A Speculation on the Second Coming and Bedtime

The other day, while vacuuming under the influence of caffeine and lack of sleep, I was thinking about the second coming of Jesus. And also of environmentalism. And I started to wonder, what if Heaven is like bedtime and we're the children...I suppose bedtime is a bad analogy. As far as my experience goes, kids don't actually want to go to bed. So...Heaven is the bedtime story. Don't ask me what that makes the actual bedtime. Anyhow, we're the kids, Heaven is the bedtime story, Jesus is the parent.

What if we can't hear the story until we clean up our mess?

Hear me roar. (a parenthetically hyphenated post about laundry, mostly)

My washing machine is on the fritz and as there is not a disposable diaper to be found in my household, I just hand-washed a load of cloth diapers in my bathroom sink. This event was blog post inspiring because, as bizarre as this sounds, I thoroughly enjoyed it. (I feel it's important to note here that none of said diapers contained poo.) I get a kick out of doing things old school. And while I was slushing urine and laundry soap around in the sink, I tried to pinpoint just what about this experience was so significant. Here's what I came up with...I think it keeps me in touch with my humanity. (Nice little bit of psychoanalysis there, eh?) Humanity in the I-can-handle-this sense. Possibly the same feeling women get when they birth a child without drugs. (Yes, I just put natural child birth on the same level as washing pee out of clothes.)

Side note: Love the cloth diapers. I'm a gDiaper (cloth inserts) by day and a bumGenius (one-size 3.0) by night. My Happy Heinys, which I was prepared to adore, are more of a fill-in, a booty call of sorts. Gotta love how well that term works here.

I wonder what the ratio is, worldwide, of people who hand-wash their laundry to people who use a machine.

Rar.

Living Large (a post in which I do make it to the point, eventually)

So, my husband and I are looking for a new place. Actually, I think it's necessary to paint a little picture of our financial/housing situation to fully appreciate this post...

You see, back in the day, we lived in Gainesville, FL. That's where we met and I had my brief interlude with a college education. That's where I busted my ass as a waitress and Danny discovered his passion for making (at the time, not-so-) great food. That's where we had, really, a decent income and blew it all eating at restaurants and fixing broken cars. Then there was a pregnancy scare in which we both panicked and started planning how our now horribly ruined lives were going to be carried out. Then I realized I wasn't pregnant and almost immediately after the freakout subsided, the baby-crazy set in. It's actually pretty surreal how that happened. At the time we were both working full-time and planning our move to Orlando where Danny could get some culinary learning and I was to enroll at UCF for art. The baby-crazy only got worse and we decided "not to try, but not to not try." Fast forward one month and you'll see me crying tears of joy, bouncing around the bathroom with three positive pregnancy tests. We told our parents it was not planned.

So, we move to Orlando right about the time the real crazy set in and I became a depressed vomiting hermit. I didn't find a job in Orlando until the vomiting stopped, or rather lessened, which was a little past 5 months into my pregnancy. And then, when I did get said job, it was lousy and I made no money. Colson was born and our financial situation had gotten so bad over the pregnancy that was now a cute baby girl and a not very cute hospital bill that we were a month away from not being able to pay rent. Then Danny got a great job offer, salary, a sous chef for a casino in Mississippi. We took it. We bought a house there and we planned to stay there for at least 5-10 years. We had a lovely fenced in yard and a beautiful garden that produced an inordinate amount of tomatoes. Then Danny was dealt with horribly and fired along with 30 people under him they were gracious enough to lay off. Hourly employees, of course. For the next three months, he was a job hunting machine. And after nothing, nothing, nothing...we had my dad ask a very old family friend for a good word and Danny ended up with a job here in South Florida.

Over the three jobless months, three of the last four of my second pregnancy (the one that really was unplanned), we accumulated credit card debt while we managed to pay our bills until we had nothing left, at which point some of the bills began to not get paid. We rented our house out and then our mortgage went up due to insurance costs and taxes and now we're forking over $280 a month. Anyhow, here we are, paying all our bills again even though we aren't saving anything. We love his new job like no other he's ever had even though the pay is less than fantastic. We love this town and the beach and the gorgeous trees even though our apartment is falling apart. Here we are, crossing our fingers that our house sells quickly come November and that our current renter will go for a month by month deal until that happens.

