The Salad Days [chronicles]

SickER.

2008-02-07T12:22:00.000-08:00

Hazel's bug turned into a full-blown ear infection, which kept her up until 2 this morning. After hours of crying and moaning and tossing and turning, we finally just got her out of bed and plunked her down in front of Noggin (24 hours! YAY!), while we dealt with the confusing maze that is our new insurance company. When push came to shove, the best they could do for us was call in a prescription for ear drops that we could pick up at the 24 hour pharmacy at 4 a.m. We passed. Hazel finally fell asleep, thankfully, and we got her checked out this morning.

The cold that I caught mutated into a nasty sinus infection while I was caring for Hazel in the wee hours. Have you ever had a sinus infection? This one's the first for me, and holy shit, I hope it's the last. The pain! The congestion! It feels like a 300 pound man is sitting on my head. I was treated for that this morning, as well as shiny new case of bronchitis! I truly don't think I have ever been this sick. It's nas-ty.

Will you pray for me, if you believe in such things? Because with two sick kids and a beast of an infection myself, I'm not sure how we're going to make it through the afternoon.

The Post in Which I Get All Political and Self-Serving

2008-01-31T08:33:00.000-08:00

I've been asked to contribute to MOMocrats, the moms-for-Edwards website. I'm proud and happy to be part of such a great cause, working with brilliant and articulate women who have a lot to say. Check us out!

I truly believed that John Edwards would be a different kind of president - the kind who does what he says, says what he means, and means to get this country moving in the right direction. I am crushed that he has stepped aside, though I knew from the beginning that I was backing an underdog. But one of the positive things to come out of John Edwards' campaign suspension is my renewed zeal for getting the person who can do the most for our country elected. Which is why my post "The Feminist Vote - Why Hillary Rodham Clinton Won't Get Mine" is live for the world to see.

I was an early Obama supporter, until I started paying close attention to John Edwards' message. Everything he said made perfect sense to me, but most especially his commitment to end poverty and the corporate takeover of our government, and reengage with the global community on a cooperative level. I hope that Barak Obama takes notice of the chords that John Edwards struck with the people of this country, those of us who really do want things to change. And I hope he makes good on his promises, like I know Edwards would have. We'll see.

Sick

2008-01-29T07:58:00.001-08:00

Hazel came into our bed at 3:00 in the morning, burning with fever. I dosed her with Tylenol, cuddled her for a few minutes, then carried her back to her top bunk, where she tossed and turned and hacked with a cough that came out of nowhere. She was perfectly fine all day yesterday.

Poor Hazel. She seems to get every little bug that goes around, and always has. Her immune system is challenged, I think (it runs in her family). Mike has been good enough to agree to make a Whole Foods run before heading to work - we need O.J., kids Emergen-C, those fabulous vitamin/zinc lollipops and tranquilizers (for me. I WISH.)

It's gonna be a long, grey day.

You Want To Know How I Know My Kids' Brains Have Been Disneyfied?

2008-01-16T08:53:00.001-08:00

Because as I was getting out of the shower a few days ago, Hazel asked:

"Mom... how come Tinkerbell's boobs point up... and yours... don't?"

Um, because I nursed you and your sister for almost two years - each!?

Yeah. You're welcome.

Christmas Past

2008-01-13T17:57:00.000-08:00

And it passed so quickly, and with so much fanfare and hullaballoo, that when it came time to take down the tree, the stockings, the lights and the decorations, we cried! It was that much fun. (Look at those happy girls!)

This year was the first year that both girls were really excited about the holiday. Hazel really "got it," and was very excited about making and giving presents to friends and family. She asked thoughtful questions about the meaning of Christmas and Chanukkah and Kwanzaa, and pointed out - very astutely - that they are all basically about being thankful for life as we know it. Can I just say that I love that she knows what Kwanzaa is?

As usual the girls raked in the booty, but this year, Mike and I made the conscious decision to get them gifts that they could play with together. They got art supplies, a rockin' new kite, a playhouse for the backyard, board games, and a few assorted other goodies, including a new dress and pair of tights for each girl. We opened presents, had breakfast, and then passed the rest of the day with friends, where a giant potluck dinner and basement karaoke party were lwhat made the holiday one of our most memorable as a family.

We rang in the new year in SoCal, which is always a good time. The time for us to move down there is drawing near, I think. Each time we go down there, it's harder to leave. We have such a great thing going on here, it's hard to even imagine leaving... and yet, the magnetic draw of family is pulling us in a different direction. Who knows what 2008 will bring?

Holiday Thoughts

2007-12-17T09:34:00.000-08:00

I spent yesterday afternoon shopping for Christmas presents online, and all I can say is "what did we ever do before Amazon?" Good lord, it was easy. No crowds, no lines, no confusion; just type, click, buy. Almost pleasant, actually, as far as shopping goes.

When I was done, I took a few minutes to bask in the glow of being able to buy exactly what I wanted for the girls and our family, without worrying about whether or not we could afford it. I didn't get extravagant - our Christmas gifts are pretty low-key - but the very act of buying things always reminds me of how blessed we are to be able to buy non-essentials comfortably. It is a luxury that I am aware of, and grateful for.

In that spirit, I am trying to be mindful of balancing all the girls' talk about receiving presents with talk about giving wholeheartedly, and being thankful for the many good things we already have in our lives. My local hair salon is doing a toy drive, and this Saturday Hazel and I will be taking a Dora sleeping bag in for a little girl who requested it for Christmas. Then we'll be taking a trip to Second Harvest food bank to make a donation there, and finally, we'll be taking some toys and clothes to the local women's shelter. I wish I was better about making donations and spending time at our local food bank and shelter year-round; we do it occasionally, maybe two or three times each year, but still... if I was the kind of person who made New Year's resolutions, making more time for giving back to our community would be mine this year.

I went ahead and made a "wish list" for myself as I was finishing up my online shopping yesterday, but it occurred to me later in the day, as I was putting away the week's groceries, that what I already have is more than enough: a home, a full fridge, a healthy and happy family - and more! No box under the tree can compete with that.

Violet in the Bathroom

2007-12-15T08:56:00.000-08:00

V: "When I grow up I want to be a mama."

Mike: "Maybe you could be a German teacher."

V: "Maybe I could be a Hello Kitty teacher!"

Hey, it's as good a place as any to plan for the future. With her rampant use of toilet paper and excessive flushing, she's certainly not cut out for environmentalism or plumbing, so it's good she's exploring other options.

Project Life Change: I Didn't Fail as Miserably as You Thought I Did!

2007-12-04T10:58:00.000-08:00

Although I completely and utterly ignored my own sincere pledge to update this blog more, I actually did accomplish the other goals I set for myself under the mantle of Project Life Change. Yeah, me!

Change #1 (sign Haze up for a class she'll enjoy) sort of backfired on me, so I crossed that off the list (N/A). I've blogged a little bit on the topic of Hazel's sensitive nature, which is a big part of our family dynamic, without going into too much detail about how it effects her as an independent person, or as a social being. The reason for that is simple: I don't feel that it's my right to go into the specifics of the how/when/why aspects of what it's like to live with a highly-sensitive, slow-to-adapt kid. Especially a kid who's learning to read, and probably wouldn't appreciate a mother who spills her personal beans all over the interwebs on a regular basis. Suffice it to say, Hazel didn't want to participate in the gymnastics class I signed her up for. My perception of "why" is that having to be "on" in kindergarten 5 days/week, every week, is enough activity for Hazel right now. Totally understandable. She expressed some interest in doing a class with Violet, so I'm looking into mixed age art classes for both of them.

Change #2 (sign Violet up for a class she'll enjoy) was a piece of cake. The local community center as a fabulous, age-appropriate gymnastics class that Violet adores. I've tried unsuccessfully to take posterity pictures of her during class, but it's impossible: she's a dervish, running from trampoline to rock-climbing wall to uneven bars, and I can't get her to slow down long enough to take a picture that looks like something besides blur of cuteness. Big bonus: naps are back! Thanks, gymnastics!

Change #3 (spend less time sneaking over to check email/feeds during the day) was also no sweat. I let my editor at Strollerderby know that I needed to slow down on my posting over there, and we worked out a compromise that resulted in me taking on weekend duty for S.D. A few posts spread out over the weekend, plus 1 or 2 during the week is much more manageable for me, and makes my weekdays feel more open and free. A welcome change that was easy to pull off, thanks to my awesome SD coworkers and editors.

Change #4 (complete tasks around the house regularly) resulted in us painting and setting up the garage/craftroom for general use! Still a few minor tasks to be done in there (installing shelving, freecycling old computer, hanging bikes from celing hooks), but nothing major. Next up: planting the winter garden!

Change #5 (update the blog weekly) is really the only play I dropped the ball on. I've been in decompression mode since scaling back on SD, and have been ignoring my computer almost entirely. It's been so nice! But I've missed blogging here, which is perhaps good: missing out is a big motivator for me.

Four out of 5 "life changes" accomplished. Not bad. Not bad at all.

Five

2007-10-29T14:36:00.000-07:00

Dear Hazel,

Five years ago you were a tiny, mewling lump of milk and gurgle. I could never have predicted that a few long and short years later, you would become the smart, sassy, prim, plucky, persnickety, perfectly Hazel-ish you that you are today. Five years old.

Kindergarten is helping nurture the side of you that loves to learn, and is driven to succeed. Going to full-time school, by yourself, all day, every day, has been a huge confidence-booster for you, and a challenge you have met head on. You are at the top of your class - a strong reader, a keen observer, always on task and agreeable. Your teachers love you, and tell you so. You take pride in the logic and reason and schedule of your days. You beam with pride and confidence as you march out of the classroom to meet me at pick-up time, and when I ask you how your day was, your answer is always the same:

"GREAT!"

Your dad and I had a hunch that kindergarten would be good for your soul, be we couldn't be sure until we sent you. So we all took the plunge together, and dove heads first into this thing called school - and none of us, not even you, could be more pleased with how you've taken to it. We are so proud of you. But what's even better is that you are proud of yourself. You are taking pride in accomplishing some pretty monumental achievements - like being dropped off every day. Not easy for you. Like learning how to read. Like trusting yourself, and solving your own problems, and all the while, becoming more and more confident that you can handle what comes your way.

It is a daily joy and privilege to watch you consciously take root in yourself - to watch you come to the realization, time and again, that you are who you are, you like what you like, and that is what it is. You may not be like everyone else, but you are you. Full stop. And absolutely nothing can shake your belief in that one pure, simple fact.

You are a force of nature. You are a hurricane of personality. You are FIVE.

While you still retain many of the characteristics that you had even as a tiny baby - sensitive to sounds and smells, shy and a little quiet, a Mama's girl - your willingness to try and be new things is at an all-time high. An excellent example of your newfound adventurousness: you chose avocado rolls, miso soup, and brown rice tea as your birthday lunch. The fact that you chose boxed mac n' cheese, hot dogs and strawberries for your birthday dinner is a shining example of the wonderful dichotomy that is 5. That is you! Everyone who knows you is impressed daily by your wit and shine (you included). You are a silly little spark plug of a girl, a golden egg, a leggy blonde bookworm with a quiet, old soul and every time I see you, with your knobbly knees, your huge brown eyes and your flapper hair, my heart just about bursts with love and excitement.

Happy 5th Birthday to you, Hazel, and many more. Dad, Violet and I love you so much. We love who you are now, and we can not wait to see who you will be next! You are FIVE! FIVE years old!!

Amazing.

Love,
Mama

Project Life Change: Stop Being So Lazy, Alisyn.

2007-10-12T08:08:00.000-07:00

My good friend Stefania has sent out a call, to mobilize and motivate people across the blogosphere to make the changes in their lives that they need to make - now. No more excuses. I really like this idea.

For me, participating in Project Life Change isn't about doing a major overhaul, or making drastic changes in my life. It's about taking responsibility for the little things that I keep saying I need to do, or want to do, but don't. Allow me to elaborate.

I am, by nature, kind of a hermit. I like puttering around my house, gardening, reading, drinking tea. I like laying on the floor reading to the girls, making furniture forts with them, doing puzzles. I derive most of my strength and pleasure from being in the comfort zone I've created for our family. I am comfortable in social situations - I like people, am good at making friends, and am probably considered pretty outgoing by people who know me. But I am one of those rare outgoing-yet-introverted hybrids, and often, I get stuck in my comfort zone, when I should be out and about.

Hazel is a lot like me, in that she prefers to operate in her comfort zone, with people she knows well. But as she gets more comfortable in kindergarten, she's making more friends, and starting to show an interest in seeing them outside of the classroom. She's been coming out of her little shell, and I think she's reached the point where she can handle something like a ballet class, or a cooking class, some kind of outside-the-home-activity that is just for her, without getting too nervous. l may have to push her a little at first, because she really hates being dropped off anywhere, but once she gets into the swing of things, I think she'll be great.
Change #1 - sign Hazel up for a class she'll enjoy. Stop thinking about it, and just do it.

Violet is not like Hazel and I. I'm not sure if it's her age (2.5), or her personality - it's probably 50/50 - but she is not a homebody the way we are. She likes to be on the move, on the go, doing, doing, doing. She gets bored with all the drawing and reading and lazing about that we do a lot of at home, and tends to act out when she's feeling frustrated. She's also decided that unless she's in the stroller or the car, she's not napping anymore, so she's extra tired and grumpy in the afternoons. Signing Violet up for a toddler class - I'm thinking gymnastics - will be good for her soul. Not only will she be around kids her own age, she'll also get some of her energy out, and hopefully, nap a little more readily.
Change #2 - sign Violet up for a class she'll enjoy. Stop thinking about it, and just do it.

A major contribution to my hermitude is the fact that I work from home. And my job involves constantly checking my email, scanning developing news, and keeping in contact with my coworkers at StrollerDerby. I am incessantly flipping my computer open, and getting sucked into the vacuum of the virtual world. My girls notice this. And they don't love it. Even though I'm in the room with them, I'm not there, I'm not paying attention to them and we're not making eye contact. I notice it too, and I feel guilty about it, but I do it anyway. There's no way to avoid getting online throughout the day - it's part of my job, and it's how I stay connected with many of my friends. But I'm going to attempt to schedule my days better, so that I have a window of time open specifically for being online, rather than just stolen moments here and there.
Change #3 - schedule a couple of chunks of time during the day for checking email, etc., and only open the computer during those times.

When Mike and I decided to stay in California indefinitely, we outlined a plan for making our tiny little house a little more livable. We re-landscaped our front and back yards to maximize play space for the girls, and are in the process of converting our garage into an office/playroom. We have a lot of little things that we need to get done around the house, and have made a list of everything we plan on completing by the New Year.
Change #4 - cross one thing off that list every weekend, no exceptions.

And lastly, I want to commit to this blog more. It's been so neglected. I don't do baby books for the girls, though we do take a lot of pictures. This blog is our main childhood archive for Hazel and Violet, and so I vow to post at least once a week.
Change #5 - update the blog (at least) once every week.

I think that about covers it. Not a bunch of crazy deadlines, but enough to keep me busy and get me better organized. Hopefully. I'll keep you posted on how it goes.

A Summer of Firsts

2007-08-27T20:12:00.001-07:00

I took the summer off, as it turns out. And now that it's over, I've come to realize that it was a monumental season. The girls have grown and changed so much in the last couple of months. It's been the 3 of us at home together all summer, which I thought was going to be a nightmare, but actually, ended up being kind of fun. Most days. A recap:

First Bee Stings: Hazel was running through the grass barefoot when she stepped on a bee and let us all know it by screaming bloody murder. About six weeks later, Violet did the exact same thing. So did I, about 25 years ago.

First Babysitter: What the effin' eff took me so long? Sara'i is the girls' new favorite person - she does their hair, she paints their nails, and she lays on the top bunk with Hazel til she's asleep. Hazel says, "Mama, sometimes I wish Sara'i could be our Mama, and you could just come sometimes." Awwwwww.

First Funeral: A milestone, to be sure. Hazel was relieved to know that Great Uncle Frank would not be a skeleton for a very, very long time.

First Over Nighter: The girls and I took a 2 week vacation to SoCal, at the end of which, Haze decided that she wanted some "alone time" with her grandparents, great grandparents, uncles and auntie, so she stayed behind, while Vi and I had some alone time of our own. Three days, and I missed her.

First New Bike: The last new bike I can remember having was metallic navy blue with a banana seat and those little beads that make noise in the spokes. It may or may not have had pegs. My new new bike - the first I've purchased - is white, with pink walled tires and silver and pink flames. She is called "The Betty." She is one sweet ride, and I'm addicted to her.

First Garden: We totally re-landscaped our back yard, with the help of my brothers, and not only do we have flowers and shrubs and a gorgeous new emerald green lawn, we also have a planter box. Growing happily in that box are two kinds of lettuce, tomatoes, broccoli, lemons, carrots, cucumbers, green beans, zucchini and herbs. The girls and I water, weed and talk to our plants, and they love us for it. Hazel snacks on cilantro that she picks herself. Violet strokes the baby cucumbers lovingly.

First Day of School: Hazel started kindergarten last week. Let me repeat that: Hazel started kindergarten last week. It simply blows my mind. She has made the smoothest transition possible, from going to preschool with friends she's know her whole life, to going to real school, alone. All day. And loving it! My heart is bursting with pride and love for my big, brave, smart, wonderful girl.

First Day of Daycare: Violet calls it "preschool." I call it "sanity saver." It starts tomorrow. I'll keep you posted.

First Bunk Bed: It's from Ikea, it was a free hand-me-down, and the novelty of the slide has yet to wear off. Priceless.

First Friends: The girls really turned a corner this summer, and went from barely tolerating each other, to actually liking each other. They can, and sometimes do, play together for hours at a time. They still get impatient with each other, and they get on each other's nerves, but for they also share, joke, help and giggle a lot. They play mama-and-baby, doggy-and-person, doctor-and-patient (guess which is which?); they play hide and seek in the backyard; Hazel makes tiny bird eggs out of clay and Violet smashes them gleefully, one by one. Nothing makes me happier than seeing the two of them conspiring against me, or helping each other, or cuddling on the couch, picking each other's noses.

If I had to sum up the summer quickly, I'd say it was long, hot, and a lot of fun. Not necessarily in that order. Check out the updated pictures!

Hazel's New Joke

2007-06-15T14:37:00.000-07:00

You wanna hear it? Sure you do.

"Knock knock."

"Who's there?"

"Mickey Mouse."

"Mickey Mouse who?"

"MICKEY MOUSE'S SCROTUM!!!!! HAAAAHAHAA!!!!"

Hazel's on to what Mickey's hiding in those sexy little red shorts, and she wants the world to know it, too. Between her and Violet, I'm lucky if I make it to 7:30 a.m. before hearing the words penis, scrotum, vulva, ovaries, anus or boobs, haahahahaahahahaa!!!!

Yesterday at the park, some old dude giggled under his breath when Hazel enlisted Molly's help in telling the "Mickey Mouse's PENIS!! HAHAHAHAHHA!" version of the joke, and I had to laugh too.

What else can I do? They are funny.

'Mell My Winger

2007-06-03T20:25:00.000-07:00

Here's one for the baby book.

Violet's new favorite game to play? 'Mell My Winger. Otherwise known as "Smell My Finger," a game that, though highly inappropriate and totally gross, fascinates and delights her. Endlessly.

-----

In the car, on the way to pick up Hazel from preschool:

"Mama? You 'mell my winger?"

"No, Violet. That's rude."

"You 'mell it, Mama? It 'mell like my BUTT!"

-----

In the car, on the way home from picking up Hazel:

"Hazel! 'Mell my winger!"

"Okay!... EWWWWWW!" (Falls for it every time, agrees that this game is hilarous).

"It 'mell like my ba-dinah!"

"Yeah! It does... hey Violet, say 'vulva.'"

"Wul-wa."

"Mama! Violet's talking about her private parts not in private!"

(Guess who's really into the "All About My Body" book?)

-----

Now that she is wearing underwear during the day, access to her girly parts is free and unlimited. There's a lot of, um, exploring going on. Especially in the car, where there's not much else to do. We've had the "private parts" talk, but that means absolutely nothing to her. She's going through her naked phase, and discovering her body, and I'm cool with that. I get it. But it's startling, and not a little off putting, to look over my shoulder while changing lanes, and see Violet mining for gold down there.

It's a good thing she doesn't wear rings. It's also a good thing that my car's windows are tinted dark black; if people could see what was going on in the backseat, they would.... well, they would change lanes, at the very least.

Bathing Suit (A Happy Post)

2007-05-21T15:59:00.000-07:00

I've had bathing suits on the brain lately. It's about to get hot, and I plan on spending a large part of the coming summer in the water: at the toddler pool, at swimming lessons, at the beach. So I've been assessing my options.

I've been salivating over this suit for a couple of months now. It's sexy and sassy and it's the kind of suit that makes a woman wish she had the curves to fill it out (I am fortunate in that department). But I just can not bring myself to pay $100 (with shipping) for it. I realize that this is the going rate for a suit not purchased Target, Old Navy or the Gap, but I am just too inherently cheap and guilty to pay that. I could get suits for the whole family with $100! God, I sound just like my mother. (No offense, Mom. You know what I mean). I've been scoping out Ebay and local vintage clothing shops for something similar, but haven't had much luck.

So, you can imagine my surprise when I walked into Marshall's on a bra run, and ran smack into a black, halter neck, retro-flavored skirted suit in my size. I grabbed a few of the other 1-piece options for good measure, along with my bra selection, and headed for the fitting room.

For the first time since puberty, I tried on a bathing suit, and I smiled. That's how awesome this suit is. The halter top is flattering and supportive, the little skirt is flirty and hides a multitude of sins, and the overall look is '50s and fun. Exactly what I was looking for. That never happens!

I am always afraid of looking matronly in bathing suits, (why do bathing suit designers assume that only grandmothers want 1-pieces?) and have always avoided the skirted kind for that reason alone. But this suit has nary a whiff of mothballs, and I figure the tattoos help in that department, too.

So, I am positively giddy over my $40 Marshall's windfall. I guess I have to stop talking shit about the place, now. I wish you the same luck on your bathing suit quest this year, because every woman deserves to smile in the fitting room.

To Violet, On Her 2nd Birthday

2007-05-15T15:05:00.000-07:00

Dear Violet,

Today you are two! TWO!!

When someone asks you how old you are, you hold up five fingers and shout "two!" Then you whisper, "I eat marshmallows!" That's all you want for your birthday: Marshmallows. And I can't wait to give them to you.

The day you were born, it was sunny and gorgeous, just like today. I told you that two years ago to the day, you

came out of Mama's belly, a tiny, black-haired little squiggle. And you said, "Noooo - I not a squiggle! I Violet!"

And we laughed about that.
--------------

It is two days past your actual birthday now, Sunday evening. We had all our friends, plus grandparents, uncles, and aunties over for a celebration. You ate your weight in marshmallows. You were a kind and flirty hostess, and you had a great time.

I want to thank you for being so sweet-natured, Violet. Your even-keeled temperament and generous disposition are by far your best qualities (and you have a lot wonderful qualities) - they stand out, even to strangers. Thank you for welcoming all your friends and family into our house with a smile, and sharing all of your new birthday toys without even getting a chance to play with them. Thank you for letting Hazel help you with the wrapping paper. Thank you for being you.

