Monday, December 19, 2005

Guilty, of love in the first degree

Urban Cowboy! Thanks to Auntie Summer for these duds.
OK, Nate and I were watching TV together when an infomercial about Time Life Music's Superstars of Country came on. I was instantly transported back to my childhood in the South (yes, suh). I could almost smell my Aunt Eunice's Pall Mall burning in the bean bag ash tray.

From the high chair next to me, a little voice gasped and shrieked with glee. Now, I know the kid likes music, but he was riveted. Between Kenny Rogers hawking the stuff, we enjoyed clip after clip of Johnny Cash, Waylon Jennings, Loretta Lynn, Willie Nelson and more! He kept looking and me then looking back at the TV with the biggest grin! My little Urban Cowboy!

Both my sons are half Southern and I intend to make certain they don't forget it. Nate apparently won't need much encouragement. Maybe he can dress as George Jones for Halloween next year.

Thursday, December 08, 2005

Aron, Nate & Santa

I pulled this off with a lot less hassle than I projected. Nate is nine months old and is just about to the stage where he does not appreciate his being deposited on to the laps of strangers. Especially big hairy ones.

Aron unilaterally declared a moratorium on Santa visits for the last three years. I have one photo of Aron with Santa when he was 5 1/2 months old and none after that. Of course, he was terrified of Santa, and no amount of coaxing would get him anywhere near the guy. This year he was willing to sit on his lap, and even asked, "Where are the elves?" That's my boy! Question authority! I think I had the same concern when I saw Santa at age four.

My mom provided the matching outfits. Thanks, Mom!

I can't get over how much these photos cost. I paid $20 for one 5x7 and two 3x5s. Happy Holidays, indeed -- unless you have kids, in which case, it's Happy Holidays and get ready to pay through the nose for everything.

So as we motored through the mall, I finally had to face something I've suspected about Nathan for a while: he's a major flirt. When Aron was a baby he only had eyes for me. Nate is certainly mama's boy too, but when there are girls and women around, he'll catch their eyes and give them a megawatt smile. Much cooing and awwing ensues. At the mall's play area he crawled over to a random mommy, stood up next to her and put a hand on her lap. Sheesh! I'll be beating the girls off with a stick.

Wednesday, November 30, 2005

Oompa Loompa Extravaganza



You have to get the new Charlie and the Chocolate Factory DVD just to learn the new Oompa Loompa dances. Kurt and Aron are working hard on their routine, as you will note.

Sunday, November 20, 2005

The Busy Bot

Juiciest baby on the planet.


Skeptical, yet adorable.


I'm so wonderful, I have difficulty containing my glee.


Saturday, November 19, 2005

Let them receive lava lamps


Kurt's Aunt Sue sent me an email. She wanted me to ask Number One Son what a child his age would like for Christmas; she's buying a gift for a needy child. Aron's answer?

A: "I think he would like a fire lamp."

Moi: "Do you mean a lava lamp?"

A: "Oh, yeah. A lava lamp."

And yet more cuteness from the Home Front, Kurt has a bad cold and last weekend Aron was sick with the pukies. Aron thought Daddy was the same kind of sick. Couple of nights ago, after we were all tucked in bed, we hear the pitter of little feet.

"Here ya go Dad, in case you get sick," Aron says, then trots back to bed. He gave Daddy the big plastic trash can from his room he'd been using to barf in.

I have the most considerate big boy ever.

Wednesday, November 16, 2005

Central Ohio, can I get a whoop whoop?

OK, am I the only person who thinks Colleen Marshall's hair (night news anchor, NBC 4) looks like a brown football helmet? You must watch the news some night. Seriously, the hair does not move. It defies gravity.

Sunday, November 13, 2005

Where the rich people at?

Bad grammar! I ended the subject hed with a preposition and I can feel the breath of Conan the Grammarian (a.k.a. Professor Dru Riley Evarts from OU) breathing down my neck. She was a good old lady whose joy in life was to make college freshman relive the hell of eighth grade English by diagramming sentences. She thought it would make us better writers. It did, but more certainly it created a fraternity/sorority of grammar snobs. You know who you are (NDK, TWC, et al). Admit it, we hear Dru in our heads correcting the bad grammar of those with whom we converse. Or even those who are kind enough to send us even the simplest thank you note.

Heck, you've probably caught a few grammar errors in my posts because I am not as sharp as I used to be.

I'm also not as wealthy, thin or young as I used to be.

I guess I have to get a job. Arrgh, damn school loans. Oh well. I'm going to take up doing some work for my good friend Jim, who is always willing to throw work at me from his law practice. And another friend of mine, Jaime, hooked me up with a company in Dublin that does surveys over the phone (you know, "how'd you like the service you received at XYZ body shop?"). I could go there after Kurt gets home from work and get home after midnight. Swell. With the kids getting me up at 6 a.m., that should be plenty of sleep, right?