And we are looking for a new place. What we really want to do is downsize, get a nice one bedroom and save a couple hundred bucks a month. But here's the kicker, it's apparently not okay for a family of four to live in a one bedroom house. Before you start saying how crazy I am for even thinking of this, read on. We live in a two bedroom apartment. Our master bedroom, the one where all four of us sleep in the same bed (a king size, by the way) is huge. We spend about 8-12 hours in there a day, collectively...sleeping. Then the doors are shut so the cats don't pee on the bed. There's a bathroom in there that is used almost exclusively for giving the girls baths. Then there's the girls' room. The main purpose for this room is to accommodate clothes and toys and for Finley to nap in. Sometimes they play in there, but most of the time the toys are brought into the living room that is also my art studio and our office. So I got to thinking about the wasted space we're paying for. But that's the way it's done here. We live in small groups in big houses. We sleep each in separate rooms in separate beds and have separate bathrooms.

I'm not judging those who want to live this way. I'm not saying it's wrong. All I'm saying is that our way isn't wrong either. And, while I can somewhat understand the reasoning behind only allowing so many people in a given space, I do find it a little absurd that we are not allowed to choose to live smaller. I find it a little absurd that someone else can tell me how many rooms or square footage I need. I know it would be different if we weren't renting. It's just eye-opening and frustrating.

So we've decided to move to a small village in the rainforest. No, just kidding.

Apparently, I suck at this.

On one hand, I'm pretty sure only two (maybe three) people read this. On the other, the point, or at least one of the points, of this blog is to get me writing. So what have I been not writing about for over a month?

I've been attempting to build a website. Not as easy as I'd hoped. I've also had a whopping two commissions to work on every night after the girls are in bed. And then there's unearthing what I fear is the Trekkie in me. Oh and baking. Some attempts at baking. And some successes also.

What I have not been doing is being very active. Brings to mind a Scrubs episode. (Readers should know that almost everything in my life somehow brings to mind a Scrubs episode.) Where the Janitor and Ted become environmentalists and Elliot decides to put on weight with her patient. Carla tells them at the end that it's human to be excited about something and then get complacent again. Sure, I've joined a few website news lists and signed a few petitions. I watched Food, Inc. And I've held strong against the force of exorbitant prices and bought organic food. I just haven't actually done much. Complacency. Another purpose for writing here.

Also, as I've been trying to marry my tree-hugger spirit with my fear of fluttery things and dying from various uncommon outdoor disasters, I took the family for a hike at John D. MacArthur State Park. The walking trail was sufficiently rugged, unbearably hot and humid, and, unfortunately for my less than vigorous approach to taming my butterfly fear, infested with Florida's state butterfly. In my defense, I did make a second attempt at the hike after I'd dug a beach towel out of the car and draped it over my head. In my...not defense...before I got to the car I was cowering on the ground bawling and begging Danny to help me. Colson was super sweet about it, though, and for our second round walked beside me holding my hand so I wouldn't be scared. The mosquitoes were pretty stoked about the feast we'd laid out before them, which is why said round two was also short-lived. Then we went to the beach like real Floridians.

So, the baking: homemade graham crackers. First attempt, not so good. Second try, epic. They are delicious. Nabisco can kiss my unpreserved, honey sweetened, unhydrogenated ass.

The Trekking...We'll go there later. Suffice it to say that Spock may have my heart in a Vulcan death grip. Wow, did that just go way beyond nerdy? I think it did.

And finally, I can see the light at the end of the tunnel and it looks less like light and more like Godiva chocolate cheesecake. Less than a week left and going strong. Can I get a "you're awesome" please?

Live long and prosper.

One, Love

Over the past few months, I've taken up playing tennis again. I played in high school and was decent. By decent I mean that I was generally able to make contact with the ball, most of the time with the racket. But I more or less gave tennis up after graduating and so it's been 6 years since I've really played.

