And the torture returns...

Not Rowan. She's great. Her cold is gone, the teeth didn't pop (but I'm pretty sure they were moving) and she's back to her old self. She's happy, playing, coloring, dancing, learning new words, loving flash cards and stickers, and just generally a delight to be around. We've worked past her bedtime issues (they showed up with the sickness, but a few nights of stubbornness on our part seemed to do the trick) and now she's obsessed with wearing dresses, stealing my high heels ("Cute shoes! Cute shoes!") and playing ball, especially outside. It's warming up, and we've even seen the occasional crocus and other early flower peeking through the grass. Yesterday I even heard a woodpecker.

But the torture is my own. Apparently, the PCOS that has plagued me is back. I won't go into the gory details, but it wreaks havoc with my moods, energy levels, waistline and my head. And the migraine I've been dealing with for 6 days decided that the best day for it to really hit was the day I had Rowan and her buddy here the whole day. Not the best timing. Luckily, though he pulled another all-nighter, her dad was able to stay until 8:30 so I could give myself an injection and let it take effect (ie: nausea, head swelling, brain lining on fire, etc.) and even shower before I was alone with the munchkins. It did work, and chased with a Vicodin, it was tolerable.

I've been feeling blog guilt, so wanted to stop by and let you know I'm still here. I'm crabby, depressed (thank you, PCOS!!!), headachey, a little bit stuffed up (probably part of it, too), bloated, zitty, and I need a haircut, but I'm here. In my sock monkey pajamas, of course.

Breakfast Guest

It's Spring Break. Glorious, glorious break. We're not traveling. It's a staycation. And by that, I mean Dr. B isn't horribly stressed (just having guilt pangs because he actually can *breathe*, imagine that), he's home, and we get a lot more time together. Though he is working some, he's a lot more flexible. We're not doing anything super special or new--just playing, coloring, watching shows, going for walks and to the park--but it's enough. It's wonderful. I'll take it.

So I'm sorry I haven't been around. Because I've been busy enjoying the husband who'd been absent for a while, posting went down to the lower half of my list. (Plus, I have actually had to plan meals, rather than just throwing together scrambled eggs with random veggies and fruit at the last second like I usually do when it's just me and the monkey.) But then something happened the other day that I thought you might enjoy, so I finally got off my duff and uploaded the pictures from my camera to my laptop (watch flickr for more soon. It's too late for me to deal with all 60-odd pictures tonight).

A few months ago, I read this book. I really, really enjoyed it.

Then a few days ago, Rowan acted it out. She climbed up on the couch, fetched him down, and installed him in a seat next to her. She sat, coloring, and enjoying her morning with him.

I brought out cups. They had coffee. She even gave him a new nickname.



My daughter has a new friend, and his name is Buddha, though Rowan gets to call him "Bubba". Yeah, they're tight.

Baby Klingon

Rowan has never been a snuggly kid. Even as a little baby, she wasn't a cuddler. She would fight and kick if you held her too close, and though she wanted to be with you. At church, when she is taken to the nursery/play room, she runs in with barely a backward glance. She'll give you a hug or kiss goodbye, if you ask, but then shouts, "BYE!", waves, and heads toward the shelves filled with toys. While the other moms have to sit and play with their kids for 10 minutes until they are ready to be left alone, despite the fact that they go every week, I head back to the sanctuary, barely missing a minute.

A few months ago, we had an adult double date with some friends. A matinee and dinner, while the kids were being watched by our friends' daycare provider and her daughter. When we got back, Debbie commented on how much fun she'd had with Rowan, and that she'd love to watch her again.

"Most kids who stay at home with mom aren't very well-adjusted. Rowan is amazing! She had no problems with you leaving, made herself at home, and was a perfect angel. We had so much fun! She even brought a diaper and wipes over and asked when she needed her diaper changed." Rowan hadn't even noticed when I walked into the room, and didn't seem to care. She was too busy playing.

All this changes when she's not feeling well. Whether it's teething or a cold or a combination of the two (like now), she only wants to be with me. On top of me. All. The. Time. She refuses to eat, refuses to sleep, and panics when I close the door to use the bathroom. My shoulders are streaked with snot, and I have a 25 1/2 pound barnacle cemented to my torso.

Yesterday, she was in full sick-mode. Up in the night, with a refusal to sleep again unless Mom or Dad slept with her (I took the night before, Dr. B took that night). She was coughing, sneezing, and her upper lip had become Rio del Snotto. We raised the legs of the crib (Harry Potter 4 & 7), turned on the vaporizer, and gave her a little Motrin before bed.

I'm afraid our remedies worked too well. Yesterday, she was awake for 14 hours straight. No naps except for a 10 minute snooze in the stroller on our walk. Though she would stop and sit on the couch for a while, drinking juice, that was the extent of her rest.

And mine.

Bedtime came, and I got her ready. She called out a cheerful "Bye!" as I left, blowing kisses.

Then it started. Screaming. Crying. Wailing.

For the next hour, I let her go. Then gave in and went to talk with her. Then let her cry. Then her dad came home and tried, too. And then he left her room and it started again.

Finally, after an hour and a half, I did what I had to. I went up, and she begged me to pick her up. I hugged her as she stood, arms raised in her crib, and let her cry on my shoulders. But I didn't pick her up. I tried to reason with her.

It didn't work.

Finally, I asked her to sit. She refused. I sat next to the crib. She sat, so she could see my face, and reached through the bars of the crib for another hug. Then she put her hands on either side of my face, and pulled me close for a jailbird kiss.

We sat, and I talked to her in a low, soothing voice. About letting her body heal. About resting so she can play and have fun tomorrow. About how much I loved her.

Her eyes started to droop.

I asked her to lie down. She shook her head, violently, "No no no no nooooo!!!" I offered my arm for her to lie on.

She face planted on my hand, butt in the air. I slowly wiggled my arm out. She grasped my hand.

I waited. Soon, she was twitching, exhausted and deeply asleep. I extracted my fingers from her sweaty grip and crawled slowly toward the door.

Though she may not show it every day, our independent little girl needs us. It may be hidden, but it's still strong.

Appropriate Dress

Monday was chilly in Happy Valley. The temperature read 26, but the wind was strong, so our daily mile and a half walk with Lucy was a cold one. (We shortened it. A mile was plenty.) Despite being fairly well-dressed and covered with a blanket, Rowan got cold and yelled as the wind chapped her cheeks.

On Tuesday, the temp was the same so I decided to really pull out all the stops. Though I didn't expect the wind to be as strong, I wasn't taking any chances. I needed that walk. (Damn you, cookies!) I dressed her in snow pants, boots, and grabbed her jacket, mittens and hat. I tossed the jacket on the floor so she could do her "1,2, Fliperoo!", and went into the living room to find my own shoes, which tend to migrate on a set of little feet. When I got back, she had her jacket on, but the hat was no where to be seen.

"Where is it?" I said, looking around the kitchen. I looked under the table. On top of the table. On the kitchen counter. On top of the freezer. In the living room. On the bookshelf. Nope.

"Sheesh!" I told Rowan. "I must be losing it. I just had your hat here. You have to have a hat on! It's too cold to go with just your hood. You need a hat."

"Hat? Hat?" she answered. Then the light went on in her eyes, and she stomped into the living room in her pink furry snowboots.

She came back wearing this.




Unfortunately, it didn't fit under her hood.

The Olive Garden

is not my favorite restaurant. Not even close. I don't even like it that much. But every once in a while, I get a hankering for soup, salad and breadsticks. I love those big olives.

And my husband? Oh, he's 1/8 Sicilian, which means he's an EXPERT on all things ITALIAN and will NOT DARKEN THEIR DOOR UPON PAIN OF DEATH.

So when we're going out for a quick lunch or supper, I can never, ever get him to agree to go there. Even though his 1/2 Sicilian grandmother loves their tiramisu. IT DOESN'T MATTER. He won't.

Sigh.

We had no leftovers yesterday. I had to eat a Weight Watchers frozen dinner for lunch. It was NOT good. Really. It had some weird bitter green things in it. I don't know what they were. I don't want to know. I ate 1 1/2 pieces of bread with some butter and a stick of CoJack cheese because I'm sorry 6 points is baloney. I need more food.

So!

I was hungry. And I wanted Olive Garden's soup. So I made it.

I used her recipe. It was mind-blowingly good. Really. REALLY REALLY.

And I had all the stuff in the house. And it cooks in the crock pot. I love my crock pot.

Rowan? She said, "Zoop! Zoop! Deee-wisha!"

Lucy drooled on the floor.

And when Dr. B got home, he ate 3 bowls.

Then I told him what kind of soup it was.

