in lieu of jail. So I might be a little biased, but my husband, who didn't go to high school with Tim isn't, and we both love the show.

Here's what's great about it: 1) it is a police show I can finally watch, because the crimes are things like fraud or larceny and not pedophilia. 2) I don't have to see women getting strangled or shot or raped. (Frankly, I don't want to see one more image of a dead woman in her underwear. Not one. It's all just sexualization of violence against women and it's not good for anyone.) 3) The beautiful ex-con is a man played by Matt Bomer. 4) The chemistry between the three main characters, Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, and Peter's wife Elizabeth (played by Tiffany Thiessen) is perfect. Mostly, though, the dialogue is clever and real, the plotlines are smart, and the show, like Glee and Ugly Betty, is very human.
I highly recommend it. You know, something to watch at the end of the week when you've let your boobs down.

Well.

2009-11-14T11:16:00.003-05:00

This morning Dawson looked at me in my pajama top (which is an old turtleneck) and said,
"Oh Mom, I see your boobs are down." Then he went and got me a bra.

Flu season

2009-11-12T10:55:00.005-05:00

Last week Dawson (who is three) had a bout of the croup and when he woke up at 10:00 the next morning I said, “Okay Dawsie, listen. You can stay home today, but if you do, you need to rest.”
“Weeeell,” said Dawson, “You know, I’m not sure if that’s a good idea.”
“Yes it is,” I said. “If you don’t rest, I’m taking you straight to school.”
“Weeelll,” Dawson said, “You know, you have two choices.”
“Oh I do,” I said. “What are they?”
“Thirteen and fifty six,” said Dawson. “If I want to watch the banana Wiggles, I can. If I don’t, I don’t.”
“That’s a very interesting way to get what you want.”
“Right now I think I’m going to watch them,” he said.

Knob Bells

2009-10-10T21:21:00.006-04:00

Here is a story Dawson made up the other day:
"Once upon a time there was a little towel named Eyeball. And he said "Whee!"
He went down the slide and straight into the garbage can and someone took him and put him in the washing machine. And when he got home he said, "Do you want to play with me?"
Then a shark ate him up."

"Good last line," I said. "That's the the most important part of the story."
"It's very a-s-o-n," Dawson said. "And Mommy, you are e-s-o-n."
I still don't know what ason and eson mean, and Dawson couldn't tell me. I didn't have the heart to tell him that he was plagiarizing the Frances,
books, except that Frances usually knows what the words she mispells means, whereas Dawson just throws out letters as if they spell something only we know the meaning of.

He went into our office and pulled out a computer keyboard that is not attached to the desktop.
"Put that back please Dawson," said Tommy.
"I have to write my nobel," Dawson said. (He pronounced like "knob bell")
"What's the story?" I said.
"Once upon the time, the end," Dawson said, as if it was obvious, and he couldn't believe I even had to ask such a question.

Boa constrictors.

2009-09-13T12:29:00.003-04:00

Yesterday Liam came running up to me as if he had just discovered electricity.
"Mom!" he said. "I've figured out how to catch a boa constrictor. You put a stick in its path and then when it goes over the stick you lift it up and then you have it!"
"Genius," I said.
"So can we go catch one?"
"We'd have to go to South America," I said.
Liam thought about this for a second. "That's okay, we can go there."
"It's pretty far," I said.
"I bet I could take a few days off school," he said.
"Yes, but I'm not sure I want to have a boa constrictor in the house," I said.
"Why?" said Liam. "It could help you with the laundry."

Then he gave me a very detailed explanation of how the snake could take two clothespins and inch along the clothes line, hanging things up to dry.
"But it might eat the cat," I said.
"We'll keep the cat outside," said Liam.
"Where will it sleep?"
"Under the porch."

So I guess that's settled. We'll have to get a boa constrictor. But that means someone is going to have to clean out what's under the porch, which the last time I looked, included some tarps, a hula hoop, and possibly an opossum. (Who will need ample warning.)

What happens when you tell jokes, but don't care about punch lines.

2009-08-14T09:44:00.011-04:00

Liam and Dawson have discovered knock knock jokes, which is hilarious because they don't care about punch lines. They're like a stand-up comic's dream--they think all parts of the joke are side-splitting. Here's the dialogue from the car a few days ago.
Dawson: Knock kock
Liam: Who's there?
Dawson: Knock knock.
Liam: (laughing) who's there?
Dawson: Banana! (bursts into a fit of giggles.)
Liam: (laughing hysterically) That's funny!
Dawson: I know.
Me: I have one. Knock knock.
Liam: Who's there?
Me: Cantelope.
Liam and Dawson: ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. Banana!
Tommy: Cantelope who?
Me: Can't elope tonight, my father's got the car.
Back of the car: silence.
Tommy: Good one for three and five year olds.
Me: Hey, that's a funny joke. My fifth grade boyfriend Vaughan told to me.
Liam: You had a boyfriend?
Me: Mommy had lots of boyfriends.
Dawson: KNOCK KNOCK!
Me and Tommy: Who's there?
Dawson: Banana!
Me: Banana who?
Dawson: No, it's NOT a banana. It's a cantelope! And you can't have it because Daddy's driving the car. (pause)Away...(another pause, dropping his voice ominously) into the daaaarkness....

Which just goes to show that there's nothing like a grown up to bring down the mood.

I am woman

2009-08-07T12:14:00.005-04:00

Today Dawson (aged 3) asked me to put him up on my shoulders for about the fifty-seventh time.
"No Dawsie," I said. "My shoulders are tired right now."
"Why?" he said.
"Because I'm an old lady."
"You are not an old LADY!" he said. "You are a WOMAN! A good WOMAN!"
"Oh," I said. "Thank you, Dawse."
"Now go chop your head off," he said.

So chivalry is not dead, just a little confused at the moment.

More car talk

2009-07-16T11:42:00.004-04:00

Here is another conversation between Liam and Dawson in the car:
Dawson: “I have the hiccups."
Liam: "Oh no! Dawson, has the hiccups. Hold your breath, Dawson! Hold your breath!"
Dawson, holding his nose: “Do you like my nose?”
My mother: “You know, hiccups usually just go away.”
Liam: “Oh."
Pause.
Liam: "I think I’d like to have hiccups."
Dawson: “You get your own hiccups."

Car talk

2009-07-12T09:58:00.006-04:00

Today in the car on the way back from the outdoor concert I asked Liam what were the things he cared about knowing about people when he first met them. This came up because Tommy and I were talking about visiting a friend who doesn’t like children.
“Why doesn’t he like children?” said Liam.
“It’s not that he doesn’t like children,” I said. “It’s that he doesn’t know how to talk to them because he’s interested in different things than they are.”
“What does he say?” said Liam.
“Why can’t you play Beethoven yet?” said Tommy.
“Or ‘Here, read Dostoevsky,’” I said.
“Ha ha,” said Tommy.
“What’s Dostoevsky?” said Liam.
“It's a long story,” I said. Then, to further the point that adults care about different things than children do, I asked Liam what were the first things he wanted to know about people when he met them.
“How old they are,” said Liam. “What is their name, where do they live, and what color is their car?”
"What about you Dawsie?" I said to Dawson.
“How old are you? Is your name vacuum cleaner head? Is your name Al Gore? Is your name Tree top?”
Tommy and I burst out laughing. I don’t know where he got Al Gore but there he was. Right next to vacuum cleaner head and Tree top.**
("That boy is a baby Dada-ist genius," my friend Cara said later.)
"What do you want to know Mommy?" said Liam.
I said I like to know what a person's name is, (although I usually forget that pretty quickly) where they lived, what they did for a living, did they like it, and how was their love life, which is usually the thing I'm most interested in.

*I am a huge fan of Al Gore's, so I do not mean to imply that he is a vaccuum cleaner head. There's a chance that Dawson may have been saying "Elgore" now that we've heard him throw the name around several times since then.

Even Punk Rockers Love their Mothers

2009-06-22T14:11:00.021-04:00

Yesterday my friend Cara came over and we were sitting in the kitchen talking about the revisions she's making on her novel when Liam and Dawson came in and said, "When is Eli coming over to show us how to make spaceships?"
Cara's son Eli had given them an old Lego set of his about six weeks ago. I think the set has something to do with Star Wars, but it's very complicated, with lots of small pieces and things that look like they could be parts of spaceships or monsters but no pictures. Eli had promised he'd come over some time and show them how to put things together, but we'd never really made a date.
"I'm calling him right now," Cara said.
So she called Eli, who is seventeen and in a punk rock band and was hanging out at the pizza shop with his friends.
"Hi," she said. "it's me. Listen, you need to come to Rebecca's house right now to show these boys how to put together the Legos...You promised them a month ago...I don't care...You need to, you made a promise...Then bring Jason if you want to...No, now. Now...Because you promised" Long pause.
"One....Two.."
She hung up the phone. "He's on his way," she said.
"I can't believe counting still works at 17," I said.
"That sh*t works forever," she said.

