Like many couples who end up exchanging vows to part only upon death, my husband and I are a study in contrasts. He is loud. When I attempt to project the Voice of Authority, I end up sounding like the Incredible Shrinking Woman, holding forth from a raft of dish detergent bubbles swirling down the drain. He is gregarious and content to be the center of attention. I am happy not to encounter a member of the human race for an extended length of time (my family excepted). I could not go without music for more than a few days. My husband is a shameless admirer of the Bay City Rollers. (You may argue, but the latter example is a stark contrast). Continue reading
I make the forty-minute commute to and from work five days a week. Sometimes I feel guilty for not making productive use of my time. Productive in the sense of getting things done. Crossing things off my to do list. Making myself a better person, also known as listening to an audiobook or Rosetta Stone.
With smartphones, this multitasking should be a no brainer. I can push the microphone button and create a to do list with my voice while driving. Instead, I fiddle with the radio stations. Some mornings, I’m in need of soothing piano music and I tune in to the classical music station. Other days, I need to hear some cheesy 80s pop – its rah rah rah chorus cheering me on for the hours ahead.
Many mornings, I engage in what I fondly refer to as Truly Stupid Daydreams. I put on Crosby Stills & Nash and imagine my little boy trio playing the instruments and harmonizing – an adorable little boy band, but cool instead of cringeworthy.
In the years since I delivered my twin boys and then their little brother, I’ve come across a few articles on the internet profiling women – American women – who really really really want to have a girl. Women who go into states of depression when the ultrasound reveals a budding penis. Women who have many boys . . . because they keep trying to have a girl. And women who are willing to spend a lot of money on unproven “medical” techniques that hold the promise of two x chromosomes. I just don’t get it. Boys are awesome! Continue reading
Oysh! It’s been a long time since I posted. I have been bogged down with the normal stuff but also with a big project my husband is working on that is taking over our lives. I will (maybe) post more about that later. I have also been feeling a little uninspired. I never sit down at the keyboard without a fully developed idea of what I want to write. I get inspired and then the words just tumble out and it’s very easy. But I haven’t felt that way lately. Continue reading
I’ve never been skydiving. Or bungee jumping. While researching family vacations, I’ve noticed that some resorts offer trapeze lessons. I have no desire to try these things. This should come as no surprise to people who know me and know that I have a fear of heights and get queasy whenever my children ask if they can go on the Hulk the next time we go to Universal. I will not be riding the Hulk. And I will puke if I have to watch my children riding the Hulk. I don’t understand thrill seekers and adrenaline junkies. Isn’t life scary enough?
One recent Saturday afternoon, I went to our local grocery store to pick up dinner ingredients. Two of the kinder opted to stay home with the hubs and play Xbox, but my oldest was game for grocery shopping.
“Can I get a cookie?” he asked.
“Of course you can!” Er, you’re the only offspring willing and happy to shop with mommy? You can have as many cookies as your little heart desires – duh!
I know it’s a stereotype, but my first born (by eight minutes) is the more responsible, diligent, and accommodating child. When I come home from the grocery store, he is the one who rushes to empty the trunk of grocery bags. When I gift him and his brother with a Lego set, he is the one who puts ninety percent of it together and then beams when his brother chirps, “Come see what we put together mommy!” When we are not fifteen minutes early in drop off line in the morning, he is the one who frets, “What if we’re tardy?” (You’ll think I’m crazy, but I can tell him apart from his twin in some of their baby and toddler photos based on his wrinkled brow. Seriously, my first born was born worried.) So no big surprise that he is the one who volunteers to do the menschy thing and tear himself away from Minecraft to accompany his mother on an errand.
Maybe it’s only because I’m a fan of the blogosphere, Pinterest and Instagram, places where photos of food are de rigueur, that I’ve noticed a shift in the American attitude toward food. It doesn’t seem to be about diets so much anymore, although there is the Paleo craze. Overall, the emphasis on losing weight seems to have been replaced by a trend toward a true lifestyle change.
A handful of well-known websites/blogs are leading the charge in espousing a soup to nuts approach. This isn’t about dieting ’til you reach your target weight. This is a forever proposition. I’ve been exploring these websites, and some of them had me freaking out. It seems like everything in my pantry has at least one ingredient that is linked to Something Really Bad. Maybe not nuclear apocalypse, but Something Really Bad, nonetheless.
I’m not clueless. It makes sense that if a packaged food has a sell by date that coincides with your tween getting his driver’s permit, it probably contains something that’s not good for you. Even so, I have been willfully blind about this, happily filling my grocery cart with these convenience products so that I don’t have to spend my life in the kitchen.