The New Girl

Stick A Fork(s) In Me...

I'm (FINALLY) done.

 

Fun Fact Friday!!

* TLNG has been sleeping longer.  I think that she's going through a massive growth spurt or something else [heavenly].  I have been awake before her every day for a week and a half.

* I ended up having one of The Best Christmases EVAR. I enjoyed the pace of the day.  I had been prepared and most everything came off without a hitch.  I couldn't turn the frittata out of the pan, but other than that, breakfast at my house was good (I just cut it and served it in wedges from the pan).  The Nephew said this: 'Tatie?  You are cooking?'  Like that.  Like a question.  'Yes, Nephew, and there really IS a Santa Claus.'

* The holiday was one of the best evar in spite of the fact that my dad couldn't make it, due to weather.  That and, you know, my mom has never seen my kid in a [Target] Fancy Christmas Dress.  I have this little compartment in my head where I put shit like that and then conveniently don't think about it too much.  The + side of this coping skill = Best Christmas Evar. The - side = Having EMAs and Being Awake Before Your Toddler.

* This morning, I ran out of tea bags.  Oh, holy hell.  I was just scrounging through my house, looking for a wayward, stray bag, like a tea junkie.  It's very sad. My solution ended up consisting of remnants of loose tea and a tea ball and two cups and a coffee filter and spillage.  Good thing you can't see me.  And my shame.  I think I've finally hit rock bottom.

*  In a stroke of genius, I decided to get my MIL a Coach Bag.  Myself excluded, every female in The Man's family (except my MIL) carries an expensive bag.  Turns out, by the end of the day?  My MIL had THREE Coach Bags.  We ALL had that same stroke of genius.  Is that bizarre?  My MIL was stunned silly, but gracious as ever and said this: 'I just went from Kmart to Macy's.'  Cute, right?  She's taking one back.  But not mine.

* I also got a kick-ASS gift, from The Man. A Cannon Rebel!  WOOOT!! OMG ILOVEMYCAMERA. ILOOOOVEMYCAMERA.

* It can do this:

 

And also this:

* That little baby-doll head that you see is the Baby Do-Do (Pronounced Doe-Doe) that TLNG got from Santa.  [Aside: Do Do is the Baby French word for sleep and this is TLNG's short-hand for the fact that the baby closes her eyes when you lay her down.]  For about a week and a half, I'd say, 'What's Santa going to bring you?' and she'd say, 'BABY DO DO!'

* I was EXTREMELY pleased that she attached herself to this little baby.  I paid like, 30 bucks for it, at a toy store that carries European Toys (equalling no lead paint, etc.)  I would have been a leetle put out if she glommed onto the $4, crazy-looking dolly that someone else gave her.

* I forGOT to tell you all this, and I can't believe it but one day, TLNG was sick and, well, let's just say that her Creepy Dolly took one for the team.  In a moment of [nausea from the smell] desperation, I tossed B1 into the washer and dug out B2 and just casually [tossed her] placed her in plain sight.  TLNG found her, hugged her, kissed her and then?  She started whining and pulling on that fucking hat!  And then I had THIS moment of genius.  I said, quickly, 'Mommy got her a NEW HAT!  She has a NEW HAT!'  And you know what?  That shit WORKED, yo.

Let's hear it for TWO BRAIDS!
 P.S. She wanted to play in that thing.  She's putting everyone 'Do Do' in there.

* The other best present I got was that The Man figured out how to take the YEAR AND A HALF of video off of our camera and burned it onto a BAZILLION discs.  I can't wait until my kid gets a load of THAT.

* I'm on the Fourth Book in the Twilight series and I'm STILL ROLLING MY EYES.  *sigh*

Have a great weekend everyone!!

Nightmare Before Christmas Photoshoot

I apologize in advance for the umpteenth post devoted to images of my offspring.

But, I wanted to share my [woe] experience of trying to get a *Holiday Picture,* during which I very LITERALLY broke into a sweat.  [Plus, some of you REQUESTED to see it.] Ready?