I guess I knew this was going to happen. But, it's OK. My mom is still coming in February to take care of the kids during the day, so I'll be able to study then, and study on the weekends, too. I feel a little like I am kidding myself. How the heck am I going to pass the bar under these conditions?

I keep getting this message from, well, wherever: "This too shall pass." Things are a bit soggy right now, but, it can't rain forever. The situation is far from optimal, but it's also far from dire.

Perhaps I'm having another one of those days. But I'm certain that it will be over in a couple of hours. Then it will be tomorrow.

Friday, November 11, 2005

From the Ministry of Silly Thoughts


In the words of the immortal Nicole Dawn Kelly: "I don't have to be chipper all the time. I am entitled to have a bad day every once in a while."

Thank you very much. And if you don't like it, well, use your imagination.

Now, for something completely different and a bit zen. I'm trying something new, starting today. It's called, "Talk less, think more." For a jabber jaw like me, this could really be life changing. So don't take it personally if I seem quiet next time you see me. I think this may be one of the many paths toward enlightenment, so I'm going to (silly) walk down it and see what happens.

Monday, November 07, 2005

Some random stuff.

I have ADHD. I've had it my whole life. It made getting through law school (not to mention college) fairly difficult. It makes studying for the bar a Herculean task, most days.

I rode my bike for the first time in years a couple of months ago. I seriously messed up my tail bone and now I can't sit comfortably in most positions.

I don't sleep as much as a should. I want to stay up all night for no good reason. Then when the kids get up at 7 a.m., I wonder why I am tired and cranky. But I know.

I feel guilty when my baby cries, as though there really is something more that I could be doing for him so that he wouldn't have to cry. Ever. I realize this is illogical, but that does not stop me from feeling that way.

The people who successfully passed the bar were sworn in today.

I like to imagine the all-weather room we will one day build on the back of our house. It will have two ceiling fans and a tile floor.

I hope that putting my family in the momentous debt caused by law school was the right decision. I have am torn between knowing that to pay off that debt and provide for my family I will likely have to work so much that I may not see my family as much as I should. I worry that the strain could damage my children and my marriage.

Not that winter is almost here, I will probably have numerous day and nightmares about Kurt being seriously injured or worse because of that P.O.S. car he drives. He drives it, of course, because we can't afford another one right now.

Materialistic people really stress me out. I can barely stand to be in a conversation with someone who talks about how much things cost and what they have.

I know that no matter how bad I have it, I still have it pretty damn good.

I feel very tied down. I wish I had made the baby take more bottles when he was younger. He won't now, so I can't leave him for more than a few hours.

I also love it that I am the only person who can sate the baby.

I feel guilty because I don't give the cats enough attention. I still adore them, but I haven't got enough energy to show it as often as I should.

Most of the time I feel as though I am really not all that smart.

I love my children's feet. I love the curve of their chins, the soft little place where their jaw meets their necks. I love to lean over them while they are sleeping and inhale their sweet scent.

I do not believe there is anything more precious in the world than a child.

That said, I do not especially like children as a whole. I like mine, and a select few others, but by in large I am not particularly drawn to them. I like kids on a kid by kid basis. Typically, once I get to know a kid, I like him or her just fine. But in general, I am not a cootchie-cootchie-coo kind of person.

I miss being in college. I miss seeing my best friends every day, having someone else make my food, and not worrying about bills. And I miss writing all the time, and not having to think about another person except for myself.

I wish we were wealthy so that Kurt and I could both stay home with the boys. I feel complete on the days when he is home with us. When he is not here, I count the hours until he comes home again.

I need to study.

Sunday, October 30, 2005

Two Bleepin' Points.

And thanks for your support!

As many of you already know, I missed "IT" by two points. While that is incredibly frustrating, it is also moderately encouraging. So, it's back to studying, a lot, for the February bar. Seems that having two kids in law school did in fact matter. Go figure. But I am not giving up! Onward and upward!

Wednesday, October 26, 2005

The Exhaustive Nickname List

Those of you who have known me for a long time know of my penchant for making up nicknames. I can even get other people to call you by the nickname I have created for you (read: "Kurtie." C'mon, you know you've called him that at least once). Because I never want to forget any of the following, and because no doubt many of you have heard me use the following names in reference to my offspring, I now hereby publish the full and exhaustive list of nicknames, to date, I use for the boys. Frankly, it's a wonder they even know their own names.

