Wednesday, July 29, 2009

Finding Joy In The Kitchen

My sister and I were never inclined to cook when we were children. Sure, I made my infamous Peta-endorsed recipe, Tofu Burritos (heavy on the cumin!), once or twice when I was nine, but after that brief stint in culinary-dom, I rarely lifted a knife or flicked a whisk.  By the time I met Zach, I had cultivated an anti-cooking identity, mainly from insecurity and prior eating disorders; I proudly proclaimed my total ineptitude and allowed him the manly task of wining and dining me. (Quick note: Which reminds me, the first meal he ever cooked for me was steak pizzaiole, homemade caesar salad, biscotti from scratch, and chocolate-covered fruit. I spent the night.) 

The first time I made enchiladas. Not from tofu.
Week by week, I was introduced to new comestibles, Food Network, and a different way of looking at the way one prepares and eats food.  That one could take pleasure in the rhythmic chopping of vegetables. That patience for stocks was richly rewarded with hearty, flavorful soups. That cake doesn't come from a box.  I'm embarrassed to say that I had never experienced the flavor of capers, or knew what a shallot was, before I met Zach. I also never knew how good bacon tasted, or how to properly hold a knife, or that eggs finish cooking on the plate and not the pan. It is safe to say that Zach was the catalyst for me becoming the food-obsessed girl I am today. So thank you, my sweet, epicurean partner. 

It doesn't come as a surprise to me when I hear that people in nutrition and cooking often had some sort of eating disorder in the past. When you are controlled by such fear, distrust, or powerlessness over something that is mandatory to live, it's difficult to take genuine pleasure from a good meal. Not the kind of manic, perfunctory satisfaction of binge-eating or knit-picky dieting, but the ritual of sitting down, and tasting, smelling, looking, hearing, and most importantly, ENJOYING what you eat. 

I love the Ayurvedic idea of reverence towards one's body through our diet (and the act of eating itself). "...it is important for the development of consciousness as well as our physical health." Although I have to admit, I am a long way off from eating in line with Ayurvedic philosophy, there are a lot of ideas I agree with. To know where your food comes from: what area, what farm, how it was grown, how it was prepared and transported.  To prepare your meal with love, in a clean, healthy environment. To eat slowly, taking in the experience with all your senses. 

I think when some people learn to manage their eating disorders (I personally don't believe it is ever "cured") and develop a healthier relationship with food, they are often delighted or intrigued by the kind of positive pleasure it can give them--either directly, or indirectly, by feeding those around them.  That's how my experience was, anyways. I never thought I would be able to cook a pie without eating the entire thing by myself as soon as it came out of the oven. But I can, and I do. Cooking and eating has become much like everything else in my life today: about balance. There's only so much control I can exert in a recipe, I can sometimes follow directions, I can improvise other times--and then it either turns sublime, in the garbage, or somewhere in between. But the process is always a joy. I used to despise baking because I was/am an impatient person with little inclination to perfectly measure things out. Thus, my cakes would overflow from the pans and my cookies tasted like sandpaper. I did everything in a rushed and dissatisfactory manner for a quick end result, which never turned out well. Today, baking has become a sort of meditation for me. It teaches me to be patient, to be loving in every action (however small), to live in the moment, and once the pan is in the oven, turn the results over to the universe. I just hope I can eat those results :) 

xo, A



Tuesday, July 28, 2009

Grateful Mondays...always a day late

Oh, who am I kidding, I'll never make it on Monday! 

This is definitely a good day to make one, I've been feeling like c.r.a.p. with some sort of stomach bug that has me running to the bathroom every half hour...ok, I'll stop there. 

1.) I have an incredibly helpful, patient, and loving family---particularly my mom and sister the past two days, who have held, played with, and bathed Adeline, even though she's been a little crazy teething baby who's cry had amplified fifty decibels (is that a lot? I'm hoping so). 

