|
|
Thursday, March 27, 2008No Words Necessary
 Wednesday, March 26, 2008Out Of OrderMost babies sit up before they stand up. It's logical, really. It also makes things easier on mommies. Not that parenting is ever meant to be easy on mommies. Of course, I did say "most babies," which excludes our Molly. Yes, you guessed it -- she's pulling up. As in, all the way up to her feet. She only does it when she has a handy human to use for grabbing and climbing. But stand she does -- and she's mightily proud once she's upright. Mind you, she's not quite seven months old yet. So I'm wondering why God decided to give me such an energetic, go-get-um, moving-around-early baby when I'm on the downswing of my childbearing years. Right. Staying young and all that. Other hands to help and all that. But what about "enjoying this special, surprise baby and savoring each day"? As in, let's not rush the babyhood thing. I'm so loving the babyhood thing. And I've got this teeny-tiny, uber petite powerhouse who is rolling, army crawling, and pulling up before her seven month mark. She's got two teeth, too. But those are right on schedule. I can't even run upstairs to check my email while she's on her play mat anymore. The last time I tried, she had unplugged a lamp in my absence. I wasn't gone that long. The girl is fast. So we're into the I Need Constant Supervision phase. Which is particularly difficult on ballet days when my two main babysitters aren't home. Waa. Fortunately Molly's been trained to stay in her pack-n-play for twenty-five minutes, twice a day. It's amazing how much one can accomplish in twenty-five minutes. I smell a book deal: "The Twenty-five Minute Housewife" by Jill Schafer Boehme, in a Very Nice Deal to... Then again, I don't think I could squeeze another book into my twenty-five minute time slots. And naptime is for...blogging. And cleaning bathroom grout. And folding laundry. And, oh yes. Writing novels. Which is what I really ought to be doing right now, before my standing-before-she's-sitting baby wakes up and wants to climb me. I love being a mom. Labels: baby Sunday, March 23, 2008Free Stuff Is GoodFor my homeschooling readers who also happen to blog: This is your chance to win a free Rosetta Stone language program. We use Rosetta Stone for Latin. It's fabulous. So fabulous that we're planning on purchasing the French version for this fall (Maggie's passionate to learn French -- how cool is that?). Read below, follow the links, enter if you will. I'm hoping this is my lucky week: Rosetta Stone has been the #1 foreign language curriculum among homeschoolers for a while -- next week they are unleashing a brand new curriculum, and you can WIN the *all new* Rosetta Stone Homeschool Version 3… FOR FREE! This is a $219 program (and believe me it's worth every penny!) and the winner gets to pick from any of these 14 languages: Spanish (Spain or Latin America), English (American or British), Arabic, Chinese, Japanese, French, German, Italian, Portuguese, Irish, Hebrew, or Russian. This will also include a headset with microphone, and students will participate in lifelike conversations and actually produce language to advance through the program. Rosetta Stone still incorporates listening, reading and writing as well, in addition to speaking. Many homeschoolers requested grammar and vocabulary exercises, and with Rosetta Stone Homeschool Version 3, they're included! For parents, the new Parent Administrative Tools are integrated into the program and allow parents to easily enroll students in any of 12 predetermined lesson plans, monitor student progress, and view and print reports. To win this most excellent program -- in the language of your choice -- copy these (blue) paragraphs and post it in (or as) your next blog post -- then to enter the contest, go to the original contest page HERE and leave a comment with the link showing where you blogged about it. And please make sure the link works to get back to the original contest page when you post it. And good luck! The winner will be picked randomly on March 26, and will be notified thru the link they left to their blog pg. And if you have more than one blog, you can post them and enter those separately for more chances to win. Yay for free stuff! Labels: fun, homeschooling Friday, March 21, 2008Leave The Eggs Alone!Time for a food rant. I just ran to the grocery store. And what did I see on the shelf beside the nice, brown, cage free eggs? Pasteurized eggs. Folks. Eggs do not need to be pasteurized. "Protection from salmonella!" the carton cried in obnoxious