So I started playing again, against a wall at the park, and have been regularly for a while. It's amazing how quickly and exponentially one can improve when you start with bloody awful. I mean, it was bad. I was more than a little worried that I just didn't have it in me anymore. But I'd even venture to say that I'm better now than I was in high school. Maybe it comes with age, the ability to take direction and apply it. Because I hear all the lessons from my coach in my head, but the difference is that I can actually manage an effort to do it right. Or maybe it had something to do with the coordination issues of an already klutzy-by-nature teenager.

I like to fantasize that the firefighters at the station next to the courts have been watching me improve over the past months and are cheering me on. But in reality they probably just do firefightery things and never even notice I'm there. And if they do, it's more likely that they see my goofy ass chasing after a stray ball and wonder how it's possible that I ever manage to hit it with the racket at all.

The weather is, however, absurd. It's already been above 100 degrees. And you can practically drink the air. I love South Florida, but it's officially ridiculous how hot it is here. Oh, August, how I dread your coming.

But, aside from a general lack of harmony among my body parts and the commencement of a typically mad South Florida summer, it's fantastic to be playing again, to be active. To exhaust and drench and invigorate. It is one great joy in my life right now. But that damned wall talks some serious trash.

Paper Tigers

Sometimes I have too much to write about and end up intimidated by a nice blank text box. Here's a mash up. It may get longish.

First of all, I'd like to take this opportunity to commend myself on my excellence in chocolate abstinence. Saturday will mark me halfway. 50 days without it and 50 yet to endure. Although I'm happy to report that "endure" really is, at this point, too strong a word.

I'm also making some very small progress with the butterflies. I've neglected my picture looking, to be sure. But I have been making an effort to be generally closer to any butterflies that happen along my path. Sans freakout. I do feel obligated to admit to one panic attack, where I found myself trapped in my apartment with a moth, flying towards me. Suffice it to say that when my husband informed me of my horror's true identity, a bee, I was more than happy to get up off the floor and pull the blanket off my head.

I've also been brushing up on my classic literature. We've been frequenting the public library. In our year long absence from civilization, i.e. Mississippi, I'd forgotten how much I love a library. So far, I've been into Austen. I attempted Emma in middle school and found it pretty insufferable. I've now read Pride and Prejudice and Mansfield Park and am fairly certain Emma will hold more interest for me now. At first I felt like Austen's style of writing was strangely straightforward and a little dull. I ended up thoroughly enjoying Pride and Prejudice, although I assumed that I might because I was already familiar with the story. But actually preferred Mansfield Park, at least up until the end. While I really enjoy Elizabeth Bennet as a character, Fanny Price is pretty impossible not to like or at very least respect. I was all but cheering for Mr. Crawford, though, when that blew up in my face. I couldn't ever tell where the book would go, a happy point to me, though not uncommon. I'm a lovely audience, almost always unsuspecting and then afterward quick to forget and therefore likely to read/watch/listen again. But I don't care for the way Austen wraps up a story. So brief and indifferent. What's striking to me though, is to consider the stories rewritten for our time. It's almost impossible and would never work for a good story, I think. It's incredible what changes we've undergone as society as a whole. Really just bizarre to think about. I could get all anthropological here but no one wants that.

So back to the classics...I'm also reading Kipling right now. A Kipling Pageant, and currently Rikki Tikki Tavi, for which I've named a cat. And on the list are, well, the classics. The stuff we're all meant to read at some time or other. 20,000 Leagues, 1984, Animal Farm, Dickens, Shakespeare, Moby Dick, etc. Any suggestions welcome, and of course any suggestions that aren't necessarily considered to be "classic" literature.

I also have something to say on a few children's books. Sam and the Tigers by Julius Lester is undoubtedly one of my all time favourite kids' stories. It's apparently a retelling of another story, Little Black Sambo, which was thought racist. I read Little Black Sambo too, online, but Sam and the Tigers is so lovely and perfect to me. It's imaginative beyond the story itself, witty, with some fantastic similes and written in a great voice. Plus the illustrations, by Jerry Pinkney, are well done and you've got to love the tigers' expressions. We also checked out a cute little book of haikus about a Japanese garden with a little girl. Colson kept calling it the princess book because, to her, all little girls in books or stories are princesses. I love haikus.