Two minutes later Eli walked into the door all long legs and hipster belt and and Doc Martens and put his knapsack heavily on the table. "All right," he said. "I'm here."
"YAY!" said Liam and Dawson. "HOORAY! Eli's here! Eli's here!"
Then they ran upstairs and started to get out all of their toys to they could show him everything.
"I'm only here to show you the Legos," Eli said.
"You're mad," said Cara.
"I'm irate," said Eli.
"Do you know what vampires eat?" said Dawson.
"Okay little boys," said Eli. "Pay attention. The thing about Legos is that the fun is figuring them out on your own. So really, having someone come over and tell you how to do it kind of defeats the purpose." Then he gave his mother a withering look that said "Especially if that someone was down at the pizza shop with his friends before his mother called and made him come talk to some toddlers.
" Eli," said Cara."These are pretty complicated Legos."
"I was only three or four when I got these and I figured them out myself," Eli said. "And I had a LEARNING DISABILITY."
"So you're saying my children are morons," I said happily.
Eli gave me the same scathing look he had just given his mother.
("That means he likes you," Cara said later."He considers you family.")

For some reason the whole scene reminded me of an interview I recently listened to on NPR with Terri Gross and Iggy Pop, which was hilarious, especially when he's talking about how he hates wearing clothes and taking showers and then discusses the fearlessness of his 12 pound Maltese dog. There's one point where Terri and Mr. Pop are talking about near death experiences and Iggy says that once when he O.D.'d he was so close to death that he heard celestial music (which he describes as insipid) and then he heard his mother calling to him and he came back to the living. "That's interesting that it was her voice that brought you back," says Terri. "Not your friends' or bandmates'." At which point Iggy Pop seems about to fall off his chair. "Band mates??!!" he sputters. "Listen, rock bands are pretty vicious aggregates of associates. There a certain amount of friendships, but..don't try this at home kids. It's not as good as it looks." Then he collects himself a little. "No," he adds. "(My mother) was who cared for me. In this world."
You can tell by the tenderness in his voice (and by the fact that earlier in the interview he'd referred to his mother as a beautiful person) how much his mother matters to him. It's a really good moment.

So even punk rockers love their mothers and here is the result of Cara, caring for hers (punk rocker, that is, not her mother.) And I'm keeping this picture so that when Eli is a world famous rock star who won't wear a shirt, I can say, "Hey! See this? That guy came over and insulted your intelligence when you were three and five."

Honestly. My children don't know how lucky they are.

Summer

2009-06-18T15:19:00.009-04:00

It is mid-June and summer is here in full force. Everything is lush and green and the peonies and poppies are in bloom in my mother's garden. I remember one summer telling my grandmother's friend Barbara, who was in her seventies and had a wonderful garden and many cats, that I was trying to work and she said, "Oh, that's ridiculous. Who can work in the summer?" (Barbara also once said, "Oh those weathermen, they never know what's going on. Poor things.") So after turning in the first two thirds of my novel to my agent on Monday, I've spent the week enjoying the season. Yesterday we went strawberry picking at Sweet Land Farm where we have a share and the berries were huge and hot from the sun and so delicious.
"I can't believe the bounty around here," I said later to Domenica. We were at their house for dinner and I had just taken the kids out for a walk to the pond behind their house. On the way back I said to Liam, "Don't go into that thicket, honey. It's full of poison ivy."
"I don't get poison ivy," he said.
"That's because I always tell you to get away from it," I said.
"No," he said. "I just don't get it."
"Your Daddy said that, too, once," I said. "He said he didn't need to wear a shirt while making a path to the pond and later he came home COVERED with it."
"That was a very unfortunate summer," said Tommy.
Liam ignored me and walked through the thicket of grass and poison ivy.
"I don't think there's any poison ivy in there," Justin said.
"Really?" I said. To tell the truth, I'm never exactly sure what is poison ivy and what isn't. There seems to be a plant around here that likes to impersonate it, and how do you know because the trouble doesn't start until three or four days after exposure? Who wants to take a chance? So whenever I see a viney plant with three pointy leaves I say, "That's poison ivy! Don't touch it!"
"Well," I said to Justin, "better safe than sorry."
Which was when Liam sat down at the picnic table and said, "I rubbed poison ivy all over my body and I don't even itch!!"
"You what?!!" I said.
"Maren told me which plant was the poison ivy and I rubbed it all over me. And it doesn't even sting!"
Domenica burst out laughing. "There's one for your blog," she said.

So far, however, Liam has not broken out in a rash, so either Maren showed him the wrong plant or it wasn't poison ivy. Or it's going to hit in a few days. We'll find out soon.
In any case, yay summer! (Or as Dawson would say, "YAY STRAWBERRIES!"--and as I suppose Liam would say, "YAY POISON IVY!", which loosely translated meant "I am right and Mommy's wrong!")

Terrible news!

2009-06-13T12:09:00.003-04:00

One of today's headlines on aol.com: Planet Could Hit Earth (!)*

*exclamation point is mine.

It turns out that there's about a one percent chance that this could happen!
Well. Good. Now I can worry less about the economy.

More Fairies

2009-05-13T16:58:00.009-04:00

Last night I told my children that if they didn't stop getting out of their beds the bedtime fairy was going to come over and take away their bikes.
"Who is the bedtime fairy?" Liam asked, stricken.
"She's the fairy who likes to make sure that all little boys go to bed on time."
"What does she look like?" said Liam.
"I've never seen her," I said. "I've only talked to her on the phone."
"I DON'T WANT THE BEDTIME FAIRY TO COME," said Dawson, who looks like some fairy cursed the hell out of him with all the pox on his skin.
"No Mommy, no," said Liam. "Don't call the bedtime fairy!"

"Of course I have been telling them I'd take away their bikes if they didn't go to bed all week," I said today to my friend Cara. "But the bedtime fairy scared the living daylights out of them."
"That's because it's the PARANORMAL," said Cara. "It's the unseen forces coming in and taking your bikes."
I hadn't thought of it that way.
"Have you heard of Death?" Cara went on. "That could be a fairy. We don't know."
"Then of course they wanted to know what the bedtime fairy looks like," I said.
"You should say about 5 feet 5 inches tall, with shoulder length hair..." Cara said, describing me.
"And very sharp red teeth," I said.

I was joking, but then I remembered that when I was little I had this fear that my whole family turned into monsters when I wasn't looking. I knew it was a fantasy--sort of, but there was always a part of me that wondered, what if? And every so often I'd try to catch them at it. Years later when I told my mother this she said, "Ah. Well, in a way you were right. You were becoming aware of the dark sides all of us have that we don't like to show anyone."
And I wondered if Cara was right, that this is why fairies are so effective with children. They represent the unseen forces--anxiety, rage, depression, fear--that children sense in adults but don't always see because we try to hide them. (Some of us better than others. I don't think a fairy would throw bikes off the porch. But then again, she might turn a boy into a gnat.)

In any case, they're very persuasive. And not as hard to get on the phone as you might think.

I finally found the perfect black jacket.

2009-05-08T21:47:00.006-04:00

It was in a little store on Seventh Street in Manhattan called D/L Cerney (13 E. Seventh St. between 2nd and 3rd, right next to McSorley's 212.673.7033.) The store was located two doors down from the building where I first lived when I moved to New York in my twenties, so of course I had to go in. (The beautiful dress with an elegant floral pattern in the window helped persuade me.) It is a little narrow room lined with dresses, skirts, jackets and tops that look like modernized designs from the forties and fifties. Everything is stylish and elegant and the dresses are so beautiful. Some of the fabric is vintage--my jacket was made from a bolt of cashmere from the forties, that the man at the counter told me he loved so much it took him years to cut it--all of it is gorgeous.

Anyway, I've been wearing my new jacket everywhere. (I'm wearing it in the One Story post.) If I could, I would wear it to bed. And apparently it likes margaritas as much as I do.
So if you're in New York, go visit this lovely little boutique.