He ran into the other room yelling, "No! NO! NOOOO!!! It's Ronica soup! Ronica soup! RonicaRonicaRonica!!! Not freakin' Olive Garden! NOOOOOO!!! It's RONICA GARDEN!"

(Yes, he really said Ronica Garden.)

Though I admit it, it was better than Olive Garden. More chunks, less broth, more hearty. That whole unlimited thing sucks when it's 40% broth they give you--this one isn't like that. And it makes a LOT. It's actually less like Pasta E Fagioli and more like what would happen if Chili and Vegetable Beef soup had a baby. It would be this.

We had leftovers for lunch today. Rowan's face got all orange. I ate a huge bowl. YUM.

Space

We're planning trips. Big ones, with little luggage. One to France in May, with me and Rowan taking a train from Frankfurt to Paris while jetlagged, alone (yeah, that should be fun.) Then another to the Outer Banks of NC in the summer, to a big house with about 10 other families. A house you can't drive to unless you have 4WD because it's right on the beach (which our little Civic hybrid doesn't.) So, we're told to pack for 3 days, rather than the 10 we'll be there. (It has a laundry room.)

So I've been thinking. How could we save space? And I came up with a BRILLIANT idea. We'll all use Rowan's Johnson's Head-to-Toe Baby Wash as shampoo and body wash!!! Perfect. Makes such good sense. Man, I'm surprised no one else ever thought of that.

I tried it today. It took more to wash me than her, but whatever. It's not known for lather. I cleaned up, washing hair, face and body, and towel drying. And it worked wonderfully!

If you like looking like a haystack.

No wonder my kid looks like Einstein.

I had been a tish irritated with my hairstylist for not cutting my hair enough at the last (very pricey) session, but today I was really, really glad to have the ponytail option.

Does anybody know of a head-to-toe that doesn't give us the "Botte de paille" look*?








*(If not, we'll make room for a bottle of conditioner.)

Tip: Maribou feathers + scissors = BAD IDEA.

We have been blessed. Rowan has 2 female cousins who are older than she is, and every few months, we receive bulging boxes from Montana filled with clothes. I rarely need to buy anything, though I sometimes snag a bargain that I know will be cute on her, and I always have more clothes than she can wear. So many things are adorable and fit her perfectly. But some of it isn't my style, so it doesn't get worn often. Then, I feel the inevitable guilt.

It's perfectly good. Practically brand new!

But it'll look weird. Or silly. Or too girly. Or sparkly. Or (insert random reason here).

But it's hardly even been used? Certainly she could wear it once?

So some things never get worn, spending their time at the bottom of the drawer until they are (phew) too small and relegated to the plastic bin in the closet.

The other day, I pulled out an adorable pair of Osh Kosh sage green cords. The shape, the style, the color--all great. But? They had some weird crocheted flowers attached to them that had shrunk into little pink and orange globs. Stuck to the legs. So, while Rowan was in the bath, I pulled out my seam ripper and voilà!!! Plain pants!

I felt so powerful.

Then I grabbed the coral polka dot baby blazer. With the dumb bows. Pluck! Pluck! Bows begone!!!

I dressed her for church in the sage pants with a pink turtleneck and white sweater. She looked great, sans crocheted pink and orange blobs. (I'm saving the blazer for another time.)

I was SuperMom.

Monday morning came, and I searched her closet for something comfy to wear. And I saw it.

The black velour jogging suit. With the embroidered pink butterflies. It was so cute, and it looked brand new. Likely never even washed. And she looks so good in black.

EXCEPT that the hood was lined. With feathers. Pink maribou feathers.

I couldn't do it. Her face would be surrounded by pink fluff that belonged on Blanch Devereau's bedroom slipper. I just couldn't put my strong, tough little girl in something like that.

So while she was in the bath, I grabbed a scissor, and started to work on the stitches.

Man, this is really hard to get at. All these stupid feathers. Those women in that Chinese sweatshop must have been really determined. Fluff and fluff and... SNEEZE. Oh, this sucks. Fine, I'll just cut it. Oh, NO! Fluff! And Fluff! And FLLLLUUUUFFFFFF!!! Oh, NO!!! What have I done???

It was everywhere. On my jeans, stuck to my sweater. In my hair. Infiltrating my contact lenses. Up my nose. In my mouth. On the floor, stuck to the shower curtain, floating in the air. And then? It crossed the barrier into her bath.

And she did not like it. Not one bit.

For the very first time in her life, Rowan asked to get out of the tub.

She clung to me, naked, screaming and terrified.

Of pink maribou feathers.

My tough little habanero-sauce eating girl, taken down by fluffy, rose-colored birdie bits.

25 Random Things About Me: (Yes, Stolen from Facebook)

1. I can't do that tongue roll thing. It has always bothered me, even though I know it's genetic. (And I'm thinking that if you can do it, you are doing it right now. People always do when I tell them.)

2. I lived in Paris for a year. I was very proud of the fact that some French people thought I was French after about 6 months. I am afraid that when I go back I'm going to sound like an idiot again. I think I'm going back for a visit in May! Yay!!!

3. My favorite food in the world is dill pickles.

4. I have had carpal tunnel release surgery on both my wrists. It worked, but my 10-hour/day playing schedule was never resumed.

5. In 7th grade, I was clocked at reading over 1,000 words/minute. I also got in trouble during read-aloud time in 2nd grade because I was 5 pages ahead of the class. I cried. (I really love to read.)

6. I started blogging when we lived in Paris. I have readers all over the world. Sometimes I freak out about that--family and friends kind of have to read me, but why are those people coming back? (So, why are you? Hmmm????)

7. I am allergic to cinnamon. And a whole bunch of other crap. Mostly organic aldehydes, according to Jeff, but also random stuff and things that I've encountered a lot, like Cherry Chapstick and gold. It's getting worse. I had a reaction to eyeliner a few weeks ago. I panicked. Me without eyeliner? That's a polar bear in a snowstorm. (Luckily, it has since died down.)

8. According to the neurologist, I have chronic low seratonin. This results in migraines and insomnia. I hate it. I have an arsenal of knock-out drugs, pain killers and triptans in my medicine cabinet because of it. Yoga helps, too.

9. I am not afraid of spiders. I really have no problem with them at all. (They are not allowed in my house, however. Jeff is all Buddhisty and takes them outside. I squish them.)

10. When I was in 3rd grade, I did that tongue on the pole thing in Kindred, North Dakota in the winter. I realized how stupid it was when I was stuck, and just ripped it off and dealt with the pain. I didn't tell my mom or my teacher. (I was scared of Mrs. Graf. I think I still am.)

11. I hate raw celery.

12. My daughter's middle name is Amelia. Jeff thinks it's after Amelia Aerhardt, but really I meant Amelia Bedelia when I brought it up.

13. This is my lucky number!

14. My mom died when I was 24. She was an amazing woman and an incredible mother. She was also an alcoholic. I miss her every day.

15. I have never once in my life smoked anything. Honest to Pete. (I've eaten a smoked chicken. It gave me the runs.)

16. I love Spaghetti-O's with meatballs. I realize they are gross. I have even eaten them at room temperature, straight out of the can. (It was summer and it was too hot to eat hot food.) My roommate at the time said, "They smell like vomit, but they taste really good." I thought that was a perfect summation.

17. My favorite meal is a rare steak topped with blue cheese, some sort of green veggie and a glass (or 2) of red wine. Follow with cheesecake or crème brulée and I might just melt.

18. I have a sick obsession with cleaning my ears with a Qtip. Drew Braunberger once described it as an "eargasm". I keep trying to stop, but I can't.

19. I am the Clearance Queen. I love to get a bargain, and will wait to buy something if I can estimate that "it will go down more", even if I ultimately lose it. It's kind of like a gambling addiction. I love Target, TJMaxx, Ross, Casual Corner (RIP), JCPenney's, and Kohl's. They have the best markdowns.

20. I want to be one of those people who looks like a rock star, but I just don't. I'm more Princess Grace than Grace Slick. I'm trying to deal with that. The whole Mad Men fashion thing is good for me because fussy 60's styles flatter me much more than deconstructed grungy things.

21. I brush my teeth too hard. My dentist yells at me for it.

22. I say both r's in February. I also use "whom" regularly, and get irritated when people use the wrong your/you're, their/there/they're, to/too/two, its/it's or put the apostrophe in plurals. I also dislike semicolons, but overuse double dashes. I'm working on this.

23. I used to think I was really fat. Then I had a baby. Now I think my body is AMAZING--look what it did!!! When I see photos that used to make me cringe, now I wonder what I was seeing. It's unbelievable what your mind can do to change your perception.