Here goes:

You all KNOW I am not one for corny captions but this picture is just begging for one, ain't it?

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My very own little Christmas Tree.

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HA HA HA HAAA!

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What I was thinking: 'Yeeeah, don't let that door hit you in the ass, sister...'

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Maybe the casual outfit now?

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Note the Hand of Maternal Protection.  I'm not ALL about my art, yo.

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Don't worry, I was still hanging on.

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Turns out, she was less afraid to move in the Casual Outfit.

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What I'm calling Good Enough:

Even though she's doing some weird imitation of the Pope.

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Next year?  An ASSISTANT.  And maybe a XANAX.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!

Since There Has Been A Rip In The Time/Space Contiuum, I Think I'll Write A Post About The Holidays.

Mah Baybay is still sleeping.  It's 7:28 in the morning.  This is the third day running.  At first, I thought that she was getting sick but no.  So, I figure if there's a giant meteor heading for Earth and it's making her sleep because it's messing up the magnetic whoosy-whatsits, then why not just write a post?? About Christmas??  HO HO!

Anyway.

Here are my holiday plans.  Aside: isn't a post like this every troll's dream?  Every time I write something, so, I don't know, idiosyncratic, I think about the typical criticism of bloggers and, well, yeah.  All right then.

My holiday plans.  I am interested in traditions.  Even from a young age, I remember enjoying the ritual and routine of the holiday traditions in my family.  I also enjoy hearing about other people's traditions, what they do during their holidays.  In some ways, traditions seem to weave together a family's experiences and gives a person the tapestry of memory.  Most of my recollections of celebrations have mostly to do with the traditions themselves.  For instance, I remember unwrapping gifts in the morning and although I remember very few of the gifts (besides that strawberry sweater that my mom got me that was HORRIBLE but she was so completely disappointed that I didn't like it because she LOVED it) I remember the rhythm of the days, the foods that we ate, the family we saw.

When I was little, we used to wake up [at the ass-crack of dawn] early and get our stockings and then wait [forever until my ball-busting father would get out of bed] for our parents.  We would open our presents, have breakfast and then later would go to my grandparents' house to see my mother's family.  It was basically another Christmas there, as we opened almost as many presents there.  We ate Stuffed Celery, olives off the relish tray, meatball and turkey sandwiches on fresh white bread rolls.  Later still, we'd go to my Italian Aunt's house and [run around like crazy kids] visit with my bazillion first cousins, well into the night.  After the multi-course meat/cheese/pasta/sweets-fest, there were the wine bottles, the tangerine rinds and the nutshells on the tablecloths and the sounds of four or five conversations going.  You know, in Italian.  With, you also know, VOLUME.

Our family gatherings got smaller and smaller.  People moved, went to school, had their own families, got old.  It became clear that my grandmother's confusion was a problem when she was unable to follow one of her own recipes for Christmas cookies.  My mother took over the holiday celebrations after that but with one of her brothers in another state, the other incommunicado, and her two daughters far away, their celebrations were small.  We would go home when we could.  And then my mother died.  After hosting only 4 Christmases. 

After a little grieving time and some distance to think, it seems to me that these kind of traditions, these tapestries, are woven mostly by The Women in a family.  Despite my grandfather's ability to wrap a mean gift, it is mostly the women who prepare and execute, right?  We are The Bakers, The Cookers, The Gatherers, The Feeders and The Cleaner-Uppers.  Not totally.  But mostly.  Certainly, in my experience anyway. Because after those two lynch pins were loosened, all of my family's traditions unraveled.  The tapestry unrolled and unwound. 

As a mother to a small girl, I find myself trying to consciously build traditions. Create memories or, more accurately, create a framework onto which her memories might hang.  Weave our own traditions.