Aron’s

Tweetie
Tweeter Man
Stanley Tweeterman, P.I. (Precious Individual)
Butter Bean
Bean
Beaner
Hot Buttered Bean
Mr. Bean
Butter McBeans
Single A-Ron (David and Anita made this one up)
Trip-L (as in XXXL)
Gootz
Gootzie
Mr. Big-Gootzie
Gootzel
Big-Gootzel
The Goo Guy
Hubba Quare (after what Aron called Spongebob Squarepants when he was learning to talk)
The Quareling
Honey Quare
Mickery
Mizzer
Mizzer Man
Elroy (My boy Elroy!)
Miguel-Roy
Mr. Bigs
Mr. Biggy
Biggy McBigs
The Extra Big
Extra Biggie
Mr. Gorgeous
Mr. Big-gorgeous
Mr. ‘Pecial (special)
Biggie Brudder


Nate’s

Nater Tot
The Totling
Sweetiekins
The Kinzer
Kinzer La-Goo
Little Lord Kinzington
Quinz
Quinzor
Quinzor La-Goo
Little Lord Quinzington
Mr. Pretty
Suburban Pretty (or, depending on where we are, Urban Pretty or Rural Pretty)
Prettykins
Prettyquinz
The Itty Bitty
The Lubkin
Ootini (The Jawas of Star Wars say this)
Ootini Bot
Gootini
Gooteener
Gooteen
Busy Bot
Baby Bot
The Super Extra Busy Bot
The Botling
Whizzy What
The Whatling
Zerb
McZerb
Zerbinate
Zerbinator
Baron McZerb
The Zerbster
Zerby
Habs
Habzer
Habzington
Baby Brudder

Sunday, October 23, 2005

Gotta bounce, Ruth's Chris.

Go Bucks!
My mom and dad came up to visit us this weekend. We had a really nice time. After fixing dinner for three nights in a row, we were ready for a night out. My suggestion: the Columbus Fish Market in Worthington.

The idea of going out to eat was a mistake from the word go, because Nate did not have his afternoon nap. Unlike Aron, who, as a baby could fall asleep anywhere and stay asleep for hours on end, Nate is very sensitive about his sleeping arrangements. He wants to be in his bed, with his blankie, with his white noise machine. But I was so enamored with the idea of having a nice dinner out that I was stupidly willing to ignore what I knew could not end well.
Upon our arrival at 7:20 p.m., we learned the wait was one and a half hours. With Nate already hungry and screaming, we knew that was not going to fly. We tried quickly to choose one of the other three zillion restaurants in the area. We had passed a Ruth’s Chris Steakhouse on our way to the Fish Market. “Let’s just go there,” someone suggested. “You know it’s going to be $50 a person,” Kurt said sagely.

What were we thinking? We were hungry. We were desperate. Nate had tears streaming down his cheeks. Let’s just go.

"It's a very expensive steak house," Kurt reiterated. "It's not Applebee's. Maybe we should go to the Winking Lizard..."

Everyone was hungry and gave him a blank stare. "Fine," he shrugged, knowingly.


Ruth's Chris makes my brown eyes blue.

I hopped out of the car and walked up to a valet standing outside the restaurant. “Am I dressed OK?” I asked. He quickly looked me up and down. “Yeah, it’s pretty casual in there,” he said. I was skeptical. I was wearing a Cleveland Indians sweatshirt, faded button down jeans and the tennis shoes I wore to the farm a few weeks ago. I hadn’t really planned on a fine dining experience. The family was similarly attired.

With no wait, they ushered us in to a table. Walking through the restaurant, I failed to see the casual atmosphere as described – most of the people were at least wearing business casual, if not ties. Kurt said he saw some people in jeans and T-shirts, but I must have missed them.

Nate was at about DEFCON four on the melt-down scale of five, with five being uncontrollable, inconsolable screaming. I plopped him in his high chair and started shoveling the baby food in. But no amount of food was going to appease him; he wanted to go to bed. NOW. Everyone else at the table began to peruse the menu. I could tell it was bad, because everyone was quiet.

I took a moment to look at the offerings while Nate squirmed to grab my menu. No problem: steaks ranging from $30 something to $20 something. OK. And $7.50 for a baked potato. And $8.25 for a side salad. And $6.50 for buttered broccoli. And NO kid’s menu.

I am not a cheap person, really, I am not. But, COME ON, you could buy enough broccoli for an army for $6.50. If I’m going to pay $30 for a steak, couldn’t they just throw in the side dish for free? Lie to me, you know? At least let me think I’m getting it for free, even if the price is part of the meal. Kurt and I ate with Jim and Karen at Smith & Wollensky about a year ago and endured similar circumstances -- $8 for a wedge of iceberg lettuce drizzled with salad dressing. I mean, geez, for $8 they could at least cut it up, you know?

Today, 7-month-old boy starts crawling. Tomorrow, he takes over the world.

Anyway, the failure to plan this excursion out became apparent immediately … we were about to pay more than $200 for a meal that we would not get to enjoy because of a screaming baby.

Since this wasn't exactly a family establishment, I whisked Nate to (gag) the bathroom to nurse him. Let's see -- marble tile, complimentary mouthwash and hairspray and ... no freakin' changing table or place for me to sit and nurse. And, arrgh! I have to use the facilities! No problem, Nate indicated, as he freely crawled across the bathroom floor while I tried to hurry. I practically bathed him in the sink before we left.

Back at the table, he whimpered, arched his back and let me know that DEFCON five was imminent.