The last few months have been a time of great change - before our eyes, you have become a bonafide kid. You speak in 10 and 12 word sentences now, run like the wind, and have no fear. No fear. You stomp around the house singing "OOOOhhhhh, the life of a pirate for me!" and are happy to play Captain Hook to Hazel's Peter Pan. You read quietly in the corner. You sleep peacefully with your beloved polka dot blankie jammed in your nose , and when you wake up, you beam like the sun. You want to swing "supah high!" at the park. You want to go to preschool with Hazel. You are in love with Wallie. You count to 20 and you sing your ABCs. You love Diego and the Little Einsteins. You love to help me make dinner. You finger paint like a badass. I am amazed by all the things you can do.

It's hard not to think of you as my baby, even though you went so far as to potty train yourself last week, just to prove your independence. "I no want weah dipuh," you announced, after using the potty for the first time on Thursday. So you just... stopped peeing in a diaper. And by Friday, we were taking you around town with no diaper, and no accidents. Who does that?!? We've pumped about a pound of marshmallows in you to as "incentive," but you don't need them. Cuz you're awesome.

-------------------

It is now Monday night. Three days have passed since your birthday, and I am just now getting around to writing about it. I'm sorry, Vi. Sometimes things slip through the cracks, and you don't get the attention I'd like to give you - even on this blog. But I love you so very, very much, and feel so blessed and lucky to have a daughter like you - so peaceful and funny and smart and sassy. I am grateful for you, and unconditional the love you've brought to our family, especially your love for your big sister. You care for Hazel in a way that is miraculous to me, and I thank you for that, Violet. It means more to me than you will ever know. Seeing you imitate her, be patient with her, hang on her every word, and share your treasures with her, melts my heart. Seeing you two girls scheme and giggle and shriek makes me think that I must be doing something right.

Happy Birthday, Violet, and many more to come. Dada, Hazel and I love you so very much; more than you love marshmallows! And that's a lot.

Love,
Mama

My Genius Children

2007-05-04T10:08:00.000-07:00

Hazel is learning how to read: sounding words out, learning which letter combinations make which sounds. She knows what "ch" sounds like, as well as "ou" and "sh," etc. The one that confuses her is "oo" because as often as it sounds like "scoot" it also sounds like "book." You know? Yesterday, she asked:

"Mama? Why does "b-o-o-k" spell "book?" Why doesn't it spell "bouquet?"

Get it?

Boo-k?

Genius!

.
.
.
.
.

Violet decided she's ready to start pottytraining. She's been walking around the house diaper-less for a while now, and asking for a diaper when she's got to go. So, she's got the physical part down. Yesterday, she decided that she had the mental readiness, too, so she sat on the potty and peed. Twice. And twice so far today.

She's not even 2 yet! (7 more days)

Genius!

Sprung

2007-04-02T16:32:00.000-07:00

After an exceptionally mild winter, it is pleasantly surprising that spring has sprung so early in the season. There are flowers and trees in bloom all over the neighborhood, where we've been making the most of warm days with cool breezes running through them - my favorite kind. A light sweatshirt is all we need when we take our evening walk thorough the park. The girls pile into the wagon with their jammies on, and have fun pointing out the cherry blossoms, magnolias, poppies and roses. Our neighbors have fun pointing and smiling at Hazel, who has been wearing bunny ears all day long for the last 3 weeks.

We dyed about a million eggs with friends at a backyard party on Sunday. Hazel and Violet each tried eating one for the first time. I taught them how to peel off the shells, and grind a little salt and pepper onto their plates, to roll the eggs in before chowing down, like I did when I was a kid. We ate some of the eggs sliced on toast points with tapenade last night, and tonight we had a kick-ass salade niçoise. Have you tried Trader Joe's Caribbean popsicles yet? They make a most excellently messerific dessert. We had some of those tonight, as well.

Our next door neighbor is a landscaper, and as Mike and the girls were walking home from the park while I was making dinner, he asked if we would mind taking some of his leftover sod off his hands. I think that was a landscaper's polite way of saying "Please let me help you with your jacked up lawn so I don't have to look at it anymore." So while the girls and I ate our salades and popsicles, Mike and our neighbor installed a new front lawn. It looks really nice. Perfect for kickin' it at dusk, people watching, and popsicle eating.

I love this time of year. Everything seems so fresh and new and full of possibility.

Home (A New Leaf)

2007-03-27T20:50:00.000-07:00

We have been considering leaving California for so long now. Years. It's just so expensive - not just the real estate, but gas, taxes... it takes a lot of money just to be here.

Now we know why. We get it now.

California is amazing. I have a special place in my heart for Northern California, especially, having come here to go to college (1994), then settling here for good in 2000, after traveling around and "finding myself." But I really feel like I've been taking it for granted all these years. I complain about it all the time - how expensive it is, how I've been here "too long," how I hate Silicon Valley "mom culture." But I realized, after our trip to Rochester, how lucky we are to be here.

Nothing against Rochester, of course. It's a lovely town. But it's not for us. If Mike had loved Mayo Clinic, we could have made the city work for us. But he didn't. If we had loved Rochester, but the job prospect was just so-so, we could have made the job work for us. But we didn't. And it took several thousand miles and hours squeezed on an airplane for us to realize that we are home. We have everything we need right here.

Flying into San Jose airport, from flat, brown Minnesota, the fog was rolling off the ocean and into the valley. The sky was blue-gray tinged with red, and the sun had just set. A few stars twinkled in the sky, and the south bay cities winked at us, all glittery lights and stretched out streets. The grass on the tarmac was electric green, and everything felt so bright and fresh and clean that it brought tears to my eyes.

I realized I have been thinking of California in terms of what it's keeping from me, rather that what it has given me, what it gives me still. I realized that I had been thinking that renting, not owning, our house was a kind of personal failure. I think it goes back to having certain expectations of "adulthood" that were arbitrary and naive, yet somehow still burned into my brain. Get married, have kids, buy house, be happy. All of that has happened, except for the buy house part... but for some reason that's been really stressing me out.

It seems like it's a uniquely American thing to stress out about. Thousands of people are defaulting on the mortgages that they stretched themselves to the limit to take on, filing bankruptcy left and right, and yet housing prices are still astronomical. (For all you out of state readers, to wit: the two bedroom, one bathroom, 900 square foot house two doors down from us is currently on the market for $775K. It will sell for more.) By contrast, looking at houses in Rochester seemed like it was too good to be true. We looked at a 5 bedroom, 3 bathroom house with 2 yards and a finished basement for under $200K. I could almost justify uprooting the girls and high tailing it to Minnesota just for that house. It was gorgeous.

But here's the thing: we'd be giving up everything, and everyone, we love, for that house. The best, and best paying job, Mike has ever had. The best friends in the world. Proximity to family. Year round good weather. Diversity. Access to museums, live music, gorgeous hiking, beaches, and two cool cities (SF & SJ), each within 30 minutes of our front door. The rare and, to us, important culture here, that accepts everyone, not matter what their color, background, or fetish. We are so lucky to be raising our girls here, to be a young and active family in the Bay Area. It is truly one of the most vibrant, diverse, exciting, forward-thinking, and beautiful places in the world.

Long story short: we're staying. After much soul-searching and deliberation, Mike and I both arrived at the same conclusion: for now this is where we belong. We agreed that we need a bigger house to make staying here a little less stressful for me. Two kids, two adults, their cat and their crap, are just too much for this dinky little house we're in now. We're thinking seriously about moving further south, to San Jose, where we can have a little more room to spread out. We're excited about exploring a new city in the Bay Area. We're excited about staying here, where we have amazing and wonderful friends who love and support us, and who we value tremendously. We're looking forward to lots more birthday parties, backyard BBQs, playdates, childcare swaps, nights out, double dates and group outings.

I am looking at Northern California with new eyes. And I'm done lamenting our lack of equity - the housing market is beyond my control. I am done plotting our escape - where could we go to top this place? I am done with expectations of adulthood that are not based in reality - my life is blessed, and I don't need more than what I have to feel complete, and worthy.

I am home. And I am at peace with that. And it feels really, really good.

Our First Vacation In Five Years...

2007-03-14T16:14:00.000-07:00

... without the kids. Five years! And we're going to Minnesota. Where it will be snowing and in the 30's. And you know what? WE. DON'T. EVEN. CARE!!!

Mike's flying out a day ahead of me to check into a possible job in Rochester, which, by all accounts, seems like a pretty cool city: Less than an hour from Minneapolis/St. Paul, home to the Mayo Clinic, tons of really cool and affordable homes, and lovely people (if the people we know from Rochester are any indication of how kind the townsfolk are). I fly out on Friday, and our plan is to tool around the town on Saturday, check out some houses, and have dinner with friends. Sunday morning we'll brunch and tool around some more, then we'll come home late Sunday night.

Short and sweet, I know. But honestly? The flight alone - six blissful hours with only my book, my iPod and unlimited cocktails - will be a vacation for me. My mom is in town to stay with the girls, and I don't think they'll even notice we're gone.

But I will.

Letter To A Sick Girl

2007-02-16T21:18:00.000-08:00

Dear Hazel,

Today you are sick. Your cheeks are bright pink with fever, and you have a cough that sounds so bad, it makes my chest hurt. You had to miss your preschool's Chinese New Year celebration, which really disappointed you - you were really looking forward to those chocolate coins and dragon puppets.

On days like today, when you are achy and tired and extra sensitive, I am reminded of how little you truly are. You seem so mature most of the time, so full of opinions and ideas and youthful exuberance. But today you are wilted and pale. Today your big, brown eyes are glassy, instead of sparkly. Today you said, "Mama, will you please hold me?" So I did.

Because you and your sister are both napping everyday again, we had to go out to buy a pack n' play this morning. Getting you both to sleep, in the middle of the day, in the same room, has proved to be impossible. You were a good sport about shopping, but instead of skipping ahead of the basket like you usually do, you sat inside of it, legs crossed, quiet. When we passed a display of cowgirl boots on clearance, and I saw a tiny spark in your eyes, we both smiled. You sure can work a pair of black and teal butterfly cowgirl boots, girl, I'll tell you what.

When we got home, you went peacefully off to sleep. When you woke up, you felt well enough to watch a movie and drink some tea. By the time Dada came home, you were feeling well enough to go out for a "flashlight walk" in the dark. So we did. (I'm sorry the flashlight batteries were dead). You wore your princess nightgown, stripey tights, your new cowgirl boots, and a purple headband with a giant red bow tied on the top, Minnie Mouse-style. We could tell you were feeling better because you skipped a little. And you told me about how "cowgirls ride horses and horsegirls ride cows."

Sometimes it's hard for me to remember how little you are, because you are such a huge presence in my life - your chirpy voice, your loud, crazy outfits, your jokes and songs and made-up games ring in my ears from sun up to sun down. But days like today, when you are soft and still, I see how vulnerable and tiny and new you are. And the love that I have for you rises up in my throat, and catches behind my eyes, and I ache from its intensity. For you, I have a love that is so deep and wide, I'm not sure where it ends and I begin.

I hope you feel better soon, Hazel. But if you are still sick tomorrow, and you need me to rub your back, or make you your favorite noodle soup, or read you an extra story, I will be happy to do it. I will be there. Always.

Love,
Mama

Happy Valentine's Day!

2007-02-14T14:32:00.000-08:00

Ahh, Valentine's Day. That media induced holiday which dictates that my hubz buys me some flowers and the girls get jacked up beyond belief on candy hearts and chocolate kisses.

We don't really make a big deal of V-Day in the Salad family. Mike tells me that he loves me at least 5 times every day, and I don't need no stinkin' card to remind me. So, the girls and I will be making this for our very low-key Valentine's Day dinner. And I'm just going to pretend that they didn't get a year's worth of sugar at the preschool V-Day party this morning, and make some triple fudge brownies for dessert. Then Mike and I will settle in with a bottle of wine to watch this, and then.... well. We'll see where it goes from there.

Wishing everyone a lovely, lovey, Valentine's Day!

XOXOXOX

More.

2007-02-12T09:05:00.000-08:00

I never identified as a "hipster," until yesterday.

I do not define myself through what I wear, or what I buy, but just like everybody else, I am guilty of wearing and buying things that fit my definition of "cool." But we live in a consumer culture, and while I rail against it on the inside, I fall victim to it more than I care to admit. I wear Chuck Taylors. I buy Gap jeans. My kids wear funky, crazy tights, Misfits onesies, and get pushed around in a well made stroller.

By its current definition, that does make me a hipster.

Okay.

I've been called worse.

Yesterday, I was attacked online, both personally, and as a contributing writer of Strollerderby. Called names. Made fun of. Insulted. And I felt compelled to defend myself, and my choices. I could've just ignored the comments, and jibes, I suppose, but I chose not to. I jumped into the altogether pointless and downright mean "conversation," because I felt like I was being accused: accused of being a bad parent, of being a thoughtless consumer, and of being less that what I am.

I spent the better part of my day yesterday thinking about who and what I am, exactly. And all I could come up with is this: I am more than just one thing. I am more than a lifestyle or a demographic. I am bursting with contradictions, opinions and passions. I am less than perfect. I am a beautiful mess.

I can see how someone who does not know me in real life could get an impression of me by reading Strollerderby. I write snarky posts about celebrities, and make fun of stupid people for being caught doing stupid things. But that's my job. I get paid to crank the sarcasm up, and engage readers in conversations like "New Mom Jen Garner Thinks She's Fat: Discuss!," and to debate things like a federally mandated HPV vaccine for young girls. I like my job - but I'm more than that.

I can see how someone who does not know me in real life, but reads this blog, could form an opinion of me based on what I write about my life as a woman, post childbirth. Let's see: I breastfed my kids until they were almost 2; My 4 year old daughter only recently stopped sharing a bed with her parents; We had a loving pet pit bull in our home for 6 years; We take our kids to protests and concerts; I swear a lot, and sometimes, I ignore my kids in favor of spending a little quality time alone. Depending on what your take is, I could be called a hippie, a hipster, an attachment parent, a careless parent, a mommyblogger, a pushover, a lactivist, a foul mouthed knee-jerk liberal, an asshole, a freak, or housewife. But I'm more than that.

Some people call Salad Days "an exploitation" of my children, a way to get attention, a badge of my status as a (insert insult here). I call it a chronicle of this amazing time in my life, and my family's life. When I started it, no one read it but family, and the word "blogosphere," was not in my vocabulary. Through it, I have made friends, shared heartache and joy, told intimate secrets, learned some valuable lessons, and discovered pieces of myself that I didn't know I had. Yes, I am a blogger, and proud of it. But I'm more than that.

Yesterday's discussion of the TIME piece, and Strollerderby, and me, took me back to high school. It was bizarre. It took me back to a time when everything and everyone was labeled and categorized - if you were this, you weren't that, and if you weren't that, you had to be this. There was no grey area, no room for more than one interest, belief or defining characteristic. It took me back to when a time when I had no idea who I was, so I was a little bit of everything, and nothing.

But now, twenty years later, I've got better things to think about; I have two young girls to raise up. And I have the self-awareness and chutzpah to tell people who make assumptions about me to go fuck themselves. People who don't like who they think I am are just ignorant. People who think they can define me based on their own perceptions of mothers, women and the word "cool" will get it wrong every time.

I'll never be just one thing - ever. I'll always be a mess of ideas, dreams, plans, contradictions and compliments. I'll always be changing and growing. No one word will ever accurately describe me. Because I am more than that.

Good Things

2007-02-07T15:05:00.000-08:00

So far, 31 is a nice age to be. Everyone in the house is over their cold/ickyness. Mike is home from Japan, and over the jeg-lag. And we got a new reading chair in the living room, which is bright red, which I love.

I'm blogging a lot over at Strollerderby, and really enjoying it. It is strangely liberating to have a legitimate excuse for ignoring the kids. Also, after four years? It feels pretty good to bringing home some bacon. I'm loving Babble, too - even if I wasn't working for them, I'd be reading it every day - it's just cool. A little (self-promoting) taste:

The Family Bed: I'm Over It - And Now, So Is She!

Personae Urbana

Katie Holmes Is A Freak

I'm also going to be posting at Silicon Valley Moms Blog and Maya's Mom, soon - so check them out! This blogging gig is suddenly, unexpectedly, turning into something more than just a pleasant diversion; it's something I love to do. I didn't realize it, but I'd been missing that. I've missed having, and doing, something that's for me, that's mine. All mine.

Hazel's preschool class has started dividing into "kindergarten groups," doing more concentrated and specific activities involving simple math or comprehension skills, in preparation for kindergarten. She loves it. She says "it's more like real school!" which tells me that she may be more ready for kindergarten than we thought. She has grown visibly taller than all but one of her friends, and is trying to grow her hair down to her butt. She wants to start taking singing lessons. She's so... big.

Violet's vocabulary has exploded; she's speaking in 4 and 5 word sentences now! She makes little jokes, and sings songs. She comes to me crying and says "Bonk my head, Mama," and she comes to me laughing, saying "'Hazel hide, me seek!" She refers to her self as Violetta ("Dilleta") and she says something new, and charming, every day.

Right now, life is really good. Mellow, quiet, restful. Everyone is happy. And that's a good thing.

Three Days In Review, Three More To Go

2007-01-30T21:54:00.000-08:00

Dan Zanes concert Saturday. Awesome.

Hosted dinner party Sunday. Fabulous.

Mike left for Japan Monday.

Both girls come down with colds.

Got 4 hours of sleep Sunday, and five Monday.

Blood in Sadie's poop.

Visit to the vet.

Cat has colitis. Or is stressed from living with nutjob and her kids.

Either way - $150, please.

Violet stuffed a raisin in her ear Monday afternoon.

Visit to the emergency clinic.

Sorry, no room.

Visit to other emergency clinic.

Either the raisin is lodged in kid's brain, or she liiiiiiiied to me.

Good friend visited from Baltimore. I accidentally locked him out Monday night. He slept outside in the car. It was 42 degrees.

Dishwasher still full of dishes from Sunday night dinner party.

Girls haven't bathed since Friday night.

Barely got friend to the airport in time for flight home Tuesday morning.

Love that carpool lane.

Dropped girls off with equally tired and frazzled mama friend for 2 hours. Went out for coffee and Wellbutrin. Exhaled.

Plan for the next three days:

"Snow day" at preschool.

Buy some fucking mittens.

Check up on raisin situation with pediatrician.

Dose Sadie with monster pill.

Treat scratches/bites I am sure to receive.

Babysit equally tired and frazzled mama friend's kids Thursday.

Have dinner with other tired, frazzled friends Thursday night.

Flake on Thursday night dinner plans Thursday afternoon.

Pick Mike up Friday morning.

Turn 31 on Saturday.

Sleep.

From The Mouths of My Babes

2007-01-25T16:01:00.000-08:00

The girls and I just returned from a six day SoCal extravaganza. I'm happy to be home - the girls don't sleep well when we're away, and when they don't sleep, I don't sleep, since we share a room at my parents' house. And we all really missed Sadie, too - I swear, she's grown noticeably in just six days. But it's always so hard to say goodbye to our family. No visit is ever long enough. I miss them already.

We flew down to visit with my brother, Wyatt, who has just returned from his first Marine deployment (he was in Asia). It was so good to see him (and speaking of growing, guess who's seriously buff now?). We had a fun, relaxing time. I forgot to take my camera, and missed countless adorable moments with the great grandparents, the Saint Bernard puppy and the uncles, but I stored the verbal highlights of the trip here in the Simm card of my brain.

Hazel to Violet, on the flight down, really, really loudly:
"Violet, sit like a lady, so everyone can't see YOUR VAGINA!"

Violet, to me, while knocking on Uncle Kyle's bedroom door, sadly:
"Unca Ky-ah, wuk. Home tsoon?" Translation: Uncle Kyle's at work. Is he coming home soon? Note: Longest sentence ever!

Hazel, to me, on the flight home, really, really loudly:
"Mama, are toots hiccups in our BUTTS?"

Violet, to no one in particular:
"'Adie, home. Mitt huh." Translation: Sadie's at home. I miss her.

Hazel, to me, about Violet's outfit:
"She looks like a happy elf waitress!" Note: An inspired description of Vi's outfit, indeed. I'll wash it and post a pic soon.

And Sadie Makes Five.

2007-01-14T14:21:00.000-08:00

Mike and I have been talking for a few months about getting a new family pet. We decided on a cat for a few reasons: dogs are too much work (especially if we're going to be moving this year), bunnies need more outside space than we have, and birds freak me the hell out. Ferrets, mice and hamsters are absolutely non-negotiable. But cats are low-key, independent, and quiet. Plus, Hazel's been asking for one since she could talk. While I've always been more of a dog person, Mike has always loved cats, and he did a good job of convincing me that we could give a needy kitten a good home.

Yesterday, for no real reason, we decided make it happen. We took a trip down to the pet store, without cluing the girls in to what was going on. We bought a copy of "Kittens for Dummies," and figured out what we would need to buy before bringing a kitty home. By the time we'd loaded the litter, litter box, scooper, scratching post, toys, treats and food, into the shopping basket, Hazel had pieced it all together. "Are we... are we getting a cat?!?" she gasped. She could barely contain her joy.

We hauled all the cat booty home, and Haze and I got to work making a "safe space" for our kitten-to-be in the bedroom closet. We set out the bowls and made her a bed and talked about possible names. When Violet went down for her afternoon nap, Haze and I set out for the Humane Society.

We found Sadie almost immediately. There was a fat, grey 2-year-old cat named Marshmallow that I thought was sweet. There was a to' up, 16-year-old named Piper that Hazel fell hard for. But then we spotted Sadie (then known as "Flair"). She was curled up in her little cage, with her back to us. When we went over to get a better look, she immediately started purring and rubbing against our fingers, licking us and pawing sleepily. Her paperwork said she's been there a month. We knew she wouldn't be there a day longer.

We brought Sadie home and immediately put her in her "safe room." Within an hour, she was lying on her back, basking in the love of Hazel and Violet, letting them stroker her belly, her tail, her chin. She blended in perfectly from the start, and seemed to be really happy to have a constant source of lovin'. After going through a few names, we decided that Sadie fit her well, and she didn't protest, though Hazel made it well known she, personally, preferred "Flair". (No way, kid). She slept curled up in the crook of Mike's neck and when Hazel crawled into our bed in the middle of the night, Sadie scooted over to make room.

Today, a few issues have emerged, but overall, Sadie is a joy to have around. No problems learning where the litter box is, no problems eating, no problems with the loud little girls that fawn all over her. In fact, she seems to relish the attention, and has seemingly unlimited patience. Even I, the dog person if the family, absolutely adore her.

Sadie The Kitty Lady. Welcome to the family.

Disney: Out. Miyazaki: In.

2007-01-12T15:31:00.000-08:00

Hazel is not one for Disney movies. Dead mothers freak her out. Evil witches? Don't even go there. She loves the princess characters, and stories, but the movies she just can't handle. She loves the special qualities of each princess - Belle's bravery, Cinderella's generosity, Snow White's kindness - but she needs her T.V. time to be relaxing and mellow, not exciting and stressful.

Though Hazel's aversion to the Disney movies is a major plus for me (I freaking hate those lame movies), she's starting to feel a little left out when her friends talk about them, or want to watch them.