So, Christmas Eve we will spend with The Man's Brother and Sister-in-Law.  We'll do this every year.  Afternoon play and gift exchange and dinner and to bed.  We'll alternate houses.  This year, we're starting at theirs.  And on Christmas, we'll rise good and early, have tea and croissant, open gifts and then get together with The Little Sister's family for [I woluld call it a brunch but The Man says he HATES a brunch] breakfast.  We'll open our gifts and play.  And, later still, we'll get [dressed] dressed up and go to The Man's Sister's house.  To party [until 6:30pm, baby] into the night.

If you find yourself wanting to share your plans, I really am interested.  Either way, though, I sincerely hope that your holidays are happy and joyful, whichever your holidays, whatever your traditions.

xo

Fun Fact Friday!!

*  I have been having EMAs (Early Morning Awakenings.) On the occasions when I am awake at like, FOUR or FIVE in the AM, unable to go back to sleep, The Littlest New Girl sleeps, oh, FOREVER.  Of COURSE.

* Even though I disparaged it mightily, I now lurve my beedio monitor.

* You all know that stupid old joke that goes, 'Hey, guess what?' And the other guy says, 'What?' And you go, 'Chicken butt!'?  No?  Is it regional?  Anyway.  About two weeks ago, I taught my 2 year old nephew that joke.  It took me like TWENTY MINUTES, plus two or three different techniques to give him the alternating dialog instructions.  Talk about a labor of love.  I'm not sure that The Little Sister sees it in quite the same way but it's one of those things.  You know, I'm The Insufferably Irreverent Big Sister and so, really, what is she going to do?  She's just lucky that I haven't taught him the one and only dirty limerick I know.  [Yet.]

* TLNG is a very, very slow waker-upper.  I watch her on the beedio monitor and if she's rolling around the joint, I DON'T GO GET HER.  If she's sitting and then flopping to her side, and then springing back up to a sit and then flopping back down, I DON'T GO GET HER.  If she's talking/singing/giggling/crying/calling out/roaring/meowing/mooing/growling and still laying on her side, I DON'T GO GET HER.  I wait until she is SITTING UP without falling over, or preferably, STANDING at the corner of the crib to go and get her.  I've learned from trial and error that getting her anytime earlier than full wakefulness results in disorientation and major CRABBINESS.

* This year, I brought a box of chocolates to the nurses in the pediatrician's office, an assorted cake tray to the girls in the salon I go to and I gave a Christmas bonus to the babysitter.  Next is the tip for the garbage man.  These things make me feel like a complete adult.

* Last week, my BIL inadvertently [panicked in the presence of the 1,000 year old librarian] returned my UNFINISHED library book.  It was 'The Hour I First Believed' by Wally Lamb.  It should have been called 'The 5,000 page book about 16 generations of a family.'  I was THISCLOSE to being done with the book before it was returned [in a bungled attempt to renew.]  Anyway, I haven't been able to stop thinking about it.  I put another hold on it, so I should get to finish it early next year.

* I tried desperately to get a decent shot of TLNG in her Christmas dress.  Um. FAIL.  I started a post in which I chronicled the slow, crumpling, wreckage of the photo shoot (which contains NOTHING BUT OUTTAKES) but I am hesitant to hit publish because, LORD, how many photo posts of my progeny can you endure?

* I had the following conversation with The Nephew on the way to music class today:

The Nephew: 'What. '

[pause]

TN: 'What.'

Me: [concentrating on the road] 'Hmm?'

TN: 'What.'

Me: [looking at him in the rear view mirror] 'What-what?'

TN: 'Chicken Butt!'

AAAAH HA HA HA HAAAAA! 

Most Likely As Annoying To Read As It Is To Write

I just got back from the grocery store.  I went for a 'small shop' (2 bags of necessary items) so that it would be a quick in-and-out, a close shave with The Littlest New Girl's nap time.  Friends, I am not exaggerating when I tell you that I stood in line for TWENTY-FIVE MINUTES. 

How many people deep do you guess this line was?  Eh?