24. I have worked as a server and eventually a bartender at the Palace Sports Bar, the Ramada Inn, The Blue Moose Bar and Grill and Benvenuto's Italian Grill. I really enjoyed it, and I was good at it. I liked being with the people, moving around, making people happy, and making drinks. My Margaritas and Bloody Marys were highly praised. I don't like Bloody Marys.

25. My 4th fingers curve weirdly inward. I always have a hole between them and my middle fingers, no matter how hard I try to push them together. Kristen Kettler said it came from playing the clarinet too much, but I think my mom's hands were like that, too. Mine are just worse.

Rowan's Current Favorite Song

Wombo Lombo by Angélique Kidjo.

This kid has good taste. Angélique Kidjo performed on Jack's Big Music Show, our favorite kids' show (as much fun for me as for her). Will try to get video of her dancing to it, soon. Promise.

A Crock Full of Morocco. Sort of.

Years ago, I made this dish. And it was delicious (with more salt.) I lost the recipe, then thanks to Google found it again, and it's got a permanent home on paper in my recipe box, as backup in case the internet goes down. (shudder)

Today, I was in a chickpea/chicken/crockpotty mood. With a dash of butternut squash. So I decided to experiment, and made a variation on the original. And it rocks. Really.

It's really, really not traditional. I assume. (I am not Moroccan, I have no idea.) But it tastes fabulous and really fills that hole that needs filling on a cold, blustery January day where you are stuck inside the same four walls you've been staring at for months.

It was even worth the reaction to the cinnamon. It's worth taking a Benadryl. (Not like I'll need help sleeping after all this starch.) It would be better with cilantro, but I don't have any. Either way, yum.

Moroccan-Style Chicken Stew for the Crock-Pot. With Butternut Squash!

1 T. Olive oil
1 medium onion, chopped
2 cloves garlic, chopped

Put that in the crock pot.

1 lb. chicken breasts or thighs, cut in 1 1/2 inch chunks

Dump that in, too.

2 T. flour
2 t. ground coriander
2 t. ground cumin
1 t. salt (or more, to taste. I oversalted a bit. You should measure.)
1/2 t. chipotle chile pepper (I ran out of cayenne.)
1/2 t. cinnamon

Mix flour and spices, pour over meat, toss until well coated.

Add:

1 medium butternut squash, peeled, seeded and cut in 2 inch chunks. (Don't worry, most of it will sort of dissolve anyway.)
1/4 cup chopped green olives with pimiento, drained (the salad ones)
1/3 cup dark raisins, plumped with hot water if they are dried out like mine were.
1 16 oz. can chopped tomatoes
1 8 oz. can tomato sauce
I added a splash of lemon juice, but I don't think it was necessary.

Mix it all together and cook over high heat until bubbly, then turn to low. Mine cooked about 6 hours, until the chicken was done and the squash was falling apart.

Then I added a can of garbanzo beans (chickpeas), rinsed and drained, and cooked until it was hot.

Serve over prepared couscous or rice.

Rowan's reaction? "YUM! More? More?"

I agree. :)

She Got Me: Photo tag!

Potbelly pickles, originally uploaded by MrsBinParis.

The rules are simple...
1. Go to the 4th folder in your computer where you store your pictures.
2. Pick the 4th picture in that folder.
3. Explain the picture.
4.Tag 4 people to do the same.


I had to do the 4th, then the 4th, then the 4th, etc. because of the way my pictures are stored, but this was it. Rowan was eating one of the ENORMOUS pickles at Potbelly in Washington DC two weeks ago. She usually loves pickles, but I think these were too much for even her. (The three of us couldn't finish it.)

OK, I tag Putyourflareon, AndieenParis, Anju, and Mrs. Chicken.

Where's WaldoObama?

Rowan is a typical 19 month old. She loves to identify things she knows, and will continue to do it repeatedly, insisting that you confirm her statement. "Cow!" she yells from the backseat. "Cow! Cow! Cow! COWWWWWWWW!!!!" "Cow," I answer, and she is silent.

She knows a lot, but not everything. Parts of the body, she knows. Clothing items. Books. Diapers (and wipes, but those are also "diapers".) Juice, milk, water. Snacks. Banana, grapes, apple, pineapple (also known as "apple"), bread, pasta, chicken. Shoes, shirt, jeans, pants, tights, mittens. Daddy, Mommy, Baby, Kitty, Puppy, Elmo. Daddy. Elmo. Daddy, Elmo. Lights. Lights. LIGHTS. L*I*G*H*T*S!!!

She sat on her dad's lap while supper was cooking, surfing the web with him. He was looking at a political website, scanning the headlines of the day. Soon, she was helping.

"Obada!" she said, pointing to a small picture. Soon, again. "Obada! Obada! OBADA!!!!"

And now, every male is one of the three. Daddy, Elmo, or "Obada".

Really, what more do we need?

Handmade Love

I've been planning my Christmas cards for a long time. I keep making new versions on various websites, fiddling with photos and colors, design and text. And, yeah. It's the end of January and I haven't even ordered them yet. I consider this fulfilling my New Year's Resolution, early even! (My resolution was to stop being so hard on myself.) Will they get done? No promises.

But, we haven't forgotten those we love. Rowan and I have started making valentines for her grandmas, grandpas, aunts and uncles. She loves doing it, and it usually ends with a tantrum from her because she never ever wants to stop playing with the stickers. (Stickers are BIG with the 19 and 1/2 month old set.)

Here's one of her first few cards. She's doing a great job making them.

Now let's just see if I get them sent before Halloween.



Making Valentines from Ronica on Vimeo.

President Obama!

President obama!
Originally uploaded by MrsBinParis

Dear Pennsylvania,

This is where I'm from.

***********************


Cold Weather Behavior:

60 above zero: Floridians turn on the heat. North Dakotans plant gardens.

50 above zero: Californians shiver uncontrollably. People are sunbathing in Fargo.

40 above zero: Import cars won't start. North Dakotans drive with the sunroof open.

32 above zero: Distilled water freezes. The water in Devils Lake gets thicker.

20 above zero: New Mexicans don long johns, parkas and wool hats & mittens. North Dakotans throw on a flannel shirt.

15 above zero: New York landlords finally turn on the heat. People in North Dakota have one last cookout before it gets cold.

Zero: People in Miami all die. North Dakotans close the windows.

10 below zero: Californians fly away to Mexico. North Dakotans dig their winter coats out of storage.

25 below zero: Hollywood disintegrates. Girl Scouts in North Dakota still selling cookies door to door.

40 below zero: Washington, D.C. finally runs out of hot air. People in North Dakota let their dogs sleep indoors.

100 below zero: Santa Claus abandons the North Pole. North Dakotans get upset because the Mini-Van won't start.

460 below zero: ALL atomic motion stops (absolute zero on the Kelvin scale). People in North Dakota can be heard to say, "Cold 'nuff fer ya?"

500 below zero: Hell freezes over. North Dakota public schools open 2 hours late.

Chop Suey Blah Blah Blah

I heard a speaker on some podcast Dr. B was listening to say that Chop Suey means "odds and ends" in Chinese, sort of. Leftovers. So here's some random thoughts from the last few days. This is a long one. Sorry about that.

My space bar is still gone. I have no idea where she could have put it, or how she got it off, but she did. Ordering one, but having trouble with paypal. Dr. B is supposed to help. He fell asleep after supper and is passed out snoring on the couch. Blame the DayQuil + the first week of the semester. (I stole his laptop to write this.)

Rowan has a cold. This means she needs 2 naps, but doesn't want them, so the 2nd one is forced and she wakes up disoriented and cries for about 45 minutes afterward because she didn't want to sleep. It doesn't help that she wakes up after sundown and thinks she missed something really important.

On the bright side, she is coming to me when she sneezes. (Sometimes.) She points to her nose and says, "Nose!" and then I wipe it. She even says "Thank you!" as she runs off to grab another toy.

She is learning so quickly, it's almost scary. She knows appropriate times to say please and thank you, and now says "EXCUSE ME!" loud and clear when anyone burps, farts, sneezes, or makes a funny noise. This includes shopping carts. Then she giggles.

The nurse at her 18 month check up asked if she knew 4 or 5 words. I said closer to 200. And growing. We really have to watch our language, because she repeats whatever you say. She knows lots of animals and what they say, especially the cow. She yells "MOOOOOOO!!!" whenever she sees something black and white. I'm hoping this doesn't result in any embarrassing situations in the future. She loves to identify puppies, kitties, babies and Elmo. Going to Target or Walmart is interesting--you can find us easily by listening for the call of "ELMO!"