2.) These two also never raise a brow (ok, they raise them, but they have to) when my psycho dog goes berserk around the house, tears up the skid-mat under the couch cushion, jumps in the bathtub every hour (just cuz), and pulls at their sleeves so they play with her. 

3.) I got an iphone from Zach and I LOVE the photo apps that you can download. I also finally have a phone that works, which I am most grateful for.  I also got other great gifts for my b-day: a beautiful, fancy, pink!, German pen and different sizes of notepads from Kaede (so I can get my PEN on); a digital voice-recorder from my WA family so I can create interviews/shows a la This American Life, and/or just walk around with it my pocket and take it out at random times to put it front of my mouth and say, "Buy tampons." 

4.) I'm getting a massaaaaage tomorrow, courtesy of Mom (b-day gift). You have no idea how much I am looking forward to this. Since Addie was born, my body has felt perpetually out of whack--I sleep crooked, I nurse crooked, I sit crooked, I walk crooked.  I am thinking of buying this book about better posture that Kaede showed me in SF Chronicle's Datebook section. The massage should help though :) 

5.) I started working VERY part-time (one day a week) at an awesome store that sells high-quality baby products/clothes/the BEST stuffed animals. Although I'm not really making money since I immediately buy things I see there for Addie, it's fun to get out for awhile and mingle with people. 

Ah...I feel better already. They (the government? teachers? your mama?) should make everybody do these lists, better then a drink, they are. 

Good night everyone, A.

Good Morning, Spider

Scene: I'm laying in bed next to Adeline as she coos and conjures magic with her hands.  The blinds are keeping the morning sun from streaming in, but I'm staring at the ceiling as I hear a quiet knock on the door. My sister pokes her head in.

Sister: The biggest spider I have ever seen is in the bathtub.

Me: And you want me to kill it?

Sister: (nods) 

Me: Are you crazy? I don't kill spiders, Zach does. Go ask Mommy.

Sister: She said to have Zoe take care of it. But I think this spider could kill her. 

(Pause) The dialogue continues in the same vein of who will take care of the spider--various combinations of Raid/running water/Adeline's dirty diaper/dog/hand grenade are discussed. I get out of bed and peer into the tub. 

Me: HOLY SHIT! That thing's the size of a Buick (blatant Annie Hall reference). I guess you're taking a shower in Mommy's bathroom this morning. 

Sister: (furrows brow) What, we're just leaving it in there? Like a pet? The bathtub is his territory now? 

Addie and I go lay down on the couch in the living room and await sister's verdict. She beseeches our mother again, who matter-of-factly gets out of bed (she cannot understand our freaked out state), and walks into the bathroom.

Mom: (nonchalant) Where is it? (a ridiculous question) Oh...

From my sister's account, my mother grabs a few squares of toilet paper, steps INTO the tub with King Arachnid, squishes him (with practically her bare hands), and throws the carcass in the trash can. My sister comes out with a look of awe and disgust on her face. 

Me: Are you sure it's dead?

Sister: (in hushed voice) Yeah...you could see it's guts...she barely used any toilet....

Me: ...bleeding through the toilet paper?

Sister: (in increasing horror) ....which means she has...spider guts on her hand.... I put Addie's dirty diaper on top of it.

Me: Well, that should take care of him then. 

Sister: (shudders) Yeah.

End Scene. 




Saturday, July 25, 2009

Marriage


this was the opposite of my friend, Cat, today

My friends got married today.* 

I don't know if I believe in marriage--my opinion of it shifts day to day.  Some of my reticence is superficial (don't want to plan a wedding/even a reception, hate being center of attention, don't want to change my name), some comes from fears that have sat in the pit of my stomach for years; fears from my own parent's divorce, and further tales of infidelity, witness to loveless, sexless arrangements where you feel how trapped they are. 