Um. TWO. 

Yes, yes.  You read that correctly.  I was the SECOND PERSON IN LINE.  The first person?  Might have been the Sphinx but I can't be sure.  She sure was whooping it up with the cashier (her contemporary in ancientness.)  There was even A BAGGER, folks.  He, however, was of Questionable Mental Capacity and so, outside the scope of my tirade (even _I'm_ not THAT big an asshole.)

So, let's do the math, shall we?  There was one old lady customer, one old lady checker, one QMC bagger plus $174.63 of groceries, equalling TWENTY-FIVE MINUTES to do the business at hand.  Although, with the two trips back into the store to exchange items and lively discussion about the type of Christmas Cookies that each preferred, well, I guess that I should feel LUCKY.

And it was hard not to feel lucky, what with my super-bundled, past nap-time toddler, twisting in the seat of the cart, loudly demanding all of the balloons and stuffed animals within a three aisle radius...

The best part was that when FINALLY got to the front of the line?  The old-ass lady said NADA.  No greeting, no 'Happy Holidays', no 'Which are your favorite cookies?' [magic cookie bars or my gram's orange cookies.]  She tossed my groceries to the vacated spot the checker left behind after he walked away from my order.  Apparently, my caterwauling child offended her.  Or perhaps, she [heard my passive aggressive sighing and pissiness] was sharper than she looked.

*SIGH*

And that's only one of about a HUNDRED little things that are irritating the absolute SHIT out of me right now.  I am loathe to go on, as you've been so tolerant already (do you hear crickets?)

What are you cheesed about?  Anything?

The Under-Achiever's Guide To Potty Training

1) Decide that you have until your child is AT LEAST two years old, perhaps two-and-a-half, before you even CONSIDER how to begin potty training.

2) Chuckle when your 1 year old becomes a little obsessed with watching everyone in her family (immediate AND extended) use the Pot Pot (baby-French for 'Potty,' pronounced poe-poe.)

3) Nod in detached response whenever your 13 month old announces that her cousin is going 'pot pot.'

4) Find it mildly amusing and highly entertaining when your 14 month old takes every. single. dolly-slash-stuffed-toy that she has and puts it on the dolly-sized pot-pot.  And makes a 'pee-pee' sound.

5) Scoff (gently) when your Over-Achieving Sister suggests that your 14 month old might be *ready.*

6) Take your Over-Achieving Sister's advice and put your 16 month old on the pot-pot [every 25 seconds] when she so requests, even though she's NOWHERE NEAR two-and-a-half.

7) Shake your head in amazement when said toddler actually puts some pee in the toilet, on consecutive days.

8) Continue to whip off toddler's diaper in response to requests to use The Pot, only to rediaper her after she's [read her entire library of books] taken a moment to try.

9) Look at going to The Pot as an activity.

10) Allow your Over-Achieving sister convince you to receive from her a pink, mini-pot.

11) Respond to your 17 month old, when she requests to use The Pink Pot.

12) Continue to shake your head in amazement, as she continues to 'Put some pee-pee in the pot-pot' on a semi-regular basis.

13) FALL DOWN DEAD when your 18 month old POOPS IN THE PINK POTTY with absolutely no encouragement or direction from you.

14) Realize that this whole surreal situation is thanks to your Over-Achieving Sister, whose son has ALWAYS pooped in The Pot-Pot, because they began potty-training him when he was a teeny kinder, providing for your child the necessary [coolness-factor] visual cues to encourage her development in this area.  Thanks, Sis!!

You Gotta Be Effing Kidding Me Cookies.

My friends, I really am the definition of *Having Some Nerve.*  Here I am, writing about cookies that are so good, I'm calling them, 'You Gotta Be Effing Kidding Me' Cookies, at a time when it is very possible that I should be saying, 'What are you? Effing kidding me?' in response to someone who asks me if I WANT a cookie.  But whatever.