font. No. No and no and no. All it takes is a little bit of reading to learn the truth about these things. You're reading right now, so here it is: Salmonella does not live inside eggs. If the shell is intact, there is no way for it to get in. And eggs aren't "born" with salmonella. So, what's the hype? Well, salmonella can -- and sometimes does -- live on the eggshells. Why? Chicken poop. And such. Right. So why are they pasteurizing eggs? Because we live in a paranoid, brainwashed, believe-what-they-tell-you society. And somebody in said society came up with the brilliant idea of pasteurizing eggs. Pasteurization kills things. Good things. It kills vital enzymes that our bodies need for optimal health. It kills them in milk. That's why pasteurized milk is nutritionally void (and also why so many children end up with so-called "milk allergies"). It kills them in bottled juices. That's why we should eat fresh fruit and drink freshly squeezed juices instead. And it most certainly kills them in eggs, too. An egg is a nearly perfect food. (You've heard differently? Of course you have. We've been misled for decades now.) Why mess with it? "Because salmonella might be living on the eggshell and make me and my family very, very sick." Ahem: Here's how to make sure your eggs are safe: 1. Wash your hands when you've been handling whole eggs. That way, you won't transfer any unsavory, microscopic beasties to other foods and surfaces. 2. Wash your eggs with mild soap and water and rinse well before you crack them. Salmonella taints eggs when the shells touch the inner goo. So if you wash the shell first, there is no danger of contamination. 3. Never, never, never use an egg that's already cracked. Discard it immediately. 4. Choose naturally fed, free range, and/or organic eggs. Yes, they are more expensive. Yes, you get what you pay for. (Yes, they taste better.) Oh, and the whole scare tactic about Never Eating Anything Made With Raw Eggs? Ur, wash your eggs first. Remember, the salmonella doesn't grow all by itself inside an egg. Chocolate Mousse and French Silk Pie, here I come! That's my whole foods rant for the week. And now I'm feeling hungry. Labels: cooking, natural foods Tuesday, March 18, 2008Destined
 When we built this house eight years ago, the smallest bedroom was given to our smallest family member. Spencer -- sweet, sweet baby with big, big eyes -- was eight months old when we moved in. His "nursery" wasn't more than a room with a crib in it, really. The walls were "painter beige." The curtains were recycled from a room in our old house. The diaper deck was the same, rickety piece of pseudo-furniture we'd use for all of our babies. The only truly beautiful thing in the room was Spencer himself. And, of course, that's all that mattered. I remember the day he first clambered out of the crib, unassisted. His siblings were playing in the front yard during Spencer's naptime, when one of them informed me that Spencer was peeking out of his bedroom window. "That's not possible," said I, the all-knowing. "He must be peeking from his crib." Silly me. Spencer was actually standing on the floor by the window. That night, Eric dismantled the crib for what I was certain was the last time. My womb wept. I was determined to transform the room into something more pleasing than a blank-walled nursery. So I painted it (myself) and put up a border (myself) and stuck glow-in-the-dark stars all over the ceiling (myself). (Oh, you noticed that I'm a little proud of the fact that I did it by myself? If only you knew how un-Jill it is to do those sorts of tedious jobs...) So the tiniest bedroom remained the domain of our not-so-tiny-but-still-smallest family member. At one point we talked about doubling up the boys in Jonathan's room and using the smallest bedroom as a sort of crafts room or office space. It never happened. And though I certainly thought from time to time what I might be able to use that Smallest Bedroom for if we did some room-shifting, I never dreamed that it would one day become my Dream Nursery, housing my Dream Baby. Oh, she is a delight. As soon as I knew that she was a "she," I planned the Perfect Nursery. I'd never had one, you see. Not a Perfect Nursery with Coordinating Everythings. And while it wasn't my intention to spend thousands of dollars and choose only the best-of-the-best (I didn't), I knew that the nursery had to be simply...perfect. It is. Simply perfect, I mean. Naturally, the only truly beautiful thing in the room is Molly herself. And, of course, that's all that matters. Still. It's immeasurably