She's very helpful, and loves to put things in the garbage, in baskets, by the stairs, etc. This does not extend to picking up her toys, except when I do 90% of the work. (I'll take 10% for now.)

She watches carefully and notices things you'd never expect. Sometimes I find her with a dishrag in her hand, scrubbing at a spot on the floor, or mimicking dancers on television with unbelievable precision for a 19-month old kid. At Cosi the other day, she piped up with a quick "thank you!" when the server brought out my croissant. She looked her in the eye and gave her a big smile.

She has amazing manual dexterity. This includes taking apart laptop computers, starting dishwashers, messing up the stereo, and almost ordering porn on TV (until I put some parent blockers on the cable.) She likes pushing random keys on my clarinet while I'm playing, too. (This doesn't work so well.)

Rowan loves music. Loves LoVeS LOVES "moodic!" Classical, country, jazz, rock, pop--anything. She dances and boogies and giggles and howls and it's just wonderful. Sometimes I don't even want to answer my phone because she's got such a funky groove going to the ringtone.

She's showing signs of being close to potty training, but so far all we've done is read books on the pot (like mother like daughter.) She'll get off the potty chair, but would rather not put her diaper or pants back on afterward, so I end up chasing a half-naked babe around the room hoping she won't poop on the floor. I have a special potty that plays a tune when you go, so I'm looking forward to the first time she actually does the deed. Once, she got close, but stood up and leaned against the wall while it happened, so the floor got wet, but not the pot. I'm not worried--I know it's really early.

Despite all her successes, though, she's still very much a little kid. Big tantrums are thrown when she doesn't get the crackers she wants 2 minutes before dinner, and she rips her mittens off the minute you put them on, over and over again, and then screams when her hands get cold. (I have a few solutions for this in the works; will let you know what is effective.) I am grateful for my years of teaching middle school band--I am good at ignoring these fits, and she's learning that I don't give in easily. I've sabotaged her, too--yesterday I took the handle off the pantry door so she can't open it and pull down juice boxes and cracker packages.

I joined a band that rehearses once a week. Dr. B's class that night goes too late, so he has to have Rowan join the class for a bit while I head off to rehearsal, and then she goes home on the bus with him afterward. This was the first week of it, and he made the mistake of adding a meeting with the dean after class. He paid the price with an over-tired screaming toddler to deal with on the way home. It didn't help that it was 14 degrees and snowing and they had to walk quite a ways to get to the bus. (Of course, she wouldn't put her mittens on.)

Oh, and we went to Washington DC last weekend--it was great. Dr. B had a conference for the Solar Decathlon, and we got really cheap rates at a posh Marriott. Due to the storm (and how tired we were) we decided to stay over an extra night, so the ride home was much less stressful. While he was in conference, Rowan and I went to the national mall (where the houses will be come October) and to the Smithsonian American History museum. I love history, but was a bit disappointed. I was hoping to see more of the collection, and less exposition--I'm a history buff, so knew a lot about it already. I didn't need 8 panels describing Lincoln to see the Gettysburg Address--I would have loved to see more stuff from that time and less of the storyboards. But I did get to see the desk where Jefferson wrote the Declaration of Independence, an early Constitution copy, many Stradivarius violins and even a cello, and a real Kermit the Frog. Rowan had her picture taken in front of Steven Colbert's portrait. (I'll get those on Flickr soon.) She had her first subway rides, and is now officially obsessed with "choo choos". The Natural Fusion house will be on the mall for 3 weeks in October, so we will see more sites when we're there then. By then, the Obamamania will no doubt have died down a bit. (I'm glad I'm not in DC this weekend!)

And last but not least--it's cold and snowy in PA. We're above zero, but they're calling it "frigid" and "bitter". When it hit 30, people at the store were complaining about how cold it was. I can't stop giggling. My hometown currently has -40 degrees. Sorry, 5 above is not frigid. Not even close. IMO, if your snot doesn't freeze when you walk outside, it's only chilly.

And... scene.

I want to blog

She's got a thing that's called radar lo
Originally uploaded by MrsBinParis

I have lots to say but my spacebar got stolen by someone short and it takes too much effort to type.

So here's a video of our "Moodic!" lover. More soon about our DC trip, potties and politesse.

At the end she really rocks out. Enjoy!

Give You What You Need

The cuddles are gone.

Those lovely evenings, the rocking, the snuggling--no more.

All she wants now, when the teeth are brushed and the story is told (with me in the big rocking chair, and her in the small one), is bed. "Nap? Nut? (Nuk) Bed?" as she points to her crib. A quick hug and kiss for mom when demanded, and then excited jumping in my arms as I stand to carry her over to her little nest. She arches her back, attempting to dive into her crib.

I cover her, she rolls on to her belly, and I go to the door.

I look back, wishing I could go back. But no.

"Goodnight, Sweetheart. Have a good snooze," I say.

"Bye." Her answer, so blunt. "Bye!" She wants me to go.

"I love you," I reply, my hand on the door knob.

She pulls the nuk out of her mouth.


"Nye nove you."


My new favorite.

Have Coat, Need Snow.

New Coat and Boots, originally uploaded by MrsBinParis.

Just a quick post, hoping you all had a nice holiday.

Rowan got a new snow ensemble, but when there's no snow it's not really worth the effort to put on the snow pants that match it. But I do love the coat--she's our little snow bunny. Here we are, out for a walk/slide. (It's quite icy around here.) Later that evening, we got hit with a big rainstorm. Who knows what we'll get tomorrow? (Hoping for snow--she got a sled for Christmas.)

We hope you can take some time to relax between now and the new year!

Little Pitchers

Upon looking at the cover of a book she loves:

"Look, honey! What does the cow say?"

"Mooooo."

"Good job! What does the sheep say?"

"Mooooo."

"Well, no, he says 'Baa'. Can you say 'Baa'?"

"Baaa!"

"Right! And the pigs?"

Right on pitch, and in rhythm... "Na Na Na*!!!"

Thank you, Sandra Boynton. Apparently my daughter thinks all pigs are wonderful singers.




*N's are currently her version of L's. Lucy is now "Nootsy".

Merry Christmas 2008

Merry Christmas 2008, originally uploaded by MrsBinParis.

Wishing you and your family a very happy Christmas.

Butter on My Doorpost and Candles on My Head

Yeah, it's been a while, sorry.

Just didn't feel like posting more of "I'm stressed--it's the holidays--ACK!" I am living it, so are you, don't need to rehash.

Rowan's doing well, and getting new words every day. Today we got "Sorry!" which is big, let me tell you. Especially after 4-7 PM. Ahem. She is likely teething again, because a string of weird symptoms led us to a semi-emergency doctor appointment on Thursday afternoon which didn't turn into anything except one MAD little girl who did not appreciate getting checked for a bladder infection. Which she didn't have. Ouch.

Anyway, the blue lips and hands, crankiness, tugging at the ears and sticking her hands down her diaper a lot, more crankiness, and 102.5 fever turned out to be...nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch.

Great. We missed a Christmas party for nothing. (Ok, the weather was bad, too, so it's not all her fault.)

The weather's been weird, cold and then warm and sleet and snow and wind and ice. My gifts are bought, wrapped (except 2 hiding from Dr. B until he goes to his meetings tomorrow), and mailed, and the Christmas baking is on hold because I kind of like it when my jeans fit. We've made our holiday plans, though they don't include driving 48-hours round trip back to the tundra this year. We'll spend our Christmas here, at home, doing our own thing, and that's good. We're looking forward to making our own traditions.

Rowan is loving the tree ("Tee! Pee! Pee!"= Tree, pretty, pretty!) and has only broken one decoration so far. The one-finger touch rule is doing its job, though she usually grabs the ornament with the other hand and then touches it with one finger, but all the glass ones are still in the attic, so it's all good. She loves to listen to us sing carols, and nods emphatically when asked if she is a good girl. Tonight, after the meltdown that lasted hours, I asked again. She didn't nod this time. That's when she learned to say "sorry". Hey, whatever works! I'm sure Santa will be good to her.

Tonight is the winter solstice, one of my favorite nights of the year, because of the sense of hope for the future. I hope I hope I hope it will stop being so darn dark outside. Though the holiday lights are cheerful and uplifting, there's nothing quite like Old Mr. Sun coming back to take away the winter blues. We're celebrating by relaxing on the couches with some cocoa. Just didn't feel like walking around with candles on my head or covering my doorpost with butter. Maybe next year.

Tonight is also the beginning of Hannukah. Though I am not Jewish, fried food is wonderful and I like candles so Happy Hannukah! To Seth, I hope you get lots of high holiday bacon.

Wherever you are, I hope you are warm and comfy and have good things to eat. And if I don't get off my tush and post until then, Merry Christmas, too.