My solution to this Disney conundrum has been to introduce her to the magical, wonderful films of Hayao Miyazaki. His films are fantastical, mystical and good-natured. Two of our favorites are My Neighbor Totoro and Kiki's Delivery Service. Both stories feature brave, adventurous female leads and nary a dead relative in sight. Totoro chronicles the adventures of two young sisters who overcome adversity, with the help of magical forrest creatures. Kiki tells the tale of a young witch who sets out, at 13, to find her special place in the world. Spirited Away is next in our Netflix queue. There's also Whisper of the Heart, Princess Mononoke, The Cat Returns, and many more.

Hazel loves being able to introduce these characters to her friends who haven't heard of them. As I type this, she is "flying" around on a broomstick, pretending to be Kiki. Violet is perched on the back, dutifully representing Kiki's faithful black cat, Gigi. I love that she's "delivering" the folded laundry to our bedrooms, instead of pretending to get married. Not that there's anything wrong with that... but, you know. The girls in Miyazaki's stories aren't waiting to be rescued, or yearning for their "true love" (whatever that is) - they're taking charge of their destiny! They're making their own way, on their own terms. Imagine that!

Miyazaki. Check him out. Highly recommended by the Salad Family.

Calling All Armchair Activists: Speak Out Against "Escalation" In Iraq

2007-01-10T09:12:00.000-08:00

It's easier than ever to speak out against the war, the current administration, and the likely plan to send 20,000 more troops, including my baby brother, to Iraq. Won't you please take quick hop over to MoveOn, and sign the petitions they've created? Better yet, let me help you:

Sign a petition addressed to the Congress, against additional troops going to Iraq here.

There are anti-'escalation' rallies being organized all over country. Find one near you here.

After the voters, study group and generals all called for an end to this war, President Bush is still going ahead with his pig-headed agenda to send more troops to the middle east as early as this month. Congress can stop them, with our help. Please help.

Welcome, 2007! Please Don't Be As Weird As 2006, OK? Seriously.

2007-01-02T16:40:00.000-08:00

Happy 2007, friends!

It's the year of the Boar, the year I will turn 31 (in just a few weeks!), and the year that we will more than likely move out of California for good. The (almost) last year of the Bush administration, the first year without Hosie. The little year that could.

I bid 2006 goodbye with less than a heavy heart. '06 was a harsh mistress, and I am more than ready to kick that bitch to the curb. She did bring us a few happy moments, though, so here, in no special order, is my "Top 10 of 2006" list.

1. Seeing Jeff Tweedy at The Fillmore. Great set, great show, great guy. Have you checked out the DVD yet? Seeing The Flaming Lips at The Greek was cool too, except for the part when I thought I was dying.

2. Turning 30. I'm so totally a grown-up now!

3. Watching Violet grow from a roly-poly baby, into a bright and sunny and slightly crazy toddler. She is such a handful... of joy.

4. Getting my new tattoo. Finally!

5. Our group vacation to Balsam Lake, WI. You know you've got friends worth hanging on to, when they change your kid's soggy morning diaper, teach you how to sail, and still want to hang with you after spending 9 straight days with you and your high-maintenance kids in a one bathroom cabin.

6. "Borat - Cultural Learnings of America For Make Benefit Glorious Nation Kazakhstan." My favorite movie of the year and, for a longtime Sacha Baron Cohen junkie, a proud moment as a fan. High five!

7. Seeing Hazel shed the last of her toddler skin, and stretch into a tall, strong, bonafide big kid. Amazing.

8. Getting jiggy wit' a new job. Working from home - it's the new black.

9. Seeing "Charlotte's Web" in the movie theater with Hazel - her first theater experience. Having seen the old video version, and read the book by E.B. White, Haze and I were both thrilled to see a fresh take on the one of our favorite stories. She ate two hot dogs and sat on my lap the whole time. Best Mama-Hazel date ever.

10. Another year of health and togetherness for our family and, hopefully, for yours.

And now... in with the new!

Holiday Wishes from The Salad Family

2006-12-20T15:00:00.000-08:00

Friday morning we're roadtripping to SoCal for the holidays. I've stocked up on plenty of diversions, and if you want to know exactly how we roll, you can check it out here. Yes, I just linked to my own article. Booyah!

The girls are getting one present each this year. I can almost hear Violet shouting "'Ego! 'Ego!!" as she runs towards hers as fast as her tiny legs can carry her. I can almost hear Hazel's sharp intake of breath when she sees hers, and the cries of "Oooohhh, it's beautiful!" that will follow. I can't wait.

I'd like wish you and yours the happiest of holidays, and a peaceful and joy-filled 2007.

See you next year!

Mama's Got A New Jobby-Job!

2006-12-11T21:10:00.000-08:00

My first job since the birth of Hazel, over four years ago.

Heyyyyy-oh!

I have the pleasure of being part of an amazing and hilarious group of writers at a new online magazine and parenting community called Babble. The site launches tomorrow (Wednesday, 12/13). Come check us out - especially the StrollerDerby section. ;)

See you there!

Little Big Girl (Vi at 19 months)

2006-12-09T08:19:00.000-08:00

File under "blog as baby book"...

Someone is in a big hurry to grow up around here. Someone is amazing her parents, with her knowledge of colors and her ability to count. Someone up and decided to wean herself this week, thus leaving babyhood forever, and crossing over into the land of independence.

Violet loves to point out colors. She'll make known to all within earshot, apropos of nothing, that the sweater you are wearing is "geen." Or that her own shoes are "wed." And she'll be right! Yesterday, she amazed Patti and I during preschool pickup, by pointing out that the Mickey Mouse doll she was holding was wearing white gloves. Just to test her, Patti asked Violet what color her (white) sweater was. Violet hesitated for a split-second, as if sensing the test, and answered, with confidence "wh-aat!" Brilliant! She can also, without prompting, recite numbers one through ten, though she can only conceptualize two. She loves to point out Mike's two eyes. "One, two eyes!" she says. "One, two ee-yahs (ears)."

"Go, Diego, Go!" is the show du jour around here, and Vi now recognizes various exotic animals on sight - the scarlet macaw, the llama, the anaconda, the humpback whale - and can tell you what they say. (Someone is going to freak out when she opens her "Go, Diego, Go! Talking Rescue Pack" on Christmas morning!) She'll often walk around the house with her shirt hiked up, "nursing" a plastic giraffe, or plush kitten.

The normal, but annoying, toddler antics of yore, have been curtailed by Vi's understanding of how things work around here. She knows she's expected to wait her turn for something, and that she won't get it by screaming. She knows how to eat with a spoon and fork. She knows enough to shout "me, me, me!" when I ask who's ready for a bath. She also knows enough to shout "mine, mine, mine!" when she's not ready to concede a doll or toy to Hazel, who is starting to treat Violet more as an equal, and less like a chump that she can just railroad into submission. The two girls are becoming fast friends, and play together better than ever before.

People are often surprised when they find out that Violet is 19 months old, as she outweighed by most 12 month olds, but she's fast making up for her slight stature, with her big personality. She'll say "hi", with a little wave, to anyone who makes eye contact with her. She's a commando at the park, braving huge climbing structures and twisty slides without batting an eyelash, and swinging on the big kid swings.

I often worried, when Violet was a baby, that we would be stuck in the land of early bedtimes and toy wars forever. But as the girls grow, and begin to understand more than just what's going on inside our house, they also understand that they have true allies, and friends, in each other. It makes my heart feel like it's going to explode.

The Annoying Holiday Card.

2006-11-30T14:19:00.000-08:00

It is next to impossible to get a halfway decent picture of the two girls together. Harder than getting them to share, even.

Our digital camera is loaded with candid solo shots, Hazel-hamming-it-up shots, Violet gazing adoringly at the Christmas tree shots (right before she lunges maniacally for an ornament, any ornament within reach, please Mama, just this once I wanna touch it, PLEASE!) -- but every time I try to get the two of them in the same frame for one second, they turn into a couple of gorrillas.

I'm not asking them to sit on Santa's lap and pose -- Hazel's horrified expression at the mere suggestion of such an offense told me not to press the issue. I'm not tricking them out in velvet and tulle, and asking them to sit on a rocking chair before a fake fire backdrop, because I hate those posed, "precious" shots. Hell, I'm not even asking them to comb their hair or wash their faces - why start now? All I'm asking for is one photo in which they do not look like drunken frat boys; mouths wide open, at least one of them with their eyes half shut, little bodies swaying, blurry, shirtless.

But the minute they see me angling for a shot of them in the bathtub, or trying to preserve on film the blessed quiet moments that they spend on the couch together watching "Go, Diego, Go!", it's all over. Violet jumps up and insists on looking through the viewfinder, yelling "Me! Mine! My pic-tuh! ME!" Hazel immediately channels JonBenet Ramsay, spreading her arms out wide and cocking her head, a fake "aw shucks, aren't I the cutest?!" smile plastered on her face.

I love the natural shots, the casual moments captured by sheer chance, but damn, those don't come easy. If they're not blurry, they're too dark, and if they're not too dark, someone gets nudged out of the frame, or they've got something suspicious coming out of their nose. Nothing says "happy holidays" like a snapshot of Violet licking the snot off her cheek, right?

Worst case scenario: I'll get 'em while they're sleeping. Best case? I'll get my shit together in November next year, and hire someone who knows what they're doing.

Happy Thanksgiving!

2006-11-22T15:11:00.000-08:00

From a couple of turkeys...

Skinny Jeans: Who wears this shit?

2006-11-21T20:28:00.000-08:00

Yesterday while Hazel was at preschool, I loaded Violet into the stroller, bribed her with a lollipop, and frittered the precious preschool hours away at Old Navy.

I was searching for a pair of "good" jeans. Meaning that I'm the kind of girl for whom "dressing up" means wearing dark rinse jeans and ballet flats... maybe a scarf if I'm feeling super fancy. And you know what? I found them. Size 10 regulars, dark rinse, bootcut, with a little of the stretchy stuff. And they were on sale for $20!

Why I didn't just stop there, I don't know.

Feeling thin (size 10!) and happy ($20!), I decided to check out the rest of the sale denim, and this is how I came to try on this season's "must have" item: the skinny jean.

First of all, don't be fooled by the name. The skinny jean does not, in fact, make you look skinny. Oh no. The skinny jean makes a mockery of the thighs -- thighs that you admired, just minutes before, in the dark rinse bootcut jean -- rendering them squat and sausage-like. Gone is the mood-enhancing hip-to-foot balancing effect of the ankle skimming bootcut, having been replaced by scrunched up denim legwarmers cowering below my knees. The long, lean and pleasing silouhette of the bootcut becomes a distant memory, as I stand cursing my dressing room reflection, and all it's stumpy, bulgy imperfections.

Oh, and "ultra" low rise? Please. Don't even get me started on that. Why do we need that? Who does "ultra" low rise look good on? Fourteen year old mall skanks and Gwyneth Paltrow, that's who. F that.

I'm sticking with the bootcut, thank you very much. And I'm not shopping for jeans again until the skinny jean trend goes back to the 80's, where it belongs.

"Little Children": See This Film Now.

2006-11-20T08:20:00.000-08:00

My wonderful, kind and caring husband came home from work Tuesday night with a big surprise for me: He was taking the whole day off from work on Wednesday, so I could have a little "me" time.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I have a good man. The best man.

So Wednesday morning, I sprang joyfully out of bed (a far cry from what I usually do, which is drag my grumpy ass from the bed to the couch, where the aforementioned practically perfect man serves me coffee), showered and drove Hazel to preschool. From 9:15 a.m. on, I was a single gal in the city. I ate, I thrifted in the Mission, I shopped for books downtown and little girls slippers in Chinatown, and - are you ready for the best part? - I saw a movie. At 12:20 on a Wednesday afternoon. It was just me and a retired, sixtysomething hippy couple, and it was awwwwwesome.

Little Children is one of those rare films that is so good -- so seamless, and well-paced, and superbly acted -- that it actually transcends the material from which it came (in this case, Tom Perotta's novel of the same name, which was quite good as well). The main characters, Sarah and Brad, are so easy to relate to, so human and flawed. They are both living on cruise control, surprised and a little disappointed by where their lives have taken them. Their extramarital affair keeps the pace of the movie flowing, but it is their inner transformations, their gradual shifts in perspective as human beings, that is it's heart.

Kate Winslet plays Sarah, a stay-at-home-mom who has a hard time relating to her daughter, and no close friends, and no idea how to live the life she's in. If you've ever had one of those "I love my life, but how did I end up here?" moments, as I have, you will love this character, and wish her well. She is not idealized, as mothers often are in films, nor is she criminalized for not being an ideal mom. I appreciated the frank and forthright way in which this character is depicted. I felt a kinship with her immediately, and the fact that she is played by the glorious Kate Winslet, makes her even more appealing. Patrick Wilson plays Brad, a gorgeous stay-at-home-dad isolated by a world of moms, who find him threatening and unnerving -- as does his own wife. Jackie Earl Haley plays Ronnie, a convicted sex felon who's just moved back into this suburban neighborhood, and, ironically, the only "child" in the story who is loved, unconditionally.

Each of the central characters reaches a breaking point at the climax of the film, which is both hopeful and sad, and underlines the real message of this story: you can't change the past, but you can change the future -- and the future has to start somewhere. Words to take to heart.

If you have any free time this holiday weekend, and a willing babysitter, or a partner who is as good to you as mine is to me, go see it! It's absolutely worth it.

Thoughts on a cold November day.

2006-11-07T15:10:00.000-08:00

So much has been going here on lately. Birthday madness, Halloween madness, Mike went to Japan and came back, we had several family members visiting.... and we've all been sick, sick, sick. I've had little time, or inclination, to sit down and blog about it all, until this afternoon...
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Halloween 2006: After changing her mind about a kajillion times, Hazel decided to be "Belle" for Halloween, after my visiting grandpa bought her a much-coveted "Belle dress" at Target. This, according to Hazel, necessitated that Violet be Tinkerbelle (or Stinkerbelle, as we called her). After wearing her costume for 5 days prior to Halloween, Hazel was totally over it, and insisted on wearing her turtle leggings and fleece pullover on Halloween night instead. When told she wouldn't be able to trick or treat without a costume, she sighed heavily "Fine", and grudgingly shucked her dress on. Stinkerbelle was decked out in fairy wings, a faux fur jacket, punk rock shoes and stripey tights. Here's a late (and bad) pic:

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Midterm Elections: Because I knew Schwarzenegger would win, I voted green this year, as I do most every year. It felt right. I always get nervous on my way to vote, like something is going to happen where everyone at the precinct finds out that I shouldn't be there, that I didn't register, or committed some heinous crime unwittingly, and kick me out. But it was fine. And what amazing results: The house, the senate, and Nancy Pelosi -- and now Rumsfeld's fascist ass gets kicked to the curb! I haven't felt this optimistic in years.
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Allergies: We finally got Hazel in to see the allergy specialist, and it turns out that she has severe allergies to both grass and dust. The doctor put her on a nasal inhaler, prescribed Claratin for when she needs it (Spring, mostly), and gave me a list of mind-numbing chores to bang out, which boils down to me having to vacuum, dust, wash, cleanse and wipe every square inch of the girls' bedroom, at least once each week. Now, anyone who knows me knows that I'm anal about certain aspects of housekeeping, but only because we live in such a tiny space. I hate clutter and dirty carpet, but everything else can, and pretty much does, slide. But not anymore. Time to introduce Hazel to the concept of chores! Anyone else have a 4 year old with a chore list? How does it work in your house?
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Moving: Mike and I are caught between our love of Northern California, and our lack of millions of dollars. We love the Bay Area, we love Northern California, and we would be sad to have to leave -- but it's crazy expensive here ($700K for a 2 bedroom house. No, seriously). For what we pay to rent our dinky little bread box, we could be be paying a mortgage on something much nicer, practically anywhere we want to go. The catch is, of course, that Silicon Valley is where all the job opportunities are for Mike, and as long as we're going to be a single income family, we need to be where he can get good, interesting work. While trying to figure out if it's financially smart for us to stay here, we're also looking around, planning some trips, and trying to figure out where else we may want to go. Any suggestions?
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Extended Breast feeding: Yesterday, Violet hit the 18-month mark, and she's still nursing. Happily. While she was sick, she was nursing pretty much all day long, and I was so happy to be able to give that to her. I know it contributed to her quick recovery. Hazel was weaned by the time she was 15 months old, and although it was a gradual process, it was very hard on her. I think that was due to her personality, as much as it was to her age, but still; I felt a lot of guilt. Not wanting to repeat that experience with Violet, I've made no attempt to wean her so far, at all. I've been watching her cues and dropping feedings here and there, picking some of them back up again as needed, and not thinking about it too much. This approach is working for us very well. But I still can't quite believe I'm nursing an 18-month-old! Where'd my baby go?
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Nursing Mother's Council: Speaking of breast feeding, guess who's going to be a trained, certified lactation consultant? Me! My course, through the San Mateo Nursing Mothers Council, starts in January. I'm so excited. Breast feeding has been such a powerful and wonderful experience for me -- I'm really looking forward to helping new mamas have the best nursing experience possible. It's something I can see myself doing for a long time.
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And that's what I've been thinking about on this cold November day.

Four

2006-10-29T19:56:00.000-08:00

Dear Hazel,

Happy Birthday! Today you are four. You. Are. Four!

You are so big! Every ounce of your toddler plumpness has stretched and curved into muscle and grace; I love watching your long legs swish on the playground, and your thin arms fold into themselves in your sleep. You are tall and wispy and strong as a tree.

You are so present, Hazel -- wherever you are, you are there, 100 percent. Nothing gets by you. You take in everything, everywhere we go -- sights, smells, sounds. It is amazing, to watch you navigate this life so deliberately, so intensely. You are, at four years old, a student of the world.

You talk regularly about how lucky you are, to have your friends. You love them so much. Every day, during Violet's nap, you embark upon elaborate art projects, each one dedicated "to Molly and Maddy, my best friends." You and Daisy have a new tradition of hugging hello. You call Alice your "baby friend" and you hug and kiss her freely each time you see her. You make them so many cards, paintings, drawings and collages. You call them on the phone. They are your family. You adore them, and it is just a joy to see.

You and your little sister are becoming better friends every day, too. You play together, and scheme together (Violet is always a willing accomplice), and talk each other to sleep. Violet is always hot on your heels, and some days you love that, others, not so much. You love and pester each other, you push and kiss, kick and cuddle. I feel so happy that you will always have each other.

You are full of opinions, and "why?"s, full of reasons and questions. You love to argue. You love to challenge. You talk, and talk, and talk... and talk... and you are always thinking. You are four going on twenty-four, and you have the self-awareness of someone three times that age. You are, above all else, your own person. You are a firecracker. You are awesome.

Together, you and your sister are the heart and soul of our family, and we love watching you grow, and change, and learn. With each passing year, you are more beautiful, and more fun.

Dada, Violet and I wish you the happiest of birthdays, you big, growing-up girl, and many happy returns.

I love you, Hazel! You're four!

Love,
Mama

Feel Good Friday

2006-10-06T09:21:00.000-07:00

In the spirit of spewing happiness and light (see previous post), here are ten things that have me feeling good today:

1. The rain! The fog! The highs in the 60s! I'm in heaven...

2. Floradix. I've only been taking it a week, but I swear, I can feel it working. Hazel's taking it, too, and I've noticed her energy level is picking up, which is good.

3. The YMCA. Yesterday I took the girls to the (free!!) childcare room for the first time. Hazel smiled and waved when I told her it was time for my pilates class to start, and Violet just looked at me and shrugged. They both got upset when I came back an hour and a half later to take them home, because they didn't want to leave. Amazing. I'm sore from the pilates, but in a virtuous, feel-good kind of way.

4. The Yeah Yeah Yeahs. My new favorite band. Went to see them last weekend and can't stop raving about them. Karen O is mezmerizing.

5. Kashi's new line of Tasty Little Cookies. Specifically, the Oatmeal Raisin with Flax variety, which have more fiber, protein and whole grain, than a bowl of hippie health cereal. I let the girls eat them for breakfast this morning!

6. Rainboots. Not only that I actually need some, but that $20 buys me some that look like this. Cool, right?

7. Halloween. It is now seasonally appropriate for me to be listening to "The Nightmare Before Christmas" soundtrack, so I'm wearing a groove in my decade-old CD. I gave Hazel her first "who's who in Halloweentown" lesson last week. Felt good. On a slight downer of a sidenote, she's decided to be Cinderella for Halloween this year. *Sigh* I tried talking her into being Laura Ingalls (starring Violet as the little bulldog, Jack), but it was a no-go. Those goddamn Disney princesses are the bain of my existance. We're going to try to make Violet into an Edward Gorey character, since she reminds us so much of one, anyway.

8. Ramona Sarsgaard. Maggie Gyllenhall and Peter Sarsgaard, my favorite indie-actor couple, named their newborn daughter Ramona. Aghghhhhhh, so cute!

9. The Office. Best half hour on television, hands down. Actually, I'm probably not qualified to say that, since it's the only half-hour of television I watch all week, but it's so, so funny. I've been crushing on Steve Carell since "The 40 Year Old Virgin" came out.

10. Date night. Tonight, Mike and I are going out for Lebanese food, then to see "The Departed." Even if they both suck, which I know they won't, I'll be happy just to be out on the town with my man.

Happy weekending, everyone!

Molly & Wallie

2006-10-02T13:58:00.000-07:00

I'm done spewing bitterness and bile on this blog. Done. Fin! Want to see something happy and cute for a change?

Check out this awesome Magna Doodle creation Hazel was hard at work on this morning, on our way to Trader Joe's. Molly is the one "with the loooooooooong hair." And that's Wallie, "with the cute face."

As for the letters, they are scattered in what appears to be a haphazard fashion, all about the picture. But Hazel explained that, "the 'o-l-l-y' is all around, because the 'm' can make it say 'Molly', and the 'w' can make it say 'Wallie.' 'Cuz 'Molly' and 'Wallie' rhyme! See, Mama?! See?!"

Genius!

I'm in a funk.

2006-09-29T15:12:00.000-07:00

The last couple of weeks have been none too special around these parts. I'm in a definite funk, which took root sometime in June I think, and has been sprouting in my brain ever since.

I've noticed in the last year that seasonal shifts are really hard for me. So, that's part of it. I feel like I'm in a holding pattern during these times, when we're not quite out of the summer yet, and not quite into the fall. I anxiously anticipate fall every year, it's my favorite season. But this year, I feel like if it doesn't come soon -- if we have just one more fucking heatwave -- I'll just... I don't know. I feel like I just won't make it.

I'm slightly less emotional than I was the week after we lost Hosie, but I think I'm still a little depressed. I'm always tired, even first thing in the morning. Even after my fourth cup of coffee. Maybe I need to take Patti's advice, and stock up on Floradix. It can't hurt.

Sometimes, after studying my face for a couple of seconds, Hazel will say "Is that your sad face? Are you going to cry?" Then she'll come in for a hug and say "I know you miss Hosie, Mama. It's O.K. Maybe we can get a cat!"

I joined our local YMCA this week, so I could have a place to dump the girls and mindlessly swim, or run on the treadmill, and finally work off the last 20 post-Violet pounds. (Is it really still considered "post-partum weight" almost 17 months later?) But since Violet has a cold and is caked in snot, we haven't been back to take advantage of it.

*Sigh.*

I keep reminding myself that in just a couple of short weeks, I'll be taking a 3 day trip to Oregon -- alone. My first time away from both girls, ever. If Violet uses the opportunity to wean herself, cool. If not, cool. Either way. If I can just make it to October 13th, I'll be home free. I'll have three days to recharge my batteries, celebrate a dear friend's wedding, and enjoy the beautiful drive to Ashland.

