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Friday, August 22, 2008Microscopic YuckiesAh, the things we forget with the passage of time. Things like the pain of childbirth...the sleep-deprived haze of the early weeks of infancy...the uncanny ability of a not-quite-one-year-old baby to find the teeny-tiniest things on the floor. Even right after I've vacuumed. Even when, fifteen seconds earlier, nothing was there. I swear. And in the midst of all these other children and a house that has more square feet than I care to keep up with and a vacuum cleaner that is missing one of its wheels, I am rediscovering the delight of Molly's carpet-dropping munching habits. You know what I mean. Brittle bug body parts. Metal screws. Hair. Miniscule slips of paper. Fuzz. String. Toenail clippings. Pencil shavings. Staples. Barbie shoes. Ancient crumbs. UFO's. (That's Unidentified Floor Objects.) Gagsghghskfft. I've done really well with over-40 motherhood so far, but this one may do me in. Add to the constant vigilance the drama of Oral Object Removal. You'd think I was trying to tattoo her tongue. Oh, the offense of Mommy's finger in that little mouth! I've retrieved a few items, though. So it was worth the tears and anguish. Hers, not mine. So I'm considering buying a four-man tent and setting it up in my family room. Do you think Molly could live in there until she's old enough to realize that bee wings and bent hair pins aren't supposed to be eaten? Probably not. So I'll just have to save up for that Dyson I've been dreaming about. And then I'll teach my daughters how to use it. Including Molly. Can you tell I'm glad it's Friday? Wednesday, August 13, 2008August 13, 1988
 Today is our 20th wedding anniversary.Surely I'm not old enough to have been married for 20 years. Surely! That 80's pouf veil is better left forgotten. I didn't even like it back then. I was talked into it by an overbearing woman at the dress shop. I wanted a simple, fingertip veil with a small tiara. I was too timid to speak up when she told me that I needed a different kind of veil for the gown I'd chosen. I know. "Timid" and "Jill" don't belong in the same sentence. You wouldn't have known me in 1988. I like myself better now. More importantly, I still like Eric. I think I should keep him, don't you? Especially since he's taking me out to dinner tonight. It's not exactly the trip to England we'd hoped would be the hallmark of our 20th anniversary. Neither one of us expected there to be a sweet new baby in the picture. So a dinner out will have to suffice. I am blessed, though. Richly blessed! Now, what should I do with my hair... Tuesday, August 12, 2008L'Enfant Gourmet
 Sometimes she eats better than we do. Molly, that is. Pictured above: Braised lamb with fresh rosemary and baked sweet potato. She loved it. Snarfed it, even. Gourmet meets gourmand. I need to requalify my first statement. Molly ALMOST ALWAYS eats better than we do. We're talking organic raisins and applesauce. Unpasteurized aged Gouda. Whole-grain, sprouted bread. If we sold our house and bought a big tent to live in, I could afford to feed my whole family this way. As it stands, I'm giving the best to my baby. As she gets older, I'll have to compromise. I'll trust her body to better handle the pasteurized dairy, for instance (much to my sorrow). I'll slum it and give her regular ol' raisins like the rest of my deprived offspring. But for now, she's my Earth Baby. Breast milk and Really Good Food. Eleven months later and I'm still completely ga-ga. I intend to stay this way for quite some time. It's keeping me young! Labels: baby, natural foods Thursday, August 07, 2008Bugs For BreakfastBreakfast is a special family time for us. I set the table with pretty linens, light our "breakfast candle," and try to offer something better than cereal at least a couple times a week. Things like spinach and mushroom frittatas, veal gravy over homemade biscuits, and breakfast quiche. Of course, there are mornings when cereal suffices. And this was one of those mornings. Naturally we eat organic cereal. Publix carries its own brand of organics, and fortunately their cereals are affordable. So we were munching on a particular variety of Publix Greenwise cereal when it happened. Maggie held up her spoon and said, "What's this?" I looked. There was something dark on one of her flakes. "It looks like a burned bit," I said. "No. It's not burned." Jonathan the Scientist leaned forward. He examined the morsels on Maggie's spoon and confirmed my worst fear. It was a bug. No, it had not fallen into Maggie's bowl from some far-up perch on our kitchen ceiling. It was a squirmy little larvae. And it had come from inside the box. Yes. Inside. And so my children began to examine the bowls of cereal that sat in front of them. And more little squirmy things began to emerge from amidst the flakes and milk. I would not look at mine. I did not, did not, did not want to know. I had eaten three spoonfuls already. Rachel's situation was even worse. She had eaten an entire bowl and was on her second. I quietly dumped my uneaten cereal down the garbage disposal. I didn't watch it as it went down. Ignorance was bliss. Then I took Spencer's bowl and dumped it, too. Poor Spencer. He had been in his own world during our entire conversation. He didn't understand why I had just thrown away his breakfast. He stormed up the steps in a fit of pique. Meanwhile, Jonathan calmly ate the rest of his cereal. (Is this guy actually related to me?) This was after he retrieved a particularly robust specimen from his bowl and placed it in a container with a flake or two, just to see if he could get it to grow to maturity. Because, yanno, we all really wanted to know exactly what we had ingested. To date, I have not been able to bring myself to buy another box of Greenwise cereal. I mean, what if the entire plant has been infested? There's a high likelihood that ours wasn't the only box with little feasting beasties inside it. I feel ill when I walk past the cereal aisle. I feel ill when I think about cereal. I may never eat cereal again. I can't write about this anymore. Bleah. Labels: life, natural foods Friday, August 01, 2008Vocabulary, A Badge of HonorFor me, that is. As his mother. For, you see, on the drive home from my sister's house (which is approximately seven and a half hours long), my sixteen-year-old son used the following three words: Copious. Meandering. Redundant. He used them in the course of normal conversation. He used them correctly. He used them without thinking about it. He was just, you know, talking. Maybe that's not very exciting to you. I am admittedly easily diverted. But if I can boast a son who speaks as though he's actually read a book or two, then I am well pleased. Vocabulary Snobbery notwithstanding. Maybe I'm grabbing at straws, but these things make me happy. Must be that mom/writer combination kicking in. Now if he would just remember to take the garbage out... Labels: homeschooling, 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....
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