It's the holidays. (Oh, man. Not good, right?)

Anyway.

It is a recipe that I've been tinkering around with and I think that I've GOT IT.

They are basically Chocolate Chocolate Chip Cookies, with a little extra LOVE.

Ingredients:

1 C. butter (I use half butter, half earth balance or some other stuff of that kind.) Melted.
1 1/2 C. white sugar
2 eggs
1 tsp vanilla (you can use more if you really like vanilla, I skimp.)
2 C. flour
2/3 C. GOOD cocoa
3/4 tsp. baking soda
scant 1/2 tsp sea salt
1 TBSP instant coffee granules
2 C. semi-sweet chocolate chips (I used 1 1/2 C. Ghirardelli semi sweet and 1/2 Ghirardelli white chocolate chips.  I'm not super-crazy about white chocolate but in the cookies they were great and they looked extra cute.)
1/2 C. chopped walnuts

Directions:

1.  Preheat oven to 350.

2.  In a bowl, combine flour, sugar, cocoa, baking soda, salt, chocolate chips and walnuts. 

3.  In a large bowl whisk together melted butter (not hot, just to the point of meltedness), eggs, vanilla and instant coffee.

4.  Add the dry ingredients into the wet in three or so batches, mixing by hand until incorporated.

5. Drop by teaspoonfuls onto un-greased (I used non-stick) cookie sheets and bake for exactly 8 minutes.  Cool for a few minutes on the sheet and transfer to cooling rack.

6. Try not to hate me for giving you this recipe.

Note: The batter looks foocackt, but it's not.  It looks a little dry and crumbly but just TRUST.  Pat those little spoonfuls a tad and then place them, with tender loving, onto the sheet.  They come out chewy and moist and fudgy and DELICIOUS.

xo,

TNG

Fun Fact Friday!!

* The /i/ on my computer keyboard is sticking.  If I wasn't pushing extra hard, this is what it would look like: The // on my computer keyboard s stckng and f  wasn't pushng extra hard there would be absolutely no fuckng s ANYWHERE.

* I got the last two Stephanie Meyer books in the mail from Sam (Thanks, Sam!)  I'm going to read them when I'm finished with Wally Lamb's newest book, 'The Hour I First Believed.'  This book?  In contrast to what I have been reading?  Makes it very plain that there are writers and then, you know, writers.

* Other things (besdes my // key) that have ceased functioning in my house are: The Hallway Light and The Garage Door Opener.  The Hallway Light, we use constantly.  So, I'm always accidentally hitting that light.  The problem with that is that there is a short or whatever in the wires and so e-v-e-r-y time I hit it, the breaker trips and I have to go all the way downstairs to fix it.  The Garage Door just grinds (and dust comes out!)  *sigh*

* Putting away silverware has long been an irksome job to me until I had this BRILLIANT thought: Sort the silverware when you put it INTO the dishwasher, restaurant style.  That way, when it's clean, you just grab and plunk it right into the correct spot in the drawer.  Do you all already do this?  Is it common practice, to which I was just ignorant?  Because, I gotta tell you, it's genius.  It takes seconds to sort it a little at a time and seconds to put it away. GENIUS!  (And so, I'm sure that most of you are already doing it and just didn't share.)

* When I was a kid, I could never sleep in.  Especially on Christmas morning.  I was up in the FOURS, sometimes.  The rule was, we were allowed to go out and get our stockings, which were always overflowing and resting on the fireplace ledge.

* I have started listening to Christmas Music in the house.  I watch A Christmas Carol (George C. Scott, yo) and It's A Wonderful Life every year.  I used to watch them with my Mom.  Now I watch them with [a terribly put-out] The Man.

* Tonight's MIL dinner menu is: Creamy Squash Soup (yummier than it sounds), Salad, Cheesy Bread and Homemade Chocolate Chocolate Chip Cookies.