Meanwhile, Dawson has the chicken pox. Which is what happens when you don't vaccinate your kids.

2009-05-03T12:00:00.004-04:00

Yesterday we stopped by Hazlenut to make a reservation for dinner, and Christina (who owns the place with her husband Jonah) came out from the kitchen to talk to us. Dawson looked at her with her apron on and said, "HEY YOU! GET BACK IN THE KITCHEN!"
"All he has to do is add, 'WOMAN', to that sentence and we'd have a baby Jerry Fallwell on our hands," I said.
"Do you want me to take my shoes off, too?" Christina said good-naturedly.
"I want to go ride my bike," Dawson said.

If only we could say what we mean at parties.

2009-04-29T19:38:00.009-04:00

If you had been walking down Main St. at around 7:30 this evening here is what you might have seen: a small boy standing in front of a big house yelling: "YAY MOMMY! YAY DOMENICA! YAY MAREN! YAY COFFEEMAN!" at the top of his lungs.

How this came to be goes something like this:

At dinner tonight Dawson was very talkative, which was adorable, but he was also very loud, which was distracting. ("Inside voice, Dawsie," we kept saying. "Inside voice." "THIS IS MY INSIDE VOICE!" Dawson shouted.)
So, when unable to contain his excitement over dinner and the pizza his Uncle Dave made for us, he started yelling "YAY PIZZA! YAY UNCLE DAVE! YAY MOMMY! YAY DADDY!"
we suggested in the nicest possible way that he might want to do some of his yelling away from the dinner table.
"Oh, that's a good idea," Dawson said. "I'll go outside and scream and Maggie and Robin and Miles and Mike and Domenica and Justin will hear me!" And out he went.

A minute later when I went to go get him he was out on the front sidewalk yelling "YAY MAGGIE!" "YAY COFFEEMAN!" "YAY DOG!"
Then he came to the door, all out of breath. "I'm coming inside." Then, "Oh no, wait, I'm going to scream some more. YAY TRUCK!"
Then he came back in and sat down.

We resumed our conversation about the swine flu, which my friend Cara thinks I have because I've been coughing for three weeks, but Tommy says is unlikely since I never threw up or had diarrhea. (But thank you for asking.)
Dawson who had been chattering more quietly, looked up and said,
"HEY! ISN'T ANYBODY GOING TALK TO ME?"
"Oh Dawson," said Dave. "You have no idea how many parties I've been to where I've wanted to say just that."

Exactly. And it's because we can't that so many of us drink. That and we've forgotten how exciting things like dinner and homemade pizza really are.

There is no reason to be unhappy

2009-04-13T18:48:00.007-04:00

The kids ate candy all day yesterday (in spite of our efforts to limit it) and putting them to bed was horrendous. I was exhausted. (Just getting over the flu.) Dawson was croupy. Liam was whiny. Finally, after I read them books and sang them songs and they were still whining and complaining, my husband stood in the middle of their bedroom yelling, "Now listen. You had a VERY FUN day. You got to go on an Easter egg hunt, you got lots of candy, you got to play with Maggie and Robin in the afternoon, and then Mommy read you lots of books. There is no reason to be unhappy."

But this is the problem with unhappiness. Too often there's no reason for it, or the reason for it is ridiculous--like we ate too much candy or had too much of what we wanted.

Maybe what all the fables point to is true--the secret to happiness has to do with getting less of what you want. So next year the Easter Rabbit is bringing baskets of fresh fruit and something constructive, like watercolors.

One Lonely Monster

2009-04-09T16:45:00.005-04:00

Yesterday I was outside on the sidewalk while the kids were riding their bikes in circles. They love to do this. Over and over--ride the bikes up to one end of the porch, down the porch, then down the sidewalk and back again. Around and around. This wouldn't bother me if we didn't live on a busy street, but we do, so I feel like there needs to be adult supervision. (Also because if there isn't adult supervision people come up to the door and say, "Are those your children out there riding bikes?"
"No," I'm always tempted to say. "They belong to my husband.")

So I was outside watching them, and that was boring so I started to pretend to be a monster chasing them, which they loved so much they both ran into the house and locked me outside.
"You'd better come back out!" I yelled. "Or I'll just be a big monster out here all by myself."

Which is kind of a sad thing to hear yourself saying at loudly to a closed door while you're standing in the middle of the sidewalk on the busiest street in town.

Here comes me

2009-03-31T21:05:00.007-04:00

Last night we went to my parents' house for dinner. My mother is such an amazing cook. She learned from my grandmother who was also an amazing cook. Mom made a carrot parsnip ginger soup that was restaurant quality, and Dawson retold the story of his birth.

"FIRST," he yelled, as he always does, "I LIVED IN YOUR TUMMY FOR THIRTY NINE YEARS."
"That's how it felt," I said.
"AND THEN YOUR BELLY BUTTON EXPLODED AND I SAID, HERE COMES ME!! THEN WHEN I WAS OUTSIDE YOUR BELLY BUTTON WENT BACK IN AND NOW IT'S LITTLE AGAIN."

"Okay," I said. "Let me get this straight. First you lived in my tummy..."
"Oh Mommy," Dawson interrupted me. "Let's just not talk about it ever again."

Fine. But just for the record, thirty nine years is a very long time.

Nothing is more difficult than a crying baby

2009-03-15T15:48:00.010-04:00

I'm at my sister's in Oregon with her new baby Amalia, who is the easiest baby I have ever met in my life. She sleeps for hours on end. She's fussed maybe three times in the four days that I've been here. Even when she does cry, it's so delicate and for such a short time that it's almost funny.
"Having this baby is like having a minor cold," I said to my sister and her husband the second night I was here. "You can't stay out as late as you normally would, and you might not sleep as well as usual, but in general, she just doesn't slow you down that much."
Then I took every chance I could get to tell anyone who would listen how colicky and Liam and Dawson were.
"Liam would NOT nap," I said to Emily's friends Gwenn and Cosmo. "He was up from eleven in the morning until eleven at night. And Dawson. He had a scream like a pterodactyl."
I might as well have said, "That's right. Feel sorry for me."

The next day I told my sister that I was sorry I kept bringing up how hard it was when Liam was a baby and he wouldn't sleep every time anyone mentioned how easy Amalia was. "I feel like an old woman who keeps bringing up her bunions," I said. Like "Oh, you have a good baby? My children had eight heads. And they were all screaming. Have you ever tried to nurse an eight-headed child? It's not easy."
"Maybe you need to talk about it," she said. (She's a therapist.) "I've talked about how traumatic Amalia's birth was for weeks. It's the only thing that made me feel better about it."
So I started talking about Liam's infancy, (most of which she'd missed because she lives so far away.) He had a hernia which was undiagnosed for six months, and so he was in a lot of pain and none of us knew why. He would go on crying jags for hours, often in the middle of the night. He couldn't nap, no matter what I did, and my husband was traveling for work and I was alone with him during the week. I remember one night at two in the morning walking up and down the country road that goes by my parents' house because being outside was the only thing that would soothe him, looking up at the miles of blue sky overlooking the pastures lit by moonlight, holding this sobbing baby, and crying. "It really was traumatic," I said. "I was so sleep deprived, I felt like a crazy person." Although I still feel strange saying that, because of course, lots of people have much more difficult things to deal with than a crying baby.
"Nothing is more difficult than a crying baby," my sister said. "Except for maybe losing a baby."
We were quiet for a minute, and then she said, "I don't think any of us understood how hard it was for you."
"I know," I said.
And then I started to cry. In a coffee shop, four years after I thought I'd put that time period behind me. And then Emily started to cry, and little Amalia just sat in her papoose, gurgling and cooing, as if our tears were nothing she hadn't heard a thousand times before.

My Three Year Old on Bukowski

2009-02-26T10:01:00.006-05:00

This morning Dawson picked up a copy of Charles Bukowski's novel "Women" that was sitting by the bed.
"Mommy, read this to me," he said.
"I'm not sure you'll like it," I said. "There are no pictures."
"I'll read it to you," he said. "This is what it says, 'Banana face, Banana face, I got naughty songs in my head.'"

Have you read that book? It's a pretty brilliant summary of it.

Today is a good day for a birthday.