“We can’t eat here, y’all,” I said. “The baby is about to lose it and we are going to pay a ton of money for this meal – we'd need two hours to eat it, and there is no WAY this kid is going to last five more minutes. And they have nothing for Aron to eat. I feel like a real jerk, but we have to go.”

Everyone swiftly agreed. Dad paid the $16 for the drinks we had ordered and left our waiter a $10 tip – we felt really, really bad for taking up his table and wasting his time.

Since we had to carpool, mom and Kurt rode back in our car – and Nate screamed the whole way home (25 minutes). Together in my dad’s car, my dad and I laughed our butts off. Man, we must have looked like a bunch of country bumpkins who rolled into the big burg for a meal then got sticker shock when we sat down to eat.
Told you I had to bounce! In my Jumpster, that is.

On the way home we picked up six Chipotle burritos and a kid’s meal from Burger King in Dublin. We put Nate to bed, and sat down at home with two pitchers of Margaritas. The price? About $40. The moral? When Kurt speaks, listen.

Friday, October 14, 2005

Happy Sweetest Day


To the man of my dreams.

Monday, October 10, 2005

It's Punkin' Time!


Indian Corn!

What's more fun during the fall then trampin' on down to a smelly farm to wade through weeds and trip over pumpkin vines to find the perfect mud-encrusted, half-rotten gourd? Or choke on tractor exhaust on a hay ride?

Bah. Just kidding. So far we've been to a pumpkin' patch twice this month, and we will probably will go at least two more times. There are so many daggone farms around here, I feel obligated to take my kid to them whenever there is even a remotely good reason to do so. One of these days he's going to be somewhere other than here (we can only hope), and someone's going to ask him where he's from. He'll say, "Ohio," then the person will ask, "well, what's there?" And he can say with authority, "lots and lots of farms. And my farm-obsessed mother dragged me to every single one."

To that, I would retort, I am not farm-obsessed. But I know deep down, I have farm envy. There, I said it. I want a farm.



Mommy and Nate self portrait in the barn.

But going to the farms is really about maximizing the childhood experience. And really, what good is being from a red state if ... heh, heh, heh. I almost didn't finish that sentence. Anyway, what good is being from a red state if you can't enjoy hangin' on the farm? John Deere green? Savin' a horse and ridin' a cowboy? Liquified manure sprayed over acres and acres?

Got to be careful around here what you say about farms. The farmers are everywhere. And some of them can't take I joke. But I get that -- I really do. In our neighborhood we have deed restrictions forbidding six-foot fences (unless you have a pool), vinyl fences, and some other stuff. Part of me really resents that I have to get the approval of someone else regarding how I want to improve or use my property. But the other part of me doesn't want my neighbors, some of whom have questionable taste, building whatever they please within sight of my backyard.

My point, and I do have one, is that farmers are trying to be farmers -- live on their land, use it responsibly and have that be their job/career/life. But everyone else who is not a farmer (the least of which being the federal government) has at least an opinion or at worst some power to direct the use of that farmer's land. It's a constant tug of war between bureacracy, public opinion and the farmer's American-as-apple-pie desire to be allowed to make his way in the world, so long as it doesn't hurt someone else. And I want to support that.


Pick your little pumpkin in peace, my darling, knowing that mommy didn't damn you to weirdness because she only had one kid.
Assuming you're still with me after that, you know me, I've always over-analyzed every last damn thing in my life, even in situations where it's not really about me and logically I can admit that I am wasting good energy on something that I cannot affect and that doesn't really affect me directly. My good friend Summer, also an only child, and I have discussed this as part and parcel of what is known as the Only Child Phenomenon.

OCP Edict #3: "Even if it's not really about you, you will somehow make it about you." You will obsess over its meaning and wonder how your action impacted it, what you could have done differently and if people still like you. You may even spend some time with a mental health professional discussing it years after it happens, have the occasional nightmare about it and feel compelled to bring it up over cocktails to a semi-close friend at what's bound to be an inappropriate time or venue. And everyone you tell who is not an only child will likely feel sorry for you for carrying a torch for this subject and may wish that they didn't know you well enough for you to feel comfortable telling them this stuff. At the least they will think you are kind of odd, if not socially inept in a way that makes them wonder how you made it this far in life.

What the crap does that have to do about taking the kids to the farm to pick pumpkins? Come on! You know who's writing this blog, right? The answer is nothing. And everything!!

Sunday, October 09, 2005

The Entire Month of September




Mah sweet bebes.

These days my name is mud with a few people because I’m not updating the blog as much as they like. What can I say, people – I’ve got two kids. I feel accomplished if I manage a five minute shower.