My new mantra: "October 13th, October 13th, October 13th..."

Oh, shit.

October 13th is a Friday.

Remembering Hosie, With Love.

2006-09-08T16:31:00.000-07:00

We lost a very dear member of our family over the Labor Day weekend.

Our dear, sweet, dog, Zoe, is no longer with us. I'm still pretty emotional over her loss, and I miss her deeply, and I'm not quite sure I'm really up to writing this post at all, but... as CityMama reminded me recently, some things just need to be given over to the universe. So, here goes.

//Deep breath//

//Exhale//

Everyday last week, I sat down to blog about Hosie, as my grandma nicknamed her, and what she meant to me, to our family, and what a wonderful dog she was. But the words just wouldn't come. How do you reduce six years of love and companionship, to a couple of paragraphs? How do you memorialize your best friend? How do you wax philosophical about a loss that doesn't even seem real to you? I guess you go back to the beginning.

When I first decided I wanted a dog, I was at an emotional crossroads, and really needed some unconditional love. I saw an ad on Craig's List for Zoe, who was living in the house she was born in, with a nice family. She was the runt of the litter, and the favorite of the little girl in the family, a 3 year old, who slept with Zoe in her bed. The family didn't feel they had room for another dog in the house, despite their daughter's attachment to her, and this is how I came into the picture.

I knew as soon as I saw Zoe that she was coming home with me. And within a matter of days, she did.

She was a tiny thing, a little golden nugget, not even 20 pounds at 4 months old. She was afraid of the wind, and the traffic on Ceasar Chavez Street. She was too clumsy too walk down the stairs in our Mission district flat, without help. She was like Hazel or Violet was at that age, always wanting physical contact with me, never letting me out of her site, peeing all over the house. I had no idea that a dog could be so emotional, so cuddly, so loving. We couldn't have been a better match.

When Hazel came along, a year and a half later, Zoe was sweet and gentle with her. She would lay at my feet when I changed diapers, and cuddle with us on the couch while we nursed. She liked to smell Hazel's bald head, and lick her tiny little feet. We didn't force Zoe to give up her nighttime spot on our bed when Haze came on the scene, and I think she appreciated that, and valued being part of the pack.

When Violet came along, Zoe was excited to meet her, and seemed to take her responsibility of guarding two little girls very seriously. Violet struck up a special relatioinship with Zoe when she was old enough to pursue Zoe's company. They had an unspoken agreement, that in exchange for a percentage of all Violet's meals and snacks, Zoe would always make room for Violet on her cushion in the living room, and allow her to mess around with her food and water bowls daily. It was an arrangement that suited them both.

Zoe was a wonderful friend to our children, and our friends' children, to Mike, and especially to me. Her death came, like so many faithful family pets' do, before it's time. She will always have a place of honor in our hearts, and I will never, ever forget her sweet-smelling ears, her goofy sense of humor, her loyalty to our family, or all those nights spent cuddling in bed.

I love you, Zoe. I hope you are resting peacefully.

'Round the house girls: Snippets

2006-08-26T10:15:00.000-07:00

At the park...

Hazel: "Look, little one! I found a stick, and you didn't find anything."
Violet: "Buh!"
Hazel: "What? Oooh, you see a bird! In the tree!"
Violet: "Tee!"
Hazel: "Well... I have a stick. And sticks are better than trees. They're more... stick-ish."

In their bedroom...

Hazel: "I don't know where your baby is, little one. Ask your mom."
Violet: "Mom?"
Hazel: "That's right, little one. Go find Mom."
Violet: "Mom?"
Hazel: "Stop saying what I say, like that!"
Violet: "Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom! Mommmmmamamamamamammom?"
Hazel: "I said, stop that!"
Violet: "Dot dat!"
Hazel: "Mawww-mawww, Violet won't stop copying me!"
Violet: "... Mom?"

In the bathroom...

Hazel: "Look, little one! I pee in the toilet."
Violet: "Puh."
Hazel: "And then, I wipe."
Violet: "Wuh."
Hazel: "And then I flush."
Violet: "AAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaagggghhhhhhhh! Maaaamaaaa!"

Playing hide and seek...

Violet: "Haze-uh, hi?"
Me: "Is Hazel hiding from you, Violet?"
Violet: "Haze-uh, hi!"
Me: "Yep, she's hiding. Go find her!"
Violet, wandering away: "Haaaaze-uh? Haaaaaaaaaze-uh?"
Hazel, from inside the closet: "Little one! I'm in here!"
Violet, chanting with excitement: "Haze-uh, Haze-uh, Haze-uh!"
Hazel, popping out of the closet: "You found me, little one! Good job!"
Violet: "Haze-uh!!... Muh hi?"
Hazel: "You want more hiding, little one?"
Violet: "Muh hi!"
Hazel: "Okay, this time, you hide."
Violet covers her face with her hands, Hazel pretends to look for her.
Violet: "Boo!"
Hazel and Violet: "Yaaaayyyy!!"

Ew. Just.... ew.

2006-08-15T09:17:00.000-07:00

Kerry Katona, B-List British celebrity and former member of girl-pop group Atomic Kitten, was photographed by paparazzi over the weekend, enjoying a cigarette while 5 months into her third pregnancy.

It is well known that Kerry also smoked through pregnancies #1 and #2, claiming "My doctor said, if you're more stressed about not having a cigarette, you're better off having one - the stress harms the baby more." That's a direct quote, folks.

How stupid can one woman be? I mean, that's just ignorant.

Also, Kerry? Here's a word to the wise, hon: Perhaps it's best, when one is engaged in a bitter custody battle over one's older two children, to at least pretend that one has kicked the nicotine habit, and act... you know, like a grown up.

Or maybe your new boyfriend, the father of your unborn baby, thinks you look sexy while blowing a curtain of smoke over your new bump? Is that the case? 'Cuz if it is, you've found a winner! I hope you two have a fabulous life together. But please, for the love of Pete, stop having babies. 'Cuz you're gross.

Nicknames

2006-08-08T12:56:00.000-07:00

When Hazel was little, we half-jokingly referred to her as "Hazebollah."

It seems a particularly insensitive nickname today, given the recent activity in Israel and Lebanon, and I'm in no way likening living with a colicky baby, to living under the horrific circumstances the Israelis and Lebanese are currently struggling with. Just gotta put that out there.

However, at the time of her nicknaming, Haze was colicky, cranky and needed to be held, and/or attached to my boob, 24 hours a day. We called her a tiny terrorist, because that's what she seemed like to us (okay, to me): militant, unwavering, mad as hell, and willing to compromise absolutely nothing. She was, to use the parlance of our times, high maintenance.

I came to find out, that's what newborns are supposed to be like. For the most part. And that the real terrorist in the family is not Hazel, but Violet.

As Violet travels down the bumpy road to Toddlerville, her personatlity is gradually shifting, from that of a mellow, roll-with-the-punches kind of girl, to a balls-out, throw-down, take-shit-from-nobody commando.

Case in point: at the park today, Violet walked up to an adorable 2 year old girl with two tiny afro puffs on either side of her head, and, by way of a greeting I suppose, gave both puffs a full-on yank, taking the girl face down into the sand, like a bull in a rodeo show. I was mortified. The little girl screamed bloody murder, and rightly so, but her mother was gloriously non-plussed about the whole thing. I sternly removed Violet from the sand area and sat her down for a time out in the shade with a firm "we DON'T pull hair."

Over the course of our hour at the park, she terrorized the day-care kids with their cooler full of cantaloupe chunks, screaming her displeasure every time I led her away from the fruit, wailing angrily, "Apple-ope! AAAAPPPPLLLLL-OPE!" She stole three sippy cups. She dumped Hazel's bag of cheddar bunnies down the slide. She threw sand. She hit me. Retribution for all the "no!" and "don't" and "VIOLET!"'s I was laying on her, I'm guessing.

I know Violet has entered the stage of testing the limits of her autonomy. I know she's seeing exactly what she can and can't get away with. I know this in theory, and I know it's totally normal. I also know that it's getting really old, really fast, in practice. And try as I might, I can't seem to keep up with her. I just follow the wake of destruction.

I can see the wheels turning in her little head, as she prepares to strike. I imagine that her interior monologe goes something like this:
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"Now, let's see, if hit this kid, Mama will come running over and talk in that deep, strange voice, right? And then sit me down somewhere else? Is that right? I'm going to make sure..."
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"Hmmm... I think that if I grab Hazel's cracker bag fast enough, I'll have time to dump it out. I love seeing all those crackers on the ground! They're so pretty. And when Hazel stands there, paralyzed by disappointment and screaming like a banshee, it will be really easy to grab some of her hair! I love that!"
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"Hey it's baby Alice! She's so small. She sounds like this: 'EEEhhhhh EEEhhhh EEEhhh.' She can't move away if I swat at her, yet, can she? She'll just make the crying baby sound that I like. I'm gonna kick her ass!"
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"Pasta for dinner again? F#*k that. This shit's going straight onto the floor... Hey, I wonder if I can hit the wall tonight...?... Yep! SCORE! More please?"
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*
*
Looking after Violet is exhausting. We can no longer go to the library with her, because she runs full speed for the nearest shelf, knowing that if she doesn't haul ass, she'll miss her chance to huck whatever she can reach onto the floor. She bangs on the keyboards of the computers in the children's section like they're drums. She climbs everything: the kid-sized tables and chairs, the bookshelves, the story time ottomans. The last time we were there, I caught her attempting to climb into a Bugaboo/basinette combo with a baby still in it. Taking her to Trader Joe's is just as embarassing, because she waits, patiently as a panther, for her opportunity to throw something, anything, on the floor. If I've been exceptionally careful, and kept the basket that she's buckled into in the middle of the aisles, away from the shelves, she'll just wait until I'm not looking, then start unloading whatever is within reach from our own basket. I'm thinking of making her a t-shirt, proclaiming, "PLEASE DON'T JUDGE MY MOTHER TOO HARSHLY. I AM OUT OF CONTROL."

For all her difficulties, toddler Hazel was never as... um, high-spirited, as Violet. So, I'm facing a pretty steep learning curve here, and I think Vi knows it, too. She seems to instinctively know when to strike (the moment my back is turned), and gets a big kick out of dumping/yanking/climbing/pushing/destroying whatever is in her path. The look on her face just before she's about to take someone or something out, is one of flushed anticipation. The look in her eye as I rush towards her, just a second too late to stop her, is one of pure satisfaction.

I love Violet. I really do. She has many wonderful, endearing qualities. But, in the interest of full disclosure, I am only slightly ashamed to tell you that I've been calling her Suicide Vi. But only because Vi-Qaeda doesn't roll of the tongue quite as nicely.

Nothing Is Coming Up Alisyn

2006-08-02T14:02:00.000-07:00

Lately, everything I touch turns to crap. No, really. Do not let me into your house. Do not let me hold your purse! Take your blenders, your hairdryers, your battery-operated toys, and hide them if you see me coming.

It all started a couple of weeks ago, when Hazel and I went on a date to a friend's birthday party. We were running late, as usual, and because the party was SF, in a neighborhood with notoriously bad parking, I was anxious to leave earlier that I normally would have. Hazel and I argued a bit because she insisted on wearing one of Violet's dresses (I caved). I had trouble deciding whether or not my skirt was too sparkly for a late morning party.

We made it out the door and into the car, but had not moved the car twenty feet yet before... CRRRRRRUUUUUNNNCH. I bumped the car parked directly across from our driveway, on the other side of our very narrow street. Living on a fairly busy street, and not knowing very many of our neighbors, I had no way to know whose car it was. I had to get out, and leave an apology note and my contact information. Mike came out and took some pictures of the (minimal, thankfully) damage.

Shaken, but determined to get our date on, Hazel and I struck out again for San Francisco. We made our way peacefully, signing Hazel favorite Dan Zanes songs. After a full half hour of looking for a parking spot in our friends' new neighborhood, we finally scored a crappy one, six blocks away from our destination.

Now, I'm a former city dweller, so I know how to take my parking lumps like a man. But if you ask me, the only thing worse than walking six blocks, in espadrille wedges, with a 3 1/2 year old in a size 18 months frock ("Mama, this dress is hurting my throat!"), is returning to your car with the 3 1/2 year old all jacked up on frosting, and finding that some complete jerkwad has gifted you with a massive dent, and a hideous scratch on your passenger side rear door. The jerkwad didn't even leave a note. No note! Nobody waiting for me to return to my car to take responsibility for their dumbass move. No one to repay me my good car karma.

Mike tried really hard not to be upset, and kindly told me he didn't blame me at all, but I still felt terrible. I mean, it looks really bad. And truthfully? We're the kind of people that just shudder at the thought of spending hundreds of dollars on car body work -- there are just so many other places that money could go. So my cute, black Subaru wagon will be a little less cute for a while. Jerkwad, if you're reading, you best 'fess up.

To cap my week off right, I tripped over the garden hose one hot afternoon while Hazel and I were gardening, and sent our digital camera crashing face down onto the sidewalk. That poor thing's taken a beating since we got it four years ago, but I think I may have finally KO'd it for good. When the little door slides open to reveal your previous pictures or show you what you are currently aimed at, nothing happens. No pictures. No little square in which to frame your shot. Just a gravelly, greyish splotch of weirdness, and a big-ass crack.

Two weeks later, Mike and I set out, with all our friends, to enjoy The Flaming Lips show at the Greek Theater on the Berkeley campus. It had been over 100 degrees that day, and I tried to stay hydrated, tried to do everything right. But the crippling heat, combined with the cross-campus walk to the venue, my one measly beer and the massive crowd resulted in me passing out directly in front of the stage, in front of.. oh, I don't know.. a few thousand people. I don't know if you've ever passed out or not, but it's horrible. I thought I was dying. I was totally out of it the rest of the night, and the whole next day. I saw some of the show from the medical tent, though, so that was cool. But the night was pretty much a wash.

Last weekend, I had my first windsurfing lesson, against my better judgement. I was considering calling it off, not wanting to decapitate myself, my teacher, or anyone else within a ten foot radius. Shockingly, I was rather good at it, and despite taking the sail to the head more than once, the only injury sustained all day was when I tore my foot up on a rock under the water. No one died. Nothing broke. All things considered, it was not bad. Not bad at all.

I thought that with the dawn of a new month, my karma might shift into slightly less dangerous territory. And I guess it did, kind of. No one's been hurt in the last two days. Nobody passed out or crashed a car. But the vaccum shorted out and died yesterday, sending sparks spraying out over the carpet. By some totally un-Alisyn-like stroke of luck, it did not result in a house fire. The three year old cordless phone also went belly up, as did my trusty old laptop.

Looking on the bright side, the kids are all right. The dog's alive. Mike's not thinking of divorcing me... yet.

But seriously, what the hell? What is this about? Am I paying for some abuse I inflicted on some innocent electronic devices in a former life? Am I just a huge spaz? Is summer just not my season?

I don't know, but something tells me I should not left in charge of two small children all day... alone. Cooking. Driving. Operating household appliances. I fear that it will end badly.

It's so hot, and Violet's a toddler now. And it's hot. Too hot.

2006-07-21T15:19:00.000-07:00

Boy, howdy, summer barged through the door without knocking this year, and made itself right at home, didn't it? As it turns out, the lack of preschool, combined with the face-melting heat, and Violet's transformation from mellow baby to Toddler Avenger, are not so blogger friendly.

The heat is really, really throwing me off. I'm a California girl, born and raised, and all my life I've known mild, temperate summers. A couple of heatwaves are to be expected, sure, but they usually blow over in a couple of days, and then it's right back to perfect weather. But this? This is madness. Ninety degrees? Every day? For a solid week? With little kids hanging on me and making demands that simply can not be met with my ass parked on the couch in front of the fan? That's just cruel. I just can't sit down and think and type, all at the same time. I think my brain is fried.

Our little air conditioner does it's best, but it can't compete with the 90+ degree afternoons. It keeps the kitchen and living room cool, but only if we trap the cool morning air inside by 8:30 a.m., and go into full lockdown mode, with the blinds and curtains drawn by 8:45. It only lasts for so long, though, and it's never quite cool enough. By 4:00, the sun has started it's descent, and is burning through the bedroom windows at the back of our tiny house. The heat seeps through the walls and under the doors, so we have to throw open all the doors and windows, head out to the yard or the park, and pray for a breeze.

I try my best to deal with it gracefully, but I have an extremely low threshold for heat. I get that from my mom. I top out at 80 degrees, and after that, I'm a total bitch. You don't even want to know.

I try to keep it in perspective, and think of my brother, in Okinawa, where it's 110 degrees in the shade, and 90% humdity. I think of the millions of people in Africa and the Middle East, who have found ways to live in temperatures that reach 130 degrees. I try to go with the flow, and say to myself, So what if your eyebrows are sweating? It ain't no big thing! So you have a pool of sweat in the hollow above your upper lip that is the size of Half Moon Bay? Who cares? And sometimes, that works. But most of the time, it doesn't. And then I hate myself for being a miserable, short-tempered troll, who growls at her own children to stop touching her, and hogs the fan.

But enough about the heat. I must be one of a million bloggers complaining about it, right? Let's talk about Violet instead.

In lieu of a babybook, we have this blog, and it's photo contents, to mark Violet's journey from sweet, mellow Babyland, to back-arching, trash-eating, food-spitting, tantrum-throwing Toddlerville. So if I go into extreme detail, please bear with me; it's only because I don't ever want to forget wild child she is. I swear, I didn't even see this coming. I mean, she was such a sweet baby! Now she's the kid who walks up to strangers at the park and steals their sippy cups. She takes a handful of Hazel's hair whenever the mood strikes her, and brings her to her knees in pain. She eats whatever trash she can get her paws on at the park, and I'm ashamed to say, I once caught her stretching and pulling on a gelatinous blob of raw chicken. She's the tea party guest who upends her chair, climbs on top of the table, then up onto the kitchen counter, and stands there shouting "Mama! Up! Mama! Up!" She's the kid who, just last night, tore off her diaper and took a huge dump on the carpet.*

On the flipside, though, at fourteen months, Violet is learning a new word just about everyday, thus greatly reducing the amount of screaming and grunting around the house. She is a champion walker, and having recently outgrown all her Robeez, has finally got the hang of stumping around the neighborhood in her first pair of real shoes. She is the kid who will go out of her way to pet a dog, any dog she sees. She'll offer you a kiss, even if she's never met you before, by smacking her lips and staring at you with her big, unblinking eyes. She loves to dance, she's very good at playing hide and seek, and she makes all kinds of animal noises. She loves the Teletubbies, and calls them all LaaLaa ("Yaaya. Yaaya. YAAAAYAAAAAAA!") She still takes two two hour naps everyday AND she sleeps through the night. I really can't ask for more than that, can I?

Despite all of her unsavory habits, she really is a sweet natured, funny, adorable little girl, even in the dog days of a hotter than hot summer. Clearly, she gets it from her Dad.

* She gets that from her Dad, too. ;)

Balsam Lake 2006 Snapshots

2006-07-05T20:38:00.000-07:00

This is where we spent the last nine days. Isn't it great?! A log cabin in the wilds of Wisconsin, just steps from Balsam Lake where we swam, sailed, read, napped, ate, drank, and otherwise had ourselves a fantastic time. I can't believe it's already over.

The weather was perfect; sunny and mild almost the entire time, with a couple of thunderstorms thrown in for dramatic affect, and the heat and humidity kicking in the last few days we were there. The bugs ate me alive, but at least the fish didn't bite. Hazel and Violet both hated the lake and wanted nothing to do with swimming in it, which was disappointing. But Mike and I learned how to sail, and we both tubed. Mike got up on water skis his first try; I came close, but was too sore after my first attempts to ever try again. Hazel saw her first fireworks display (hated it). I read two books, and smoked a bunch of cigarettes. Miked jogged. We befriended a dog named Django. We ate giant, family-style dinners every night. We played board games. We drank too much. We laughed a lot.

I can't possibly say all I want to say about our trip without getting sentimental and long-winded. I'll just say that it was really nice to have our best friends, and our kids' best friends -- our whole tribe -- under one roof. Waking up together, taking turns making breakfast, doing bathtime, taking the kids down to the lake... all of it. All of it was just awesome. Best. Vacation. Ever.

Me and the girls inside on a rainy morning. How are they able to go from a dead sleep, to a frenzy of dressing up, begging for breakfast, and fighting over the princess dolls, all before the coffee's done?

The giant outdoor swing, suspended from two trees, overlooking the lake. Hazel and I got our money's worth on this baby.

The kiddie table, where the girls enjoyed seemingly endless servings of mac n' cheese, yogurt tubes, sandwiches and pancakes.

Here's Mike, gettin' totally tubular! I got a bruise on my thigh that is the size of my hand from this thing. I loved it.

Hazel and I driving the pontoon boat home from the town beach. Patti drinking one of many sweet, light midwestern beers. They have the best beer there.

Neither of our girls were in the water long enough to snap a picture. Here's Vi, just about to get in for the first time. She didn't like the cold. Haze hated the life-vest and "the deepness." Crazy kids.

Rainy day fun with Violet, a.k.a. Lil' Roy Orbison.

These princess dolls were purchased when it became obvious that 20-year-old board games weren't cutting the mustard in the way of entertainment. As you can see, they practically shat themselves with joy upon opening them.

The best part of every day started with a big dinner, followed by bath and bed for the girlies, and lots of wine for the adults.

...And that pretty much sums it up, I think. Balsam Lake, I miss you. I can still smell you if I close my eyes. I can't wait to see you again.

Oh My God: The HEAT!

2006-06-22T15:09:00.000-07:00

... And I ain't talkin' 'bout the Miami basketball team, either.

Holy shit, it's hot here! Summer barged in without knocking, and made itself right at home. It was 96 degrees yesterday, and it's inching closer to 100 today. It's brutal.

It's good preparation for our vacation, though. Saturday is D-Day; we take off with two other families for 10 days at a cabin in Balsam Lake, WI, where the weather is pretty much like it is here, except with more humidity. Oof.

The past week has been errands, packing, laundry and shopping. We all got new bathing suits and flip flops. I got some hippie bug spray for the girls that probably won't do much, but smells really nice. I've made peace with the fact that I'm going to be wearing little more than a bathing suit most of the time, and I'm in a good place about it. My philosophy? I deserve to love my body, for all it's done, and all it is. It's not what it used to be, but it's what I've got, and it ain't half bad. Self-love: it's the ultimate vacation. Who knew?

Wishing everyone a happy and relaxing summer -- see y'all in July!

Last day of school! Who wants to babysit?

2006-06-09T14:02:00.000-07:00

Though Hazel only attends preschool two days per week, I will really -- really -- miss the time she spends there, and I know she will, too. It's been a long time since I heard the words "Have a nice summer vacation!" but I heard it fifty times this week. I have to say, it makes me a little giddy.

Hazel's totally into the party aspect. The last week has been a flurry of special projects and goodbyes and a big, end of the year "picnic celebration!", as Hazel says. She searched her closet for something appropriately festive, and this is what she settled on. It's the dress my great-grandmother made for me when I was a little older than Hazel is now, for polka dancing.

You heard me. Polka dancing! My great-grandparents, and grandparents, used to take my brother and I with them back when were very young; I think I was 4 or 5, so that would make my brother 2 or 3. We loved it. The music, the attention, the chance to get all jacked up and jump around and not get in trouble. We especially loved the dancing. My grandparents always made room for us to hold their hands and dance with them. I wish I had a picture of them to include in this post. They were, and are, so cute. They still dance, to this day! I dig that.