Over time (and talks with married/unmarried friends) I came to the conclusion that marriage was whatever I made of it, and that I couldn't compare what my marriage to Zach would be like based on any other couple I see. I also couldn't apply the same perceptions or ideas of marriage to us, as say, a Catholic couple.  But I'm still having a difficult time seeing the point of it, because as far as I'm concerned, Zach is my one and only, my other half, my best friend, who I plan to be with as long as we are on the same path. But I put no pressure on ourselves to say that we MUST be together for ETERNITY. It's romantic, sure, but not in sync with the philosophy of living one day at a time which I try my best to do. There will always be implicit, unspoken expectations we have of each other to stay faithful. We share the same accounts and insurance policies as we do boxer shorts and a bed, our lives are as intertwined as they can get, especially with a kid.  And when it's gotten rocky, we've gone through the ugliness because we still loved each other, and came out stronger in the end. What difference will a certificate and ring make to that? 

***************************************
How would I define marriage then? 

I cannot or will not define it by the religious or state (which is apparently one and the same now, ahem, Prop H8) definition. I do not see myself as chattel being given to man. What I can see it as, is a symbol of faith, faith in one another. I do not want you to make promises to me. I want to have faith in that we will be together, we will love and support one another, share our dreams and fears, laugh and cry in each other's arms...for today. And that's all that matters. 

I am still undecided on the matter, and on another note, I kind of feel like an idiot that I'm even worrying about this (ok, not worrying, just debating) when there are thousands of people in this country who WANT to, are FIGHTING for the right to get married. They want to believe in a right to love that is equal to all human beings. Fuck semantics and slippery slope arguments that come from fear of others and fear of self. Oy, I can't even get into this right now because it seriously makes my blood boil and it's 10:30 and I'm exhausted.  If anyone would like to enlighten me with their opinions of marriage, civil unions, relationships, etc...they would be most welcome. 

-A

*the wedding was very sweet--low-key, relaxed, outside potluck in the park, happy pregnant bride in sandals and a beautiful dress...it was lovely 


Thursday, July 23, 2009

Homes Sweet Homes

I removed the previous post for a couple days in fear that someone (i.e.future landlord) would miraculously find my blog and think we would be unfit tenants, but I figured it didn't reflect too badly on me that we have unfolded laundry and some crap on the table. I mean, really, I bet a lot more houses look like ours than I previously assumed.

I remember three apartments ago when we lived in a g-h-e-t-t-o one-bedroom in Aptos, there was suddenly an enormous water stain that appeared on our bathroom ceiling. It was like a gray, dingy cloud that pissed dirty FISHTANK water onto our heads. A smaller, but no less annoying, patch began dripping in the bedroom.  I don't remember the how's or why's of the matter, I just remember going upstairs to found out what the hell was going on, and being shocked by what I saw. 

In a space no larger than ours (550 sq. ft), there resided two adults, one child, four birds, three rabbits, two tanks of fish, a couple snakes, and a guinea pig. Not only did it house (and smell like) a small menagerie, the place was PACK-RAT central. The family had lived there for at least ten years, the entire life of the child, as she so ruefully explained. There were piles of newspapers, empty aquariums (who they housed, I'll never know), dilapidated children's toys and bicycles, bags of pet feed, a massage table...it made my head hurt and my body instinctually shrink into itself to take up as little space as possible as I shuffled through the tiny alley between the couch and wall to enter the bedroom. Two double beds, a plastic crate with a small television, and more aquariums. 

"We clean out the fish tanks by ourselves in the bathroom," the mother said. 

These were hefty tanks, with a variety of large, exotic fish--the kind of tank you should have professionally cleaned, or least done in a space bigger than a public restroom toilet stall. 

"Uh, did you happen to spill most of it on the floor instead of the tub?" I asked this with genuine confusion, because we never actually figured out what it was that made the nasty sagging ceiling. Just that it happened the day a lake of fish-poo water was emptied into the tub above ours. 