Last week, the culprit was that my friends Jen and Malynda got Kurt and I hopelessly hooked on the now cancelled show, “Firefly.” It’s the first TV show in a long time that Kurt and I want to watch together. We used to watch X Files together. But since the inception of Tech TV (now G4, or whatever, like I care, right?), that computer uber-geek channel, and my visceral need to digest every Law & Order show, our TV tastes parted ways. But Jen let us borrow the DVDs of the first and only season of “Firefly” and suddenly the kids are in bed by 8:30 p.m. and we are parked – together – in front of the TV. Like two crack-addicted lab rats railing on the button for a hit, we have to force ourselves to stop watching and go to bed. The new movie “Serenity” is based on the series. I saw that last weekend with Jen and Mal and it was great. The series was cancelled after 13 episodes. There’s a chance it may be picked up and re-introduced some time soon. We need to feed our addiction, so hopefully that rumor will turn out to be true.

During September, we enjoyed more intrepid family vacation adventures. As part of the Moledor family campaign to improve the Ohio economy, we decided to take yet another mini-vacation in Ohio this summer. Allow me to regale you.

Kurt’s 20th high school reunion was last month (sure, he’s old as dirt, but he’s still cute as a button). Completely underwhelmed upon receipt of the invitation, Kurt turned to me and said he didn’t really care if he went or not. Did I want to go? Sure, I said. After I buy new clothes and shoes, get my hair and nails done and swing by Sephora for new makeup. Contemplating $500 worth of charges on the credit card, suddenly he felt a bit more certain that indeed he did not want to go, and that was that.

That worked out pretty well, actually, since I am still toting numerous extra inches of baby fat (yes, as a matter of fact, I do intend to mention that I am unhappy with my body for each post, thank you very much), I didn’t want to see Kurt’s high school girlfriend. When we saw her at the 15th reunion, I hadn’t even had kid #1 yet, so you could still bounce a quarter off my abs. You know me, shallow as ever, I prefer not to be seen until I have remolded my doughy, gelatinous form back into single-digit sized jeans. And yeah, yeah, someone out there is saying, “Why should you care what she thinks? You got Kurt.” No doubt, Kurt is great. But this caboose I’m carrying around as the result of spawning his enormous children (9.5 and 11.5 pounds, respectively, lest ye forget) is no consolation prize. We’ll catch those folks again in five years.

We decided to take our second 2005 mini-vacay in and around Cleveland. Why? First, it’s such a cool city. Second, it’s only an hour from Kurt’s parents’ house, so we could avoid the extra expense of a hotel room. Even with gas prices as high as they are, a tank of gas is still cheaper than a night in a hotel.

Daddy's favorite restaurant -- cigars, single malt scotch and big steaks. Not exactly a kid-friendly establishment.

So, the afternoon we arrived in Cleveland, we parked near Jacobs Field and walked to the Tower City shopping mall underneath the Terminal Tower. It’s quite posh, but it’s hard to enjoy an “upscale shopping experience” with a baby drooling on your shirt and a four-year-old complaining of hunger, thirst and exhaustion.

We scooted over to the Jake for a 7:05 game. We arrived early for your typical “take-me-out-to-the-ballgame” fare: expensive beer ($5.50), dogs ($3.75) and nachos ($4.25). Cracker Jacks were $3.25. And if you ask me, I don’t care how American Cracker Jacks are, they flat out stink and can’t hold a candle to Crunch-N-Munch. Heck, when I was a kid, your consolation for the nasty flavor of Cracker Jacks was at least a cool toy. Inside our bag we received a piece of paper. Oh, the unmitigated glee. It was supposed to fold up and make different faces, but Kurt, the smartest person I know, couldn’t figure it out. Still, the look on Aron’s face when he saw it in the bag was darling.


By the looks on our faces, the count is full and the bases are loaded. In reality, we are watching the field crew take the tarp off the field. Apparently we need to get out more.

The Tribe won, despite a rain delay. That game was part of their September winning streak that almost got them into the post-season. The boys were very well behaved. Aron was up and down several times and Nate took a little nap. By the end of the game, sometime after 10 p.m., Nate’s attitude went south. I had to get up and walk him a bit, only to have many fellow fans tell me how cute he is. Like I don’t know that. But one strange person told me he looks like a baby Travis Hafner. Taken aback, all I could say was, “Well, I assure you he is not his father.” That’s a very “only child” thing to say; and you’d have to be an only child to get why I would say that. Maybe we can talk about that in the future.


Good eats and lots of beer at the Cleveland Brewing Co.

Friday we tooled up to Cleveland again for lunch at the Great Lakes Brewing Co. I get so much joy out of watching my husband enjoy something he truly loves, and good beer is one of them. He and his dad got the sampler of each beer the brewery makes. I skipped the beer, sadly, because I decided to nix chasing my Dramamine with beer, otherwise known as the “Karen Walker” lunch.


Nate and daddy up the cuteness factor of the West Side Market.

The food was great, and the restaurant is located in Ohio City, a neighborhood in Cleveland. Across the street is the West Side Market, a very cool old time market – you know, a market with butchers, bakers and fish sellers, before the invention of the supermarket.