So, I've been worrying about our water play. See, we have fountains for kids to play in at the park we frequent, and also at the zoo. Now, at the zoo, we don't have control over whether or not the fountains are turned on, so on one hand I feel less guilty about letting the girls play in it. At the park, we turn them on ourselves and they spout for an amount of time and then shut off until turned on again. So, at the park we're intentionally bringing about the water wasteage and at the zoo only condoning it. What am I to do? It's such a highlight of fun for the kids...Does it drain into a pool and reuse itself? I wonder if that's not the case at the zoo because of the strong smell of chlorine to the water...at the park I'm less sure. Thoughts?

And to conclude, while we're on the subject of zoos. I'm often wondering how the animals feel. I know that a lot of the time zoo animals, for some reason or another, can't live in the wild. But I can't help but wonder about the quality of life of a wild animal kept caged. Heck, I even worry about my house cats being too much confined.

"Oh, restless are we all, until true freedom is realized." -Jupiter Sunrise, "Master Susuki"

How to be an activist:

It's been a while. And I've had a lot buzzing around in my head over the past week and a half...trying to figure out how to put it down into coherent thought pieces. Here goes.

In a nutshell, I flipped out a little. And my flipping out led me to a lot of questions. And some more convictions. This started when Sausage told me about the oil spill in the Gulf. First of all, it had happened two weeks prior to her mentioning it and I had no idea. This isn't the first time I've been behind on things outside my own life. I don't have television and even when we did I never bothered with the news. I don't, or rather didn't, ever check newspapers or online stories either. Didn't. I'm working on it, paying attention, finding some good internet sources. I'm not naive enough to think I'll find anything unbiased, but I'd like to get my news from the biases of different persuasions at least. Anyhow, I've got my eyes open now, world.

Second, the oil spill itself. I didn't have much of an opinion about the Exxon-Valdez spill, being 2 at the time. I've heard about it from my mom, who still refuses to buy her gas from Exxon. But reading about this spill...well, it horrified me. Cue flipping out. I went into some hysterics telling my husband about it. All I could...and can still...think was what are we doing here? Why do we do these things and not realize the consequences? We thunder onward with our eyes shut, it seems...taking and raping this planet. Perhaps this sounds dramatic. But isn't it? This is what is getting to me...that these thoughts are often considered outrageous or radical. Is it so radical? Is it not radical the things humans do, the things we get ourselves into? Is it not radical that thousands of gallons of oil were spilling out into the ocean unchecked? Knowing as we do what damage this causes, how was it allowed to happen? And further, how do we change it?

That's basically the question that's been ringing in my thoughts over and over through the last week and I'm not just talking oil spills. How do we change? How can we live in the world we've made this into and respect what it was before we were here? I don't have an answer. But I'm going to look for it. I'm going to try to do more than just my part. Because I no longer think that just my part will be enough. I don't know how to be an activist. But I'm going to learn.

One Mortar, One Pestle, and Presto! It's Pesto!

It's a recent goal of mine to learn to cook a bit. I don't have any crazy aspirations...I'm married to a chef. I'm complacent. But now that said chef husband is working nights, that leaves supper up to mom. And though I'd be satisfied with peanut butter sandwiches and cereal, I should probably instill better eating habits in my children right? Wait...Can one instill good eating habits in a toddler? Eh, debatable. I digress.

So the other night I made dinner. Breaded pan-fried orange roughy with fancy chef butter that my husband makes. For those of you who are thinking right now that having a pat of butter on fish sounds a bit odd, I'm with ya. Or was until I tried it. This is something Danny usually makes and it's simply perfect. But in an attempt to give him a relaxing evening, I took on putting food on the table. Anyway, fish and corn and spinach balls. Spinach balls is a fantastic little recipe from my stepmom. Delish. Okay, so the icing on the cake? My two year old, Colson...LOVED IT. How great is that? She ate probably as much fish as I did, scarfed the corn and even tried a spinach ball and said it was good...and they're green.

And last night I made baked chicken with pesto and havarti with dill. But here's the cool part. I made the pesto! Okay, perhaps this is less exciting to others than it is to me. I used a mortar and pestle too. Old school. It was lovely. And I was beaming with pride.

