#5 Always Check Your Fly Before A Big Meeting

Today I have finals so I don't have much time to write.  Hence a bit of advice that is self-explanatory BUT crucial!.

#4 Always have some plants in your house

They clean the air and are pretty to boot.


TOP 10 plants most effective in removing Formaldehyde, Benzene, and Carbon Monoxide from the air

• Bamboo Palm – Chamaedorea Seifritzii
• Chinese Evergreen - Aglaonema Modestum
• English Ivy Hedera Helix
• Gerbera Daisy Gerbera Jamesonii
• Janet Craig - Dracaena “Janet Craig”
• Marginata - Dracaena Marginata
• Mass cane/Corn Plant - Dracaena Massangeana
• Mother-in-Law’s Tongue Sansevieria Laurentii
• Pot Mum – Chrysantheium morifolium
• Peace Lily - Spathiphyllum

http://www.zone10.com/nasa-study-house-plants-clean-air.html

{Sorry, folks, I am in the middle of finals so today is a quickie}

#3 Use Your Passport

A well-worn passport is a sign of a well-lived life.  (I pinched that from the University of Denver's website.  I figure for the $85k I am giving them for my IMBA, they can lend me a phrase).

Bebe boy, you had a passport before you turned one.  You and I went to Europe to celebrate your first birthday.  Your daddy and I value travel more than most people.  I promise you, you will never regret the money you spend on travel, especially international travel.

Travel opens your eyes in ways that nothing else can.  See the world.  Don't be afraid of people.  Don't panic about food and constantly ask "what is in that?"  This does not pertain, however, to local water depending upon where you go.  Opt for Cokes or beer.  Trust me on this one.

Go on safari.  Say a prayer at Notre Dame.  Ogle the tulips at Keukenhof.  Trek for the gorillas in Rwanda.  Understand at the Cannes Peace Memorial.  Shed a tear at Patton's gravesite in Luxembourg.  Dance a tango in South America.  Eat street food in Singapore.  The world is a huge, delicious place full of amazing and interesting people -- go out and see it.

#2 Buy Whatever It Is That Little People Are Selling

(or at least give them a donation)

One of Mommy's Laws of the Universe is that if a Scout, entrepreneur, Brownie, ballerina, band member, hockey player, debater, whatever asks you to buy cookies, popcorn, lemonade, wrapping paper, chocolate bars, magazines... do it.  If you genuinely do not like the product, only buy one thing.  If the product looks dodgy (what, exactly, is that in the lemonade?), give a donation.  And listen to their spiel; it is good for their self-confidence.

This does not pertain to the creepy adults who sell magazines door-to-door claiming that they are straightening their life out after getting shot in some gang related incident.  Feel free to ignore those people.  And lock the door after they leave.

Funny bonus tidbit:  I was a Girl Scout (I actually wore Mushroom shoes and stockings with my uniform... yeah, I am cool) for two years in elementary school.  The first year of the cookie sale, I was shocked to learn that there were prizes for selling the most.  One of the girls in my troop won a book bag with a mouse eating a Samoa/Caramel Delight cookie.  I wanted that bag!

The following year (I only stayed in GS a second year so that I could sell cookies again and WIN THE MOUSE BAG.  Sadly, even then I had an obsession with bags), I pledged to myself that I was going to sell 250 boxes of cookies so that I would get the "free" mouse bag.

My parents had a strict "no selling" policy.  No asking anyone at work, no harassing the neighbors, no standing in front of the grocery store hawking my wares.  My mother actually said "If someone calls and asks you if they can buy some, you may tell them the choices."  Like random wrong number calls ask for cookies?  Even at the age of seven, I knew this was not going to happen.

But that was not going to keep me from my mouse bag.  No sirree bob.  Like any good Southern girl knows, the shortest route from A to B is through Daddy.  Yes, it is manipulative but it is also efficient.  And I still contend he knew he was being played but happily went along with it because, well, I was his little girl and that is what we do.  As long as everyone knows their role and stays in character, no one gets hurt.

I explained my desperate need for the mouse bag to my dad and the fact that the guy who called about the meter readings did not happen to ask if I had any Tagalongs for sale.  Sweet Daddy agreed to buy whatever I needed to get the bag.  BoNANza!