I can complete a sentence.

Feel free to play along in the comments section or on your own blog. I stole this meme from my cousin because I've got a busy weekend planned.


Today I: went to Barnes and Noble with Rowan. Mistake: see "leaving the Library tantrum" (except there were more people at Barnes and Noble.)

Tomorrow I will: sing in concert with Essence 2, the Choral Society, and the middle and high school Honor Choirs. We're doing the Daniel Pinkham Christmas Cantata Gloria. It rocks! WOOT!

I'm looking forward to: being done with Christmas gift getting and mailing. I love it, and I hate it.

I could pass on: Liver and onions (love foie gras, but hate the fried stuff), baked beans, watermelon, and hot dogs. The weird chemicals give me headaches, and I hate yellow mustard.

Newest song I like: the sad thing is the only new stuff I know is on preschool TV. Unless you count that Pinkham Gloria! It's new to me. :)


Last show I saw: As in live theater? Rocky Horror in Paris. That's pretty sad. Movie in a theater was that forgettable Cohen Brothers one with Brad Pitt. It stunk.

Something aggravating: Central Pennsylvania drivers. They don't know what an accelerator is.

One thing you may not know about me: I have chronic low seratonin. I guess this means I need *more* chocolate and bow chicka wow wow. Heh.

I can still: put both ankles behind my neck and slip my shoulders through. That scares you a little, doesn't it?

Gift I'd want if money was no object: A Time Machine!

Take it if you want it, and let me know so I can snoop.

I do not understand this state.

It is 11 AM.

It is 34 degrees.

There is not a flake on the ground.

It's not raining.

It's not snowing.

There's no wind.

We're supposed to have freezing rain at 8 PM. That's tonight.

AND TODAY THEY CANCELED SCHOOL.

OK, yes, I grew up in North Dakota, where they don't cancel school when it's -60 F, we have 3 feet of snow on the ground, 80 mph winds, and more snow falling. AND we're all driving around on 2 inches of ice because it's illegal to salt the roads. But come on! This is insane!

Proof: East Coasters are WUSSES.

Groovin'

Groovin'
Originally uploaded by MrsBinParis

It's in her blood, dancing. Also, apparently, a love for Iggy Pop.

Your kid probably already said this.

Goofy girl, originally uploaded by MrsBinParis.

Me: "Did you poop in your pants?"

Her: "No."

Me: "Who was it, then?"

Her: "Grandma!"

Your kid probably already said this

Me: "Did you poop in your pants?"

Her: "No."

Me: "Who was it, then?"

Her: "Grandma!"

Our Favorite

"It's bedtime, Rowan! Let's go! Up! Up! Give your dad a kiss goodnight, and let's go!"

She runs to the stairs, and begins to climb, pausing as her head pops over the banister, and waves goodnight to Lucy. Hand over hand, she goes up. I follow, arms full of clean, folded diapers, a baby bottle full of soymilk, and whatever else. An occasional bump on the bottom from my knee keeps her motivated. She hands me small bits of lint she finds on the carpet as she makes her way up the stairs. I open the top gate, and she stands, running off to find a book or a toy or perhaps one of her dad's shoes.

One of us chooses a story, current favorites being A Wocket in my Pocket and Tous les Amis, and I sit in the old rocker. She takes the bottle, and either joins me or busies herself with other toys as I read. Some nights, she follows the story, pointing to the characters and drinking noisily. Others, she's a cowgirl riding her horse Diane, or a builder, making a MegaBlok tower.

The book finished, I turn out the light and head to the bathroom. I know she'll never leave unless it's dark. I wait, and she joins me, often with another book in hand. I prepare her toothbrush, and stick its little suction cup to the counter. When she's ready, she comes over to get it, playing with the suction cup and giggling, before brushing her teeth, also known as chewing on the brush, with the occasional arm movement. "All done!" she cries, throwing up her arms. I put her on my lap, and finish the job while she protests and squirms. We head back to her room, shutting the door behind.

In the dark, I make my way carefully to the chair, slowly, so I don't knock her over. Her night vision is much better than mine. She comes to my knees, patting them, ready. I pick her up and she wraps her arms around me, tucking her head against my neck. I offer her the pacifier, for sleep only now, and she pops her head up, opening her mouth to accept it.

We rock. She lays against my left shoulder, her left arm curled around me. She sighs. I kiss her neck. "I could kiss you a thousand times a day, and it would never be enough, my beautiful girl," I whisper. She sighs again. We rock some more, the chair creaking. Suddenly, she sits up, pulls the nuk out of her mouth, and gives me a big kiss. In goes the nuk, and her head goes down again.

"This is my favorite time," I say. She nods against my shoulder, and hugs me tighter. We rock.

Again, suddenly, she sits up, looks at me. "Are you ready?" I say. She nods and tries to say, "Ready!" through the nuk. "One more hug," I ask, and she obliges, as I scoop her up, my arm under her bottom, and take her to her crib. "I love you soooo much," I say, "do you know that?" She nods against my shoulder, and squeezes me once more.

I lay her down in her crib, covering her with her quilt and tucking a bear beside her. "Goodnight, my beautiful girl," I whisper as I turn to leave. She jumps up to standing, and smiles. She waves, and blows me a kiss. I laugh, blow one back and close the door.

This is my favorite time.

Happy Thank You!

Thanksgiving is over, it was absolutely wonderful and I'm exhausted. Since I've been absent from here for a while, I figured I'd better update so you all know we survived Turkey Day, even though we eschewed turkey for beef. Rebels, yes we are.

My dad and his wife Pam came to spend the week in Pennsylvania, and we had a great time. They worked hard to tire out their granddaughter, and she responded with lots of squeals and a few new words. She sort of learned "gobble gobble" (though I'm pretty sure it was Gabba gabbba), and added "Happy!" to her vocab. When asked to say "Happy Thanksgiving", we got "Happy! Thank you!" Close enough. Though the hotel pool was too cold for swimming, we found plenty to do, and had a lot of fun.

We spent Thanksgiving playing Wii (Dr. B's self-purchased early Xmas gift), setting the table with the fancy dishes and cooking. Friends joined us and helped with the meal, and we all rolled away from the table stuffed with my Mom's Norwegian meatballs and gravy, rare roast beef with au jus (I hate writing that. With "with juice". Argh!), lefse (which turned out beautifully this year), cream cheese garlic mashed potatoes with extra garlic, green beans with almonds and garlic (well, we figured we already would have stinky breath due to the spuds), spinach soufflée-ish thing, salad with clementines, red onions, dried cranberries candied walnuts and lemon vinaigrette, brown sugar/vanilla cranberry sauce, dill pickles, gherkins, 2 kinds of chow chow, pumpkin cheesecake and shoefly pie. Bring out the fat pants.

We took Dad on a tour of Happy Valley, Big Valley and Stone Valley yesterday. Pam was feeling kind of yucky, so she decided to avoid the possible car sickness and rest up. We enjoyed the drive, and shared the sights of central PA, including the Allegheny Mountains (also known as biggish hills), the Susquehanna River, Amish buggies and purple dresses flapping on the clothesline*, and even a black bear that ran across the highway and up the hill. During a particularly curvy part of the road, I started to feel a bit ooky myself. I focused on the horizon, leaned to the center of the car, and gripped the door handle. Just then, Rowan looked at me, reached out, and grabbed my hand. She held it until we were on straighter roads and I relaxed. Her dad says she is an old soul. I think he's right. (I rewarded her thoughtfulness with banana Teddy Grahams, which rock, by the way.)

After a gargantuan Mexican lunch at Mad Mex, we spent some time watching her play at the library before driving them to the airport for their flight. It is hard to watch them go, knowing it will be a while before we see them again.

Today was spent napping (her), doing laundry, and running errands. Dr. B took care of Rowan while I ran out, and essentially ran in circles. Without a plan and a need for speed, I didn't quite know what to do. Not a Christmas gift was purchased, and I came home with something for me and a bunch of food, and forgot the thing I really needed, a folder for my choir music. Though the stores were full of supposedly great and amazing deals, it still looked like a bunch of stuff I didn't need or didn't want to give, so except for a cute vest I found for about half price that I knew I had at least 10 things in my closet to wear with, I came up empty. That's OK. My wallet stayed fuller that way.

So that's what's up around here. We're planning on staying at home for Christmas, and I'm looking forward to a relaxing holiday. I've got a lot of things on my list to do before then, including more gift-buying (I started during the sales in January, but I'm not done yet), gift making, holiday cards, baking, and even a few concerts. I know this month will fly by, but I'm hoping to enjoy the ride.


*along with striped towels. I didn't know they were allowed stripes!