2009-02-04T13:30:00.002-05:00

My little sister Emily is in labor. I'm so excited. She's in Oregon and I'm in upstate New York, and I really hate being this far away. Last night my older sister and I were talking about how if only Emily was within driving distance--even if it was eight hours away by car-- we would drop everything and go.
"Well, not this minute," I said to our dinner guests.
"Are they at the hospital?" said my friend Chris.
"They're having a home birth," I said.
"Oh," she said and added that her husband was too afraid of the mess to try that.
"I saw what the delivery room looked like after our first baby was born," he said shaking his head. "I wouldn't want to clean that up in my house."
I hadn't thought of that but he makes a good point.

In any case, we're hoping for a new baby in the next twenty-four hours or so.
"You're going to have a new baby cousin!" I said excitedly to my children this morning.
Dawson held up a toy freight car. "This is a very helpful freight car. It carries ducks and bad, bad, bad girls."
"Will my cousin want to play with my trains?" said Liam.
"Probably," I said.
Liam thought about this for a minute. "She can stay in there a little longer," he said.

No she can't. Or he. He's already almost two weeks late. This is very bad for the Mommy. Liam and Dawson were this late, and I remember at this point in the pregnancy with Liam I would get up every day and say loudly to my belly, "Today would be a great day for a birthday! If I could pick my birth date, I would choose this beautiful sunny day." And then by the afternoon I would turn to my husband and start to cry and say, "When the f-- is this thing coming out? It's like a tumor that kicks me! I'm going to kill myself." And then that would eventually give way to a strange sort of resignation, like, fine. It's fine. I'm never going to have this baby. I'll just be 50 years old and pregnant. It's okay. I'll manage. I'll learn to live with this stomach. Someone else is going to have to tie my shoes, though.

But they all come out one way or the other, so come out little baby!!! If I could pick any day for a birthday I would pick this beautiful, cold, February day.

Letters to Santa

2008-12-16T12:28:00.001-05:00

This is the difference between a four-year-old and a two-year old.

Here is Liam's (age 4) letter to Santa (as dictated to his father):

Dear Santa,

I would like a few flatcars. And more trains.
Thank you, Santa.
Now let's see if Santa will bring it.
Thank you Santa, that 's all the things I want to say. I wonder if you're going to bring Rudolph, Santa.
Love,
Liam

Here is Dawson's (age 2--as dictated to his father)

Santa, I want Santa and Santa Claus.
I want a pink present with a train in it. And I want to have too many birthday presents. And I want Santa Claus to bring me a star. A purple one and a pink one. And I want to have another star like a pink one and to have a purple one and like a yellow one and like a green one and like a song.
And a Christmas tree in the kitchen. Thank you, Santa Claus.
Love,
Dawson.
And I want to have a train. And I want to have a Christmas train. And a caboose.
No, no, wait a minute! I need more! A Christmas paper.

Ah, the holidays, part two.

2008-12-07T11:32:00.002-05:00

I'll confess that since Thanksgiving I've been feeling a little grouchy about the holidays. I just can't stand all the ads. Look! Diamonds! A car! Hey! Big box stores are all about giving, not about cheap crap and homogenizing the look of every single town in the country! (I'm still annoyed that an explosion of those things, half of which are now going out of business, has ruined the view from the top of Buttermilk Falls. And then there was that recent trampling incident at the Wal*Mart in Nassau County. I don't even know what to say about it. It's like we've been driven mad by consumption.)

But this weekend I started to get into the spirit of the season. First we went to see the Art Bar Artists Show. It was great and well-attended, and as I was standing there with Domenica and our friendKadie (who had a wonderful piece in the show) watching the children weave through the legs of all the adults, I said, "You know, when I was single in my twenties, I always hoped that if I ever got married and had kids, I would take them to events like this. And here it is. Exactly as I imagined it."
"Cheers," said Domenica and Kadie.
"Although I think I was taller in the image I had," I added.
Liam and Dawson began wrestling underneath an intricate and charming picture by Cecile Chong, entitled "Well Balanced." (The irony of my children locked in combat beneath it was not lost on me.)
"And now we have to go," I said.
"So be careful what you wish for," said Domenica, kissing me on the cheek.

Still, we were all in an excellent mood in the car on our way back home, where our town's winter festival was in full swing. It looked empty when we first arrived, which I noted with a sinking heart. I had heard that the festival, which has been such a nice community event in the past, was on the chopping block and if there wasn't a good turn-out this year they were going to stop doing it.

But it turned out that the street was empty by our house because everyone was down at the center of town, where Hilby the Skinny German Juggle Boy was surrounded by a crowd of at least a hundred people.

Now--I am not someone who really cares about juggling. In fact, when I heard that there was going to be juggling on the opening night, I might even have thought something unkind like. "'Oh no!, the town's festival must be saved! I know, we'll hire a juggler!'"

But that would have been a very uninformed thought. Hilby was fantastic. He completely won me over. (And everyone else. At the coffee shop the next morning I ran into a friend, a grown woman, who along with three of her friends, has a huge crush on him and keeps track of him whereever he performs.) When we got there he was riding a unicycle, trying to catch juggling pins being thrown at him by the audience. "No problem! That vas my fault," he was saying as a child missed his hands by about a mile. "I could have jumped." He was funny and charming, and after he did his final trick, (which I missed because Dawson was yelling--but you can watch Hilby on You tube (here)
he asked the crowd to follow him up the street to the tree lighting ceremony. And then he unicycled up the hill, a crowd of small children, wild with delight, running after him.

It was an amazing sight, this thin, angular man which a thicket of blond hair and ruddy cheeks, wearing checkered pants and a loose shirt with no coat on in the freezing cold, riding a unicycle up the street and being followed by a swarm of children. Like watching the Pied Piper, only with a much more pleasant outcome.
(Even people inside had interesting view. Mark, who was working at Gimme! coffee said that he'd looked out and seen the crowd and thought, "Oh man. All those people are going to come in at the same time and want hot chocolate." And while he was bracing himself, he saw the crowd part, a unicyclist ride through it, and then everyone running away from the coffee shop and up the street. And Christina, who owns Hazlenut and was up in her 2nd floor office working said she saw something out of the corner of her eye, and when she looked up there was, "A man, right there, by my second floor window." So it was a great phenomenon from inside and outside on Main Street.)

The whole festival was great. Everyone was out. Music was playing, everyone was in a good mood.
Then there was a tree lighting ceremony and Santa arrived in a fire truck.
“Why is he in the fire truck?” said Dawson.
“I think it’s more exciting that way,” I said.
“Let’s go to Hazlenut,” Dawson said. "I cold."

Snow and Jackacks

2008-11-11T10:51:00.002-05:00

Yesterday we had our first snowfall.
"It's snowing!" I said to Liam and Dawson when we opened the door to go down to the coffee shop.
"Oooh, Mommy!" said Liam. "It's like when the leaves snowed down from the tree."
He was referring to a sort of magical moment we had a few weeks ago. It was a blustery October day and the sky was dark, and we were standing on the front porch about to go to school when a gust of wind hit the black walnut tree in the front yard. All of its leaves floated down, a glorious blizzard of deep yellow.
"It's snowing leaves!" Liam said.
"Oh yes!" I said. "Dawson, isn't that beautiful?"
"It's snowing leaves!" said Dawson. Then he said, "Okay, let's go inside. I very cold."

Anyway, we were all so excited about the first snowfall that when we got to the coffee shop Liam told everyone to look out the window and Dawson got down on his hands and knees and kicked up his legs.
"That's my snow dance," he said.
Then he went to get a biscotti, and I told Liam the story of the first time he saw snow. "You were just a little baby," I said. "And I brought you down here to the coffee shop. Mommy was so tired then." It was a pretty tough time. We had just moved to town and into our house, which we couldn't afford to heat. So we were living in the back three rooms of a huge house like a bunch of field mice. We were cold and broke and exhausted and I had just put my foot through the bedroom ceiling while I was up in the attic chasing the cat.
"Anyway," I said. "I brought you down to the coffee shop, and when I held you up to the window to look at the snow you just laughed and laughed and laughed."
I got a little choked up. Liam's good nature during that time period was one of the only things that kept me from becoming clinically depressed.
"I'm so funny," Liam said. Then he turned around and called his brother a jackack.

Sigh. He started this a few days ago when he was in the car with my husband Tommy.
"Hey," he said. "You jackack!"
"Where did you hear that?" Tommy said.
"Aunt Maria," Liam said. "We were in the car and she said, 'Get going you jackack.'"
"So she said it when she was driving," said Tommy.
"She said it again when we were walking to the library," Liam said.
("I didn't think ever think I'd have to scold anyone other than my wife about swearing in front of the kids," said Tommy later.
"Sorry," said my sister. "The person on the way to the library really deserved it, though.")