What my dad did not grasp (nor did I proffer these details) was that I had to sell 250 boxes of cookies to get the bag.  The day of delivery, imagine his shock as the Cookie Mom loads 250 boxes of goodies into the station wagon.  Imagine his further shock when I needed a check for all of the aforementioned goodies.

Dad and I head straight from cookie pick-up to Sears to buy a freezer to hold the loot.  This book bag is now costing over $1000 as well as the wrath of my mother who was not privy to my scheme.

Imagine my shock when we get the prizes.  Instead of my "very cute mouse eating a cookie" bag, it is a bag with a girl riding a bicycle which has tires made of Thin Mints!  This is not cute!  There is no mouse!

I go home in tears with my crappy-ass book bag dragging the ground.  Upon seeing me, my Dad says "You mean to tell me that I spent over a thousand dollars on tens of thousands of cookies and a freezer to hold all of them... am still listening to your mother harp about this.... and you don't even like the bag?"

Between tears, I hold up the bag and show him the ugliness of it.  Sweet Daddy says "Of course you don't like it, we are not a Thin Mint family."

God bless my sweet Dad who understood Rule #1.

#1 Have Fun Whenever Possible

So now that I have come up with the new and improved blog theme, I feel an immense amount of pressure to decide on my first bit of advice for bebe boy.  I have lots of tidbits that I can think of but the first one... wow, shouldn't it be significant?  Profound?  Witty?  Ironic?  Life changing?

Do I have any advice that is any of those things much less all of those things?

Oh dear.  What have I gotten myself into?  Shouldn't this be fun and light-hearted?  It is not like I am blogging about Sudan...

Ah ha!  Fun!  That will be my first shared tidbit.

Whenever possible, have a great time at whatever you are doing.  There are no bonus points for acting stressed-out and busy.  If you are going to laugh about it later, go ahead and laugh about it now.  Choose your friends and spouse wisely.  If they are not fun, you are doomed to a life of gray skies.  Negative Noras will say "life is not meant to be fun all the time."  Run from these types... if life were not meant to be fun, the Universe would not have created puppies, ice cream cones, babies, pinwheels or tulips.

The New and Improved Blog

I know it has been a while since I have blogged.  There are some reasons, the first of them being, I have been busy, uninspired and, well, lazy.  This takes a lot more effort than it seems like it should.  I mean, really, how much time can it possibly take to write several paragraphs?  And sometimes it seems like no one is reading this anyway so what is the point?

I am, clearly, not a fan of the winter months.  I simply need sun and warmth to make me believe that life will go on.  Pathetic, yes, but at least I own it.

A couple of nights ago, Hubby and I watched Julie and Julia.  I totally "got" that movie for several reasons including:  1) I am madly in love with Julia Child 2) I am a blogger and 3) I love to cook (and am into the whole local and organic food movement).  I actually cried a bit when Julia Child died and, oddly enough, I was in Paris when it happened.

This tearful episode is remarkable for the reason that I am not a cryer.  Never have been -- probably never will be.   I can tear up when I hear fantastic news or feel a major sense of relief.  I have been known to tear up when watching Hubby and bebe sleep while holding hands.  But full-fledged waterworks running down my face?  Hummm, perhaps every other year.  Maybe every third year.  I just don't do it.

Hubby finds this to be one of my endearing traits -- don't all men hate the random TearFest?  However, when I do sob, it absolutely gets his attention and he knows that I mean business.

But back to the point, the movie made me wonder if I should not have more of a focus to my blog.  Right now it is funny stories, some recipes, random baby stuff...  But I don't have a hilarious pass-along every single day.  Yes, I am witty but, seriously, people I am not a walking calamity.

Plus, a lot of what I put in here is stuff I want to remember about bebe.  Everyone tells me that "you swear you won't forget things and you absolutely do."  Given the fact that I believe these folks (I was never the girl who had to learn by my own mistakes, I could totally look at someone else's cock-up and decide not to jump off the proverbial bridge myself), I have opted to write the incidents down.  I figure when I go to the old lady home, someone can read my stories to me and amuse me while I eat pudding.

So, I have kind of decided to make the new and improved blog have a piece of advice everyday for sweet bebe.  Of course, I will still have random snippets, recipes and stories.  But at least the advice part I can come up with every single day rather than whenever I have a specific story to tell.

Crunchy!

I am in class -- MY SUSTAINABILITY CLASS, MIND YOU -- eating my sandwich, minding my own beeswax.  I am singled out in class and called "Crunchy."  By.  The.  Professor.