I'm also reminiscing about this incident because we're moving again in two or three weeks, and it's inevitable I look back at the gradual improvements of our living arrangements.    

There was Zach's college pad with his two roomates--the kitchen counters strewn with empty pizza boxes and Smirnoff bottles; stacks of wrinkled Maxim, Popular Science, and Snowboard Magazine on top of the toilet; the musty smell of unwashed man-clothes hanging in the air.  I remember sitting in the bathroom, mesmerized by the assortment of crushed insects on the walls, and realizing that we were out of toilet paper again. Ah, college. 

Then there was the daylight basement of a Jordanian family's house. Our bed shared the same (very thin) wall as their washer and dryer. Twice, the entire shower head/connecting pipe shot out at me and Niagara Falls appeared in our bathroom. Another major pipe leakage situation soaked our shelves of food. Our postage-stamp sized kitchen.

Yet, wherever we've lived, we've made it home--hammered nails and hung smudged photos on the walls, created science experiments atop stoves, left rust rings from shaving cream cans in the bathtub. We may not have loved the places themselves, but we loved what we created inside of them. 

Wow, this has turned into a long ramble. I'll write about the new place we'll be calling home another time...


Wednesday, July 22, 2009

Like Babe Like Beast

There are disturbing similarities between caring for a dog and baby. 

Today:

1. I had to fish a wad of magazine paper out of Addie's mouth which she was damn insistent on clamping shut, much like Zoe is when she grabs a small bone or some other fatally dangerous item. 

2. My daughter ate her own poop today.  Zoe dined on her feces for the first year of her life (Hi, my name is Zoe, and I am a poo-aholic. I am powerless over the poop and my life has become totally unmanageable. Hah!)  Her poo-vom was one of the more foul things I've had to clean up in my life. At least with Adeline it was inadvertent, and such a small amount that it wasn't harmful. She's starting to reach down whenever her diaper comes off (whoosh! cold air!).  She doesn't know where her nose is let alone her vagina (yes, I'm one of those people who doesn't use any weird euphemism for genitalia), so it's not as if she's trying to grab a snack or anything. Unlike someone we know... 

Days since my last "episode": 67

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

Snapshot: Oyasumi

Grateful Mondays...one day late

1.) I'm starting a fun, new job tomorrow.

2.) I have great friends who are able to watch Addie while I train at fun, new job. 

3.) We just signed a contract to rent an incredible house in my favorite part of town.

4.) I turn a quarter of a century old tomorrow, and I'm happy for that.

5.) Beast is no longer shooting fluids out both ends, she seems healthy and content. 

6.) I just got flowers from Zach. He came home early with gerber daisies.

xo, A

I'm grateful for sweet potatoes!

Friday, July 17, 2009

Johnson's End

Whenever I visit someone's house, I immediately go into voyeur/observation mode. What kind of books do they own? Which brand of soap do they use? Any interesting bric-a-brac; from travels abroad, or purchased from the World Market catalog? Does it look like they dust on a regular basis? I'm asking these questions not out of judgement (most houses I've been in are quite clean and aesthetically pleasing), but rather the curiosity of how they went about keeping their abode so clean, so organized, so like a spread in an interior decorating magazine. The pillows matching the sofa, matching the lamp, matching the tall standing vase in the corner with the pussy-willows sticking out. A nice print of the an urban or natural landscape. A glass bowl full of seashells with a never-been-lit candle in the center. Everyone's houses seem so...grown-up.