This cute, ruffly red number is one of the several beautiful dresses, including a bubble gum pink cowgirl dress with silver embroidery, that were made especially for me, meticulously saved, and lovingly cared for, by my grandma. Hazel wore it with white socks, which I thought dumbed the ensemble down a little, but then she made up for it in her choice of footwear: the "fancy princess" mary janes that Stefania got for $1 in Chinatown.

This is Hazel's first summer vacation. Every other summer for her has just been... warm. Last year she didn't know seasons, or school, or even what a vacation was. This year she knows that school is ending, and won't start again until the fall. This year she has a calendar she'll be counting the days on. This year she knows we are taking an actual trip, our first family vacation (excluding trips to visit family, which, pleasant though it is, it's not really a vacation). This year the prospect of summer feels like it used to, when I was a kid -- something to look forward to. Something special.

The Strap Seen 'Round The World.

2006-06-07T15:52:00.000-07:00

I love this. I love, love, love this! Angelina Jolie, regardless of what you think of her as an actress or person, is the most famous mother on the planet right now. Everyone is watching her every move.

What a huge statement Angelina is making in that photo with her nursing bra clearly visable. I could not speculate as to whether or not she was trying to make a statement, although she seems to be a pretty media savvy gal, so my money says it was a conscious choice... But either way, that small, simple strap, all by itself, will probably encourage a good many thousands of women to breastfeed, even some who thought they wouldn't or couldn't. I really believe that Angelina's influence on today's young women and mothers is that strong.

Breastfeeding is such an awesome, powerful thing, and it's been a big part of my life for three and a half years, now. While I think that all mothers are amazing regardless of how they choose to feed their children, I feel a special kinship with nursing mothers, and am proud to be part of the movement that's bringing breastfeeding into mainstream society, without apology or awkwardness.

So I want to take this moment to congratulate Angelina, and welcome her to the club. Now you can put that million dollar rack to work, girl!

(I'd love to see Angie rockin' a "Nip/Suck" shirt on the pages of People magazine... do you think I should send her one?)

Mama Got Some New Ink!

2006-05-28T17:02:00.000-07:00

I earned a little street cred when I went for 4 1/2 hours at the tattoo shop yesterday -- enough time for the lovely and talented Leslie Mah to start and finish my new tattoo! Yeah! I had some Vicodin leftover from my root canal earlier in the week, so that helped. Here I am, so cool I can hardly stand myself:

I love my beautiful violets! You can not tell at all that there was a tattoo on my shoulder before, but you can see a little bit of the star peeking through the leaves on the bottom part. Some fine tuning will take care of that, though. Overall, I'm really, really happy with the end result. I love how she used shadowing and light to make the overall effect tropical and bright.

Working with such dark shades of green and purple on top of an area already saturated with color could have resulted in something murky, or dense, and the fact that the entire piece is diffused with light and space is a testament to Leslie's talent and skill. If you live in the Bay Area, may I recommend Leslie Mah for all your tattoo needs? I'll be going back to her at the end of the summer for some witch hazel on my other shoulder. Because, really, what kind of mother would I be if I didn't have both my girls represented in permenant ink somewhere on my body? ;) Maybe I'll see you there!

Mama Needs Some New Ink

2006-05-26T15:44:00.000-07:00

A confession:

For the past 10 years, I have been living with (shhh! don't tell anyone) dorky tattoos. See?

The star was my first. I was 19, I really wanted a tattoo, and I liked stars. Um, okay.

The two wavy lines are my sign (Aquarius). I was 20, I really wanted a tattoo, and I liked the zodiac. Riiiight.

Cut to 10 years later, and not only are these tattoos insignificant to me, I find them slightly embarassing. They smack of awkward youth, "finding myself" and, truth be told, they aren't even that good. I love tattoos, don't get me wrong. I just don't love mine. And since laser tattoo removal technology is nowhere near effective enough to remove them completely, I'm getting them covered up.

I made an appointment with Leslie Mah at Diving Swallow Tattoo in Oakland, and tomorrow is my first sitting. The tattoo that Leslie and I came up with together is going to be big, beautiful, vibrant and meaningful. I can't wait to see it on my skin.

Stay tuned for "after" photos!

Fart Joke: A Play in One Act.

2006-05-24T16:00:00.000-07:00

Scene: The women's bathroom at the Metreon.
Characters: Hazel, Alisyn, Mystery Farter

Hazel: Ew, Mama, it's stinky in here!

Me: (Cringe) Shhhhh. It's a bathroom.

Hazel: But Mama, it smells like poop!

Me: (Cringe, whispering) Hazel, lower your voice. You're right, it is a little stinky. Just pee, please, and then we can leave, okay?

Hazel: Okay... (Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle.... tink)... Done!

Cue amazingly loud, juicy fart from the next stall.

Hazel: HAAAAAAAHaaaaaaahahahahahaaa! She TOOTED!

Me: (Cringe, gag, whispering) Hazel! Shhhhh!

Hazel: Hahahhhhaaaa! She didn't say EXCUSE ME when she FARTED!

Me: (Cringe, gag, trying not to giggle) Hazel! Stop! (Rushing to pull her pants up, wash hands and get the hell out of there before Mystery Farter) C'mon, let's wash up and go.

Hazel (taking her sweet-ass time): Mama, I want the pink soap, not the sandy white kind.

Me: Let's just use whatever they have, okay?

Hazel (hanging back by the stall): Hey, Mama, can I touch this? (hand hovering by seat liner dispenser)

Me: (hissing) NO! Come wash up.

Hazel (hand hovering by sliding door lock): Can I touch this?

Me: NO!! Hazel, come wash your hands, NOW.

Hazel: But Mama, you didn't let me do the flush with my foot.

Cue flush from Mystery Farter's stall.

Me: (in my I-mean-business-tone)HAZEL! Come wash your hands NOW! I will not ask you again.

Hazel: Okay, okay. Mama, do they have the pink soap that I like?

Me: Yes! Come get some!

Cue Mystery Farter's exit from stall. Mystery Farter is a tall, fortysomething tourist with a banana clip holding her frosted hair back and a faux Louis Vuitton fanny pack. Mystery Farter meets meets my gaze, then Hazel's in the mirror above the sink as she walks to the door. Mystery Farter pauses to address Hazel heavily, and with great irritation.

Mystery Farter: Excuse me.

Mystery Farter cuts out without washing or drying her hands.

Hazel (after my laughter subsides): That lady didn't wash her hands!

Me: But she did say excuse me for tooting!

Hazel (putting two and two together): ....Yeah! That's good manners!

... And, end scene.

The Eyes Have It (Haze & Vi at 12 mos.)

2006-05-23T14:47:00.000-07:00

I just love scrolling through our iPhoto archives and juxtaposing pictures of Hazel and Violet and the same age. The similarities outweigh the differences, don't you think?

Chunky, rosy apple cheeks? Check. Big, brown eyes? Check. Curly, wispy hair? Check. Hazel's overall hue is a dark gold; Violet's is more of a fair pink. Hazel was chunkier, Violet is longer. But as far as looks go, they are sisters, no doubt.

What I think I love most, aside from the girls themselves, is that they both have what is a common characteristic on my side of the family: those big, dark brown eyes. Myself and all of my brothers have 'em, we got 'em from our Mom, and I love that you can tell we are siblings just by looking at our eyes. There are slight variations, of course -- Kyle's have a slight almond shape, Wyatt's are almost overshadowed by his impossibly long eyelashes, and Ty's are almost green some days. But put us all together and, like Hazel and Violet, you're sure to see the likenesses before you see the disparities.

Sharing physical characteristics with someone is a powerful thing. It gives me a real sense of solidarity to see my eyes looking back at me in my mother, my brothers, my daughters. It makes me feel like, yeah, we may have our differences -- and we certainly have those in abundance -- but the bottom line is, you are like me. I am like you. We are, in many ways, the same. Whether we like it or not.

I like it.

House Rules

2006-05-17T13:44:00.000-07:00

Everyone says it's normal, it's age-appropriate and it's to be expected, but I'll be damned if I'm not shocked everytime Hazel sidles up to Violet, with that look in her eye, and pushes her over, swipes her toy, or pokes her in her face.

Sibling rivalry.

Being three.

Testing boundaries.

Whatever you call it in your house, I call it a big ol' pain in the ass in mine.

I'm beginning to understand why some people choose to have their children close together -- because when your oldest kid is in the throes of Three, a nearly defensless, newly-minted toddler is just fuel for the fire. It's like Violet is walking around with a sign on her forehead that says "Trip me!" or "Someone, please, take this cookie!"

I feel for Hazel, I really do. For 2 1/2 years, she was our one and only: a star on the family stage. How dare this little baby, this interloper, come along and try to steal the spotlight?! Who does she think she is, walking around here with her cuteness, and her new words, and her demands for attention, for love, for Mama?

It seems like the older Violet gets, the more fun, the more human, the more Hazel resents her. She has moments in which she is deeply besotted with Violet, to be sure -- usually when Violet is in her highchair, or nursing first thing in the morning, or just waking up from a nap in her crib. The moments in which Hazel genuinely dotes on and cares for Violet are those in which Violet is contained and subdued. More like the baby she was, less like the girl she is.

Last night as he was putting Hazel to bed, Mike heard Haze say, to no one in particular and apropos of nothing, "I don't care that much about having a baby sister. I'd like to share her. I would like to give her to a family that doesn't have a baby, but wants a baby."

While being kind of funny in a way, this makes me sad, for many reasons. I'm sad for Hazel, because I know she feels genuinely threatened by Violet, despite all the love, attention and one-on-one time we give her. I'm sad for Violet, because she thinks Hazel is an absolute goddess, and is always shocked and upset when she pops her one out of nowhere. It's just sad-making, to see one's two babies at odds so often, not to mention completely annoying. I know she can't help herself -- Hazel just knows that she wants my attention, and that she wants Violet out of the picture. She'd like to be able to put her away, up on a shelf, and take her down on her own terms. I know that her feelings are normal, and healthy, even -- hell, I feel like that about Hazel, sometimes! I know - but it's still it's so frustrating!

Hence, The House Rules.

Hazel and I brainstormed this morning at the breakfast table, and this is what we came up with, together. All four of us signed our names at the bottom of the list, Violet keeping the marker out of her mouth long enough for me to help her with her "V." Violations of the established House Rules result in time-outs, on a stool in the little enclave across from the House Rules poster. Time-outs that are not repected on the stool in the little enclave across from the House Rules poster are moved to the bedroom.

So far today, no time-outs have been needed. Considering that it's already almost 4:00, we've had a pretty freakin' good day. I'm happy for that. Know what else would make me happy? Hearing from you. How do you keep sibling rivalry at bay? What's your secret to happy kids? What are your House Rules?

To Violet, on Her First Birthday

2006-05-09T10:23:00.000-07:00

Dear Violet,

One year ago today you were born. It hardly seems possible, but here it is, your first birthday. Happy Birthday, my sweetheart.

You came into this world on a sunny May morning, eleven days past your due date. Although we had to nudge you along a bit (induce labor), once you realized you were gonna get born (Pitocin), you made sure that your journey into this world was swift and short (3 pushes!) - for which your mama thanks you. Even as a babe in utereo, you were an if-there's-a-job-to-be-done-let's-do-it-right kind of girl. You've always had moxie, kid.

It is amazing how quickly your first year has passed, with you blowing through each stage in your life - infant, baby and now, toddler - with such self-assurance and independence. When you were just 4 months old, you demanded food. Demanded it. Your first solid food was the veggies from mama's turkey pot pie, and you loved it. You never looked back. By the time you hit 5 months, you learned that you could get anywhere you wanted to go by rolling. We'd find you under the coffee table, or cozing up to Zoe, or staring out the sliding glass door. You never could sit still for very long. At age 6 months, not being one for moderation, you learned to sit, stand and cruise. The week you turned 11 months old, you started walking, and in that same week, you started talking, too. All of a sudden, our baby is the littlest big girl on the block. Where did the time go??

I have never known anyone with determination and stregnth of will to match yours, Vi. You never give up on what you want, never. This is a quality that will serve you well in later in life, but right now, is making for epic battles between you and Hazel. Just between you and me? I love it when you stand your ground, and hold fast to whatever toy Hazel is trying to swipe from you, while grunting in protest. I also love it when you succeed at keeping the toy out of Hazel's grasp, and then turn around and hand it to her after she's given up and moved on. You little so-and-so.

Speaking of Hazel, I know it doesn't always seem like it, but she loves you so much, Violet. So much. Sometimes she says she wishes she were bigger so she could carry you around with her, wherever she goes. You are the first person she thinks about when she wakes up in the morning, and you are the first person she kisses when we pick her up at preschool. Hazel studies your bravado -- the way you will let anyone hold you, the way you walk up to kids you don't know at the park, and try to play with them, and she delights in feeding you, because she knows you are game for eating anything, including sand. Hazel has millions of silly nicknames for you: Little Gnocchi, Little Chocolate Chip, Centerpiece, Waterfall and Beast among them. She's learning that life with a baby sister isn't always fun, but that when she is upset, you will be there for her, offering her your favorite toys, even your blanket. She is teaching you how to talk, and take care of your baby dolls, and how to play with sidewalk chalk. You are teaching her how to try new foods, how to open up to people, and how to give.

A year ago, Violet, your Dada and I could not imagine having enough love in our hearts to two girls... it just didn't seem possible. But then you came along, and our hearts simply exploded. We just couldn't get over you, with your faux-hawk and your tiny mouth like a little bow. We still can't get over you, with your wild curls, your huge, toothy grin and your many Violet-isms, including: curling your fingers up and squealing "ticka-ticka-ticka!" (tickle-tickle-tickle!) whenever you see anyone's toes, including your own; calling Hazel's Mardi Gras beads "ooh la laa!"s; and carrying rocks from the driveway around with you and chit-chatting with them in your mooney, yappy way.

You are our joyous baby girl, our little Flower, Miss Violet Olivia. When you joined our family, you completed it, absolutely. My dream of giving my daughter a sister came true because of you, Vi. And what a sister -- what a daughter! -- you are. You amaze us, and we feel blessed to call you ours.

Happy First Birthday, Violet, and many happy returns!

Love,
Mama, Dada and Hazel

Oh, Sweet Purgative Sunshine!

2006-05-02T10:16:00.000-07:00

For too long thou hast deprived us of thine splendor!

Seriously, with all this heat and weather, it's like getting unlimited free sessions with the best therapist I've ever seen. The sun is strong and hot, the legs are bare, and the feet sandaled. The shoulders are brown (me and Hazel), and freckled (Mike and Violet) from spending our afternoons watering plants and eating popsicles at the park. The summer clothes have come down from the top rack of the closet and the sweaters and jackets have been packed up for next year. We even went to a baseball game this past weekend. If that doesn't scream "spring is upon us!", I don't know what does.

Last year's barely potty-trained 2.5 year old is teaching her younger sister all the tricks of the toilet ("You put your bum in the hole, Violet! You won't fall in, but you have to HOLD ON!") The little chick hatched just last May has emerged this month on two solid, stout legs, walking laps around our little house, yammering to herself about this and that. The day before yesterday we found her in the backyard, chatting with the nasturtiums she was eating. There wasn't any film in the camera that day.

Much as I look forward to a little cool weather in the fall and rain in the California "winter", by the time spring rolls around, I am starving for natural warmth, and the smell of grass, and my skin itches to warm itself in the sun. May has only just arrived, and yet I feel like I've been waiting for it for ages; waiting for the day when I wake up and know that the day will be bright and clear. Life feels lighter on those days, like anything is possible.

The Chimp Is Becoming a Human

2006-04-25T10:46:00.000-07:00

...And just like that, like millions before her, and millions more to come (how can it still seem so miraculous?), the chimp is becoming a human.

It walks. Yes, it walks. It's been taking tentative steps for weeks now, but in the last week, it has gone from walking for shits and giggles, to walking with a purpose, a vengeance. It scrunches it's shoulders and lifts it's legs high at the knees, and holds it's arms at right angles for balance, like it's signaling a right turn on a tiny, invisible bicycle. It has been working hard to achieve this milestone, and it feels very proud of itself. It walks around the house smiling and panting "ha, ha, ha." I did it!

Also, it talks. It's words are chimp-like in their simplicity, but still ring clear as a bell. "Nuh" for nurse. "N-n-n-n-n-" means NO, and is accompanied by vehement head shaking to drive the point home. "Dah" for down. "AAAaaa-wa" is water (agua). "Nah" is snack. "Muh" is more. "Dada" is Mike, and everything else it wants or recognizes (blankie, baby, Hazel, Zoe). Sometimes the humans cannot respond to and/or acknowledge what the little chimp is saying right away, and if we're not quick enough, it screams at us. At top-notch volume. For a long time. The chimp sees the small human in our house doing that a lot, so I guess it thinks that's how we humans do. At least it doesn't throw it's own poop at us. Yet.

The chimp's evolution really picked up speed right around the time a new baby was born to our good friends. It seemed to instinctively know that it wasn't the smallest one in the tribe any longer, so it really kicked the development up a notch. And just in time for it's first birthday, too. Wow.

Bye bye, little chimp.

Hello, big girl.

Shoulda Gone With Clementine....

2006-04-19T17:01:00.000-07:00

Celebrity Baby Blog is reporting that yet another celeb has up and named their new baby Violet. Another Violet for our Violet to contend with! Psssh!

I explicitly asked Jen Garner not to name her daughter Violet in the weeks leading up to her birth, but did she listen? No. Dave Grohl, however, being a cool guy and not one to hound the press, flew under the radar, and left me with no time to appeal to his sense of fairness with a thoughtfully worded blog post. Can't these celebs come up with anything on their own? Jeez. Perhaps I should hunker down and get my Celbrity Baby Name blog ready for public viewing sooner, rather than later, huh? Somebody needs to keep these celebs in the know.

On a related note, also in the news today is the recent birth of Brooke Shields' new baby girl, Grier, another name we considered for Violet. And of course, dominating the news (and by "news" I mean celebrity web logs) is The Silent Alien Freak Birth of poor little baby Suri, who, despite her surprisingly cute name, will suffer the fate that only a baby born to Tom Cruise and poor, brainwashed Katie Holmes, could even imagine. Poor thing never had a chance, did she? But at least she's got an original name!

Spring: sprung? (Dare I even think it?)

2006-04-10T14:20:00.000-07:00

This weekend was almost too good to be true: It was sunny! It was warm! It only rained once!

We were out making the most of the gorgeous weather with bubbles, bike rides and sidewalk chalk. Friends came over for a game night Saturday, complete with take-out thai food and vodka tonics. Sunday we went bowling and watched The Sopranos.

And right now, both girls are napping peacefully, the house is relatively clean, we met with a really cool young woman who agreed to be our babysitter, and I have an entire afternoon to lay on the couch and read my excellent book.

It's amazing what a little sunshine can do for the spirit, isn't it?

Thoreau at Three: Hazel's First Novel

2006-04-04T10:14:00.000-07:00

(Written and illustrated by Hazel on Friday, March 31, 2006)

"Once upon a time, there was a beautiful girl called Cinda-willa. She had two ugly sisters who made her do all the work. One day, Cinda-willa goed to the gwocery store with her mama, and they got cookies and coconut bubble beer. Then they came home and put all their food away and they said 'Let's watch Angelina Ballerina' and they did! And they lived happily ever after. The End! Now let's put a sticker on it."

The Fine Line

2006-03-26T14:14:00.000-08:00

It's been an exhausting couple of weeks 'round these parts. No major events, nothing's gone seriously wrong or anything -- just snotty noses, sleepless nights and shitty weather. With spring so close, every grey cloud on the horizon, every raindrop that falls, feels like a personal attack to me; I'm so ready for sunshine. Please spring, get sprung already.

No one in our house has been sleeping through the night, and everyone's been up before six everyday for weeks, now. It's getting so that if we sleep past 6:15, we're thrilled. And both girls have been waking up at least once per night, usually more, so we're all a little on edge these days. Most of the time, I feel embalmed.

Violet has another ear infection; her fourth in three months. She's been referred to an ear, nose and throat specialist, and we may be looking at ear tube surgery for her. It's a relatively common procedure, and if it helps Violet in the long-run, I'm all for it, of course (anything but constant the near constant doses of antibiotics the poor girl gets). I hate seeing her in such obvious pain when her ears flare up. But surgery? Under anesthetic? For my tiny babe? Shit. I'm nervous about it already, and it's only a possibility.

Hazel has been fighting a cold off this week, and while she's held it at bay, it's taken a lot out of her. She's extra tired, and that alone is enough to send her over the edge on any given day. But that, combined with the nightwaking, combined with the major growth spurt she's going through, has driven us all over the edge. We can't even see the edge from where we are most days lately.

So, here's the thing: Parenting a preschooler takes a lot out of you. If you want to do it right, you've got to be patient and consistent, and willing to take the high road. You've got to be creative with discipline, strong about setting limits, and understanding when they want to dress themselves, eat PB&J for every meal, or whatever their quirks are this week. We've all read the books, we all know what we're supposed to do. But what do we do when that's not enough?

Right now, in this house, that is Just. Not. Enough.

See, Hazel is one of the 15 to 20% of children who are born with highly sensitive nervous systems, called HSCs, or Highly Sensitive Children*. These kids are deeply refelective, sensitive to almost everything - scratchy clothes, the way their skin or hair feels, loud noises, a change in routine. They notice even the most subtle details of every situation they encounter, and are easily overwhelmed by noise, new people, new situations -- in short, they are deeply sensitive to the world.

While this may sound like hippy-dippy nonsense to some, I'm here to tell you that it's very, very real. This is the best anaolgy I've heard for describing an HSC: Imagine an orange-packing plant. Imagine thousands of oranges coming down a conveyer belt. In a "normal" or non-sensitive person's brain, all those oranges are sorted into three slots - small, medium and large. In the HSC's brain, instead of having three slots for processing and sorting the information that's towards them on the conveyer belt, they have fifteen slots, making for very fine distinctions. All goes well until you have too many oranges coming down the belt at once (for an HSC that might be walking into a loud classroom, or trying to watch a new movie) - then you've got a major problem. You're in Emotional Meltdown City, USA.

Wonderful, creative, bright and funny person though she is, Hazel is also a very intense, very emotional, very particular little girl. Hazel's mood sets the tone for the whole house, and when it's good, it's really good, but when it's bad... well, you know. I try really hard to remind myself that Hazel is as much a victim of her intense emotions as we are. And I try even harder to model appropriate ways of handling those emotions; and that's where I feel like, as the days go by, I'm losing traction. We talk a lot about how feelings -- all feelings -- are okay to have, but it's what you do with your feelings that counts, especially those feelings that we, as a society, are taught to think of as "bad" - confusion, disappointment, anger. But I find myself getting spitting mad at Hazel at least once everyday, usually because she's bullying Violet in some way, or deliberatly braking a rule to get my one-on-one attention, for better or worse. And I find myself really resenting the fact that, even when I'm having a really good day, I can't just have a good day. Because it's never that easy. With an HSC, even a trip to the grocery store, or a snack forgotten, can cause major emotional trauma. Even a morning at preschool can be fun, while at the same time being totally overwhelming, and of course, the meltdowns and freakouts are stored up for the moment when you feel safe and comfortable enough to let them loose, i.e. when Mama comes for you. I understand that. I understand my role and my responsibility. But sometimes I just don't have it in me to keep it together for myself and Hazel; sometimes I just don't want to. And being so finely tuned, Hazel picks up on my resentment or frustration instantly. So, most days, it's a really fine line that we are walking.