For the record, I am singled out for eating an almond butter and lavender honey (unfiltered, of course) sandwich on Whole Foods Seeduction bread.  But the kicker was the fact that it was wrapped in a reusable sandwich wrap as opposed to using plastic baggies.  The company that I got them from has as a tagline "Plastic bags blow."  LOVE that!  They estimate that I will save 1000s of baggies from landfills over the lifetime of this wrap.  How cool is that?

http://www.reusablebags.com/store/wrapnmat®-large-made-p-2014.html

As you might have sorted out by now, I have no qualms about being the center of attention.  Seriously, I write a blog about my daily putterings so I accept the fact that I am an extrovert.  But I hate being the center of attention for "mandatory reasons."  Being singled out in class is a prime example of that.  This is the reason why we had three people at our wedding (and one of them was not invited).  The idea of zooming down an aisle and having three hundred people staring at me was revolting.  Just not a "ta da" kind of girl, I guess.

Yesterday's post that included a reference to Sesame Street made me think of this:

Was anyone else traumatized by poor Snuffleupagus's existence?  I remember being distraught by no one believing Big Bird about his buddy.  And, no, I am not claiming that this did psychological damage to me I just recall being very sad.  I also recall being sad when Buggs Bunny destroyed an entire tree to make a toothpick...  perhaps, I was an eco-friendly fighter-for-the-underdog even then?

Television Is Your Full-Time Job?

So what are your favorite websites?  I often feel like I am not getting "enough" from the web (or, as my mom calls it "the www").  Now don't get me wrong, I can waste countless hours on Facebook, I obsessively check my email and I get my news on-line (and from The Economist) but I simply don't have a litany of sites and blogs that I feel compelled to check daily.  A little NPR.org, a little Amazon and I am done.  Off to the bathtub with a copy of Vanity Fair or Bon Appetit (is anyone else still mourning the loss of Gourmet magazine?  The sadness).

Not that you should not constantly check back here to see what brilliance is popping up on ole Scotch and Cupcakes but still... to me it is like television, I end up constantly wondering "How the hell do people watch tv 151 hours a month?"  Yes, that is what the average American adult watches in a month.  Seriously.  If only I were making this up.  That is 35 hours a week - practically a full-time job. Truthfully, I do watch some tv.  I am not a total hermit/social outcast.  I enjoy The Big Bang Theory and am loathe to miss a Cowboys football game. But 151 hours a month?  I don't see that much television in a year.

This makes me wonder:
1) who has an extra five hours A DAY?
2) do these folks not read?
3) did they not have a mother with a strict "no television in the morning" policy.  {I swear to this day if someone turns on the tv in the morning, I am CONVINCED that someone in the house is about to get grounded.  Yes, I know they are adults but it seems so naughty to me}.

I think what makes me most nervous about it is spending so much time being passive and being fed information, images, advertisements and the like.  Even as a kiddo, I was not into television.  I would watch a half hour of Sesame Street and turn it off.  Perhaps I have simply always been a weirdo...

And I know this is totally stream of consciousness but has anyone else heard that Sesame Street is ditching Cookie Monster for Veggie Monster?  If so, c'est tragique!  Yes, edamame is better for you than cookies but, really, CM also ate Volkswagons and very few kids tried that digestive whammy.  We still don't have bebe boy watching television (other than Cowboys games) so I can't confirm or deny this rumor.

And please don't email me screaming about educational television shows that I am depriving my poor child of.  He is fine.  Brilliant even (my pediatrician's words, not mine) and I want to avoid the boob tube for as long as possible.  Please don't get me started on children watching 4 hours of television a day.  Humm, Johnny is obese and illiterate because...

So, that being said, though I normally mock her...  Huge shout out to my mom for raising me to read over watch and for making us "go play outside so the stink could blow off" of us.

Here He Comes to Save the Day!

So today bebe and I head to Kindermusik which gets all these rave reviews from parents.  I don't get it, it seems crazy-lame to me.  I am dancing in a circle with maniacal mommies singing and mooing around me while bebe stares at all of us like the men with the big nets are about to show up and take us all away for a "rest."

Should it not improve, we will be asking for a refund and directions to the nearest swing set.

But, of course, me being me.  There had to be an incident.  Before the class even started.  Bebe and I are sitting on the floor with a couple of other babies and their moms.  Every baby grabs some shaker/noisemaker thing and is rattling it.  Sweet bebe brings one over to the youngest person in the class, a six month old girl named Katie.  Katie coos.  All is well.