Alright, enough success stories. Let's have today's fail. I forgot to pay the rent. This has never happened to me. Well, our rent is considered late on the 4th and I didn't realize my oversight until 7ish o'clock on...the 4th. Great. And while I was hoping to plead insanity, I was still charged the extra $75. Rules are rules. Real life, you suck.

I had other, probably more interesting and important, things to blog about, but I'm just not feeling it tonight. And hubby's on the way home. So, Mexicans, celebrate history and heritage and victories over greater forces...Americans, go get wasted. ¡Feliz Cinco de Mayo!

Lepidoptera...Phobic!

I've mentioned before the fear of moths and butterflies. When I was pregnant with Finley, I started a some-number-of-steps self-made and -inforced program to rid myself of this phobia. I quit. Because me being pregnant means that I'm a crazy person. Yes, more crazy than a person scared of a butterfly.

Anyhow, I'm at it again. For anyone who isn't anything-phobic...this is a big deal. This isn't scared. It's panic and terror and sickness. Yuck. No one likes all that right? So, let's be done with it! I'm starting with pictures. Sounds lame, but a lot of the time seeing pictures of moths and butterflies makes me physically sick. Chills and nausea sick. So that's the starting point, then hopefully I can get my hands on...or eyes on...or be in the general vicinity of some dead ones. A science museum exhibit or something like. And then move on to live fluttering monstrosities. The culmination of this project will be immersion. Butterfly conservatory. If I do this, I'm getting a tattoo of this guy...
Okay, that's probably a negative.

I'm giving myself a whole year for this. I figure one year is a sufficient amount of time to rid someone of twenty-something years of psychosis. So, save the date. Family and friends, this time next year there's a party happening here.

There will be cake.

Indecision and Spoilage

I've just spent the last hour to hour and a half of my life trying to decide on a cloth diaper, where to buy it, whether to try more than one, what bloody colour. I cannot make a swift decision to save my life. God help me if my life actually did depend on it. Anyhow, I'm nearly checking out at diapers.com with some Happy Heinys and a bumGenius 3.0...Yikes, this makes my head hurt.

This is a constant issue in my life. Indecision is part of the reason I have yet to try cloth diapers at all. Or that it took so long to start feeding my kitties raw food. My husband is a jump in and go sort of guy. Just try it. If it doesn't work...oh well. Me? I just relentlessly research something until I've found so many contradicting information that I want to combust.

Also, diapers.com is not letting me use my promo code. Not cool. Anyhow, for all you cloth diapering mamas...I was reading reviews and got a good tip. Instead of buying those washable baby wipes, cut up receiving blankets. What else would you do with them anyway? Well, barring future babies.

So, jumped on that bandwagon and saw Avatar. I'm not entirely sure what constitutes a spoiler. I'm not planning on writing anything that I feel would give away anything central to the story or that you couldn't most likely deem from watching previews. And certainly not much, if any, more than I knew prior to watching the movie myself. But just to be safe...spoilage commencing now.

...

Basically, the storyline is pretty classic. It's like Dances With Wolves meets Fern Gully. Why is it that in these movies, the person doing the betraying never fesses up until it's (almost) too late? I like to think I'd say something sooner. Anyhow, the saddest part about this movie is the measure of truth it holds. And I'm not even just talking tree-hugger talk. People are so savage to other people, different people. But the movie was stunningly beautiful. I thought the soundtrack and occasionally the acting was a bit lacking. Not bad, just not in keeping with the visual aspect of the movie. All in all, I liked it. I could probably watch the first half over and over. It did go all Lord of the Rings about halfway thru and my lack of a Y chromosome started kicking in. "Just stop fighting already!" Make no mistake, I love LOTR. But I'd be lying if I said excessive battleage didn't tire me just a bit. Favourite: the size ratio of the Otimacaya (hoping I got that right...) to their surroundings.

...

I called 1-800-diapers to find out why my promo code for $10 off your first purchase of diapers wasn't working. Turns out cloth diapers don't count, but the guy I spoke with gave me the discount anyway, plus $5. Cool, eh? He also thanked me for the laugh...I ended up spelling my ridiculous email address to him something like 5 times.

Mission accomplished.