satisfying to stand in her lovely little boudoir and think, "Oh. Oh! I have a sweet princess in my life. Pink stripes and hair bows and tiny dollies and ruffled blanket and all." And my heart overflows with thankfulness. The smallest bedroom was, all along, destined for yet another blessing. Who knew? Thursday, March 13, 2008Reason Number ThirtyI've got a great addition to my 29 reasons for having a baby (and being a writer) after 40: My chances of living to the age of 100 have quadrupled. I know this because my wonderful mother (who isn't anywhere near 100) just sent me a small article that contained this wondrous bit of news. Men who sire children -- particularly those men who start raising families from a young age -- are also prime candidates for hitting the Five Score club. In which case, Eric and I will both be driving each other nuts for a long, long time. Missing from this article, however, are the reasons for this supposed longevity. Why would giving birth after the age of forty afford me all those extra years of wrinkly existence? Does it have something to do with waking up a sleeping uterus and fooling it into producing life-giving hormones beyond its normal capacity? Keeping my cardiovascular system up and running by matching pace with my own toddler right before matching pace with an onslaught of grandchildren? Or might it be that women who give birth after the age of 40 have a compelling reason to continue to take the very best care of themselves -- for the sake of a tiny person who needs them? I wonder. But as long as I'm physically fit and my brain hasn't gone dotty, I wouldn't mind living another six decades. I'll be sure to see all five of my children married by then (since Eric will, of course, make all the girls wait until they're 40). And as long as Eric's not wearing diapers, I won't mind having him around, either. He is my best friend, after all. And an extra six decades might be just what I need to get my books published, at any rate. Who knew that having a later-life baby would give the publishing world yet another excuse to move at a rate that only exists outside of our space-time continuum? Imagine. Fifty-eight more years of "The Write Way Home." Anyway, thank you, Mom, for boosting my spirits today -- I needed that. Thursday, March 06, 2008I Could've Sung At Carnegie HallOn Friday night, my college choir conductor will be directing a concert at Carnegie Hall, in honor of Susquehanna University's 150th anniversary. I could've been a part of the soprano section. Eric might've been one of the tenors. But, you know, nursing babies and NYC don't go well together. And so we stayed home. One of my mother's friends has always said, ever since I can remember, that I should play at Carnegie. Naturally, that wasn't going to happen, since my piano skills aren't exactly on par with Alicia de la Rocha. But this choir thing was a shoe-in for the less-than-optimally-talented. I mean, anyone can rent Carnegie these days and call it a "concert," right? And though I respect Mr. Stretansky and would have dearly enjoyed singing under his baton once more, I don't think that having done so would be a mark for the annals of history. Still. It would've made for pretty cool dinner conversation: "Well, last year when Eric and I performed at Carnegie...what? Didn't I tell you?" I sent my free alumni tickets to a family friend and have given the concern a mere, passing thought now and then ever since. Eric's taken it much harder than I have (must be that New York blood of his). It's just another one of those things that wasn't meant to be. Like the time Eric and I were invited to a concert at the Vatican. Yes, that's right -- Rome, Italy. The special guests of the composer, and present for the Pope's birthday celebration. I had nothing to wear, so we didn't go. Actually, it was the season of lots-of-very-small-children-with-nobody-to-watch-them. And we missed a truly unique opportunity. So I've almost done Carnegie and I've almost done Rome. Doesn't sound too impressive, does it? I think I'll get back to my writing. I can nurse my baby and wear jeans and Skechers and still get my writing done. I wonder if any of you have some impressive "near misses" in life. I'd surely love to hear about them... Labels: life |
About Me
I am: Mother to five stunningly individualistic children... Writer of young adult fantasy... Passionate advocate for Women At Home... Madly in love with my husband... In need of Organic Gourmet Chocolate on a regular basis. I've got a Paypal account if you'd like to contribute to the cause....
|