So. The first snowfall! All us jackacks are very excited.

The first African American President in American History.

2008-11-05T16:36:00.001-05:00

I just want to take a moment to say that.

Work

2008-10-29T21:15:00.001-04:00

Dawson had such a horrible time falling to sleep tonight. First I had to sing him "Ring of Fire" five times. Then he wanted to have a talk about cookies.
"Dawson," I said. "It's night time. It's time for sleep."
"Sing me another song."
"I will sing you one more song, and then I'm going to go work."
"On your computer?" (which he pronounces, "bombuter.")
"Yes."
"You working on a book?"
"Yes, honey, now go to sleep."
"I going to work on my puppy book."
"Fine," I said. "But I don't recommend writing books for a living."
Actually, that's not really what I said. I said something soothing like, "You can work on your puppy book tomorrow Dawse, but now it's sleepy time."
"No! I want to WRITE. MY. BOOK!"
"Dawsie!" I said. "It's quiet time." I got up to go brush my teeth.
"I WANT TO WRITE MY BOOK!" Dawsie yelled. "YOU ARE NOT BEING VERY NICE TO ME!"
Which was exactly the tantrum I felt like throwing the first time I sent out a book proposal and it got rejected by eight publishers. In fact, I think it summarizes the way I've felt for a third of my career.

Finally I got him to sleep by singing, "I Never Will Marry."
"I so broken-hearted," he said drowsily, and went to sleep with our black cat Ryely curled up at his feet.

More violence from Dawson

2008-10-21T12:30:00.001-04:00

Last night my parents took the children. Tommy and I slept until 10:00 am, which was about the time my mother knocked on the door because she had dropped the kids off at school but couldn't get the car seats out of the car to leave there for us.
"You drove all the way out here (8 miles out of her way) from the school because you couldn't get the car seats out?" I said.
"I hate these stupid things," she said.
"Me, too," I said happily. I was glad to see her. Even though my parents live near by and are retired they are two of the busiest people I know and I hardly ever see them. I asked her how the kids had been.
"Great," she said. "Tiring, but great."
"Thanks so much for doing it," I said. I had had ten hours of sleep and felt fantastic.
"Dawson's in to talking about killing things right now," she said.
"I know," I said. "I don't know where he got it from." I hate violence of any kind. They don't watch any violent programs on TV and they don't play video games. But lately Dawson has been saying horrible things, like, "I'm going to shoot you!" "This is a knife. I going to cut you!" and things like that.
"Do you think I should worry about it?" I said.
"No, that's all right," she said. "He doesn't really know what it means." And to be fair, he also loves to carry a purse, hop like a rabbit, and tell everyone he's a great big girl.
Anyway, she went on, she gave him a little pink rabbit I used to play with all the time when I was a kid.
"Now you be careful with that," my mother said. "Your Mommy loved it so much when she was a girl, it was very special."
Dawson took the rabbit and looked it over. Then he said, "This bunny is my FIRE! I going to burn you! Ssssst!"

Maybe I should start him in karate. Or dance class. Probably both.

Poem for the day

2008-09-24T20:36:00.000-04:00

Here is a poem I read today that I just loved. It is from a soon to be published book of poems by Sandra McKenna called Chaos Theory.

Medusa

Medusa sees herself
In the mirror
and turns to stone . . .

All women have days like that.

Hmmm.

2008-09-24T14:02:00.001-04:00

The cat peed on my novel.

I don't really know what else to say.

Monday's the day that I'll begin

2008-09-20T14:23:00.001-04:00

Today we were in the car on the way back from the gym, and everyone was in a good mood. It was beautiful outside with the sumac trees turning deep crimson, the golden rod flanking the roadside and apples turning red on their black branches.

Liam was in the back seat talking about how much he liked corn bread, and everything looked so much like fall that I felt like cooking. “Maybe I’ll make cornbread for their lunches,” I said to Tommy. I had a very pretty picture in my head, then, of all of us in cozy sweaters, me making cornbread and canning applesauce and peaches the way my mother used to. Then I had a memory of coming home from school to my mother's kitchen which smelled like autumn leaves and apples, my mother’s face flushed and pretty from the steam that came from canning tomatoes. (“I always hated that horrible blue kitchen,” my mother would say years later. But I loved it.)
“That’s a good idea,” Tommy said.
The more I thought about it, the more I liked it. The year after I graduated from college, I used to make bread once a week. "What with the economy tanking and everything," I said, "Maybe I should start canning and making things like bread and jam."
"Maybe," said Tommy.

“Mommy is going to be more domestic this month,” I announced.
“How are you going to do that?” said Liam.
“I am a BIG MONSTER!” Dawson said, brandishing a crayon. “I going to DRAW YOUR HEAD!”
“I’m going to cook more,” I said.
“Oh,” said Liam. “Can you do that?”
Tommy burst out laughing.
“Yes mommy can cook,” I said. “I just don’t like cooking for people who hate what I make.”
I handed a slice of chicken to Dawson.
“I DON”T LIKE THAT!” he screamed.
“See?” I said to Liam.
“If you made cookies we would like it,” said Liam. “Or cupcakes.”
“I like cupcakes,” said Dawson.

I’m making cornbread on Monday.

Which reminds me of a song by Mary Lou Walker, I think from her “Middle Aged, Middle Class Mama” album called “Monday’s the Day that I’ll Begin.”
It’s basically about trying to lose baby weight quit smoking and the chorus goes,
“Monday’s the day that I’ll begin, I’ll begin!/
Monday’s the day that I’ll begin/
No ifs or ands or buts!/
No ifs or ands or buts!/
Monday, I’ll begin!”

I can’t say for sure but I think she was still smoking and hadn’t lost the weight when the song ended.

Tonight, however, I’m going out to dinner while we still have some money.

Just telling the trees.

2008-09-17T20:33:00.002-04:00

Today in the car Liam decided we should make up some car rules.
“No screaming,” he said.
“That’s a good one,” I said.
“No throwing things out the window.”
“I like that one too,” I said.
“HEY!” said Dawson. “I don’t got any naughty songs on my head.”
???!!
“That’s too loud, Dawson,” Liam said.
“I just telling the trees,” Dawson said.

Rule # three: Keep the trees informed.

It's 8:36. We got to bed a little late because we went to the Trumansburg Farmer's Market (so convenient! right down the street. We now have the farm we belong to, the farmer's market, and a bakery where I can order fresh bread twice a week within walking or biking distance. And the coffee shop. It's pretty sweet.)

Dawson is in his room, reciting the bedtime rules like a prayer. "Lie down, be bery quiet."
"Liam, you be still, and stay down there, and I won't be bery noisy."
Liam (giggling): "Okay."
Dawson (to himself): "Dawsie so loud. Shhh."

I'm too old to see fairies

2008-09-12T15:15:00.002-04:00

My horoscope for today says that someone close to me will reveal upsetting news that could make me reconsider my alliance to them.
I've been waiting all day and so far nothing. "All right," I said to my husband this morning. "What is it? Are you in love with someone else?"
"It doesn't have to be me," he said. "I've got nothing."
Although a few hours later when I was making chicken soup with garlic to hopefully help me get rid of whatever sinus infection/head problem I'm having with the dizziness and all, he did say, "You are such a messy...MESS!"
I looked down at the garlic peels I'd dropped on the floor.
"I've been working on reorganizing this kitchen ever since we came back from the Cape," he said. "And every time you come in here you throw something on the floor."
"Sorry," I said. Then, "Did you just call me a 'messy mess'?"
"Could have been much worse," he said.
"I'm going to rethink our alliance," I said. Although me being messy isn't exactly upsetting or news.

Meanwhile, I told Liam and Dawson that they were so difficult to get to bed that I called the Bedtime Fairy, and she gave me an alarm clock that goes off when it's time to say goodnight. I haven't made up what will happen if they don't pay attention to the clock yet. Maybe they won't be able to ride their (bad word) bikes down the sidewalk like little maniacs for a few days. I can't stand those bikes. Dawson has a tricycle and Liam has a tiny two wheeler with training wheels and while both of them ride very well, we live on a busy street and every time they get on them I have ten thousand heart attacks. Naturally, the children love them.
"Where does the Bedtime Fairy live?" Liam said. He was trying to get away from Dawson, who was following him around saying, "I...am...a MONSTER!!! I going to eat your HAIR!"
"A few houses down from the Pick Up Fairy," I said.
"Have you seen her?"
"No, I've only talked to her on the phone. I'm too old to see fairies."
"You just need new glasses," he said.
Anyway, they love the alarm. It goes off and they hop into bed like bunnies and the last two nights have been asleep by 8:15, about an hour earlier than they were going to bed before. They still need someone in the room while they're settling down, so if anyone has any thoughts on how to make that stop happening I'd love to hear them.
Meanwhile, it is exactly as I suspected. An invisible fairy and a clock with a bell in it hold more sway than me saying, "Go to bed." I'm too old to be upset about that.