And then there's our place. It's very comfortable, very lived in. But rather than tasteful silver candlesticks and framed photos of family on the mantle above the fireplace, there is as follows: one small buffalo figurine, an old Glade candle with a plastic sea-otter poking out, a bendy Betty Boop, plastic sunglasses with a small troll glued on the bridge (still in the package), a boxing nun puppet, various stuffed animals, a Mexican shot-glass, wooden Japanese children's toys, a matryoshka doll, and two metal signs that have the number one printed on them.

sigh...
There are piles of books, board games, old boxes from Amazon, and random computer parts in every corner. The center of the living room is littered with Adeline and Zoe's toys, all mixed together so dog is chewing baby-toy, baby is chewing dog-toy. Our furniture is entirely mismatched, each piece given to us second/third/fourth-hand by relatives or neighbors. We haven't eaten at the dining table in three months; it's covered with craft-supplies, baby shampoo, vitamins, library books, old fruit, and god-knows-what-else.

SIGH...
I'll be 25 in a week. Is this what the apartment of a 25-year old woman with a baby and husband boyfriend should look like? Although I am a person who no longer obsesses about the "should" (two years ago? different story), I can't help feeling guilty about my lack of domesticity. I'm a Cancer! I crave the home, creating a clean, cozy environment to house all of my friends and family while I serve homemade donuts and espresso. Yet, this place is so messy at the moment, there wouldn't be a chair, or even a spot on the floor, to sit and enjoy said donuts and espresso...the dirty laundry of the past two weeks is occupying EVERYTHING. I would have SUCKED as a housewife in the 50's. When Zach gets home lately, he doesn't even ask what I've made for dinner, because the kitchen has gotten so out of control, I get exhausted just thinking about the effort required to clean and make food and clean again. Tsk, tsk.

hey, at least these are clean!

I'm a lazy mofo, right?

I will EVENTUALLY get uncomfortable and crazy-in-the-head enough to start picking things up, folding clothes, and vacuuming again (which I've only done once twice since Addie was born). Usually it's when I've invited company over. In fact, I just told Zach that the secret to keeping our apartment clean is to continually entertain friends so that my ego overrides my laziness, and I keep working to maintain the appearance that we always have clean kitchen floors and matching hand towels in the bathroom. That our bed is always made and there are always fresh-cut flowers in the center of our dining room table. That we are really quite grown up. :)

Thursday, July 16, 2009

Teach a girl how to express glands, she'll do it for a lifetime

Zoe has always had a sensitive stomach. Blame it on her genetics, blame on it us who didn't really look into her background too much (though we know she wasn't from a puppy mill), blame it on the environment; regardless of all that, we've always battled the food regurgitation, rank farts, and occasional diarrhea. We've gone to the vet countless times, performed x-rays, elevated her food bowl, changed her kibble, fed her bland baby-food instead, with various levels of success and short stints of putting our spot-bot stain remover away. At two years young, we thought she had, or at least would, grow out of this unfortunate situation. Her body and digestive tract would mature, and she would finally be able to eat rawhide bones and beggin' strips like any other spoiled dog. But it doesn't look like that's going to happen anytime soon.

A few days ago, we awoke to several "presents" around the house. Meaning she shit everywhere. She never has these accidents unless she REALLY has to go, obviously she wasn't feeling well. Later in the day, she started heaving and throwing up everywhere.  I called her doc, Sunnyvale Veterinary Clinic, and they said to come in immediately. Let me just mention here that they are THE BEST pet clinic in all the land. They've taken care of Zoe since she was born; given her vaccinations, healed her broken metatarsal, went all Dr. House on her stomach issues, and always greeted us with the affection and familiarity of beloved royalty . They have the best staff of any business I've ever encountered. So there's my shout-out to Sunnyvale Vet. 

My ovaries are gone, thanks Sunnyvale Vet! 

Of course, by the time we get there, Zoe is all smiles and happy-tail-wagging. Doesn't look sick in the slightest. But they humored us anyways, proclaiming their great fortune at being able to see her and the new baby. The vet tech did the usual check-up (16.8 pounds, what a heffer!), and they didn't find anything out of the ordinary. Of course they wouldn't. This is exactly what happens when you go to the clinic feeling like shit; they take your temperature, and then tell you go home, drink water, and get some rest. And turn you around so they can screw present you with a $200 invoice. 

Ahem.