On the flip side of this is the fact that Hazel, like many HSCs, is a very gifted girl. She is blessed with a quick wit, a wise soul and dear heart. She is so intelligent, and so imaginative. She has always stood out - even if for just being different. Hazel and I are making every effort to be kind to, and understanding of, each other, especially as she grows older. We take "time outs" and have tea together, or do yoga together. Mike makes sure he and Hazel have at least one "date" together each week, just the two of them, doing something special. For Hazel, one-one-one time with those she loves really seems to help. So do regular periods of rest spent reading, or doing a puzzle, or zoning out with a CD. I've found an online parent's support network and am working on finding a family therapist, to help us all have a little more balance.

This feels like a lot of personal information to be putting out into the blogosphere. Part of the reason I've been M.I.A. is that I wasn't sure what I wanted to say, or even if I really wanted to say it. But I am going to put this out there because this blog was started as a sort of virtual time-capsule; a chronicle of this time in our lives. The Salad Days, as they're called. And even I, who is in the trenches with muck up to my eyebrows right now, knows this to be true: with the not-so-good, comes the great. With the yin, comes the yang. And if I wrote about only one or the other, when I look back on these pages in 30 years, I would be disappointed at the lack of truth in them. Also, I want to reach out to other parents with Highly Sensitive Kids, or high needs kids, or anyone who is struggling with the daily joys and challenges of being a parent. Because we've all been on the other side of the fine line at some point or another, right? And no one wants to stay there for too long. I know I don't.

*For more information about Highly Sensitive People, visit http://www.hsperson.com/pages/child.htm.

Friday Morning Funny

2006-03-17T08:16:00.000-08:00

Shane turned me on to Toothpaste For Dinner. They make my day, everyday.

Wedding Belles: A Bay Area Rite of Passage

2006-03-14T19:47:00.000-08:00

Hazel, Violet, Mike and I had the honor and pleasure of attending the wedding of two of our closest friends, Lesley and Laura, last Sunday night. The wedding took place at the Log Cabin in the Presidio, which was perfectly suited to the occasion -- it's warm and romantic, way off the beaten path, with a lovely view downtown San Francisco. The entire building, twinkling with candles and flowers against the dark, wooded Presidio, just oozed love.

This wedding was a really special one for many reasons. For our familiy, it was a night of firsts: It was the first wedding my girls have ever been to, so explaining what a wedding is, and what it means, to Hazel, was really sweet. Hazel loves Lesley and Laura, and was so excited to go to their "wedding party" and be a part of their special day. It was also the first wedding, besides my own, in my group of best girlfriends. And it was the first gay wedding any of us had ever been to.

It's lamentable that it's taken me, who lived in San Francisco proper for 10 years, and the 'burbs for 3 (and counting), so long to achieve this major Bay Area milestone. But it was well worth the wait, to have my first lesbian wedding be that of one of my oldest, sweetest friends, and the wonderful woman she has made her lifelong partner.

It meant so much to me to be present that night, and stand in support of our friends, and the committment they made to each other. The country that we live in may not officially recognize their strong, loving relationship, but I know in my heart that someday, that is going to change. It simply must change. The day it does change will be a great one in my life, in all our lives.

It is my greatest hope for Hazel and Violet that they grow to be as strong and passionate and loving as Lesley and Laura. That they listen to their hearts, instead of the masses. That they know themselves and love themselves for who and what they are -- whatever that may be. And that someday, they too, can marry anyone that want to, and walk down the aisle with pride, knowing that women like these paved the way for them, and so many others.

Congratulations, Les and Laura. We love you guys so much.

Flip your blog with Blog Diva!

2006-03-14T06:23:00.000-08:00

Like the new banner? I do! And not just because I didn't have to flop around like a fish out of water, trying to navigate the blogger template.

If your blog needs a little facelift, why not email the Blog Diva? She's quick, she's good and she's free. What's not to love?

Milestone Alert!

2006-03-13T13:16:00.000-08:00

At just a smidge over 10 months, Violet has reached some pretty major milestones lately. ((Sniff)) She's growin' up so fast!

Violet's menagerie of tricks includes waving bye-bye and hello, using her index finger to point at things she recognizes (Mama, Dada, Hazel, Zoe) and clapping for herself. When she's done eating, she holds her hands up and says "aahhh duuhhh" (all done). Whenever anything, anywhere hits the floor, she's ready with her cute little "uh oh!" She's loves to play catch with Hazel and is shockingly proficient at throwing the ball -- she throws some heat, too. She loves to hold the phone up to her neck and say "yai ya?" And she is on the brink of walking (I give her a month), and is infinitely frustrated by -- and hair raisingly vocal about -- the fact that she can't quite do it yet.

I don't know why I feel compelled to keep track of these things, but I do. Not trying to brag or compare, here (did I mention that she throws heat?), but I think it has something to do with the fact that I can't quite wrap my head around the fact that Violet can do anything. Wasn't it just a few weeks ago that she was a tiny, squealing little raisin with a faux-hawk? Wasn't it just last month that she was happy enough to be wedged between the couch and the coffee table, cooing to the furniture and talking to the carpet schmutz? What the hell happened?

It's hard to believe that in just eight weeks, baby Violet will turn one year old. Her infancy has gone by so frighteningly quickly, it almost makes me want another baby, so I can make sure to catch all the tiny, insignificant details, and hold them tightly against my chest, and never let them go.

Almost.

HTML is confusing and dumb.

2006-03-10T15:28:00.000-08:00

And so am I!

Next time I want to clean up my blog a little, remind me to pay to have a professional do it, please.

I don't know shit about HTML, and I ain't gonna pretent I do. I was just dying to get rid of those annoying dots and the tiny font on the old template... but this new one seem a little too clean. A little... how do you say... boring, non?

I'll make it work, for now, but I'm in the market for someone who knows a little somethin' somethin' about cool banners, and how to make them happen. Know anyone?

Salad Days is Under Construction!

2006-03-06T21:17:00.000-08:00

Back to your regularly scheduled programming in a couple of days.

Oscars 2006: The Night TiVo Betrayed Me

2006-03-06T08:36:00.000-08:00

Everybody is talking about how boring the Oscars were, but I rather enjoyed myself. As a big fan of The Daily Show, I particularly enjoyed host Jon Stewart. His smarmy, self-depricating, shot-in-the-dark humor sits well with me. Plus, I think he's totally cute. He was obviously out of his element, but I think he made it work, although he sure could've used a little Stephen Colbert sidekick action up there.

It must be said that the main source of my excitement this awards season, besides playing the self-appointed lead role in Fashion Police: 2006, was TiVo. And I do mean was. See, we didn't actually watch the telecast live, but followed about two hours behind, so we could fast forward the commercials and really boring speeches/technical shout-outs and "honorary" awards. Good plan, right? Right. Except for the part where the ceremony ran longer than it's scheduled 3 hours and TiVo stopped recording during the Best Actress Oscar presentation. AAAAaaggghhhhhrrrrrrrr! F*ck you, Tivo!! TiVo and I are not on speaking terms today. Not only did I miss Reese's Best Actress acceptance speech, I also missed the awards for Best Director (I *heart* Ang Lee!) and Best Picture (O, Brokeback, too bad! so sad!). And the winner of the f**k you award goes to... TiVo!

Lucky for me, E! will have the best parts of the ceremony, plus red carpet interviews and fashion hits and misses, on endless loop for the next week. But still. Half the fun is the anxiety, that split-second after the envelope is opened, but before the name is called. And the speeches can be really boring, but they can also be really touching, especially when the award recipient is truly suprised and a little shaken up, a la the Wallace and Gromit guys, with their little bow ties for their statuettes (British humor -- you either love it or hate it). I love it when they give hearfelt thanks, as when Philip Seymour Hoffman, one of my long time favorite actors, dedicated his award to his mom. I love that shit! I heard Reese's speech was a little contrived and that Ang Lee's was lovely, but again, I'll have to wait to see it today on E!. Double f**k you, TiVo.

Despite the fact that I'm working with a slight handicap, having missed the last, and in my opinion, most important part of the show, I still feel confident enough to present:

The Salad Days Loves and Hates of Oscar 2006:

Loved, loved, loved Michelle Williams in saffron. Loved Salma Hayek in electric blue. Loved Felicity Huffman, Rachel Weisz and Hilary Swank, in black. Loved Jennifer Garner's nursing boobs. Loved Paul Giamatti's dork chic glasses. Loved Will Smith's vest, Lauren Bacall's drunk tussle with the teleprompter, and Will Farrell with Steve Carrell in the worst makeup ever. Loved Tim Burton's crazy hair and red shirt and ever present blue glasses. Loved Ben Stiller's green screen bit. Loved Meryl and Lily, loved Jake Gyllenhaal and his uberhotness, loved Keira Knightley va-va-vooming it up. Loved Jon Stewart's opening short film. Loved Joaquin Phoenix all surly in his black suit. Hell, I just love Joaquin, period. Yowza!

Bored, bored, bored by Nicole Kidman's dress. Bored by Reese, whose dress would've looked amazing on someone taller and more striking, but just overwhelmed and washed her out. Bored by Naomi Watts' weird net dress thingy. Bored by Uma Thurman (what was that eye makeup about?), Jennifer Aniston, who has no business being at any Oscar ceremony, and bored by George Clooney -- yeah, okay, he's cute, but what else you got? Bored by Sandra Bullock, although the pockets on her dress were kinda cool. Bored by the musical numbers -- man, what a snoozefest. Bjork should be nominated every year, just to keep things interesting. Bored by Luke and Owen Wilson presenting... something... bored by most presenters, actually. The dialoge is just so trite.

Hated, hated, hated, Jennifer Lopez's severe hair, puke-green dress and insane fake tan. Enough with the fantasy tans, people! You look like you're made of clay. Hated Helena Bonham Carter. You can get away with a lot if you're with Tim Burton, but hello? Dynasty called -- they want their hair and wardrobe back. Hated Charlize Theron's fashion nightmare. Who gave her the green light for that dress, Edgar Allen Poe? Hated Jessica Alba. The dress was lovely, but homegirl needs some In n' Out pronto. Hated poor Maggie Gyllenhall's weird beigeness. Hated Heath Ledger's facial hair and they way he kept fixing Michelle Williams' hair. It looked creepy. Hated that Paul Giamatti didn't win Best Supporting Actor, although I understand that his nomination was just an apology for snubbing him for American Splendor and Sideways, both of which showcased what a phenomenal actor he is. Hated that Frances McDormand didn't win Best Supporting Actress because I think she should win an award for just about everything she's ever done, but I was happy enough just to see her looking cool and casual next to her hubby, Joel Coen, the finest filmmaker in the world. Hated that Brokeback Mountain lost to Crash, which was actually a fine film, but... I really thought it was the year of the Gay Cowboy. Oh, well.

In any case, next year, I'm going to do Oscar the old fashioned way: live. With friends and snacks, maybe a little Oscar pool. But no TiVo -- TiVo's red carpet pass has been revoked. TiVo is on probation like Isaac Mizrahi, and better watch it's damn step. Stay tuned til 2007, folks.

The Bitching Hour

2006-02-27T13:20:00.000-08:00

'Round here, the bitching hour is more like 2.5 hours, and it begins, almost without fail, at 4:00. That's when Hazel, who is still tired enough to nap daily, but refuses to, starts getting punchy -- literally and figuratively (poor Violet). And it's when my limited supply of patience and good will towards my offspring starts flagging.

I used to make sure I was always home for the bitching hour. My take on it was, it's easier deal with tantrums, whining, etc., in the comfort and privacy of our house. But then I realized that part of what made the bitching hour so bitchy was being stuck inside, with Hazel loopy and ready to burst into tears at the slightest injustice, and me short-tempered, behind in my tasks for the day, and desperately in need of a latte.

So these days, the bitching hour is when we get out of the house. I try to schedule doctors appointments, playdates, library time, or bike rides, for the late afternoon -- and it works. Getting out, getting some fresh air, and doing something, anything, seems to be far better for our souls than sitting around our little house, growling at each other, and counting the minutes until bedtime, or the next time-out, whichever one comes first.

Here's what works for me in exercising the bitch from the bitching hour:

* A trip to Starbucks. I know, it's evil, but it's good coffee, dammit, and we all love the Maple Oat Nut scones. We used to walk down to the local coffee shop, but the older lady who owns/runs it looks at my tired, rumpled, running-out-of-gas little ones like they're the fruits of the devil, and once asked me if I ever spank Hazel.

* A walk, either to the park across the street, or, in the event of rain, just a walk, with umbrellas and rainboots and lots of puddle-jumping.

* A trip to the library. Our local branch is within walking distance, and has an amazing children's section, complete with floor pillows, kid-sized tables and chairs, and computer games.

* A playdate. I don't mind hanging out with other people's exhausted kids nearly as much as I do hanging with my own.

In the event of extremely inhospitable weather, an illness, a hangover, or any other really good reason for not being able to get your ass in gear and get moving, here are some suggestions for ways to exorcize the bitch from the bitching hour at home:

* Caffeine. Make yourself a good, strong cup of coffee, or tea with milk and sugar.

* Slow down. Do yourself a favor, and stop trying to get stuff around the house done. Just stop. Leave it for tomorrow.

* You time. Take five minutes alone, even if it means putting the baby in the crib and letting the toddler get away with murder, and do some deep breathing. I myself am what's called a "shallow" breather, and I find that taking a few minutes to breathe deeply and slowly, is amazingly relaxing.

* Bake cookies. It's hard to be mad/grumpy/sad when there's cookie dough up in the house, right? Let the kid/s jump in, and crack the eggs, measure the flour, etc. Sure, they'll make a mess, but the payoff is huge.

* "Yes time." Put on a good CD, your comfy pants, and just say "yes." Your kid wants to give her stuffed animals a bath in the kitchen sink? Yes. She wants to strip down and draw on herself with (washable) markers? Yes. Put stickers on the dog? Yes. Play with the vaccum/cordless phone/computer? Yes, yes, yes! Sometimes, just hearing you say "yes" to things you would normally forbid is enough to help your kid through the bitching hour.

And if none of this works for you? Well, then, please, share what does. 'Cuz I'm running out of ideas, and at 2:40 p.m., the bitching hour is almost upon us.

Vaction Roundup

2006-02-24T20:55:00.000-08:00

Our trip to Southern Cali last week was short and sweet. There was quality time spent with family and friends, delicious food eaten, and lazy afternoons spent... lazing. And eating. And lazing some more.

The trip far exceeded my expectations, considering that Violet and I spent the eve of our departure at the Urgent Care clinic, where she was diagnosed with pneumonia, a double ear infection and a touch of pink eye. We almost didn't make the trip because of her sorry state, but the doctor assured me that as long as she took her antibiotics and stayed hydrated, she's be just fine. And she was. I realized on this trip that I've spent the last 3 years of my life as a mother earning Violet, and her happy-go-lucky, mellow, sunny disposition.* Karma, thy name is sweeeeeeet.

Hazel pulled some form of bedtime bullshit every single night, which led to her and her Papa enjoying some one-on-one time together, watching the men's Olympic speed skating finals. At 10:30 on a Tuesday night. She also visited the preschool where her Nane (my mom) is a teacher, and was awestruck by their... lawn. ("OOOoohhh, they got grass at Nane's school, Mama! It's so nice!") There was some talk about Dente, and how he's not coming back, but it was quickly forgotten when Uncle Kyle mentioned that the hunt is on for a new puppy. And as ever, Hazel basked in the warm glow of attention showered on her by her grandparents, great-grandparents and uncles, who are only too happy to tickle, cuddle and otherwise love her up.

Travelling alone with both girls, one on foot, the other in the sling, Hazel's booster seat, our huge, uncooperative suitcase (overpacked by yours truly) and a shoulder bag o'tricks was a bit of a challenge, but luckily I forgot the exact location of our car when the bus dropped us off in the long-term parking lot.

No matter how long we're gone, no matter where we are returning from, coming home to our tiny, cluttered house and our sweet Zoe-dog always feels so good.

*To be sure, Hazel is a wonderful, miraculous creature. She also is, was, and likely will always be a high-needs baby/toddler/preschooler/kid. Not that there's anything wrong with that... but my obviously, my experience with Girl #1 serves as a touchstone in my experience with Girl #2, and the two experiences, so far, have been like night and day. Is it a classic case of first baby/heir being difficult/scary, while the second baby/back-up kid is easier/whatever, or is it a prime example of the theory that one's personality and character is encoded from birth? You decide. I don't have time. I haven't even unpacked yet.

To see the week in pictures, go to the Flickr badge at left.

Hazel and THE BIG QUESTION.

2006-02-16T14:40:00.000-08:00

My mom called this morning with some sad news from Southern California: the family dog, Dente, a huge, sweet Saint Bernard, died last night. He was only eight years old, and though large breed dogs typically do not live past ten or twelve, it does seem like his time came a little too soon. Poor ol' guy. He went peacfully, though, all warm and cozy, snoozing while my stepdad watched T.V. My stepdad did what he could when he realized that the noises and strange breathing coming from the dog were signs that something was very wrong with him. I don't think I would have had the presence of mind in that situation to massage my dog's heart, or try breathing in his nose, as my stepdad did, but in the end, it turns out that Dente's number was up. We will miss him.

As time would have it, the girls and I are gearing up for a trip to my mom and stepdad's house this coming Monday. Just this morning, Hazel and Mike and I were chatting about Dente, and how much Violet would love playing with him, because she is a huge sucker for dogs. She flirts with dogs on the street, and grunts loudly (barks?) as they approach her, in a bid for play. Violet would have loved big, soft, too-lazy-to-get-up-so-go-ahead-and-sit-on-top-of-him Dente.

At three years old, Hazel has no concept of mortality. I wasn't sure whether or not I should tear the lid of that can of worms for her. Ultimately, I decided it may be preferable to have a discussion about death at home, following hot on the heels of the one we'd just had about Dente and Violet, and give Haze a few days to digest our conversation, before heading down to a now Dente-less house. Over lunch, after we'd exhausted the topic of what she did at school today, I broke the news as gently as I could. I explained that last night, Dente's body had become very sick -- so sick that it could not work anymore, and that he had layed down and gone to sleep, and that he would never wake up.

"Never?!" Hazel asked.

"Never again," I confirmed.

"Because he DIED?"

"Right."

"Because his body got sick and tired?"

"Right. He was very old, honey."

"Like a flower dies when it doesn't have enough water?"

"Um... sort of like that."

"Like a marker dies when I don't put the cap on?"

"Um... well, it's --"

"Because it doesn't work anymore!" she chirped. "The marker doesn't work and Dente died, too. Can I have a lollipop?"

I let the subject drop with that, and was generally pleased with it's overall tone. Hazel was clearly stimulated by the discussion, as opposed to frightened by it, and although I couldn't really tell whether or not she GOT it, I wasn't about to press the issue. It was a few hours later, at rest time, that Hazel, who had clearly been mulling the concept of death over internally, as is her custom, popped the big question.

"Mama, am I going to die?"

I totally panicked. If you held a microphone to my stomach, you would have heard it drop to the floor like one of those cartoon anvils. She caught me totally off guard.

"N-No," I stammered. "Um... well, not until you are very, very old. In a really, really, really, REALLY long time."

"But I'm not sick!" she pointed out.

"No. You're not sick. You are very healthy and you are going have a long and wonderful life."

Thankfully, that satisfied her, and that was as far as it went. ((BIG EXHALE))

"I am sad to miss Dente," she said.

"Me, too, Hazel."

We hugged it out, and she layed down to watch 'Max and Ruby', and that was that. I'm sure it will come up again in the next few days, but for now, I feel like Hazel's introduction to death was a relatively healthy one.

A recent re-reading of my favorite zine quoted author Sarah Vowell quoting a tombstone (which was quoting someone else): "It is a fearsome thing to love that which death can touch." And that pretty much sums it up, I think.

We'll miss you, Dente.

Hazel & Violet Wish You a Happy Valentine's Day!

2006-02-14T15:34:00.000-08:00

Winter Olympics? (Snort)

2006-02-10T14:48:00.000-08:00

Ice skating is for squares. It's all about gymnastics, baby!

Hazel's weekly class at our local community center is the highlight of her week. She is getting more and more adventurous and confident in her skills -- today she mastered the balance beam and the hands-free somersault all by herself. She was so thrilled.

The Hangover Says: You were up all night.

2006-02-09T14:22:00.000-08:00

(I can't call this post "What You Once Were Isn't What You Want To Be Anymore", cuz Patti beat me to it).

Last night, for the first time since Violet was born, I went out and tore it up, child-free. It felt fabulous to put my cute new wrap, carry a purse (no diapers! no leaky sippy cups!) and wear earrings without fear of Violet ripping one through my earlobe.

Patti and I left our men to mind the chillen, and went to see Jeff Tweedy perform a solo show at The Fillmore. He was great, of course -- better than great, actually ((swooning)) -- but for me the highlight of the evening was spending time with my good friend, drinking stiff jack n' cokes, gossiping, giggling and otherwise disrupting the hardcore Tweedy/Wilco fans ("Ssshhhhh!")

We reminisced about our rock n' roll pasts, shows we've seen, bands we've loved. Going to a show used to be a weekly event for me: I'd put on my hipster best and head out for a night of good -- and sometimes not so good -- music, over priced -- and sometimes way over priced -- beer, and rampant cigarette smoking. These days, I'm more excited about who sleeps through the night, and who learned to play peek-a-boo, than I am about who's playing Bottom of the Hill, or who's got tour coming up. I've pretty much fallen off the hipster radar, and I'm cool with that. The fact that I got my tired shit together enough to stay out past midnight, combined with the fact that I am nursing a nice little hangover this afternoon, is enough to make me feel like I haven't completely sold out.

This morning, Hazel asked, "Mama, how was your date with Patti? Did you see Wilco?" And I said yep -- and it rocked.

Self Portrait at 30.

2006-02-03T00:00:00.000-08:00

February 3, 2006.
Today is my 30th birthday.
Thirty! Three-o!

I've been looking forward to turning 30 since I was 12. It always sounded like a nice, round, solid number -- the magic number. The perfect age, the age of comfort and reason, at which I would finally become the person I was meant to be, living the life I was meant to live.

I'm not sure if that's the case, today, but I'm still pretty excited about the prospect of embarking on a whole new decade. My Thirties. It sounds very grown up. You can't mess with me now, I'm an adult! I have experienced no sense of dread or ennui about turning 30. On the contrary -- I feel like turning 30 is a sizable accomplishment, if for no other reason, than that I've made it past my 20s, which were kind of insane.

The last year or so, I have been feeling a slow but deliberate internal shift of my thoughts and energy, focusing more inward, and less outward. I am much less concerned about what or how people think of me, and much more focused on how I feel about myself, and what I'm doing with my life. It's stunning to me how much time and emotion I've wasted over the course of my last 30 years, caring about how other people perceive me, and what they think may about what I wear, how I live, who I am. My next 30 years are not going down like that.