Just making some noise...

2008-09-09T12:22:00.001-04:00

This morning Tommy and I were awakened by Dawson, who was standing by Tommy's side of the bed, banging his face against the metal heating duct.
"Dawson," I said. "What are you doing?"
"I just making noise with my head," he said.

Aren't we all.

Yesterday, Tommy asked him to stop sticking his fingers in his nose.
"I got a peanut in there," he said.
"What?" I said.
"Yeah," he said. "A peanut."
I looked up his nose. It was hard to tell, but it looked like there might be something way, way up on the left hand side. But he was breathing all right, so we decided to hope he was just making it up. About fifteen minutes later, he sneezed out a whole peanut.
"Did you put that up there?" I said.
"No," he said. "I just go achoo, achoo, and a peanut comes down!" As if it got there all on its own.

So. If a kid says he has a peanut in his nose, he probably has a peanut in his nose. That would make a nice book title.

It is a beautiful day, it's just raining.

2008-08-19T09:58:00.001-04:00

This morning was dark and gray and rainy for the first day in weeks. Normally it rains so much here that I can't stand the gray, but this summer has been gorgeous--sunny and lush and full of wildflowers. So this morning I almost welcomed the dark clouds. It felt cozy to wake up to a denser sky, with a jumble of sleeping bodies all over our bedrooms. Dawson was asleep in the narrow trough between his and Liam's bed, where he's tumbled so often in the middle of the night that we've lined it with cushions and blankets, and he nestles into it as if it were his own private burrow. Liam was entangled in blankets out at the foot of our bed, and Tommy was hanging on to the small sliver of space Liam and I had left him.

Dawson got up first and came in and grabbed my cheeks. "Mommy!" he whispered loudly. "Get up!"
"Oh, look at how gray it is outside," I said.
"It's a very beautiful day," Dawson said. "It's just raining."

He was right. It's the first day that you can smell a hint of the end of summer. I've been watching it happen slowly--the sweet corn getting taller and turning a richer green, the colors of the wildflowers deepening from bright yellow and pink to mustard, orange and red. But today is the first day that I can smell the slight crispness that autumn brings. I can’t wait. I love fall.

After I got the boys off to school I went back to bed and stole an hour to read “The Seamstress of Hollywood Boulevard,” by Erin McGraw. It is so good! I’m not even going to tell you what it’s about, you just have to go find it and read it. And then let me know what you think. I’m really loving it—I’ve been reading it like a schoolgirl, in bed with a flashlight at night, stealing hours from my mornings or afternoons when the children are napping and I should be doing something else. The prose is seamless. (Ha ha.) Anyway, it felt so luxurious to curl up with a good book on a gray morning.

Oh shit, said Pa.

2008-08-11T13:29:00.002-04:00

Last night, after a very busy day involving a visit to a four story treehouse at the Cayuga Nature Center, we put Liam and Dawson to bed and fell onto the couch. Tommy wanted to watch the Olympics. I wanted to watch Mad Men. He said I could DVR Mad Men and I said he could DVR the Olympics. "You can't DVR sports," he said, and I said nonsense. I had this friend in New York whose father reacted so vehemently to football games that he had a stroke and after that his family wouldn't let him watch them live. They recorded them and he was only allowed to watch when his favorite team won. "See?" I said. "It's better for your health to watch them recorded."

We ended up watching the Olympics. We were watching the balance beam routines when I heard a little sound outside the door to the TV room. "Someone's up," I said. Tommy went to investigate (I was, by this point, completely riveted by the Olympics) and it was Dawson, halfway down the stairs with Liam's blankie and a book. "Where are you going?" Tommy said, and Dawson said, "I just going to sleep. I just walking around, going to sleep by myself."

He was probably on his way down to Hazlenut. He has such a streak of independence. Earlier that morning I had taken him to the coffee shop and he had insisted on sitting at his own table, where he put on my orange sun hat and ate his biscotti with his back to us. He's started reading books to himself, too. Yesterday he was sitting by himself reading a little book about how mommy animals hug their babies. "Mommy bear tickles her baby," he said. "Mommy pirate" he meant parrot "she bite her baby." "Ooooh, monkey mommies snuggle their wittle babies!" "My Mommy eat me all up!"

I don't know what to say about that, but it reminded me of my little sister, who used to read herself books all the time, too before she learned how to read. Once my mother came into the bedroom and Emily was sitting on her bed holding "Little House in the Big Woods" upside down, saying, "And Pa went into the woods. Pa had a very big gun. And he saw a bear. So Pa shot the bear. And missed! Oh shit, said Pa."

Dammit.

2008-08-03T22:16:00.002-04:00

I hid all my candy from the kids and now I can't remember where it is.

Bats

2008-07-29T12:04:00.002-04:00

Last night at three in the morning I was awakened by a sudden flurry of activity whirring by my face. There was a bat in my bedroom.
"A bat!" Dawson, who was in bed with me said. Then he immediately blamed his father. "Daddy do it!" he said. "Daddy do it!" ("Or he could have been saying he wanted me to take care of it," Tommy said this morning. Maybe.)
The bat dive bombed me again. I pulled the covers over us. Tommy was sleeping in the boys room because he has a cold, and my younger sister and brother-in-law, who are visiting, (as opposed to my older sister and brother-in-law who live with us) were in their room with the door shut so it was just me and Dawsie against the bat. We made a run for it to the hallway and so did the bat, and then we went back into the bedroom and locked the door. "Where's the bat?" Dawson said.
"At large," I said.

"Bats always go after you," said my little sister Emily this morning. "Remember when we were camping when we were little and the bats came out and you were the only one they came close to? I remember one got into your hair."
"I don't remember it getting in my hair," I said.
"Bats must be your totem," she said. The animal that is most like you, and also the animal form of a spirit that watches over you. "You should find out everything there is to know about bats," she said. "They're probably trying to tell you something."

I just did a brief search on bats and here's what I came up with:

--They are the only mammals capable of flight. (Some other mammals can glide, but not fly.)
--Many tropical flowers depend on them for pollination.
--They make all kinds of sounds to communicate with others. ("Ha ha," said my husband. "That's pretty spot on.")
--They are a symbol of death, ghosts, or disease, or longevity and happiness depending on whether or not you're in Africa or
China.
--Their shit really stinks.
--In some Native American cultures, they are known as the trickster spirit--the spirit who brings change, but doesn't really have much of a conscience so it can be good or bad.

This one made me a little nervous because just that morning I had been at the coffee shop talking about the trickster with my friend Cara, who also writes fiction, and how unsettling that kind of character/person is--the person who stirs things up just for the sake of the ride, but doesn't really care about the aftermath. "Otherwise known as sociopaths," she said. And then we talked about how interesting it was that civilizations have had an archetype for that kind of person/phenomena--a means of coping with the inexplicable wildcard of amoral behavior forever. Now I have to go do some more reading on it. Or, more likely, I'll ask my sister, since she's here and is into that kind of stuff, and is also the person who got me started on the totem business in the first place.

Personally, I like the idea of being the only mammal around here who can fly.

They also carry rabies, which is unsettling.
But this bat didn't seem sluggish or disoriented. It seemed healthy and was definitely trying to get out of the house. Tonight we are turning on every light in the house and opening all the doors, and hopefully it will find it's way home.

Love is funny

2008-06-27T19:09:00.003-04:00

Tonight when I went to check on Liam he asked me to lie down with him for a little bit. So I got into bed with him and we lay there for a minute. Then he turned to me and said, "Mommy. I loooove you."
"Oh honey," I said, "I love you, too."
"Oh good," he said.
Then he started giggling. He giggled and giggled and I started laughing, too, and finally I said, "Why are you laughing?"
And Liam said, "Because love is just funny."