We loaded back into Dave and Edna’s minivan and steered through some questionable Cleveland neighborhoods to find Interstate 90 to Sandusky. I love it that the back windows of the van are dark, providing me the opportunity to watch people unawares. Perhaps I’m really naïve (don’t you dare say anything), but I don’t really feel uncomfortable, even in a “rough” neighborhood. People are people. I believe everyone is just trying to work, eat, stay warm, enjoy life, do the best they can for their kids. Well, everyone for the most part. Little kids were coming home from school in their uniforms. Old men were biking down the cracked sidewalks on rusty bikes. Folks were hanging out near the front door of the corner convenience store, with the bright neon “Lottery” sign in the window. Don’t we all have to beleive that there is enough America to go around for everyone? Kumbaya, brother.

In Sandusky, we checked into the Great Wolf Lodge, an indoor water park and hotel (http://ohio.greatwolflodge.com/). I was a little concerned about sharing a room with Dave and Edna, but not for the reason you might be thinking. In reality my concern was that Nate might keep everyone up all night. Heh, heh, heh. That’s my boy. He didn’t let us down. More on that later.

We squeezed ourselves into our bathing suits and went to the water park area not long after arriving. Whew, were we a pasty white brigade. There are tons of things to do there, including some awesome slides. Aron and I climbed to the top of one of the big ones and I convinced him to follow me down. “It’ll be fine, sweetie!” I told him. “It’s fun,” I said, looking squarely into those trusting blue eyes. I slid down and on the way, I realized that perhaps I had made a mistake in judgment.

I arrived at the bottom, and hopped out quickly ... only to see my first born child screaming in terror at the top of his lungs, speeding down after me at breakneck speed, his arms and legs flailing as he tried to slow his descent. He was clawing at the sides, but alas, there was no way to stop because of the torrent of water, and nothing to grab onto anyway. Every tiny muscle and tendon in his little body was taut, as he fought for his young life (this is a good time to tell you that he wasn't really in danger, he was just terrified). Kurt reports that from his vantage point at the top of the slide, all he saw was a blond blur with two big blue eyes stretched wide with horror and a huge, gaping mouth going under in the catch pool. Screaming at the top of his lungs, he plopped into catch pool and kept screaming. I picked him up and he was still screaming. Five minutes later, well, you get the idea. We barely got him on the kiddie slides later. Sigh, another bad mommy moment for the annals.

Later that night everyone was in bed by 10:45 p.m. Not bad for our night owl crew. By 11:30, Nate was awake. And now he was the one screaming (what is it with these kids?). Usually a bit of nursing will conk him out again, but he kept screaming. I figured that he was dissatisfied with his Pack-n-Play and just wanted to be awake. I gave him some Tylenol. Edna and I walked him down to the lobby, watched the fire in the fireplace (ah, is there anything nicer?), then put him back to bed by 12:30 a.m. He was up less than an hour later. We walked him some more, went to the lobby again, gave him some Ibuprofen. He went to sleep, we took him back to the room. He was up minutes later. He and I went to the lobby for about two hours and laid on the couches. I felt like a homeless person, but the lights were low and the lobby was actually fairly quiet. Finally, I guess the Ibuprofen kicked in, because he managed to sleep from 3:30 to 7:30. When he woke again, I was past angry and tired and now into full blown concern. Kurt and I took him to the emergency room and yup, you guessed it, ear infection. Poor sweetheart. He’s much better now.


Bean enjoys the breeze off Lake Erie at the playground in Sandusky.

Since we were so close to Lake Erie we drove north on 250 for about 10 minutes or so and walked along Sandusky Bay next to the Sandusky Yacht Club. Fancy! A few years ago, we went boating with a friend of Dave and Edna’s who is a member there, and who has a nice sailboat. I can count on one hand the number of times in my life when I have felt that ill, and typically it has been the direct result of the consumption of red wine. I can’t think of a good reason to ever get on a sailboat again – not unless I am swimming in the water and the water catches on fire, and the only way to survive is to get in the boat.

Dave and Edna: still crazy after all these years.

We had a super time with Kurt’s parents. Next year we hope to get up to Sandusky again to go to Cedar Point. I haven’t been there since Niki and I went about ten years ago. Some days I can’t even believe I’ve been alive that long.

I can’t believe I didn’t make an entry for all of September!! I’m sorry about that, friends. I’ll try to do better in the future!

Other cool stuff we did in September included visiting Anita and David in Lancaster at their farm to meet their new baby, Adam. The kid is seriously cute. I’m going to ask Anita if I can post his picture. Niki and Ehren were also in town! They live in Indy and are getting married next year. I am SO excited for them. And good grief, are they cute together. That’s the way it should be.


Why is this couple smiling? Because they both got a good night's sleep.

And, for the first time ever, my Nater Tot slept through the night. I have to credit the book “Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Baby.” You should get this book if you know someone with a kid that doesn’t sleep or someone who is expecting. It worked in two days. Amazing.