Baby Dinosaurs

Yesterday, I was about to start writing about camping when my baby girl woke up. Oh, and while we're on the subject of babies...I apparently missed the memo that you are to refer to your spawn as the first letter of their first name. Am I possibly the only mom on here careless enough to go with the whole first name? No, I know I'm not...but still, I just did a bit of blog surfing and realized there are an awful lot of J's and G's out there.

So, camping. Ever been camping? You know, the real sort. In a tent, cooking over fires and wiping with leaves? (Side note...I watch too many kid movies and now quote them in my head all day long. Just now I thought to myself, "Who wipes?!" Random useless 10 points to anyone out there in blogland that knows who doesn't wipe.) I'd say that I've been camping on 3 levels. The grandparents' RV...tents with little public restrooms a fair walk away...and the camping trip that stands out above the rest. The real sort. But we had toilet paper.

I always hated camping. Some hippie, eh? No, my hatred is almost entirely based upon my fear of moths. And butterflies. Creepy boogers, no? Anyhow, the blasted things frequent campsite bathrooms like you would not believe. You would not believe it because I'd wager the average sane person doesn't even notice they're there. But the tiniest sleepy winged fuzzball will set my heart racing and my stomach lurching even when I'm not expected to shower with it. That said, camping never much got me excited.

But once I went on a weekend camping trip with a friend of mine during my freshman year of high school in Georgia. Her family had property up in the north part of the state somewhere, I forget the name of the place. I can't honestly remember why I decided to go in the first place. Guilt, possibly. A general inability to state my own opinion in the face of someone else's wishes. Not sure. But I was dreading it...right up until the moment we drove into a lovely little clearing surrounded by sun dappled woods. There was a creek, complete with silky, sparkling rocks. Little hills all about. I have a terribly flawed remembering mechanism so I only recall bits of the trip. One bit, I refused to poo, worried that the boys along with us would "walk in" on me. When pooing in the woods there's no doors, you see. And when you're 15 there's no way in hell you're going to risk getting caught defecating by a load of boys, even if they are younger and you have to suffer a bit of discomfort from holding in. But aside from this charming recollection, I remember cramming into a tent with something like 8 people and waking up wet from rain and/or dew that had made it inside. I remember the freshness of the air. The purity of being there like we were. And I remember an afternoon sitting beside, and eventually in, the creek with the girl. I do not remember any moths.

Ah, reminiscing. Way to bore the bloglings.

In other news, one week going strong chocolate free! Exciting until one realizes that it's still 93 days to the finish line. My husband, D (wink), is not much help. He tried to convince me that chocolate milk is somehow not classified as chocolate and that I should have some. He's given up his beverage of choice, the dreaded Coca-Cola, until I can have chocolate again. His logic was that his drinking of chocolate milk is like a substitute for Coke so therefore it would serve as a substitute for my chocolate. This is very flawed, as I pointed out to him, because chocolate milk does indeed contain...well, chocolate. But my will triumphed, I'm glad to say. And ladies, those of you who can no doubt sympathize (or empathize?), it is that time when resisting is most difficult. Ahem. As I've already discussed poo, I'll not go into such an indelicate subject. But hear me, girls. I know you do.

Alright. I'll wrap up with a bit of nature's cuteness. No fuzzy bunnies here. On our walk this evening I found this...I also stumbled upon a decapitated yellow bird. By stumbled upon I mean that my daughter nearly sat on it. It looked the work of pussycats. But this little treasure lit up my day. When I showed it to Colson, she said "Baby dinosaurs?"

Eee-arrth

We watched Lilo & Stitch today...Hence the title.

It's nearly 3 in the morning, I'm exhausted, but I didn't feel right not making a post on my hippie blog on Earth Day. I love Earth Day. I love that there is such a day. I wanted to do something celebratory but basically we just did the usual walk and sat in the grass for a while. Which, in actuality, seems quite appropriate. Colson bathed a tree in dirt and "planted" some hibiscus flowers she picked and marveled at the lizards. I always want to give lizards an extra z. They deserve it.

The littlest is waking...and I to bed.

Lizzards!

One Million Words

This is what I want to be as a photographer. To be able to capture people, their essence. To capture real. I love these guys. So. Very. Much.

As it's getting late and I have chores and artwork to attend to, I'm out.