Anyways, along with our $127 bill, we received instruction to put her on a 3-day bland diet and monitor her. They also injected her with subcutaneous fluids which made her look a body-builder, lil' doggy on steroids. 

But the visit was not a total wash. I learned a very important and useful skill that day...DRAINING ANAL GLANDS! Yes, ladies and gentlemen, this is a talent that if overlooked, can end up costing you hundreds of dollars in either vet or dry-cleaning bills. If those suckers aren't emptied on a regular basis ($28 for a professional to perform), you will have the FOULEST of odors emanating from your couch, the car seat, the carpet, your lap, and your dog's butt. Like a mixture of iron-y blood, fish guts, and rotten meat, all sitting in the hot sun for thirty days, then shoved into a small tunnel to ferment some more.  Thank GOD babies don't have anal glands. 

Since I'm cheap frugal, I opted for the vet tech to teach me how to perform this lovely operation by myself at home. Snap on some rubber gloves, smear some K-Y-Jelly onto my finger, and we were getting real intimate (I'm sorry I didn't buy you dinner first, Zo). 

"They feel like grapes," she explained, showing me a diagram of where they were positioned (8:00 and 4:00, FYI), "Just milk them toward the anus." 

WTF? Is $28 really all that bad? I am a selectively squeamish person. Snot, vomit, poop, I can handle. Putting a wriggling worm on a hook, I cannot. This experience was like no other. Satisfying in the way popping a really big pimple can be. Repulsive in the way...god, I can't even describe the stench when the liquid started to drip out. I swear, if you could concentrate and bottle this stuff, it would be grade-A bio-weaponry. Countries would surrender in seconds. 

Once the dirty deed was completed and Zoe looked at me with shame and betrayal in her eyes, I realized that it wasn't THAT bad...I could handle this once every couple of months, right? They even sent us home with a couple pictures in case I forgot the geography of her rectal walls. 

So here's to turning lemons into....anal-gland scented lemonade....

*If you are curious about how to deplete YOUR furry friend's anal sacs, go here: 
http://www.dummies.com/how-to/content/how-to-empty-your-dogs-anal-sacs.html

**If you want the best care for your furry friend, go here: http://www.sunnyvalevet.com/

Monday, July 13, 2009

Grateful Mondays...

Being grateful on a Monday...oxymoron, right? I write gratitude lists from time to time when I'm partying on the pity-pot or groaning about all that I find wrong in this world.  It's actually a very effective tool I've learned to get my head out of my ass, and nine times out of ten I feel so much better afterwards.  Which is why I'm going to write one at LEAST once a week, particularly on Mondays, since it always seems to be the day I feel the worst (even if I technically don't work and could consider every day a weekend).  Zach is back at work again, I never have any standing dates or plans made, and I tend to go into hermit-mode. 



I won't make any rules about how many to list, or how big or small they can be, no forcing it. They just have to relevant to today. 

1. I'm grateful that I was able to sit in the shower for 20 minutes at 5:00 this morning after a long, sleepless night, and not worry about Adeline because Zach was keeping her company. 

2. I'm grateful that I have a sweet dog who doesn't bark when the mailman knocks on our door (especially when Addie is napping).

3. I'm grateful that I heard the first day of confirmation hearings for Judge Sonia Sotomayor on NPR this morning--another example of good things happening in the outside world. 

4. I'm grateful that Zach made me a latte this morning before he left, even though he was already late for work. 

5. I'm grateful that I am coming up on my 25th birthday and it will be my second birthday clean and sober. 

6. I'm grateful that Zach's job has afforded us the financial freedom for me to stay at home and raise our daughter; that I was able to play with her all morning, go out for a walk with Zoe, and come home to eat mangos and watch a movie. 


I'm grateful for this.

And this.

Life is good.

Anything in particular you're grateful for today? 