Thanksgiving: Mother, Daughter

What a difference a year makes.

How many days, weeks, months. Mornings, afternoons. Evenings. Nights. Feedings, meals, snacks. Tears, giggles. Cuddles, baths, walks, books. Games, toys, songs, dances.

How many moments.

How blessed.

My boobs hurt.

I'm weaning her.

After 17 months, it is time. I've got nearly nothing left, and she varies from barely nursing at all for days to sucking on me with such ferocity that I feel like my boobs have been drawn through a keyhole with a crochet hook. She doesn't need it anymore, physically. She gets plenty of nourishment from all the things she eats, and we're learning her likes and dislikes more and more as she gets older. Likes: fruit (especially pomegranate, which she calls "apple"), kidney beans, chocolate, anything we're eating that she can't have, black coffee and diet Coke. Dislikes: meat (except ham), little things like rice that are hard to pick up, tomato sauce (but not ketchup--that she loves). Can't eat: dairy, apparently. But a little cheese just yields a few farts so we let that go sometimes.

Anyway.

The past few days have been hard. Her dad's been on duty, going to her in the middle of the night and laying her down for sleep. He's cuddled her at 3 AM, brought her bottles of warmed soymilk, and soothed her tears while I laid in the other room feeling like I repeatedly got hit in the chest with a sack of old boots. At first, there were many tantrums when she'd ask, "Nuh? Nuh?" and I'd have to say no and try to distract her. It took a few days, but the requests come less frequently, and she gives up more easily when I say no.

Today, she woke at 5:30 and no Dad-soothing was good enough. She joined me in the big bed, draping her body over me, tucking her head against my cheek, with a shudder and a gulp. I laid there, relishing the snuggles, missing the closeness. She fell asleep, and I waited until I knew she was really down before gliding her off into the crook of my arm, closing my eyes, and letting go. We slept together like that until 8. On the way down the stairs, she clung to me, hugging me tight.

Today, she's reclaimed me. Not the same, but still all hers. Most of the day has been spent sitting in my lap, pointing to the laptop screen, flipping through magazines, reading books, watching "Gabba!", eating my food, trying to steal my diet Coke, kissing, hugging, poking, and loving. Standing between me and the kitchen counter, pushing me away and then demanding "up!" Dancing. Trying to climb me and startling with surprise when I scream "OW!" as she hits Mommy's ouch bags. Begging for a bite of my pickle. And finally collapsing against me when she's just too exhausted to move. After trying to nap with her, I finally had to do tough love and let her scream until she passed out. She just couldn't let me go.

She's still my baby, my little girl.

Flickr our President

20081105_Chicago_IL_ElectionNight1812, originally uploaded by Barack Obama.

I found this on another site, and had a lot of fun flipping through the photos. Click on the picture to take you to a set of photos taken the night Barack Obama made history and became our 44th president. The campaign is not selling them to the media--they are all posted on flickr.
How cool is that?

This is one of my favorites, and it's my guess that it'll be one of Malia's all-time favorites. Enjoy.

Tight

My jeans. For the first time since Rowan was born*, I'm feeling a bit poofy.

Damn these things. They are now officially banned from my house. And they can take the cupcakes with them.



* (Yay for breastfeeding!)

Sides

I grew up in a mixed household. My Dad is a lifelong Republican, my Mom was a Democrat. In the days before 24-hour news, the internet, Twitter, Facebook, and texting to your personal back-pocket phone, it was easier to avoid politics. They didn't discuss it, and we were left to make our own decisions.

I became a Democrat. My sister, an Independent.

When I got to high school, a very cute senior boy was a bit smitten with me. I was flattered, but didn't quite know what to make of it. He was really popular, handsome, and well-liked.

Then he found out my political leaning. And that was the end of it.

I couldn't quite believe it.

I guess I was sheltered. I believed people could work together, live together, love each other, and be successful even when they didn't agree. I thought I'd be given a chance even if I didn't have the same views as someone else. I thought that intelligence, character, and integrity were more important than blue or red.

Over the last 8 years, we saw our country swing very far to the right. People took sides, and anger bubbled to the surface. We saw some really ugly behavior on both sides. Living in a very liberal city, and working in some very conservative schools, I saw both sides on a daily basis.

I got tired of defending myself. To people who questioned my reasons for wanting to move to France, to French people who questioned my country's reasons for electing President Bush, to people who questioned whether or not I was A Good Person because I didn't agree with them, to people who thought I wasn't radical enough because I was proud to be a Democrat, and to those who thought I was a traitor to my country because I wasn't as angry as they were.

Good doesn't have a side. We all care. We all want the best for this country. We don't always agree on what that is, but this isn't black and white, good and evil, right and wrong.

Last night, I was excited to be a part of history being made. I stood in line for an hour, laughing and talking with other citizens who were casting their votes, too. I was so proud of my daughter, who waited patiently, munching on vanilla wafers and saying "Tekk Ooo!" to the volunteer who brought them to her. After voting, we picked up her dad to bring him back to the polls, sniffling and coughing, where he waited ninety minutes to cast his ballot.

Even before the results came in, I felt an amazing sense of pride. More people came out in this election than I've ever seen. The election workers said in a typical election, our polling place would get 200 voters. By 3 PM, voter number 713 cast her ballot (that was me!) I've voted in nearly every election since I turned 18, and I have always been proud to exercise my right, but last night, I was prouder for our country than I can ever remember being. Not because of a war we won, or a thing we invented. Because we are the United States of America, and we each have a voice, and more came out to exercise that right than I thought possible.

This election, no matter how you feel about the results, changed the face of America. It brought us out, got people to stand up, and brought excitement back to our country. It reminded us that we do matter. Our votes are worth something, and the sacrifices made for our right to them cannot be forgotten.

We have broken through a barrier, and there's no going back.

Congratulations, America. I knew you could do it.

Happy Halloween 2008

Our Sweet Little Candy Corn, originally uploaded by MrsBinParis.

I've been trying. The little stinker refuses to face front with a smile. This is one of 2 photos I got where you can even see both of her eyes, and don't ask me how I got the whole thing blurry except her face, because I have no idea. Watch flickr for more, which I'll upload as I edit them. But I do think she turned out pretty cute (and yes, I did make her costume), and she got lots of "Aw!"'s and treats today when we went to Target and to her Dad's office, with more to come tonight. (Yeah, we're going out. You nuts? People give away free Reese's peanut butter cups! We can't turn that down. And it's not like she knows how much candy Mom and Dad are supposed to eat.)

We wish you all a very Happy Halloween! May you get lots of peanut butter cups! (And no bit o' honey and circus peanuts. Except for Wendy and laurenorange, of course. You guys can have them ALL.)

Watch flickr for more, which I'll upload as I edit them.

Mikayla Teevee

I wanted to be a perfect parent.

I also wanted to be a supermodel astrophysicist who saved the world and cured cancer and the common cold, all while looking really hot and piloting my own personal jet.

So yeah, it's not happening. I make mistakes, a lot. I fail, keep trying, and still I don't live up to my own expectations. And that's OK.

Until recently, Rowan didn't watch TV. At all. We read a lot, listened to music, and played. But just a few weeks ago, she started noticing when it was on. And after a particularly frustrating morning, I turned to the preschool channels for help.

And all of a sudden, she's watching. Climbing on top of her little kitchen to get closer to the screen. Dancing along with the Dancey Dance bunch. And absolutely mesmerized by Dora (which I do not get.) Snuggling in my lap and munching on Ritz peanut butter sandwich crackers and glazing over like a true couch potato. (I do enjoy the snuggly part. And the crackers.)



Dr. B came home from work early one night, and caught a few minutes of Yo Gabba Gabba! He was hooked. He spent the next 2 days obsessively researching the "cool" shows for her to watch, and the annoying ones to avoid. He wants to be modern and hip and for her never to play princess or Barbie or watch Barney. I'd love to agree with him, and am avoiding these things as much as possible, but I know they are inevitable.

Dooo-dit. Doooo- dit. Dooo-dit. Dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dun...

So anyway, I've been slowly exposing her to a few shows, seeing what she likes and what she doesn't. OK. I lied. Seeing what I like and what I don't, and what she responds to off that list. Doing it quickly before she's old enough to ask for Barney herself. ("What? Barney who? Barney Rubble? OK! Flintstone time!") We are lucky to have the KIDS channel that has listings and shows what's on 4 of the channels at a time to make it easy to pick. Plus, we have found Sesame Street free OnDemand, so I use that when I need it. I try not to have it on all day long, but it does have a place in our day.

That being said, here are a few of my choices, and the ones I avoid. And I'm waiting for the rerelease of the Electric Company.