I do not have a list of things I want to accomplish "before" -- before I turn 30, before I turn 50, before I die. But if I did have such a list, you can bet that becoming a mother would have been at the very top, no doubt (above "become an astronaut" and "find my real parents," even). But if you'd told me 10 years ago that at 30 I'd be married, living in the 'burbs, and a full time mother, I would have told you that you'd been rubbing up against the crazy tree. At 21, 22 years old, the thought of doing what I do now was horrifying -- just completely beyond my sphere of understanding. But here I am, just a few years later -- and I love it. Most days. I feel like I'm doing a lot with my life, raising my two girls up to be strong and intelligent women. I feel like I made a really radical choice, in forgoing "work" in order to be here with them, and make our home a peaceful place to grow and root and be. More than anything else I've done in my life so far, motherhood has changed, inspired, and humbled me. What a difference a few years can make.

There are still a million things in my life that I want to do. If they happen, great. If not, I'm sure that other wonderful things will have happened instead. I want to go back to college -- and finish this time. I want to travel with my husband and my girls to Africa, southeast Asia, the Caribbean, and the parts of Europe that I missed the first time around. I want to learn to play the drums. I want to finish The Satanic Verses. I want to own a house and paint every room a different color. I want to live somewhere that gets snow in the winter. I want to eat fruit fresh off the tree on a beach somewhere. I want to learn to knit/throw pottery/insert craft here. And I feel pretty confident that I will, at some point, do most, if not all of those things. Not so much because I'm a goal oriented person, but because I am a hardcore hedonist, who likes to to bum around the world, lazing about, reading and eating and daydreaming with my family. I'm a grown-ass woman, and I can admit that the things I really want in life are pretty simple.

When I think back to my 20th birthday, it seems like eons ago. I was so different. I've lived three lifetimes since then! Ten years from now, who will I be? What will be different about me then? What will the same? I don't know. But it's exciting to think about. I'll get back to you in 2016.

Penis Talk

2006-01-29T10:13:00.000-08:00

Lately, Hazel's been thinking a lot about penises. I'm not really sure why. Today at the library, she wanted to read the boy version of Once Upon A Potty, and more than once, she reminded me that Joshua, the story's main character, had a penis. She likes to review who has a penis in our family, and who doesn't. The last few days, she's been more verbal about it than usual.

Overheard in the bathroom on Saturday morning, as Mike was finishing up his shower:

Hazel: Dada, is it time to go on our bike ride, yet?

Mike: Almost... I'm not quite ready. And neither are you. You need your shoes and a jacket, right?

Hazel: Right!

Mike: And I need to put my clothes on. I can't go outside like this.

Hazel: Yeah! Nobody wants to see your penis!

And tonight, in the middle of her favorite bedtime story, which, rest assured, features no penises, she declared:

"I would be so proud to have a penis, and stand up and pee. I wish I had a penis. When I grow up, I want to have a penis!"

Usually she says she wants to be a musician when she grows up. But hey, peeing while standing is pretty cool, too. Dream big, Haze. Dream big.

Don't Leave Violet Alone With Your Blueberry Muffin

2006-01-24T14:16:00.000-08:00

She will slowly make her way over to it, her sing-songy sweet nothings becoming louder and more excited as she creeps over, tiny hands slapping the top of the coffee table, tiny feet moving faster and faster. Grunting her approval of your muffin as she examines it on the plastic Ikea plate that you neglected to push to the center of the table, she will hesitate only a split second, before cramming the entire thing into her mouth. Fear not! Violet never chokes - waste not, want not is her motto. She will suck on your muffin for a second or two, before spitting it onto the carpet. She will then proceed to smash it gleefully, the wet, spongey crumbs coating her hands as she shovels the now bite-sized morsels into her mouth, again and again. She will devour every last bit, including the paper, and that which somehow eludes her ravenous mouth will be languishing in her nose, ears, hair and neck folds until you reclaim what's left of your muffin at bathtime.

10 Weird & Random Facts About Myself.

2006-01-22T07:56:00.000-08:00

I got tagged ages ago, and I'm just now getting around to doing this. This one's for you, Apartment Number One.

1. I am afraid of the dark, and I am afraid of birds.

2. I can fit my entire hand, right or left, into my mouth. It's my stupid human trick. Do you have one?

3. I am an extremely guilty former vegetarian who loves sausage, but can't bear to eat anything off the bone.

4. I am the "offbeat" "hippy" in my family - the one everyone thinks is "eccentric" with "weird taste."

5. I am secretly (and this is just between you and me) delighted by Number 4.

6. I am friends with all of my exes. There aren't that many, but still, I feel like that's an accomplishment.

7. I made the first move on my husband.

8. Once, when I was 21, or 22, I shaved my head. Buzzed it. For no good reason, really. It was strange, and sort of liberating.

9. I am certified to teach English as a foreign language, and once moved to Prague, Czech Republic to do it. I travelled Europe for close to a year, all by myself, and it ruled.

10. I have three tatoos, and I intend to cover them all up with bigger, brighter ones, plus get a fourth.

Can I pretty please tag a few people, too? GGC, Childbearing Hipster, and Western Electric, I'd really love it.

If Only These Came In My Size, Too...

2006-01-15T09:37:00.000-08:00

May I recommend shopping at Hot Topic for all your baby needs? I got these awesome shoes for Violet there yesterday. It was a toss up between these and a cute, black Ramones tshirt, but only for about two seconds, because she's already got a tshirt that compliments these shoes nicely. She's so cool.

Super Baby

2006-01-11T10:24:00.000-08:00

It's official:

Brangelina is breeding, and they're due with their first biological child this summer. They are already adoptive parents to two of the most beautiful, well-named children I've ever seen - this next one is bound to be more of the same.

Following Baby Brangelina's birth, Hazel and Violet might just lose their place as the cutest kids in the world. *GASP*

...Oooohhh, I jest, I jest... no kid will ever be cute enough to trump my girls in the cute department, even if it is sired by Brad "Hottest Man Who Ever Lived" Pitt. Baby Jolie-Pitt'll be a close second, though, mark my word.

I Want My (Direct) TV!

2006-01-10T13:07:00.000-08:00

Remember when I kicked up a big ruckus a few months ago about cutting the (cable) cord, cutting way back on screen time, and being a better family for it?

Yeah... that's over now.

Last week we had a brand, spankin' new Direct TV satellite dish installed on the roof, and our new (blessed!) TiVo activated, and to say that we are in love with it would be the understatement of the year. It makes me a bit of a hypocrite, I know, but hey... I've been called worse.

The thing is, if you are 3, you can only watch the same DVDs so many times (and your mother can only watch you watch the same DVDs so many times). I aim to not let Hazel watch more than an hour of TV everyday... but some days that hour turns into an hour and a half. Some days I'm sick. Some days she's sick. Some days are those days. And some days I just can't stomach the absolute drivel that PBS passes off as "quality" kid's programming. Barney? More like Barfey. Dragon Tales? Try Dragon Shit. These shows are condescending and crappy, with not one iota of educational material between them. And the commercials! Commercials on public television! They're not hawking Barbie or that hideous Disney Princess crap - yet - but McDonald's and Chuck E. Cheese ads don't exactly warm my heart, either. In short, PBS is no match for Noggin, and I'm happy to have it back. And being able to record Hazel's favorite shows and play them whenever... well, I don't need to tell you how hard that rocks, do I?

Mike and I have been enjoying giddy, commercial-free evenings TiVo-ing The Daily Show, The Colbert Report, Campus Ladies (my new favorite show), Austin City Limits, and whatever HBO has to offer. There are yoga shows for me, baseball games for him, there's pay-per-view for everyone, and don't even get me started on the XM radio channels. All this, and we are paying less than half of what we payed to have bare-bones Comcast cable.

So, yeah, we're hypocrites... but we're happy. So I'm okay with it. Plus, we're counting the days until the new season of The Sopranos starts... for us, it doesn't get much better than that.

To Wheel or Not To Wheel?

2006-01-03T16:12:00.000-08:00

Have you heard of the 'Better Behavior Wheel'? I hadn't either until about 10 minutes ago, when I was scanning the recent articles posted over at Blogging Baby, and I came across this one.

Like the author of that article, I, too, and fed up with what I know is typical 3-year old behavior - the whining, the tantrums and the "testing" of "boundries," and I need it to stop, or at least taper off a little, now. Like, two weeks ago, already. And I just don't know what else to do; we've tried the reward system. We've tried taking priveledges away. We've tried reasoning, bribing, threatening and yelling.

What we have not tried is this peewee gambling, this toddler roulette. Could it really be as simple as this?: Hazel kicks Violet. Hazel spins The Wheel. Wheel tells Hazel to clean the baseboards. Hazel stops kicking!

Methinks not.

However, there is a part of me that thinks this is an interesing discipline tool. Something about having disciplinary tactics (I hesitate to call them "punishments," but I guess that's what they are) pre-written, and having Hazel dole them out to herself when she and I both know that her behavior is inappropriate, strikes a chord. Hazel is the type of kid that thrives on concrete, black and white information. A+B=C. Period. I can see how The Wheel would appeal to her sensibilities.

But is it just me, or does it seem a little cold? And does it seem a little weird? If so, why? Help me process this. Cuz I don't want to harm my child, but seriously? I'm 'bout to go off. And is it wrong to be taking child-rearing tips from this lady?

My Top 10 of 2005

2005-12-31T14:50:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year, everyone!

The Salad Family wishes you and yours health and happiness in 2006. I didn't make any resolutions this year, but I did some reflecting on the one just past, and here are the highlights:

1. The long-awaited and much-hyped birth of baby Violet, the most sweet natured, strong willed, good humored, chubby cheeked baby ever.

2. Seeing Wilco at the Greek Theater in Berkeley with both girls (their first rock show!).

3. Seeing Dan Zanes and Friends at Herbst Theater.

4. Preschool! Sweet, sweet preschool. Why dost thou come only twice a week?

5. Harry Potter and The Half-Blood Prince, the best book by J.K. Rowling yet, in my opinion, tying for best book of the year with Until I Find You by John Irving.

6. Get Behind Me Satan, by the White Stripes, a truly original and inspiring album and band.

7. BBC's The Office on DVD - the most brilliant TV show in the history of television, hands down. "Freeee loooove on the free love freeway, the love is free and the freeway's long..."

8. Having a totally potty trained 3 year old. Quite possibly the best of the best of 2005. Changing those dipes were gettin' nast-y.

9. The public beat-down of the O.G. (Original Girlie-Man), a.k.a. The Governator, in November, when every single one of his bullshit initiatives was shot down by the voting citizens of California. Take that, Ah-nold!

10. Blogging - if I'm doin' it, you know everyone else is, too. Bloggers of the world, unite!

The Santa clause.

2005-12-19T09:39:00.000-08:00

We don't want to be those parents, but Mike and I have been going back and forth, debating whether or not to play the Santa card with Hazel this year. It's not that we have any reservations about pulling one over on her; that is so not the case. And we don't want her to be the kid on the playground that shatters someone else's Christmas dreams... but, it just seems like kind of an elaborate charade. A bit high maintenance. And we're kind of lazy.

Yes, she knows who The Big Guy is. She knows all about Rudolph, the flying sleigh, the North Pole, yadda, yadda, yadda, thanks to countless showings of the Burl Ives' stop-motion animation Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. We recieved a DVD version for Hazel's first Christmas, and played it for her last year, and she became obsessed. She loved it, especially Hermey/Herbie (we say Herbie) the elf who wanted to be a dentist. I guess she empathized with his plight. She adopted Herbie into her menagerie of characters that she likes to pretend to be, and made us call her Herb all last Christmas. And well into the summer. All this to say: she's pretty well schooled on all things Christmas, and knows that Santa, like Rudolph, Herbie and Yukon Cornelius, is a character. Not a real person. And herein lies the root of our dilemma: do we tell her that Santa is real, and will come and bring her presents on Christmas Eve? What of the fact that we have no chimney? Will she expect Herbie, too? Will the (very thin) line between toddler fantasy and reality become inexplicably blurred?

On a whim one evening, while putting Hazel to bed, I mentioned that on Christmas Eve, if she's really good, Santa will come to our house while we're sleeping, and leave a really special present for her, and one for Violet. She must have spent a good deal of time mulling this morsel of holiday information over, because by the next morning, she was full of questions. And the anxiety had set in.

"How does Santa get in our house?" she wanted to know. "Hosie will bark at him!"

And later:

"Mama, I don't want Santa in our house!" she wailed. "We sleep here, and he comes, and I'm scared!"

I tried explaining that he won't wake her up, Sana will just tiptoe in, leave her present, and go on to our neighbor's house.

"But I don't want Santa," she pouted. "I don't like that beard. He's crazy!"

While putting her to bed one night last week, Mike reported some confusion on Hazel's part about whether or not she could get up in the morning. "I have to stay in bed until Christmas Eve?" she asked.

Leave it to Hazel to be the only kid in the world who is afraid of Santa Claus. I have never in my life heard of anything so ridiculous. Instead of running the risk of Hazel dashing some kid's Christmas hopes on the playground in 3rd grade, she'll be the kid running, shrieking away from the mall Santa, fear and panic splashed across her face. She'll spend her life looking for a man (or woman) who measures up to Herbie the elf.

Gosh, I can't wait to tell her about the Easter Bunny!

The War on Christmas

2005-12-13T08:54:00.000-08:00

Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on here?

As usual, the Republicans are stirring some ridiculous shit up, in hopes of distracting the American public from the real issues at hand, among them the fact that the Bush administration has no exit strategy in Iraq, treatment of P.O.W.s (or "terrorists", as they like to call them these days), the environment, execution by the state and more, by launching a War on Christmas.

Jerry Falwell, James Dobson and the religious right are up in arms and ready to monitor, lobby, boycott and litigate over the way the people of this country choose to celebrate the holiday season. Falwell, Dobson, et. al, say this effort is actually to fight back against "liberal secularists" who are "trying to drive God from the public square." Those secularists apparently include the American Civil Liberities Union, Americans United for the Separation of Church and State, large chains such as Target and Walgreen's, and anyone else using the general "Happy Holidays" greeting this holiday season, as opposed to "Merry Christmas."

Personally, I really don't get what all the fuss is about. I like the "Happy Holidays" greeting this time of year, and I use it, because it's all-inclusive. Merry Christmas, Happy Hannukah, Happy Kwanzaa - it's all implied. It's one-stop shopping! But according to Falwell's 'Liberty Counsel' and Dobson's 'Focus on the Family' the "Happy Holidays" greeting is a wolf in sheep's clothing, and they are targeting retailers and schools - yes, schools - who they think "slight" Christmas by "bending over backward" for inclusivness. These groups are even raising funds through their websites to finance watchdog groups and private attorneys who kick up a big ruckus over Target using "Gather Round" as a holiday greeting, and battle with public school superintendents who think it's inappropriate to have nativity scenes on their school campuses.

I would find it hysterical, if I didn't find it so disgusting, that the organized right is telling the overwhelming majority of the population of the U.S. that it should feel persecuted and oppressed if someone wishes them "happy holidays." I would find it unbelievable, if I didn't find it so typical, that conservatives are using language like "war" and "christmas" together. I would find it silly, if I didn't find it so frightening, that the government of this country, so concerned about "freedom" in the middle east, so vehemently opposes freedom of, and freedom from, religion in this one. This is the path of the modern day Christian?

This year, for the first time in her life, Hazel is old enough to understand how, and most importantly, why, we are celebrating the holidays. I say holidays because in our family, we acknowledge all the special days of the season, including Hannukah and Kwanzaa. Hazel is old enough to understand that different people celebrate different holidays in their families, and in the world, and that all the holidays are equally important. She still has lots of questions, though:

"Why did we get a Christmas tree, Mama?" she asked last week. "Why do we put orna-mins on it?"

Yesterday at the park she built a menorah on the swing out of sand, stuck eight candles in it, sang happy birthday to herself, and blew them out.

I've tried to stress that this is a time to celebrate the change in season, to enjoy and be thankful for our family and our home, and to give things to the people that we love. I've also really tried to impart to her that Christmas is a time for giving things to people who need them, especially to kids who are not as fortunate as we are, and who have very little to eat, wear, or play with. I was really proud of her the day we cleaned out her closet and she chose the toys, clothes and DVDs she wanted to donate to the kids at Redwood Family House.

I feel very uncomfortable with the religious aspect of the "winter holidays," I'll be honest. I do not consider myself a Christian in the biblical sense of the word, and especially not in the cultural sense of the word, which, these days, has visions of "morality" police, right-wing zealots and the federal government dancing in my head. I prefer to think of myself as a little bit of everything, or at the very least, tolerant and respectful of all of the religion and spirituality the world has to offer, and hope to raise my girls as such.

So, I guess that makes me one of those liberals plotting to "ban the sacred Christian holiday." Or whatever. You can officially label me liberal freak for jumping into the 21st century, and acknowledging that there are not just Christians, but also Jews, Buddhists, aetheists, Rastafarians, Hindus, Muslims and so many more, who make up this country. Because isn't now, more than ever before, the time to embrace our differences and celebrate not in spite of them, but because of them? To make peace? To show each other kindness and love? Isn't that what the holidays, whichever ones you celebrate, are all about?

Salad Girls Update

2005-12-07T14:17:00.000-08:00

What's new and exciting in the world of Hazel and Violet, you ask? Well, dear reader, both girls have achieved some major milestones in the last few weeks, as well as managed to pick up a few new words, tricks and idiosyncracies. Here's a short list.

Hazel

- Poops in the potty. Finally. She is now officially done with potty training. Yesssss!

- Swears. No, I'm not proud of this fact, although I do find it hilarious - especially when she uses the words correctly. And yes, she gets it from me. Verbatim quotes include: "Shit! I forgot to watch Rudolph today!" and "Mama, I'm not gonna poop in a goddamn diaper anymore."

- Dresses herself by herself, even if the ensemble du jour includes buttons, snaps, velcro or tights. She can also tie a knot, if her shoes are lace-ups. Cannot color coordinate for shit. (Oops, there I go again...)

- Writes her name. Let me say that again: writes her name!! That just blows my mind.

- Loves her sister. This is a relatively new development. Both Mike and I were shocked almost to tears when we saw Hazel put a defensive arm around Violet at a birthday party last weekend, and shoot the strange girl approaching her with a toy the hairy eyeball.

- Plays guitar. Mike hasn't started teaching her chords yet, but she got a miniature guitar for her birthday, and straps it one several times each day to accompany herself belting out everything from Dan Zanes to Christmas carols to the White Stripes. Can also be seen playing the harmonica, keyboard, tamborine and (after Christmas morning) the melodica. Naked.

Violet

- Crawls! She's been doing what I call the "commando", which is to drag herself across the floor with her arms, for months, but the in the last 2 weeks, she has mastered the traditional crawl. This kid is not even 7 months old yet! I smell big trouble.

- Eats! Everything! Last night she had meatloaf. The night before that she had rice, lentils and an entire pear. She has never met a food she didn't like, and devours, literally, anything you put in front of her, from broccoli to chicken soup to bananas to beans. She picks up Cheerios and soft chunky foods like a pro, and gets almost everything into her mouth. If it something she really likes, after each bite, she goes "Ahhhmmmmmmm," and sighs, before whacking the highchair tray and grunting insistantly for more. Word on the street is that Violet is the new Daisy.

- Copycats. If you blow a raspberry, Vi blows one back at you. If you laugh, she goes "AH AH AH!" and sort of cough/laughs as if she, too, is in on the joke. She loves to play peek-a-boo. She thinks it's hysterical when I groan "we're LAAAAAATE!", which is pretty much everyday.

- Pulls hair. Gotta watch out for that. She is fascinated by hair (perhaps because she has so little of it?), and has shocking death grip; a lethal combination.

- Loves her sister. No news there, though. Violet has thought Hazel was pure gold since day one. Loves to show her love by pulling Hazel's hair. Grins her drooly, two-toothed grin if even the slightest attention is paid to her by The Big Kid. It's priceless.

And that's what's new with the Salad Girls.

Happy Birthday, Mike!

2005-12-06T09:27:00.000-08:00

And many happy returns on this, your 34th birthday!

When you come home tonight, your birthday dinner of meatloaf, smoked gouda and bacon mashed potatoes, and garlic sauteed broccoli will be waiting for you. We'll have a chocolate torte with 34 candles to blow out, and you can open the gifts the girls and I picked out for you. When they hit the sack, you and I can enjoy a glass of red wine and a movie or a CD.

I'll try to have the girls bathed and PJ'd before you come home, to spare you the trials and tribulations of bathtime on your special day ("I don't want to wash hair!" and "Make my towel like a burrito!" just don't have the same ring as "Happy Birthday" do they?).

It makes me so happy to be celebrating another year with you. You are such a joy; your genuine kindness towards everyone you know makes me strive to be a better person. Your exuberance and energy when you are with our girls warms my heart. You are the greatest husband and the best dad in the whole world. I love you. Happy day!

Violet Redux

2005-12-01T20:13:00.000-08:00

Apparently, Jennifer Garner does not read my blog. Pffft.

According to my sources, she gave birth to daughter Violet Ann Affleck this afternoon. *Sigh*

At least I can be happy that they chose an original middle name, instead of stealing Olivia, the bastards. And I bet our Violet is cuter, too. So there.

With a twinge of resentment, I bid you congratulations, Bennifer. Violets of the world, unite and take over!

Thanksgiving.

2005-11-28T19:54:00.000-08:00

We flew to my cousin Shannon's house in Scottsdale, AZ, this year. The whole family, minus only one, showed up, and there was lots of eating, drinking, laughing, eating, talking and eating. A big thank you - again - to Shannon, for taking on such a giant group of guests; you are a better (and more organized) woman than I! And a very gracious hostess.

The warm, sunny weather inspired the group to play a few rounds of bocce ball and soccer at a nearby park, on Friday, and the cool evenings were spent sitting around the fire pit in Shannon's backyard. Hazel and Violet and their four big-girl cousins made sure there were lots of cute photo opportunities, none of which went unphotographed. The girls were very sweet with one another, and it was heartwarming to see them get to know each other, and enjoy their time together. The little girls followed the big girls around, fascinated; the big girls were patient and loving with little ones. Hazel, like her mother before her, was shy and unsure of her place in the hierarchy of girls, so she stayed mostly on the sidelines, watching and listening and taking mental notes.

We flew home on Saturday (no crowds! no lines at security! amazing!) to catch the Dan Zanes and Friends show at Herbst Theatre on Sunday morning. There was some sort of snafu with our tickets, so we ended up wandering down to the pit down in front of the stage, and rocking out down there, mere feet from Dan, Hazel's idol and main squeeze, for the entire set. Haze was absolutely awestruck - she sat in Mike's lap almost the whole time, slack jawed and dazed. I, on the other hand, sang and clapped and danced enough for both of us, with sick little Violet watching everything from inside the sling. Dan's set did not disappoint - he played a lot of our favorites, and encouraged everyone, big and little, to sing and dance and join in the goofy fun. It was awesome.

What a great start to the holiday season. I hope your Thanksgiving was as fun as ours!

An Open Letter to Julia Roberts and Jennifer Garner

2005-11-15T14:37:00.000-08:00

Dear Jules and Jen,

Ladies, the media has brought it to my attention that you both have (or are about to have) baby girls. Congratulations! Mothering a baby girl can be a huge thrill, and will certainly be a huge responsibility, what with all the nursing (you are nursing, aren't you? Please, let's set a good example, girls..), diaper changing, and sleepless nights. But it can be exhilirating too, and one of the most exciting parts of having a baby girl, for me anyway, was deciding on a name for her.