Sunday, July 12, 2009

Sunday wrap-up

1. The old Turkish man who lives across the street smelling a rose in his front yard.

2. Buying The Plague, Pale Fire, On Chesil Beach, and Green Eggs and Ham at the used bookstore. 

3. Feeling wholly out of sorts, like I don't want to be physically touched any longer. I am at times painfully in need of holding my daughter, and other times desperate to have my body as my own again. 

4. Zach being the most patient man on Earth to live with me this weekend, went out to buy us some frozen yogurt. I'm waiting for him to come home. 

Good night, and good luck. 

Saturday, July 11, 2009

TGIF Snapshot

Ms. Adeline sports the latest fashions: Happy Green Bee Organic clothing, an amber teething necklace, and her new favorite toy, a wooden xylophone by Plan Toys. 

Thursday, July 9, 2009

Snapshot: Pool Babe


She went kick, kick, kick and squealed in delight, 
water droplets on the tips of her eyelashes.


Wednesday, July 8, 2009

Grab your athletic cup, boy, it's bathtime!

I'm sitting here on the toilet (the lid is down). At my feet Zoe is curled up on the bathmat with her favorite toy. Beside me, Zach is administering a bath to Adeline. He is naked, with water level to his hip, and Adeline floats like a baby otter facing him. The back of her head is cupped by the large arches of his feet.  


This is how we've washed her for most of her life. Besides one time in the kitchen sink, she's always free-bathed (yes, I just invented that); no plastic baby-centric vessel for her. It fell under our "superfluous baby crap evil corporations convince us we need" list. Not that we probably couldn't have used it, as doing it OUR way led to various challenges: her writhing around and trying to drown herself, Zach's thighs and nether regions perpetually under attack by her rapid Chung-Lee kicks and razor-sharp nails (thus, the title), the threat of Zoe leaping into the tub to join in the festivities (she just wants to be with her peeps, guys!). 

But none of that matters...

Zach gets home from work around 7:00-7:30 each night, which leaves precious little time to spend with Addie. Bathtime has thus been his domain from its inception, and he does a great job of wrangling her slippery seal body and cleaning the "cheese" out from the deep folds under her chin. And it's so damn cute to watch them: 




Notice the Beast's death-gaze? That's her "goddamn it woman, you forgot to feed me again this morning and if you don't fill my bowl I will EAT YOUR FACE." -look. 

He's singing Don Quixote to her. How can you not fall in love with a man who sings Don Quixote to your child while cleaning her bottom? 

Of course, I have sweet memories of bathtime myself...

Japanese tubs are where it's at! (and is it just me, or do you see 
a resemblance between Addie and Boo in this photo?)

What are your fondest bathtime memories? 

A'hikin we will go

This is the second day IN A ROW that we've woken up early enough to go for a morning hike before the blazing sun gives Zoe heat stroke, Addie sunburn, and me sweaty ass.  

We finally started to use our Bob Revolution stroller consistently (thanks Grandma!)--it's rugged and bad-ass with it's 16" tires, but some of the trails at Quicksilver are EXTREMELY rocky. We'll be trudging along up the hill, Beast panting and eager to get ahead of everyone, Addie's head bobbing like a dashboard hula girl, and we'll hit the equivalent of some Class IV water rapids ("...difficult and should be navigated by only those with advanced maneuvering skills.")  I'm surprised I didn't see Babe's head fly out from the front of the stroller and bounce down the hill. 

Is this lady crazy?! 

I could see every jogger, shuffling elderly couple, and walking-stick wielding Asian lady thinking this as they passed us. I just nodded hello, huffing and puffing, trying to appear as if this was a cakewalk when it was clearly otherwise.  I'm proud to say we completed the entire circuit. The descent was the most difficult portion, as it was rocky AND I had gravity PLUS a crazed dog hell-bent on making me slip and tumble down all together in a big baby/Boston/stroller/girl-snowball. 