The Watchy-Watch Bunch:

1. Yo Gabba Gabba! (Free iron-ons downloadable here.)
2. Sesame Street
3. the Backyardigans
4. Bob the Builder (not Joe the Plumber. I have always liked Bob, maybe because he's positive and he fixes stuff rather than throw it out and buy new. He's very green, our Bob.)
5. Roary the Racecar
6. Sunny Side Up (AM talk for tots! I love Chica the Chicken.)
7. Max and Ruby
8. Blue's Clues (eh. Easy to ignore.)
9. Little Bill
10. Jack's Big Music Show
11. Maggie and the Ferocious Beast (I should hate this, but I don't. I like that the beast is called "Ferocious" and he's a total wuss.)



The Turn Offy Off Bunch:

1. Barney and Friends (it's mostly the friends I have a problem with.)
2. Fifi and the Flowertots (this makes me want to yak.)
3. Dragon Tales
4. Thomas and Friends (that's the tank engine)
5. Dora the Explorer (and all her spin-offs)
6. Miss Spider's Sunny Patch Friends
7. Lazytown (Creepy. Scary. Gives me nightmares.)
8. Reba. (I know that's not a kids show, but one second of it burns my eyeballs. If it comes on, Dr. B and I scream and leap for the remote. Just had to share.)


Then there are about a hundred I don't have an opinion on yet. (And the watchy watches may turn into Offy offs any day now.)

So, what about you?

Bit O' Honey and Circus Peanuts

Our friends stopped by at 7:30, and at 8 we headed off to campus, to the dorm that hosted trick or treating for the kids. Rowan was all decked out in her costume (photos to come, don't bug me--I'll get to it.) PK crawled around in his bee costume, allowing the hood to stay up due to the whipping wind. We walked from the parking lot, cutting through buildings, until we got to the dorm that was affiliated with Dr. B's college.

We started in the basement, and Rowan really didn't know what to make of it. She wouldn't carry her bucket, didn't want candy, and stared at the "crazy" guy in the straight jacket strapped to a chair, possibly considering climbing up in his lap for a story. At the end of the hall, she met a vampire lady, and clung to me, screaming and crying with her first official Halloween fright. (Earlier she had a similar reaction to the vacuum cleaner and a turtle puppet, so I'm not quite sure what it is she's scared of.)

By the second floor, though, she'd figured it out. She strutted from room to room, taking candy out of their bags and putting it in her bucket, which she'd heave over her shoulder as it got heavier. Due to a lack of nap time, she didn't offer a single smile or thank you, but many got kisses blown to them and bye-byes waved. She was a big hit with the girls, who kept calling her their "Candy Corn Cutie".

On the top floor, we met a group of young men who were in classes taught by Dr. B and Dr. K. They talked and joked with us, and we all commiserated over bad Halloween candy.

"Walmart candy--those bags of non-descript yuck!" "Circus peanuts." "Wax bottles." "Bit O' Honey!" And the good ones: Peanut butter cups, Skittles, and the houses that gave out the full sized bars.

"Wow. Interesting to know that bad candy is the same all the way from your generation to ours," said one boy.

What?

I looked at him, puzzled. My generation?

And on the drive home, it dawned on me. This boy was likely born around the time I started college.

I am so old.

(But not too old to raid her stash. Don't tell her, OK?)

Preschool TV Fashion in France

Rowan's recently gotten into watching TV. I've set up her own playlist on the remote, and we watch Sesame Street (also free On Demand, which I love), Sprout, Noggin, and even a little SpongeBob. Her attention span is short, but so are the clips on the shows, and she loves the colors and music, often clapping along (and actually, her steady beat is already pretty good.) She dances with the television, shaking her tush and rocking back and forth from foot to foot, spinning in a circle, waving her arms and waggling her head back and forth.

A very dear friend suggested a french show her son loves, so we started watching on dailymotion.com. Rowan loves the music, dancing along with it, and clapping her hands with the little bear every time he does during the theme song. We love seeing so many little aspects of french culture embedded in it.

Here's one of her favorites. After singing along with the theme song, we started watching. I remembered walking the two blocks to our local marché, and ordering fruits, veggies, cheese, butter, bread and meat from the vendors. Then I looked more carefully.

Watch Papa Ours' pants. The length.

Hilarious. Even french cartoon men wear their pants too short.

Petit Ours Brun Se Perd Au Marché
Uploaded by princesse_rebeu

We want to see this smile again, really soon.* Updated

Graham grins!, originally uploaded by MrsBinParis.

Please keep him, his family and the hospital staff in your prayers. Things are slowly getting better, but still very slowly.

Rowan misses her friend. So do we.

***Graham is home from the hospital, and doing much better. They are still trying to figure out if it was Mycoplasma or not, whether the intubation caused his lung to collapse or if the pneumonia did (that they didn't notice a few hours before), and if the drugs interactions were the reason for his great distress, since some didn't show up on his computerized chart. Scary stuff. But thankfully, he's OK and is at home again. We are very relieved. Thanks for all the prayers and good thoughts.

And then life shakes you

I complain a lot. Too much. About stupid stuff, but who doesn't? We all get bogged down by little crap that we don't even remember a year later. Poopy diapers. Crabby kids. Overflowing toilets. Leaves that blow in my door all the freaking time.

Nothing really important.

We got a text message yesterday. Our friends' son, who is just a few weeks younger than Rowan, is in the Peds ICU. They don't know what's wrong. Every few hours, I'd get a new one: aggressive infection, but his heart is OK. Airlift to the big hospital in Danville. He's no longer purple. Only one seizure. Intubated. Sedated. On IV's. Rash is improving. CT scan says his brain is OK, they think.

But they still don't know what's wrong. Infectious disease? Scarlet fever? Still don't know.

His dad called me yesterday afternoon, and cried while he told me what was happening. So did I. He asked me to go to their house and get some clothes together for them. Rowan fell asleep, so I made them some banana and chocolate chip muffins while I waited. Then another friend called and said he'd do it, since he was going to take the stuff to them anyway, and had the time. He and his wife live halfway in between here and the hospital, so they can most easily be the go-betweens. He'd stop in for the muffins.

Secretly, I was relieved. If it was infectious, and was on his toys--what if Rowan picked it up? I feel for them, I am so worried, but I have to protect her, too.

The friend's wife called as they were driving home from the hospital and gave me the update. Things are looking better, but they still don't know much. He's in a clean room, and everyone is in masks and gowns to go in. Just like an episode of House, they are still trying to figure out what is going on. They know they will be there for at least a week, if not longer. We are praying for Graham, Angie and Erik, and the doctors and nurses taking care of him.

Every minute, every step, every breath she took was magic. I attacked her with kisses, and she attacked back. Her dad scooped her up, tossing her in the air and both of them squealed with delight. Such a relief, knowing she was OK.

Amazing, how something like this even makes tantrums look precious.

OAK Soup: There's a party in my tummy!

I love soup. Not the canned variety (generally, yuck), but homemade, slow-simmering, use up the little bits of junk you don't know what to do with soup. When I was a kid, I hated soup, but I think that was mainly because the stuff I got was bland canned soup--until my mom started making her own. Then, I couldn't get enough.

I make my own stock when I can, cooking a chicken carcass with onions and garlic and all their skins, parsley, carrots, celery (if I have it, which is rare), herbs and peppercorns. Last time I did that, I froze some.

Today, I put it to good use.

Usually my soups are OAK soups. As my mom used to say, "Once Around the Kitchen!" A little of this, a little of that. Add until it smells good. (Mom taught me to cook by smell, and I still do.) That's what I made today, but it turned out so yummy, I want to write it down, so I can do it again. So can you, if you like. Here's what I did. All measurements are very, very approximate.

Autumn Ham and Butter Bean Soup

1 onion, chopped
3-4 cloves of garlic, sliced
about 3/4 cup sliced carrots
about 3/4 cup sliced celery
1 cup sliced fully cooked ham, cut into batons (little sticks)
a bit of olive oil, and a knob of butter
about a quart of chicken stock
1 can diced tomatoes
1 large bay leaf
1/2 T. Herbes de Provence
some ground pepper
a few drops of Liquid Smoke. (This stuff really is liquid smoke! I saw a show on it. Very interesting. I wanted to up the smoky flavor. It worked.)
One can butter beans, rinsed and drained.


Sautée onion, carrots and celery in oil and butter until fragrant. Sprinkle a little salt on it. Add ham and garlic, and keep cooking until you can smell the garlic.

Add everything else except the beans. I also added a few shake of Penzey's Granulated Garlic because it always adds such a mellow garlicky flavor, and really enhances the fresh garlic. You don't have to do this. But if you do, you won't regret it.