That being said, Julia, I have a bone to pick with you. You just had to go and name your baby girl Hazel, thus taking a quiet, below-the-radar kind of name, and slapping it on every the front page of major publication in the western hemisphere. I can kind of forgive you, since Hazel is such an awesome name. I mean, I'm not saying you don't have great taste, because you totally do. But that still doesn't take the sting out of people saying, upon meeting my Hazel, "Oh, like Julia Robert's daughter!" People have actually said that to me, Jules, thus diminishing some of the uniqueness of the name, in my opinion. I'm willing to wager that no one ever says "Oh, like Alisyn's daughter!" when you tell them your daughter's name. And that's not fair, because I used it first, dammit! I wouldn't have played you like that, Julia. Just so you know.

Jen, according to Celebrity Baby Blog and Us Weekly Magazine (credible sources, I know, but usually pretty spot-on about stuff like this), you and your goofball husband Ben Affleck have chosen the name Violet for your baby daughter, due any day now. Again, it's understandable - Violet is a great name; unusual, but not too outlandish. And considering that there have been a few pop culture characters named Violet this year (Violet from The Incredibles, Violet from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory), it's not too surprising that you have caught on to its possibilities. But do you think I could persuade you to choose another name, so as to avoid the frustration I experienced with Julia (see above)? Perhaps some of the other names we had in mind for Violet might tickle your fancy: Clementine Affleck sounds mighty nice. Matilda Affleck? Not to shabby! May Affleck - a fine moniker. I have several more suggestions, Jen, should none of these suggestions fill the bill. But please, reconsider using Violet. It's really just much too cool for you. I mean, no offense, but - Ben Affleck? Seriously?

Thanks, girls.

Semper Fi

2005-11-14T13:59:00.000-08:00

The girls and I just returned from a 4 day trip to San Diego. It was our first all-girls trip, and it went pretty smoothly all in all. Hazel didn't sleep for shit, unfortunately, and was up no later than 5:30 a.m. every morning (the worst was when she woke up at 4:30 asking "Can we wake up, Mama? I wanna go to the beach!"). Since we were all sharing a bedroom, that meant Violet and I were up, too. Vi is always elated to see Hazel, no matter what the time, but I was horrified, and tried to keep the girls quiet until at least 6 a.m., so the working folks in the house could get some rest. The early wake-up calls resulted in the girls taking great naps everyday, which was nice. Uncle Tim, Mike's brother, was an excellent surrogate dad for us- holding the baby when I needed to help Hazel with something, or taking Hazel to the toystore while the baby and I napped. He cooked and chauffered us around and made me stiff drinks. He was awesome. We stayed with Uncle Tim and Nana (Mike's mom), which always thrills Hazel, because it's so close to the beach and because she gets to do pretty much whatever she wants while we're there, including waking up two hours before the crack of dawn to watch Noggin.

It was a really emotional weekend for me, which, combined with the lack of sleep (did I mention that Violet woke up once an hour every night?), made me kind of fragile. We were in San Diego with the rest of my family, to see my baby brother, Wyatt, graduate from Marine Corps bootcamp. I've been in major denial about Wyatt joining the Marines, even as he left for boot camp 13 weeks ago; even as I addressed the letters I wrote him "Recruit Fulkerson, Wyatt M., Bravo Company, Platoon 1127." It didn't really hit home that he was doing this until I saw him march out onto the Parade Deck, with 500 other graduates, at the Marine Corps Recruit Depot on Thursday morning. Seeing these boys, now these men, marching in perfect formation, with perfect precision, in their crisp uniforms and shiny shoes was really powerful. Startlingly powerful. The recruits marched and marched and finally stopped in front of the stands, each platoon aligned with where their families were instructed to sit. It took me a few minutes to find Wyatt's beautiful face in the sea of khaki, but when I did, I just lost it. I cried like a baby. I felt proud and scared and sad and happy and a million other things at once. Most of what I felt was relief; I felt relieved to see him, to see that he had made it through some seriously hellish physical and mental conditioning, relieved that he still looked like the Wyatt I know. When the recruits were dismissed and allowed to come to the stands and find their families, I hugged and kissed him and just marvelled at how different he seemed. The little boy, the 18-year-old fresh out of high school and ready to take on the world, was gone. In his place was a man. A man who has seen things that I'll never be able to imagine, and done things he never thought he could do. A man who has endured more in the last 13 weeks than he'll ever be able to fully tell us about.

Despite my own personal politics, which can be summed up quickly as anti- establishment, anti-military, and totally against the U.S. occupation of Iraq and Afghanistan, I had no problem travelling to the M.C.R.D. to support my brother, and participate in what was probably the most important day of his life so far. Walking around the M.C.R.D. with our family, listening to Wyatt's stories about life as a recruit, watching him adjust to the first five hours of completely free time he'd had in over three months, I realized that my politics mean absolutely nothing in the shadow of my family. Anti-war, pro-Bush - it's all seems moot, now. All that matters now is Wyatt's safety, as he continues his training at Ft. Sill, OK, and after that, his imminent deployment to Iraq. Wyatt estimates that he will be in Iraq within 9 months. So for me, that means nine months to join the anti-war movement, and not just agree with them from the comfort of my couch. Nine months to add my voice to those calling for an end to the occupations, an end to the wars, and an end to the jeopardy that thousands of enlisted men and women are in. If and when my brother is shipped out to Iraq, I'll be here at home, supporting him the only way I can - by demanding that President Bush bring him home as soon as possible, and not sacrifice any more lives for oil. The fact that Wyatt will soon join the ranks of people in Iraq, risking their lives daily, really brings this war home for me - it's not just something I hear about on the radio or read about in the newspaper before turning to the A&E section anymore. It's personal. And while I support Wyatt's career decision to be a Marine, because it makes him happy and it is something he excells at, I don't support what the current administration is doing with our enlisted men and women. I find myself wondering how things would be different if Bush's baby brother was a Marine. Or if Cheney's daughter was in the Army. Bet your ass they wouldn't be shipped to the front lines.

Despite my feelings about this war, I still feel immensely proud of Wyatt for all the hard work and personal sacrifice he's had to endure to become a Marine. It's something he's wanted for a long time and it's something that didn't come easy for him. It's a major accomplishment and I am in awe of the kind of drive it takes to succeed at something like that. I'm happy that Hazel, Violet and I could be there to see the place where my brother, their Uncle WyWy, achieved a major milestone in his life. It was two days that I will never forget in all my life. Congratulations, Wyatt. I love you.

Six months later, and I'm feeling fat.

2005-11-05T19:05:00.000-08:00

Well, not FAT, exactly. But not at my fighting weight, that's for sure. Not feeling so good about the ol' muffin tops, over here, I'll say that much.

Violet will be six months old on Friday. Unbeleievable, I know. It's been six rich, sinful, glorious months of coffee with cream, second helpings, dessert almost every night and full fat mayo. Six months of cream line yogurt, bacon, D'Affanois and beer, served up with a steaming hot sidedish of guilt-free justification: Hey, I just had a baby, I deserve this cheesecake! I'm a nursing mother - keep the chips and salsa coming, waitress!

But blogging about Hazel's third birthday recently, I found myself scrolling through hundreds of photos of her as a baby, just reliving those early days, and I was surprised at how much thinner I was when Hazel was Violet's age (although I still felt fat, of course - it's the American way). It seems silly to say this at the ripe old age of 29, but in the three years since having Hazel, I've noticed how much my body has shifted. Things just look and feel different, somehow. Some things are a little jiggly, some a little poofy, some are just plain scary, and everything is just bigger.

I feel gross, most days. I don't like being this size. But the truth of it is, I haven't done shit about it. I eat pretty healthfully, I think, although my diet could certainly be improved, I'm sure. But I have a really hard time motivating myself to exercise - it's not really something I like to do. Getting up and exercising in the morning doesn't really appeal to me, because it's the morning - it's cold, and I'm groggy and I want a nice, hot cup of strong coffee to wake me up, not a skintight jogging bra to cut my circulation off, and remind me of when my boobs were a more managable size. And forget exercising at night - by four p.m. I'm exhausted. By seven p.m. I feel like the Crypt Keeper, bleary, bitchy, and standing on the verge of a nervous breakdown. How is it possible that I'm this size, when I never get to sit down, I never get to finish a meal, and I'm always running around like a nutjob? It's one of those things about motherhood that no one ever tells you-- you'll run yourself ragged browbeating the children, but you'll still need to carve out time in your day to exercise if you ever want to fit back into those prepregnancy jeans sitting on the bottom shelf of your closet, mocking your fat ass like a school boy.

Most of what bugs me about being this size is that I don't feel strong. I don't feel healthy, or energetic. I don't really care if my butt's a little bigger than it used to be. Since concieving, growing, birthing and nursing two babies, I have attained a much deeper, much greater respect and admiration for my body than I've ever had in my life. It's done some pretty amazing things the last few yars. I'm okay with looking more like the woman I am, and less like the girl I was. And I'm okay with the fact that I don't look like those freaks in Vogue magazine - I don't feel like I have to fit a certain mold in order to feel, or look, attractive. I just need to feel strong again, and my body needs to stretch, to realign itself, and to release a lot of tension. Daily.

So, I figure I'll start out slowly, by walking the dog every night. Maybe some sun salutations when I wake up. Then maybe I'll walk her once in the morning and at night - goodness knows Zoe could use more exercise too. A couple of months of good, hard, fast walking and maybe I'll be ready take up yoga again, although I must say, I'm a more than a little apprehensive about the... um... sound effects... that my bod will be contributing to class after two vaginal childbirths. *SHUDDER*

After a couple of months of regular exercise, I should be able to approach the fancy-pants digital scale that Mike's mom just gave us, without hurling. I'm not ready for that right now, though; I want to focus on my activity level to start, not my weight. We'll see how far that gets me.

So au revoir, coffee with cream! Fare-the-well, Halloween candy! I'm turning over a new leaf.

Madness

2005-11-04T14:36:00.000-08:00

Last week was total madness. I'm so glad it's over. Birthday madness, Halloween madness, and don't even get me started on the havoc that the time change is wreaking on this household; hell hath no fury like a child who gets up at 5:00 am, refuses to nap, and is begging to go to bed at 4:00 in the afternoon.

The birthday girl started her day at 5:30 am, jonesing for presents and cake. That's her at about 5:40 am up top, assessing her sweet loot. Hazel's grandparents (most of them), some friends and family all helped her celebrate her third birthday at our favorite park. There were bagels, juice and cake, just like last year. But unlike last year, when we had about 50 people coming and I had to be organized, this year we had about 15 people and I decided to go low-stress, worry-free and just kind of wing it, not taking anything too seriously. Which, of course, resulted in me feeling like a complete jerk for forgetting candles for the awesome Maisy birthday cake, which Mike had to run to the store for. While there, he forgot to buy matches. While he was at home getting matches, I had not yet realized we forgot forks, with which to eat the cake, and didn't until after I'd started cutting the cake, which I was able to do only because we had two knives for the cream cheese schmears, both of which Hazel had used as her own personal spoons, to scoop huge mounds of cream cheese into her mouth sans bagel, as is her preference. And on it went... The party was a perfect example of my dilemma as a mom - I want to be the freewheelin', devil-may-care kind of hippie mom who enjoys eating cake with her fingers and doesn't fret about things like whether her friends think she's a total weiner for having a year to plan the party, only to do some half-assed shopping and planning three days before. But that it's-cool-man!-hippie-mom is sometimes (often?) usurped by critical-embarassed- why-am-i-so-disorganized?-mom, who can not believe she let something like the friggin' birthday candles slip her mind on her child's special day. *SIGH* Hazel didn't care about any of it, she was just happy to have everyone there in her honor, happy to mow down two plates full of frosting with her fingers, plus some off the cake, and happy to be wearing a party hat, which, besides the Maisy cake, was her only birthday request. What a sweetheart.

Halloween went off without a hitch, and not just because we didn't host it! We headed to San Mateo to trick-or-treat with our friends, and their neighborhood was packed with decorated houses and trick or treaters. Violet threw a huge, inexplicable tantrum the first half of the evening, so I didn't bother with dressing her up in her chick costume, but the big girls looked adorable and were very polite trick-or-treaters, always staying together, always remembering to say thank you. There they are at the beginning of the evening (Tinkerbell, Dash and Daisy-Head Mayzie), before I, in full hey-whatever!-superfun-hippie-mom-mode, made the mistake of sharing a giant pixie stick with them. Critical-hindsight-is-20/20-mom soon wished she hadn't let the 3 girls mainline pure sugar, and is now wishing that she had taken at least one photo of Hazel and Violet together on Vi's first Halloween, costume or no costume, but oh well. There's always next year.

To Hazel on her 3rd Birthday

2005-10-31T07:39:00.000-08:00

Dear Hazel,

You turned 3 years old at 8:09 on Saturday night. Three! It's hard to believe that three long and three short years ago, you were born. You are the greatest joy, and the biggest challenge, in our lives. You inspire us, you defy us, you keep us humble. You are our little firecracker, our golden girl.

We talked a lot this weekend about the night you were born - how you came out at night time, how you looked at us quietly the next morning with your big eyes, so wise and new and other-worldly. You seemed to hold the key to the universe. Your dada and I could not believe that we made you, that you were ours to love and protect and guide through this life. It doesn't seem like enough time has passed since then for you to be a walking, talking person with opinions and ideas, but here we are, three years later, and it's amazing to us that you were ever really that small, that new, that fresh.

You have grown into a beautiful, charismatic, idiosyncratic, hilarious, imaginative and charming little girl. We love your little voice, your big ideas and your giant personality. You are a maze of both endearing and infuriating qualities, and navigating you is something that we have to keep learning and relearning, day after day. You are a masterpiece.

The last year was a big one for you. We moved into a new house, you became a big sister and you started preschool. Each transition was really hard for you, but you made your own way and took your own time, and came out the other side of each tunnel a little older, a little stronger. You have a big, booming inner voice, Hazel, and it guides you unfailingly. I so admire that about you. You listen, really listen to yourself, and for better or worse, that is a rare and admirable attribute that you brought with you to this life. Your bottomless reserves of tenacity and self-awareness will allow you keep listening to yourself, now and forever. You have your own sense of time and your own ideas about how things should, and will, unfold in your life, and while your timetable and mine do not often sync up, I secretly admire your fierce adherence to it.

You have made dear friends this year and are trying hard to figure out your place among them. You used to be the timid one. Now you're the bossy one. Which one will you be next? Watching you and your girlfriends love, pester, tease, hug and excite each other has been one of the highlights of my life with you so far. It is amazing to me that you have such a tight circle of friends at such a young age - not only do you have a little sister at home who loves, idolizes and adores you, you have sisters who live in other houses, with other parents who you also love, and that community of wonderful people is something we hope to preserve for you for a long, long time. Nothing else in this life will compare to relationships like these. How fortunate we are to be learning that all together.

You have always been an exceptional kid, Hazel. Never one to follow the crowd, you said your first word at the age of seven months. By ten months you were walking and by one, you had a bigger vocabulary than most two year olds. Today, you use words like "actually" and "character" and "independent" - and you use them properly! You like to dress yourself and are only concerned with what feels and looks good to you, social propriety and weather be damned! You are in no hurry to poop in the potty, though you know that I am lobbying hard for it (perhaps this is why, Mary Contrary?). You are learning how to love your sister by sharing with her and teaching her how to use toys and read books not because I encourage you to, but because you are actually beginning to enjoy it, to enjoy her. You look forward to your time at school and are forming relationshiops there completely on your own, guiding yourself and choosing your own activities, and learning that the world expands beyond your family and friends and your comfort zone. Life keeps changing and getting better for you, and it is a joy to for us to be a part of it.

Everyone who has ever met you has commented on how beautiful you are, with your curly golden hair and your big, brown eyes. You are a total knockout. When the four of us are laying in bed after you come in and wake us up in the morning, your dada and I look at you and your sister, and we just can't imagine two more knock down, drag out gorgeous girls. You two are already heartbreakers; you're going to be big trouble.

Happy Birthday to you Hazel, as you begin your third year of life, and many happy returns. You are our best big girl, our little Hoo, and we are forever in your debt for coming along and starting our family. Dada, Violet and I love you so very, very much.

Attention Target Shoppers:

2005-10-19T17:01:00.000-07:00

Friends, I have made a deliberate and concerted effort to keep politics off of this blog. However, as a mother and a woman, I am deeply angered by what is becoming routine discrimination against women by large chains such as Safeway, Walmart and now, Target.

For those of you who have not yet read about, or experienced this, Safeway, Walmart, Target and a few others, have been allowing the pharmacists working within their stores to refuse to fill birth control prescriptions to anyone they don't see fit to give them to. These phamracists, motivated by their own personal, nonprofessional beliefs, are refusing to fill legal and legitimate doctor's prescriptions for birth control pills and/or emergency contraception pills, because they do not personally believe in preventing unwanted pregnancies.

Regardless of what your stance on birth control or emergency contraception is, please think about what this kind of discrimination can mean for you. What if, the next time you go to fill your prescription for your cholesterol pills, you pharmacist just flat out refuses, because, say, you look to young to need such a thing? Or because it's Wednesday. What if your pharmacist just said "Nope, sorry, not at this pharmacy, pal!" when you went to fill your Prozac prescription, on the grounds that s/he doesn't "believe" in depression?

This is descrimination, plain and simple. And it is unacceptable. Please visit Fill My Pills Now! to protest this practice. And while you're at it, you can fire off an angry letter to Target, letting them know what you think of them, for allowing this to happen in their stores here.

Time to call the therapist?

2005-10-17T19:51:00.000-07:00

Me: Whatcha doin' Haze?
Haze: Playing with my dollhouse! Wanna play, Mama?

Me: Umm, sure. So... what is the dollhouse family up to today?
Haze: They're eating dinner! See? Mama, Dada, Hazel and Molly:

Me: Cool! It looks like they're having fun. Is that our whole family?
Haze: Yeah!
Me: It is? Hmm... where's Violet?
Haze: In the closet.

Daisy Head Hazy

2005-10-15T08:33:00.000-07:00

Hazel has decided that she wants to be Daisy Head Mayzie, the title character of Dr. Seuss book, for Halloween. We went out yesterday and bought a pink dress and white tights for her costume. I figure I can rig up a craft-store fake daisy to a head band easy enough. Perhaps we'll carry a copy of the book for clarification when trick-or-treating?

Can I just say, I love that Hazel wants to be a character from a book? I think it's awesome that she came up with it totally on her own, too. I wouldn't be able to think of a costume that better suits her if I had to.

Violet is going to be a baby chick, coming out of it's egg, for her first Halloween, like her big sister was before her.

The photo opps are going to be off the hook. We gots mad Halloween skillz!

A Whole Post About Violet

2005-10-13T13:52:00.000-07:00

I've noticed that I write a lot more about Hazel than I do about Violet on this blog. Which is natural, I suppose, since Hazel actually, you know, does stuff. Hazel is always front and center, while little Vi is most often on the fringes. But not for long...

At five months old, our little Violet is in a big hurry to grow up. She rolls all over the house, belly to back and back to belly, looking for nothing but a good time. Lately, she's been contemplating the mechanics of scooting, and is starting to get the hang of it. She gets an object or destination in mind, and she digs her toes into the carpet and stretches, scooching her whole trunk, inch by inch, just using her tiny little toes, and she doesn't stop until she gets where she's trying to go. Her steely determination wavers only occasionally... if there's a really interesting piece of carpet schmutz in her path, for instance. Or if she starts up a conversation with her own hand.

Violet is endlessly entertained by the loud, kissy, slightly overbearing girl that is her big sister. She absolutely lights up when she sees Hazel; just beams at her, like she cannot believe her good fortune at having run into her. She screeches and laughs at her, and doesn't mind the weird, sing-songy way in which Hazel addresses her. She thinks the big, upright kid is awesome and if she knows that Hazel is in the room somewhere, she watches her intently, craning her neck and contorting her body to get the best view, and squawks and coos until Hazel notices her, too. Vi's desire to be loved by Haze is palpable, and a little bit heartbreaking in it's naked sincerety.

We call Violet The Ham. We mean it in a good way, because babies are supposed to be fat and pink and creased, much like an actual ham. We also call her the Chunkmaster, Chubs, Fatty, Plumpy Plumpster and The Fat One. We joke about her having a complex later in life, but I think she knows it's all in good fun. We tell her that curves are in this season, anyway. She has been eating rice cereal for about a month now, and she loves it - loves the whole process of it: spoon in cereal, spoon in mouth, swallow, repeat. Last night, for the first time, she sat at the table with us in the little mini-highchair thingy that straps onto a regular chair. She was a little floppy, as she hasn't quite mastered the fine art of sitting up yet, but she liked being there, eating her slop, with the rest of the family. It's nice having a kid who already enjoys food so much. Violet, in fact, demanded that we feed her, and she launched a day-long nursing strike to really drive her point home a few weeks ago. When I finally caught on to what she was asking for, and offered her a little cereal on a little spoon, she was in ecstasy. She ate two bowls full and after every spoonful, she sighed "mmmmmmmmmmm". It's a much different experience than we had with Hazel, who resisted solids until about 9 months, strongly preferring nursing, and who still has little to no interest in anything that is not macaroni and cheese. Vi will be cleaning Hazel's plate before long.

Where Hazel was our sensitive Mama's girl, Violet is Captain Easygoing. You're gonna put me back in that exersaucer thing, again, Mama? Okay. You're gonna just plop me on the carpet and let me roll myself into a corner? No sweat! She doesn't mind being wedged between the couch and the coffee table for 15 minutes at a time because, apparently, she and the couch have a lot to talk about. She loves to look at the baby staring back at her in the full-legnth closet door mirrors and she can lay on her back, opening and closing her hands, or sucking on her toes, for a good half an hour before she gets bored. You're gonna neglect me in favor of the computer some more, Mama? That's cool... I'm gonna work on dragging myself across the room to that hilarious dog over there, who's waiting for you to turn away for two seconds, so she can french me.

We've recently started putting Violet down at a regular bedtime, in her own bed. After one night of protesting, she figured out that being put down for bed meant she was supposed to go to sleep, so she did. She carried that nononsense attitude over into naptime, too, and has been napping for at least an hour and a half, twice a day (a far cry from 20 minutes here, 40 minutes there, which was her previous schedule). She comes into bed with Mike and I sometime after midnight and wakes up around 7, cooing, smiling, stretching and farting. She wakes up in the best mood, so happy to see Mama and Dada, so ready for Hazel to come in and smother her with kisses. This is a kid who just loves her life. Our little Buddha.

When I was pregnant with Violet, I would try to imagine myself in various everyday situations my two girls: The Whole Foods scenario, in which the screaming baby would be in the sling, needing to nurse, and Hazel careening dangerously through the store with her little mini-cart, giving innocent passersby bruised ankles. The airport scenario, in which the screaming baby is in the sling, diaper full of poop, and Hazel is in the red stroller, whining and complaining and being bribed to stay quiet through the security lines with lollipops. I must say, it's not really as hard as I daydreamed it would be with two kids to manage; or rather, Violet's mellow and happy personality makes it easier than it could be. The screaming doesn't really happen much (the pooping is another story). I know that all this could change in a heartbeat, so right now, I'm really appreciative of the fact that she's happy just being awake, being alive, being around us. She's our little flower, our Happy Ham, and we are thrilled to bits by every little thing she does.