I thought of all the times I've said, "I love you," to people, and it's usually so heavy and dramatic and carries so much weight. But really, when you take that weight away, it IS just funny. A sort of giddy, tickling thing. And it's kind of amazing to be around a small child who hasn't been burdened with the weight of it yet, a person who says it so easily because a) it's hilarious and b) they know that the person they say it to will say it back or c) they don't care if you don't say it back, it's no big deal, they'll find someone else to say I love you to.
As John Travolta said in that movie Micheal (which I was up the other night watching way past my bedtime) "You have to learn to laugh. It's the way to true love."
Maybe it is.

That's the news from Main Street. We are on vacation as of today.

Book recommendation!

2008-05-28T12:19:00.001-04:00

Bob Powers new book, "You Are a Miserable Excuse for a Superhero!" book one in the Just Make A Choice Series.
(www.justmakeachoice.com)

First of all, I love Bob Powers. And this hilarious take on those old make your own adventure series is witty, smart, and just a wonderful parody of dating and life.

2008-05-22T09:10:00.000-04:00

Uncle Coop died yesterday.

A little tenderness

2008-05-18T21:26:00.002-04:00

My Uncle Coop is in hospice dying of liver cancer this weekend. He’s been fighting it for about a year, but earlier this week his body just gave up.
Yesterday, my sister took Liam for a few hours while Dawson napped. Tommy was working and I snuck away upstairs to be by myself and cry for a while. After a while, Liam came upstairs and sat down next to me.
“You look like you’re a little sad Mom,” he said.
“I am,” I said.
He asked me why and I said it was because Uncle Coop was dying and we wouldn’t see him again.
“Oh,” Liam said. “That IS sad.” Then he put his arms around me and kissed me on the cheek.
“Is that something that makes you feel better?”
“Yes,” I said.
The last time I saw my uncle he had just stopped chemotherapy, and he was in great spirits. We talked for an hour or so before I went to bed and I meant to write everything he said down in my journal before I fell asleep. But I was exhausted and he seemed so happy, and actually healthy, that I was sure I’d see him again. And even now, it’s hard for me to really believe he’s dying. But he is. Today my mother called to say that he’s lost consciousness, and his limbs are getting cold, although his heart is still beating.
I was thinking about all of this and then I started to cry again.
“Now why are you crying?” Liam said, genuinely bewildered, as if he couldn’t understand why I’d still be sad after being kissed. “Isn’t Grandmama over there with Uncle Coop? Can’t she make him better?”
“I don’t think so,” I said. I remembered something my mother said when she called the other day to give me an update. That she had tried to tell my uncle how much she loved him while he was still conscious, but she couldn’t stop crying, and he couldn’t understand her so he just kept patting her hand and saying, “I’ll be fine.”
We both agreed that he probably will be fine. As far as he’s concerned, he lived a full, happy life and now he’s going to be with God, who he’s loved and admired for many years.
But we don’t always cry for the person dying. We cry for ourselves, and the fact that we’re the ones left behind.

Living arts.

2008-05-17T10:10:00.002-04:00

It was parent/teacher conference day at Liam and Dawson's school and yesterday I had a conference with Dawson's teachers, who said that Dawson is at the stage of development where (2) where they like to do living arts, meaning all the things that we do. Really, they said, you could almost throw out all of their toys and just let them play with things like different kinds of beans and rocks they've gathered and things like that.

I got so excited. I would LOVE to get rid of all of our toys, most of which they don't even play with. So today, Tommy has a consultant up and is working on his magazine and I have the children all day, and I decided I would try some of the activities they suggested. I went out and got three bags of different colored lentils, set each child up with his own work space, gave them some containers, and let them do whatever they wanted. "Oooh! Activity day!" said Liam. They actually ran down the stairs, away from Curious George on TV, to the kitchen where their work spaces were set up. Dawson happily started pouring beans from one container to another. Liam made multi-layered design in a jar. They were so industrious, and happy to have something creative to do--I was thrilled. It was a completely different vibe than it is when I sit them down and say, "Now we are going to make birthday hats. Watch Mommy. Okay, wait, don't cut up the fax paper. Go ahead, put the sticker whereever you want. Okay, wait, not on the cat. Do not sit on the cat! Why can't you just leave the cat alone? Dawson! Turn OFF the water."

I left the room to go fold some laundry, and when I came back all of the lentils were on the floor. I guess Dawson had tried to pour lentils from a big container into a small one, and that looked like so much fun, Liam tried it too.
Dawson was crying because his feet were bare and beans were sticking to them. (He is very sensitive about his feet.)
And then I remembered the key thing I'd been told, which was to use child-sized jars and scoops, which I had been a little sloppy with.

So--whatever, you can't expect to get something perfect the first time. I mean I usually do expect that, but it isn't the best way to live. And once you get over the fact that you're going to have to sweep the kitchen floor, it's really not a bad way to spend the morning. I have high hopes for this afternoon. We're going to gather and paint rocks!

A nice morning chat.

2008-05-13T12:36:00.001-04:00

This is the conversation Tommy and I had on the way back from the coffee shop this morning.
Tommy: So we need to figure out what to do with the bathroom in your sister's apartment.
(The ceiling fell down last week in their kitchen due to a leak in the tub.)
Me: Right. Don't want the whole tub to fall through.
Tommy: All of the plumbing in that bathroom is old and shot.
Me: My hair stinks.
Tommy: I think we should just tear that bathoom out.
Me: Good idea. Seriously, something smells. Is there poop in my hair?!!!!
Tommy: I think it's just oatmeal.

Whew. Dodged that bullet.

No more wine.

2008-04-24T13:55:00.002-04:00

"I'm giving up wine," I said to my husband today at lunch.
"Why?" he said.
"It's ruining my sleep." I had just read an article online about sleep that said that if you have more than a glass of wine before you go to bed, it can mess up your sleep cycle. (Although then my friend ML sent me an e-mail that said something like, "I had the best sleep after doing yoga last night. Plus I drank a half a bottle of wine." So wine with yoga is maybe okay.)
My husband just looked at me. Last night we were both awakened at 4:00 am by Dawson who had climbed out of his crib and wanted to play. I decided to try something different this time, since putting him firmly back into bed leads to two hours of screaming. So I just let him wander around figuring he'd get bored and go back to bed.
When Tommy put him firmly back in his crib, it was because Dawson had his shoes on and was banging Tommy in the face with a book and saying "read it!"
"Although," I said. "So many things are messing with my sleep, why give up the one thing that gives me pleasure?"
"That's what I was thinking," Tommy said. "Maybe we should put the kids in the barn."
(Okay, I made that up. He would never say that. I think he just smiled, which looks good on him.)

Waiting for sleep.

2008-04-11T14:34:00.001-04:00

Last night we went over to Domenica and Justin’s for dinner. We arrived at four o'clock, as Domenica was putting a round of Camembert on the table.
“I’ve been so self-indulgent lately,” she said, opening a bottle of wine. “I've decided we’re getting older, and being skinny won’t make us prettier.”
I thought this was such a pleasant observation I ate most of the cheese.
We started talking about the discovery she’d made of a parenting book about how to talk to your children. This book suggested remembering that children have reasons for everything they do and to try to understand and address them.
“For example,” she said. “Last night Bobby was trying to take apart a pen, but it was bedtime and he didn’t want to go to bed, so he started getting upset and yelling “I don’t like you.”
So she got down on his level and said you seem mad, and he said yes he was, and then she asked him why, and Bobby that he wanted to play with his pen.
“I said, ‘I can understand how that must feel, that’s no fun.’” Domenica said. “But now it’s bedtime. So let’s put this away and you can play with it tomorrow.’ And he said okay, and went to bed.”
“He said okay?” I said, “and went to bed? Just like that? Amazing.”
I decided I'd try it on Liam, who hates going to bed. Dawson goes down like a lump, but Liam gets up, leaves his room, comes out to see what Tommy and I are doing, or to tell us that his stuffed kitty has a sore throat, or that he (Liam) accidentally broke his foot and needs some juice.
That night after I read him two stories, he threw himself across my lap and said he wasn’t going to bed, he was going to lie right there all night.
“It’s bedtime,” I said. “You have to go to bed.”
“No!” Liam said. “I just going to lie here on your lap.”
“I know, that sounds really fun,” I said. “But it's your bed time and I have to get up and do things.”
“But I hate going to sleep!” he said, “I just hate it!”
“You sound really frustrated,” I said.
“I am!” said Liam.
“What is it that you don’t like about sleeping?”
Liam paused. Finally he said, “Waiting for sleep is just so lonely!” (Only because of the way he talks he said, “Waiting for sweep is just so wonewy!”)