Back in March when we had to stuff towels around her so she wouldn't fly out

Adeline was zonked out for most of the treacherous journey. Zoe loved chasing the dust-colored lizards that skittered across the trails.  I listened to another tear/laughter-inducing episode of This American Life on my ipod, feeling reconnected with humanity. 

Overall, a pretty great (if not physically challenging) morning! 

Tuesday, July 7, 2009

No Boys Allowed. What?

The night I started this blog and completed the "About Me" section, Zach read it over and pointed something out. There was no mention of him there, nor in the first post. 

"It's like I don't exist," he sniffed. And then he informed me that the strippers were coming over soon and I should get to bed. 

I assured him that he would appear far to often in my future posts--that there is no life of Ariel, Zoe, and Addie without him.  The reasons being far too intricate and far-reaching to explain at the moment, but trust this--if I had not met this man when I did, I would currently be a crazy transient living under a bridge performing unspeakable acts for a bag of Flaming Hot Cheetos. Well, probably.

Let's see, what else?  Zoe would have been adopted by a nice semi-retired couple in Fresno who would name her Butters Dandelion, push her around in those creepy dog strollers, and generally spoil the shit out of her. Tough luck, girl. 


Mr. and Mrs. Mandalay take the current Butters Dandelion Mandalay out for a stroll.


Adeline's very EXISTENCE hinges on Zach--had we not been forced into a blind date by Marta (then went our separate ways, and were then reunited by Marta AGAIN), her potential spirit would just be floating our there in the grand energy pool of the universe. Which kind of blows my mind now that she's sitting(!) beside me, in all her 22 pound giggling, cooing, kicking, screaming glory. 

Hey Mom, I was always around, and this whole cause& effect/alternative paths trope is TIRED. Haven't you seen Sliding Doors? Or better yet, Run, Lola, Run? Moving on...

Speaking of relevance, he insists that if we have another child she will be female, and he will be the single drop of testosterone floating voiceless, powerless, ball-less, in a turbulent sea of estrogen. He will be on the outskirts, merely a figure-head, tapped only for allowances and oil-changes.  I see it completely the opposite. Being the only male in the household, he will be the axis from which his lovely ladies will dance around him, like the center of a maypole! (k, that was a terrible metaphor, but I'm tapped tonight)  Yes, he's physically absent much of the day because of work, but doesn't that absence mItalicake him more appealing (versus mom who's around all day, every day, telling you to not touch this and don't eat that and ohmyGOD you want me to sing the same song AGAIN)? 

I wonder if other fathers whose families consist solely of women feel like they're on the periphery? The single boy in an all-girls club. I've pondered whether my own father wished he'd had at least one son to take fishing, hiking, play ball with. Wait, he did that with his daughters anyways. More along the lines...was there anything he wasn't able to talk to us about because we were girls? I think every relationship: father/son, father/daughter, mother/son, mother/daughter, is unique and dear. No better, just different. Something I was curious about tonight....

In the meantime, we're talking about getting a boy-dog for Zach :) 
 

Ladies and Gentlemen...

Bosom buddies

Welcome and thank you for stopping by our zygote of a blog!  I've been wanting to improve my writing skills for awhile. Figure no time like the present; girl, get off your ass and WRITE.  Use your proverbial pen to write to your heart's content about life as a new mom, life in sunny Silicon Valley, life as a sober 24-year old, life with a fantastic group of friends and family. Interesting happenings all around you...why not share it for shits and giggles? 

Obviously, a lot of inspiration will be drawn from the two creatures who occupy most of my day-to-day existence. Adeline and Zoe. Zoe and Adeline. What a pair these two are. But I will deviate from time to time...ok, probably all the time, to post various photos, videos, links, et al that I find interesting. Who knows, maybe we'll go CRAZY and post a personal recipe or two. 

I feel good about this. I really do. And for the love of Pete, Zoe just farted in my face again. 

P.S. Any comments or suggestions are appreciated!