Bully kid (one in every group), Jerry, saunters over and grabs the shaker from Katie.  Bebe will have none of that; he crawls over, grabs it back, shakes his finger at the bully and delivers the toy back to Katie.  Katie is such a girl -- she coos her appreciation.

Bully Jerry grabs it back and runs across the room with his plunder.  Bebe boy, once again, goes over grabs it, shakes his finger at him and this time gives him a little baby lecture along with the pointing.  Bebe delivers it back to Katie who coos and bats her eyes.

Undeterred, Jerry (who I swear will one day end up running the country of Iran or, possibly, Venezuela), grabs it back from the unsuspecting Katie (sweetie, did you not see this was a-coming?  Get a clue, cutie).  My sweet child has had it with the bully stealing from someone smaller and weaker.  Clearly, he has a Robin Hood gene in him somewhere.  He goes over, grabs the toy back and CLOBBERS Jerry with it.  I mean knocks the stuffing right out of him.  While Jerry holds his head, bebe boy proceeds to give him the lecture again.

While crawling back to deliver the toy to Katie, bebe boy looked over his shoulder several times to give Jerry the stink eye.

I always swear that my husband is Captain America, always fighting for the little guy.  Clearly, that gene has been passed on to our son.

Who Knew My Baby Was Elvis Reincarnated?

Are you ever weirded out by having someone talk about you or someone close to you, knowing that they have no idea who you are?  This happens to me a lot.  For example, I was at the NEX in Italy and chatting with the lady behind me who was talking about her son's professor (and how much he hated her.  Alas).  She went on and on not realizing that it was me.  Yes, I knew it was me because I was the only female math prof teaching at that time.  Plus, "Texan," "thinks she is funny" and "talks non-stop" further pointed in my direction.

So it happened again on Friday.  I am chatting with this woman who, as it turns out, is describing my sweet bebe's behavior during MOPS.  He might look like I washed his daddy in hot water and shrunk him but parts of his personality are all me.  Alarmingly me.

At MOPS:  He insists on meeting and greeting everyone in the room.  When someone else starts crying, he goes over to the crier, pats them and motions for someone to do something.  If no one moves fast enough he does his car alarm sound to hustle them along (yes, I have been known to do the same thing.  So embarrassing when I am called on it publicly though).  Then, the piece de resistance, while everyone else is slowly gnawing on their snack (bebe wolfs his down.  Why risk that it might get dropped?  Plus, there is always the chance that someone might think they overlooked him and he will get a second round.  BoNANza), he crawls on stage.  For his performance.  Seriously.

Yes, my sweet child crawls on the stage (weekly) to do a floor show while everyone else is eating.  He starts his dance without music.  Eventually, someone will turn on some tunes and they get the head bob and a finger pointed at them in recognition and gratitude.  He then continues his dance which involves lifting his legs up and down in some kind of hoe-down move, the John Travolta "Staying Alive" stance and, my personal favorite, the 360 degrees of booty-shaking.   He can also "raise the roof" if the climate is right.

The lady is going on and on about how hilarious "her favorite baby ever is" (and she has been doing this for, egads, 25 years).  Finally, she asks "Are you okay?"  I responded that I was pretty sure that she was talking about my son.  Once confirmed, she gushed "Oh God!  Do you ever have a bad day?  How would it be possible to not be over the moon happy every day with him.  He is such a hoot.  Seriously, I will take him home with me any time you want."  etc etc

Of course she can coo and gush, she is not the one who gave birth to Tom Jones!  Hubby and I have decided that for Halloween next year, bebe boy should be a lounge lizard.  Complete with diamante outfit, fringe, fake chest hair and gold medallions.  Stay tuned for photos.

He MUST Have Mercury Poisoning...

which would explain why he is like the Mad Hatter from Alice in Wonderland (albeit without the charm).  

Pat Robertson (hereafter referred to as Idiot Boy) has decided that Haiti's earthquake happened because the Haitians made a deal with the devil.  Swear to God, I am NOT making this up.  

http://www.cnn.com/2010/US/01/13/haiti.pat.robertson/index.html?iref=allsearch

Several years ago, we had one of hubby's colleagues and his wife over for dinner.  Having never met them, I assumed (WRONGLY) that they would be normal.  