Oh my God, I thought. You've just explained most of my twenties.

I got up and gave him a book. “Look,” I said. “Take this book and look at all of the pictures. While you're waiting for sleep you can make up stories, or imagine that some of the people you like in this book are in your room keeping you company.”
“Can I have a monster book?” he said.
“Let’s try Olivia or Frances instead,” I said.
He was asleep in ten minutes. Either I’ve discovered a great trick, or I’ve started a terrible habit.

Hours spent on the novel this week: 5
Hours spent trying to work on the novel this week: 5
Hours spent on freelance things: about 5
Hours spent obsessing about the paperback release in May: 1

Very uninspired this week novel wise. But so far my experience is that you have to go through about 2 and a half very uninspired weeks for one inspired one. Not that there's a formula. Or if there is, I'd like to know about it.

some newsy items

2008-03-27T10:30:00.002-04:00

Here are two books you must read:

Maynard and Jennica by Rudolph Delson.
This book is hilarious, sweet, and wonderful. I laughed through the whole thing. (Read more about it at www.rudolphdelson.com)

Opa Nobody by Sonya Huber
A sure-footed, beautiful memoir that plays with form and the idea of what we inherit from relatives. It is lovely.

Very funny, gods

2008-02-23T19:46:00.001-05:00

Tonight I put little plates of organic hotdogs and peas in front of Liam and Dawson. I went to go get them cups of organic juice diluted with water. When I came back to the table, Dawson had the wand from my sister's mascara in his mouth.

First he would rather eat deodorant than what I feed him, now mascara. The irony of this, given the fact that I try very hard to give my children a diet with almost no chemical additives or pesticides, is not lost on me.

Oh my heart!

2008-01-25T17:33:00.002-05:00

It's day five of us being away from our children, and I miss them so much I could die.

I just checked in with my parents, who are watching the boys. My mother said that everything was going fine, although they both have coughs and are exhausting my parents. Liam has been asking my mother to tell monster stories, so she told him one about the time Liam and his friend Charley (Kristen's daughter) found a monster in Charley's basement named Bobo.
"How did he get that name?" Liam asked.
"Well," my mother said. "I think when he was a little baby monster his Mommy and Daddy monster looked at him and said, "Oh, you are the cutest little baby monster! We're going to call you Bobo!"
"Oh,"Liam said, "yes, that's what they did! And then the Mommy and Daddy monster went away to San Francisco and left the baby monster with his brother. And the baby monster was sad."
My heart sagged. "Oh, no," I said to my mother. "Did you tell him that the Mommy and Daddy monster missed the baby monster every minute they were gone?"
"No," said my mother. "I told him that the mommy monster spent way too much money at Barney's on a pair of boots the first day she was there and now she has to take them back." (Actually, that's not what my mother said at all, but it would be pretty funny and very out of character if she did say that.)
Instead, I think she said, "He'll survive. They're fine. Go enjoy yourselves."

I made a note in my positive journal about how lucky I am to have my mother, for so many reasons, and also how lucky I am to have a child who has enough imagination to compare me to a monster. It's better than being a Kung Fu pregnant monkey, which was a character in one of the stories a student of mine wrote when I was teaching and pregnant. ("Do you think it's funny that he put a pregnant female monkey in this story about a bank robbery?" I said to my friend Betsy, who burst out laughing and said, "He made you a monkey! Ha ha ha ha! He made you a Kung Fu monkey!")

Well. I'm pretty sure I've been called worse things.

I love my husband!

2008-01-18T12:24:00.000-05:00

When I came back from a doctor's appointment this morning, he had cleaned the kitchen.

Hooray! Feminism worked!

House still a mess...

2008-01-18T10:02:00.000-05:00

I wonder if there's anyone I can call.

Where's that damn Pick Up Fairy when you need her?

hmmm.

2008-01-17T21:41:00.000-05:00

Someone is going to have to clean this house.

Employed at last, by someone other than me!

2008-01-09T16:01:00.001-05:00

Today my husband put me on the payroll for the new magazine he's started.
"Hooray!" I said. "Can I work on my book proposal, e-mail my friends, and do my blog while I'm supposed to be working?"
"No," he said.
"Why not?" I said, rather sulkily. "That's what half of America does while they're supposed to be working."
"It will set a bad example for other employees," he said.
"What other employees?" I said.
"Me," he said.

Well. I suppose he has a point there.
I start work next week. Can't wait. Then I can start having an affair with my boss. My whole life has just taken a scandalous, exciting new turn.

Whee!

2007-11-27T22:31:00.001-05:00

My book made the New York Times Top 100 Notable Books of the year list. (http://www.nytimes.com/2007/12/02/books/review/notable-books-2007.html)

Hooray!!!!!!!

I am drunk.

Off to a Good Start.

2007-10-02T11:36:00.001-04:00

I love October. I love the dip in temperature, the way the air sharpens and you can smell apples, grapes and turning leaves.

Yesterday morning, I was very pleased to see that my horoscope is great for October. My favorite astrologer is Susan Miller because not only does she seem uncannily accurate, but she writes them as if she is looking out for me, personally. She'll say things like, "Dear Pisces," (and I hear "Rebecca") "you may have been feeling like you've been working hard and getting small returns," and I sit there and I think, as a matter of fact, I do feel like I've been working extremely hard for small returns and I'm so glad someone finally noticed. Then she'll say something like, "Don't worry. That was because there was a quinzbykz in your something house"--okay, those are more my words than hers-"but now things are about to change in a big way!" And then I'll think, maybe I'll win a prize! And I'll be happy until I realize that the horoscope is for all Pisces, not just me, and since Pisces tend to be creative people, all of us are headed for a good month and not all of us can get a Pulitzer. Still, it makes me feel like I have something to look forward to, which in general I think is a pretty good way to live.

My sisters are also fairly superstitious this way. My younger sister and her husband consulted an astrologer to figure out what would be the most fortuitous time for their wedding. My father who is a very literal man, thought this was crazy. "What the..??" He said to my mother. "What if they're told to have a wedding on a Wednesday at three in the morning? I'm not staying up that late." Luckily that did not happen, although the astrologer did get a little uncomfortable when she read their charts. "Are you sure you two want to get married?" she said. "Really? Okay. If you insist. Go for June."

Anyway, this month is supposed to be great. All kinds of special days and career leaps, etc.
"Things are going to be looking up around here!" I said to my husband. He was in the kitchen/playroom that is still upstairs near the bathroom because we haven't moved our kitchen downstairs in our house yet. I was in the bathroom, trying to keep the boys, who were in the bath, from drinking the bathwater. "Don't drink that!" I said. Dawson just laughed and poured the contents from an empty shampoo bottle down his throat.

Dawson is one of those terrifying children who just doesn't seem to care about winning adult approval. He'll knock over Liam's trains, then climb up on the naughty chair and sit there with a pout on his face that he puts on when he sits in the naughty chair. He'll wait about a minute, get down, and knock over Liam's trains again. "Dawson!" I'll say, and he'll put himself back in the naughty chair and put on his fake contrite look. But it has nothing to do with making us happy. I think he just likes to sit in the naughty chair and pretend that he feels bad about it.

Anyway, he was drinking the bathwater and so was Liam, so I pulled Dawson out of the tub. Then I said to Liam, "Do you know what's in the bathwater? Dawson's pee."
"What?" said Liam.
"Dawson's pees in the water and that's why you shouldn't drink it."
"What?" said Liam.
"You heard me." I went into the playroom, where my husband was reading a magazine.
"My horoscope says my career is going to explode this month," I said, handing the baby him to put to bed.
"Great," said Tommy, "Maybe you should start writing another book instead of sitting around reading your horoscope."
But who wants to start another book when it's so beautiful outside? When the leaves are turning and the house smells like woodsmoke and apples, and people are canning tomatoes and wearing cozy sweaters?
In the bathroom, I could hear water draining from the tub. "Are you ready to get out, Liam?" I said.
"I'm just letting Dawson's pee out of the tub," he said, and took another swig of bathwater.
"Fine," I said, "Fine. If you want pee in your mouth, that's okay with me."

"Did you just say what I thought you said?" said my husband. "To our child?"

Yes, I'm afraid I did. It's fine with me if you want pee in your mouth.
So. This is going to be a great month. I can't wait.