Big boy's first day of school!

And Aron started preschool! He is so big. He is really enjoying himself, too.

Upcoming topics will include my training for a 5K next spring (I figure if I tell everyone I am going to do it, that makes it real and so I’ll have to stick with it). Also, I will discuss how much I love “Inhale,” the yoga show on the Oxygen network.

Saturday, August 27, 2005

Our "Vacation"



I think if they could both sleep comfortably in this crib, they would.

One of the nightly news programs stated the other day that Americans are taking fewer and fewer vacations. Any one of us could guess why that is: high gas prices, inflation, fear that taking an vacation will be perceived as slacking at work, etc.

Kurt has been with the same company for more than 10 years now. It seems he has so much vacation time he could take the rest of the year off. Time ain't the problem; like most families, we're just short on scratch. And using a credit card to take a real vacation (read: any place that's nowhere near Ohio) would be so decadent and fiscally irresponsible that the anxiety and teeth grinding would keep me from enjoying myself.

So, we decided to take a "vacation," just the four of us. Our destination: "The Wilds," [www.thewilds.org]. We pack the Civic to the gills with gear and kiddies and head toward scenic Cambridge, Ohio, a town famous for its breathtaking views of the intersection of I-70 and I-77.

Our journey takes us through scenic Newark and Granville, Ohio. I'm not being facetious, those are pretty nice towns. Kurt had planned the trip meticulously, paying heed to my request that we find interesting places to stop often, since Nater Tot refuses to sleep in the car, preferring, instead, to scream in the 90 decibel range for up to 35 minutes straight.

Our first stop is to be at some place called G Scale Junction, a shop for garden-scale model railroad enthusiasts. Once entered into the GPS (Kurt is Inspector Gadget in a parallel universe), Kurt informed me that this place appeared "a little out there." But, he assured me, "it looked OK on the Internet." [http://www.gscalejunction.com/Show_Room/show_room.html] Tooling along the back roads and enduring the scents of the country, our journey brings us to a gravel road. I swear I can hear dueling banjos, ala "Deliverance." In the words of the immortal Whitney Houston, I proclaim, "Hell to the No!" Kurt slams on the brakes. "What?" he says to me, incredulously.

"No," I state conclusively, summoning my ivory pants-wearing, inner Barbra Streisand. "We are not going down a dirt road in the middle of nowhere with our children in the back seat. We didn't even tell anyone that we were making this stop!" Kurt, murmuring under his breath, cuts a U-Turn and hits the paved road. Next time you see Kurt, please pat him on the back. He puts up with a lot.



World's Largest Longaberger Basket in Dreseden, Ohio. Whoopee.

Between here and thar is the little town of Dresden, Ohio, a paradise for people who are insane for Longaberger Baskets. Since Longaberger has laid off more than half of its employees in the last five years (something like 3,000 people, down from a high of 8,000), it’s safe to say this collectible is on a downswing in popularity. Dresden is almost entirely dedicated to lovers of Longaberger baskets – we take in a few stores and stave off the desire to buy $50 “collectible” baskets that aren’t big enough to hold pencil erasers. The storeowners are positively hungry for business; it’s a ghost town.



Not a lot of thinking going on in Zanesville, Ohio.

We stop at the mall in Zanesville to buy bathing suits. I'm still too baby fat to fit into my old one (curse you McDonald's!!) and Kurt forgot his. We play indoor putt-putt at the mall under black lights in what was apparently once a Waldenbooks store. The walls are decorated with lame psychedelic art, mushrooms, alien heads and beaded curtains. Apparently it's lost on the locals to be offended that a putt-putt establishment where children play has drug-inspired stoner art at every hole. Go figure, since the literate members of the community apparently were not significant enough in number to keep the Waldenbooks in business.

After a delectable meal at Cracker Barrel, (collard greens, yum!) we check into our room at the Amerihost. Ah, the Amerihost. Boy, does that take me back to the time in college when my friend's mom was staying at the Amerihost in Athens, Ohio, and I stupidly (yet stone-cold soberly) dived off the side of the pool and broke my freaking nose on the bottom of the pool in three feet of water. Can't make this up; it's too dumb and embarrassing not to be true. Ask one of my best friends from college, Niki. During our four years together she and my other best friend Anita came to master the art of simultaneously crying with me and laughing at me. They can attest to what many of you already know: I am a high-functioning airhead.

So the lot of us deck ourselves out in our new swimwear and converge on the pool. I am such a mom now, because I don't see a pool when we walk into the pool area. I see a bunch of kids frolicking in a gigantic, chlorine-scented toilet. Germaphobe that I am, I try to play it cool and bite my tongue. No need to pass my phobias onto my children; they're bound to pick up a few of my other numerous bad habits (self-doubt, bad language and obsessive flossing) and their father's love of preserved German pork products in link form. Aron jumps in gamely and I get in with Nate, knowing that I am now allowing my children to bathe in the urine of all those who have swam before us. It's OK, I reassure myself logically. There are enough chemicals in this pool to declare this place a Superfund Site.