* I think I told you all this before but it's a great one and bears repeating, being the holiday season and all.  When I was growing up, like everyone, we left cookies for Santa.  Unlike most, though, we didn't leave milk.  We left vino for Santa Claus.  I remember inquiring about this after a tete-a-tete with one of my school mates.  'Why do we leave WINE for Santa, when everyone else leaves MILK?'  My dad's answer came so quickly and naturally, it was years before I suspected something was amiss: 'Because he's cold out there, delivering all those presents.  We gotta warm 'eem up.'

* If I could figure out how to get the files from my video camera to the computer, I'd upload a video for you of TLNG talking.  It's so great.  Here's the story we're talking about.  I heard her panicky-cry from my bedroom and came around the corner to her waving her wet hands all around.  I check out The Man's nightstand and see the empty water glass from the previous night and a puddle on the floor next to the bed.  The dialog was thus:

TNG: 'Oh.  Did you spill the water?'

TLNG: 'Yeee-aah.'

TNG: [getting a towel] 'No big deal, we'll clean it up.'

TNG: [notices that the inside of The Man's sneaker is wet.]

TNG: [Pick up sneaker and watches water GUSH OUT OF IT.]

TNG: [Looking at the wet floor.  The dry TLNG.  The volume of water in the shoe.  Deducing.]

TNG: 'TLNG, did you pour the glass of water into Daddy's shoe?'

TLNG: [smiles] 'Yeee-ah.'

Later, into The Man's voice mail and later still, into our video camera:

TNG: 'TLNG, did you pour a glass of water into Daddy's shoe?'

TLNG: [smiling] 'Yee-aah.'

TNG: 'What did Mommy say?'

TLNG: [yells, with hands to face] 'OH NOOOO!'

Eighteen Months. Or, If You Like, A Year And A Half, Already.

What is it about the new-mom-counting-baby-age-in-months?  I used to try to figure it out mentally when I would ask about a child's age. 

'How old is she?'  I'd ask. 'Oh. 33 months already!', would come the response and I'd tune out of the conversation, trying to remember my 12 Times Tables and Subtraction Facts.  It wasn't like a huge pet-peeve or anything.  Just something I remember from my childless [decades] years.

So, fast forward and I'm the mother of a 16 month old.  'Oh, my! She's devastatingly cute and wouldja look at those EYES?' some random person will say, 'How old is she?'  'Oh,' I reply, 'She's 16 months already!'

And then?  I see the Random Person doing some Mental Math.  'So, she's like a year and a half, right?'

'Almost.'  I say.  I mean, really. 

No need to rush it, yo.

But it caught me off-guard, a little.  What you don't realize when you see a kid every couple months is how much they change day-to-day.  Knowing that four days ago, my kid wasn't running and now? She's effing RUNNING and trying to dive head-first into the bathtub that is FILLED WITH WATER, just makes it seem like SO much is going to happen between 16 months and 18 months.  If I call her A Year And A Half NOW, it's like negating all the growth and change that's going to happen BETWEEN now and then.

And then I blink my eyes.

And here we are, A Year and a Half.

Still only four teeth.  People SWEAR that they're going to come in SOMEDAY.  We'll see.

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And look! She's reading!  She's very advanced. 

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Too bad all she could get a hold of was the Evangel-icitor's  Newsletter.  I should have put that straight into the recycle bin.

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My mistake.

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I forgot to renew her subscription to Time.

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She's also doing some HOUSEWORK!  Finally.  It's about time, that little freeloader.  She sucks at folding laundry (I guess it's not easy for her, what with those tiny mitts,) but she can vacuum all right.

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Sometimes she'll stop to look over at the computer and give me a wave, you know, 'What's up, Mom?' kind of thing.  'How's the Facebookin?'

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And sometimes she still makes like I'm a jungle-gym.  I didn't say moon-bounce, em effers, so don't even go there.

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But most often these days, this is the view I have:

Free bird, indeed.

At least there aren't any tail lights or screeching tires.

Yet.