Stay-at-home Superhero

Everyday I wake up ready to begin my day as Supermom. I will not lose my temper. I'll have patience in spades. I'll manage my time, clean the house, cook an amazing supper and play with my girls. I'll dance with them and sing and bathtime, bedtime, potty training will all go smoothly. I will have it all together. Piece of cake. Yet inevitably, every night I go to bed with a fresh set of good intentions for tomorrow.

It's like with the chocolate. Yeah yeah, I ate chocolate yesterday too. Now that there aren't any delicious Hershey's triple chunk brownies lying around I think my chances of success have increased exponentially. But the point is...I'm not really sure what the point is. I try. I fail. If at first you don't succeed...

Colson is sick as a dog, poor girl. Finley's already on the upswing of this flusomethingorother. But all Colson wants to do is rest and sleep. Sure sign she's not feeling well. The girl never wants to sleep. Sometimes I wonder when the panic sets out. Ever? Lets up is what I hear, but never really goes away. See, my dad once called out Scotland Yard because I missed an orthodontist appointment and woke up at 11 in the morning in college. Hung over? Not quite...almost. I remember driving Colson home from the hospital. Sheer panic. Horror. I was unaware that one could use rolled up towels to make a carseat lay back properly and her head was flopping all over and I was in hysterics. I hadn't actually gotten over it by the next two weeks when we needed a trip to the grocery store and insisted on walking. Like...2 miles? I don't know. It certainly felt like 2 miles to my first time ever out of shape post pregnant self. So I made the phone call today to my Mama, asking if she thought my tired baby was okay. She did. :) Of course.

For any parents reading tho, I know one parent will probably never agree with everything one pediatrician says, or website or other parent. But I've really come to respect Dr. Sears. I came across his stuff reading about vaccinations. The Vaccine Book, with accompanying website. But since reading the book I've frequented askdrsears.com for reliably straightforward parenting advice. I appreciate the honest, fact based, no scare tactics approach and the respect for informed parents whose first concern is their children's well-being.

...try, try again.

Confession. Yes, already.

I ate chocolate. :( See, I warned you...the stuff has complete control over me. No excuses. July 25th it is. And the husband says, "Why don't you try realistic goals?" "Like what?" "I dunno...run a mile or something...but you not eating chocolate? Come on." Nice, eh? So here's my game face. It's on, baby. Again.

I read Men's Health magazine. I'm not sure why I get all these free magazine subscriptions, but Men's Health is one of them. I really enjoy it too. Jimmy the Bartender's Q&A column is the best.

So, tonight I made my husband's specialty for dinner. Okay, not really his specialty, but something he makes often. Herb crusted salmon and mashed potatoes and sauteed asparagus. Yum. I was psyching myself out about the removal of the skin from the salmon but when I got down to it, it was surprisingly easy. And I think this may have been the first time I made a decent bit of mashed potatoes. I mashed them with a meat tenderizer. I don't cook much, by the way. Or well, usually. Colson, my 2 year old, wanted to help. She got to put the potatoes into the pot of water. So I was feeling pretty empowered until I started trying to de-stem my thyme. Can anyone say pain in the arse? I need to figure out how one does this efficiently. Anyhow, my empowerment returned when I started sauteing the salmon. It smelled so wonderfully rustic and delicious...like I was cooking in the cozy English cottage in my head, with stone floors and herbs hanging from the ceiling. It was fantastic. So, I dished up and it looked pretty and tasted...well, mediocre. But I enjoyed the cooking, and that's a fairly rare sensation for me. Plus, I'm used to my husband's cooking (a chef...yes, ladies and gentlemen...I am blessed) so perhaps my standards are a bit high. He, by the way, rated it an 8 out of 10, which I thought a bit generous and quite possibly a lie. But the best part. The icing on my salmon cake...was my girls playing together and keeping each other happy.

My second daughter is 5 months, Finley. And she's now showing (a lot of) interest in playing and toys and sitting up on her own. Up until now Colson's been great about sharing and I was expecting a good drop in friendliness once Finley actually cared to be shared with, but so far so good. My girls adore each other and for now, most of the time, fingers crossed knocking on wood...they're sweet to each other. Yay!