The next morning we eat the continental breakfast, which, as with most continental breakfasts, offers less selection that what you would find in the typical bachelor's refrigerator. Aron discovers the powdered donuts. Nate won't eat the baby food I offer him because he's too distracted by his brother whining for another donut.

We check out and head to The Wilds. A former strip mine, it was donated to help harbor and rejuvenate endangered species. Man, is it out in the middle of nowhere. Yet they still manage to bilk us for parking! There is nothing but farmland as far as the eye can see and these people hit us up for $2 to park. The penny-pincher in me is deeply offended; lie to me, ya know? Just bury the parking fee in the ticket price and let me think I’m parking for free. Kurt, ever the Eagle Scout, says something about this being for a good cause. The road to debtor’s prison is lined with good causes, isn’t it?

It’s so hot I instantly regret this entire trip, but finding no one but myself to blame, I decide not to complain. We eat some very expensive hot dogs for lunch (again, for a good cause) and head out on our air-conditioned safari truck to see some endangered species. The 45-minute tour was valued at $37 for our family, but we got in for $18 since we are Columbus Zoo members.



Butter Bean gives us the Mutual of Omaha tour of The Wilds.

I think I would love to come out here again when the kids are older and it’s not so hot. I really don’t get a chance to look around much. The babies are melting in the heat, and as a result of not eating well at breakfast or lunch, Nate wants to nurse several times on the safari. Some newly pubescent teenage boy also on the tour finds this enthralling. I have a blanket over my shoulder so the kid can't get a look at the hydraulics, but he knows what’s going on under there, and is apparently so overwhelmed by the idea of a bare breast on the bus that he forgets about the animals. Every time he turns surreptitiously to check out the procedure, I look him squarely in the face and arch a knowing brow. Apparently he isn’t too stimulated to be shamed. That reminds me; I still have time to get Nate a shirt that says, “Breast-fed baby. Stick around for the show.”



Nate gets his money's worth on the tour.

After the tour, we pile back in our car only to discover that the fuel gauge is acting up and we have no idea how much gas we actually have, and no idea where the nearest gas station is. Super. All I can think is that the GPS and the cell phones aren’t going to save us when some Amish cult finds us broken down on the side of the road, abducts us and assimilates us into the fold. Oh well, I muse, no one will be able to see how huge my butt has become in one of those black canvas dresses. And aren’t vaccinations overrated anyway? Thankfully, we don’t run out of gas; we make it to Zanesville for a refill then head on home. Until next time, buggy people.



In general the animals were not as impressed with us as we were with them.

I highly recommend The Wilds. Last week I was talking to some zookeepers at the Columbus Zoo (you know me, I’ll talk up any stranger that’ll listen) and they said the Sunset Safari was awesome. It’s best, I think, to go in the Spring or Fall because the heat really did stifle our enjoyment. The safari tour guide recommended going on rainy days because the animals are very active.

We have another mini-vacation planned in the next several weeks. We’ll be sure to report on those escapades soon.

Sunday, August 21, 2005

Welcome to Our Blog


Hello family, pals and other interested parties. Now that school is finally over for me, I have time to contemplate an excuse for why I haven't started a blog yet.

I used to journal all the time back in the day. I even found a few of my journals from high school in the basement the other day. While reading, all I could think was, man, I wish I could go back in time and slap some sense into that girl.

Fast forward a decade or so, and now I am posting from here in stay-at-home-mommy land, where it feels a bit like the newest final frontier in my life. I love the boys, to be sure. The adult one and the two little ones. It can't be understated. It's the drooling, spitting, pooping, cleaning, feeding, arguing and time-outing that's gettin' on my nerves. Kurt should really be past all that by now.

I am not the scrapbook type. I have made several good faith efforts, but I'm just not. So as a result, while the years pass quickly, I'm not amassing any fossil records of my or my family's time here on Earth with cropped photos and cheeky captions affixed with ridiculously expensive stickers. And I'm just not writing as much as a writer should be. Despite all that law school business, you should know, I will always be a writer in my heart.

Hopefully this little project will always be stored somewhere, digitally, for future races to study and dissect. "Why was she so concerned about making a blog?" they will inquire. The answer is simple. To share her children's photos and family goings on with others. And because she's too dern lazy to scrapbook. Bad mommy! And because heaven knows the girl has too much to say -- occasionally relevant, often pithy, always sincere.

I'll let everyone know that the blog is here, but hereafter, if you care to read the posts, you'll just have to mosey on by on your own. I won't notify you everytime I post. And I can't promise it will be with any great regularity. At least not until Aron and Nate graduate college.

Hmm. Think I've covered everything. Oh, except perhaps you're wondering about the title. It's because we really like Chinese Food, and just about any other ethnic food. And yes, we really are a Happy Family.