Simmer for a while. A few hours if you have the time. In the crock pot if you want. Whatever.

Just before serving, remove bay leaf and add salt and more pepper to taste. (I don't salt my stock, so add just before serving. I don't need much usually, so it's quite a low-sodium food.) Add the beans, stir to heat them up, and ladle into bowls (The beans will fall apart if you add them earlier. Home cooked beans would be firmer. I only had canned.)

Serve with yummy bread, and top with some grated, hard cheese like Parmeggiano Reggiano or Pecorino or something, if you like. We didn't tonight, but it would be tasty. I had red wine, he had a beer. Both were great with it. Serves about 4 people.

Enjoy!

Babe's Anatomy

Before the taping started: "Rowan, where's your nose?"




And Dr. B thought it was pointless to name all her body parts as I washed them in the tub, when she was just two months old. It's amazing how much they soak up.

Note the "Tappe, tappe dans tes mains" at the end. It's from the Petit Ours Brun theme song. She claps along whenever it plays, and tries to hop by stomping her feet when it says, "saute, saute, les pieds joints". She's learning French!

I ironed his shirt, but you don't get to see that.

Dr. B's work on the Solar Decathlon eats up a lot of his time, but it's really an amazing project. Please check out the link for more info, but to put it in a nutshell, this is a world-wide competition where the students build a house that runs entirely on the power of the sun. They design every nut and bolt, and it will compete on the national mall in Washington, DC next summer. Last competition, PSU entered for the first time and took 4th. Dr. B was asked to head up the project for next year's competition, and is in charge of a lot of stuff, including advertising their work. Last winter, I sent an email to the local news, hoping they would interview him and get him some more press.

They finally did, yesterday. They left him on the cutting room floor, but at least you get a (very) little bit of information on this cool project. (That's OK, I'm not wild about his current haircut anyway.) They interview one of the leaders of the project, a cool kid that he works with a lot. It played on the 5 PM news, which of course I missed, but it is online already.

You can watch it here. Turn off your sound for the first 5 seconds, because there's lots of loud static during the ad for some reason. (Hey, we are in Central PA. I'm just happy they put it on the web in the first place, but I wish they would let me embed it.) You can visit the house this weekend (it's homecoming, so parking may be a problem.) It's right by the stadium, so I think it'll be very busy. Dr. B is planning to bike over and see how it's going a little later this afternoon.

Now when they win the next competition, I'll make sure his hair looks great.

Green Slime and a Lentil

I thought she would escape it.

No allergies, whatsoever. "Go ahead, give her peanut butter!" the pediatrician said.

Peanut butter? Fine. But now, we've got other problems.

She doesn't have many words. Mama, Dada, Teeth, Cheese and Ham. Oh, and "Uh?" That one she says a lot.

So, when she's hungry, she often asks for cheese. She's been experimenting with refusing foods, unpredictably. Asking for things by pointing, choosing milk over juice, and Cheezits over Club crackers. Refusing things she used to gobble up. But she always ate her cheese.

She started having diarrhea, lots of it. Then some unexplained diaper rash. Finally, we had Saturday night. Screams, screams and more screams. Only sleeping when she was draped over either our shoulder or our chests. And then came the farts. Frrrp! Frp. Frp frp frp frp. Frrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrp!

After a night of trading off sleeping with her (in which we all overslept and missed church), we'd figured it out.

Dr. B is lactose intolerant, though he manages it with a steady diet of natural yogurt. I was as a baby, which my parents didn't find out until I was a year old. I could eat cheese or ice cream, but no milk. A few years later, I could have it, no problem.

I took away the cheese and milk, and switched her to soy. Screams and farts have stopped. She's eating a little better, and the diaper rash is nearly gone.

But the diarrhea is more stubborn. New colors each time, and new consistencies with every change! Yellow, brown, gray, orange, and green: my life is a rainbow!

So, if you're wondering about the title of this post? Now you know.

3 Meme

Hit again, by my cousin. She knows I'm a sucker.

So here goes. Trios: 3 joys, 3 fears, 3 goals, 3 current obsessions and 3 random facts:

Joys:
1. My daughter, especially laughing. No matter what she's laughing at.
2. My relationship with my husband.
3. Living the life I want to live.

Fears:
1. My family members' health. It can all be taken away in an instant. (This includes my own.)
2. Having the resources to live once we are retired.
3. Bees. (I am allergic.)

Goals:
1. To raise intelligent, self-reliant, centered and confident child(ren).
2. To treat others with respect and tolerance, even when I don't agree. (I am working on this.)
3. To be kinder to myself.

Current obsessions:
1. Historical fiction. This one's been going on for about 20 years. I just finished this book and this book. Enjoyed both.

2. Dulce de leche. I made it in my crockpot, like this. I like to cut up some apples I got at the farm down the road, and dip them in it. Rowan loves it, too.

3. Making our home our own, cheaply. Just found some great drapes on clearance for the living room and our bedroom. Have plans to paint our bedroom, and install shelves in the laundry room. Also need to change the cabinet hardware in the kitchen, get new light fixtures, put in hardwood floors... (obviously not all happening at once--a little bit as we can afford it. Which we can't. Hence the clearance curtains!)

Random Facts:
1. I am trying to break my addiction to cleaning my ears with a Qtip. I know it's bad. I know, I know, but I just can't stop. A friend once described the feeling as "eargasms".

2. I have recently fallen in love with Rimmel's quick dry nail polish. I buy crazy colors and don't feel bad because it's cheap. But the colors look good on my skin (hard because I am a true neutral--too warm or too cool both look icky on me), they are surprisingly good quality, and I can be kind of trendy for less than 3 bucks.

3. Caffeine makes me have to pee a lot. When I have to drive a long distance, I eat craisins and drink diet Coke. The craisins soak up the liquid, so I don't have to pee so much. It works!

As for passing this on, I'll ask Vivi, Dee and Doc, because she hasn't posted much in a long time and I'm wondering if she's still out there.

And you! If you are reading this and want to! Please comment and link if you do...

Too Fast

Next week, it will be official. She'll be sixteen months old. SIXTEEN.

She's growing up, so quickly, I can hardly believe it. It seems like just yesterday I was putting her into her very first onesie. Then yesterday, in the attic, I looked around to see 6 large Rubbermaid containers full of outgrown clothes, with another soon to join the stacks.

She's walking, talking, and expressing opinions, all her own. (Most of them are about cheese.) She loves to brush her teeth and take a bath, but would prefer to spend her days naked, wearing shoes of course.

And today, as I walked Lucy just outside our door for the noontime pee-break, she proved just how fast time is flying. She's growing up, whether we like it or not.

By the time I got back in, she was 2 remote-control button pushes away from ordering an OnDemand movie.

It was porn.

Sarah's Solo

Sarah's Solo, originally uploaded by MrsBinParis.

Here it is: I found the music online, just in case you really want to emulate the possible future VP and play the same tune on your flute. Her part starts at m. 9. Music is here, and the video is here.



Condaleeza Rice is a classically trained concert pianist (thanks, Nicki!), so I guess music is important to the Republican party. May they remember that when they attempt to cut funding to the Arts and Education.

Enjoy, music makers!

Why is it...

Slicker, originally uploaded by MrsBinParis.

...when you finally give up and decide "that's IT! I'm calling for a hair appointment!" and you do, then the day of the appointment you have a great hair day? (It happens to me every time.)

There must be some sort of name for that. Murphy had a law. What is this one called?

Obviously, it's the same thing as when you decide you are going to start teaching again, subbing just very, very part time, and only dependent on finding child care.

The next few days? She is an angel. A happy, giggly angel who gives you hugs and kisses and just wants to spend all her time with you. Figures.

But, I think it's time. Not just for me, although I am looking forward to getting back into the classroom a little bit, maintaining my credentials so I can go back part or full-time when we're ready, and meeting some people, but mostly for her.

When we go to the library to play on their toys, she is in heaven. She loves to be around other kids, and really behaves herself well. She shares with others, smiles and giggles at things they do, and looks up at them with those big blue eyes. And when it's time to leave, she pitches a fit.

I think she needs some time with other kids. And Mommy could use some time, too. Not that I don't love staying home with her, because I do, but I'm listening to my student teaching mentor, Mrs. Swenby, waaaaaay back in 1996. Her motto (and it is the best teaching advice I've received, ever) is "monitor and adjust". Right now, my monitoring says that it's time to let her stretch a bit. And maybe for me to put on one of my old hats. (Or high heeled boots, as the case may be.)

So we'll see. Nothing crazy, and it won't start tomorrow, but it's time to start thinking about it.