I'm thinking about cloth diapers. I should've thought about them sooner, but it's never too late right? And Finley's still got a good year at least of diaper days ahead of her. I think in the long run it would be cheaper, I just think the upfront cost will be more. But what really got me going on this was reading some statistic (that I don't remember) about the amount of diapers in landfills. And just knowing how many I've already thrown away in my lifetime. Yikes. So I'm looking into it. I have a fresh box of Pampers and I'm thinking maybe, hopefully by the time that's used I'll be starting with cloth. Wish me luck!

Oops, it's almost 3 AM...

So, I'd like to begin with saying...I recycled! For the first time. That's almost pathetic. But it's true, I've never done recycling. Ever. Until now. We took our first little batch out to the main bins yesterday. I didn't realize just how much we waste.

I'm listening now to Regina Spektor's Ghost of Corporate Future and, not only do I love this song and Regina in general, but whenever I'm in a social situation that finds me nervous or anxious about other people's reactions or opinions, I sing this to myself. "People are just people, they shouldn't make you nervous, the world is everlasting, it's coming and it's going...

...if you don't toss your plastic, the streets won't be so plastic..."

So what about tossing plastics? What about those envelopes with plastic windows? Or ziplock bags? Or anything that doesn't have the little arrow triangle printed on it? And the caps to bottles, milk jugs and the like? Askin' my questions and get some dancers.

That's my 2 year old's version of Ariel's song. Answers is the original lyric, for those who don't sing Disney songs all day long. Not just Disney songs, really. My girl's a big fan of The Beatles. Her favourites being Let It Be(ep), Hey Jude, Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds and Yesterday. Girl's got good taste.

Alright...in a show of will I will be taking a chocolate sabbatical. No comments from the husband here, I want only encouragement. 100 days. A good solid number. Chocolate is my vice. Okay one of, but really, the worst. Chocolate has complete power over me. But no more! 100 days and then a significant increase in moderation. I won't give it up forever tho. No, no. Chocolate is one of those things I will not sacrifice completely. Like whole milk dairy products. 2%? Low-fat cheese? Skim?? I think not. And no last hurrah for me either. I begin this instant. Why do we always wait to start things? The beginning of a year? A day? A week or month? Why not the beginning of a moment? Start. Now. Farewell, Chocolate, my friend, my lover...until the 24th of July at least.

Sometimes Ben Folds makes me think of Kermit the Frog. Anyone feeling me here?

Go listen to You Don't Know Me by Ben Folds. Better yet, go make a Regina Spektor station on PANDORA and enjoy some lovely tunes. Right now, people. Why are you still reading this? Go!

"...and if you kiss somebody then both of you'll get practice." ;)

Hullo! Okay, so I've put way too much thought into this...How does one begin blogging? Eh, I dunno. So that said, forgive this first post. Intros aren't my savvy.

I am going to attempt a bit of an introduction, tho. This blog is to serve a purpose, or purposes rather. For myself, as a medium for writing. Something I used to do and don't anymore, aside from the fairly regular Facebook status update. Keeping myself literarily fresh. Ironically, I'm pretty sure literarily is not a word. Moving on. Also, as a means for holding myself accountable. Those who list this as a talent must surely know the importance of it. I, however, am not so good at it. Yet. I'm luckily still a work in progress. So, I'll write. Let myself be heard! Roar. Feed my little kitten of an ego. Mew. ;) And...keep myself in check. And then I'd also like to think someone eventually might read this and hope to gain something from possible imput, comments and such. And even maybe, I'll inspire a bit. We shall see.

So, there's my...er...mission statement. Now, onto a little explanation as to what I actually plan on writing about. Mostly, my environmentalist tendencies. Convictions. I have a lot of them. Do I follow thru with them? Eh, not so much. But this is a fact I'm trying to remedy. To walk the walk, do as I say, practice what I preach and all that. That and actually do my research. Learn. I have plenty of beliefs I don't practice and then some that I do but for no other reason than I heard someone say once that I should. This is a matter of integrity, folks. Down with hypocrisy, mediocrity! Rally! Phew. And I'm sure there'll be a fair amount of talk on good food, music, art, movies, kids, etceteras, etc.

And hopefully some decent writing.

So, let's get excited! It's bloggin' time!