She introduces herself and then says "Katrina happened because New Orleans is full of sinners."

Yes, literally,  her opening statement to me was "Hi, I am Nut Job.  Did you know that Katrina happened because of sinning?"

No doubt, she did NOT go to charm school.  What kind of an intro is that?  Nothing about "Something sure smells yummy" or "You have a lovely home."  Nope, let's lead in with crazy-ass religious views.

Since this was Ken's boss I decided to try and be diplomatic instead of ripping into her like I normally do.  "Umm, aren't we all sinners?"

"Well, yes, but my pastor says that New Orleans has more sinners than other places."

"Not to be a math and logic geek.  But... if we are all sinners, then all locales are at 100% sinning population.  Hence, we are all at risk for an ass-whopping from God."

"Oh, well, maybe they have bigger sins there."  

"Detroit has a higher murder rate and, hence, more murderers.  How come no hurricane there?  Well, other than the little detail about no coast line."   {And for the record she did not credit the hurricane AT ALL to well, proximity to water.  Just sinners.}

"Well, they have Mardi Gras too."

"As does every po-dunk town in the Western world.  And bigger celebrations in Venice and Brazil.  Yet, no Katrina."

"I don't know.   You should talk to my pastor.  I just listen to what he says."

"Have some Kool-Aid."  {She did not get my reference.  Shocking, I know, given her worldliness and sophistication}

But still she won't let it end.  Honestly, for a lemming who blindly follows a pseudo-pastor with no official doctrine, theological education or history (they meet in his basement) she was persistent. 

After an entire bottle of champagne (she is not allowed to drink), I lost it.  My diatribe ended with "And, I hate to be logical in addition to free-thinking but ponder this.  If God is smiting down sinners and their cities how PRECISELY did World War II Germany survive without a tsunami, hurricane, earthquake or locusts?"

Surprisingly, we never dined together again.  

The Great Zerbert Incident

Babies have no fear, no sense of propriety and, certainly, no sense of decorum.  Thankfully, they are also not racist, judgmental or homophobic.  Normally, I am thrilled that sweet bebe boy is an extravert.  Those shy kids who wrap themselves around their parents' legs drive me nuts.  If I had one, I am certain that I would find it endearing but since I don't I find it annoying.  Judge me if you will.

However, there are times when I wish that my sweet boy were not quite so enthralled with every single person he meets.  Case in point...

We are flying from Chicago to DFW.  It is 11pm and we have been flying for far too long (from England to the US), dealt with customs, hauled bags all over the place, etc. etc.

I just want to get us both on the plane and for both of us to pass out.  Bebe has other ideas.  He can't calm down when there are new people around.  I swear, he is going to be a politician.

I am chatting away with the guy next to me (can't imagine where bebe gets his extraversion, hummm) and I see this giant boarding the plane.  Seriously, the guy has got to be over 7 and a half feet tall.  He can't stand up straight in the plane (he later told me he was a retired Harlem Globetrotter).  He plunks down in the seat in front of us and I go back to chatting.

Apparently, his shiny bald head proves too irresistible for the baby who promptly zerberts his head and then falls down on my lap laughing.  Now, as his mom, I am amused by being awoken every morning with a zerbert on my belly and the ensuing laughter but the kid and I have a bit of history.  I am not certain that a total stranger wants to have my baby blow spit on his head over the holidays.  Nothing quite says "Fa la la la la" like spit!

When he turns around to see who zerberted his head, I say "You know Hallmark simply does not have a card that says 'Sorry my baby finds your head immensely attractive and is compelled to blow spit bubbles on it.' "  I am calling in favors with God, "Please, please, please don't let this guy be an asshole about it.  That is all we need is an irate giant having a fit.  And you know I will have to do some kind of paperwork to explain to the air marshalls our side of it.  Please, please, please."

The guy could not have been more gracious (thankfully, he assumed it was the baby not me).  He turns around and booms "Did you just make my head fart?" in this fabulous Caribbean accent.

Bebe about wets himself laughing at the giant's antics.  As soon as he turns his head, bebe does it again.

This goes on several times before Giant Guy lifts the baby up and starts zooming him around the plane over the heads of the other passengers.  This is beyond fun for the baby since 1) he has never been that high (Daddy is only 6')   2) he is getting to fly over people's heads (Mommy lacks the strength and wing span for that kind of antic) and 3) everyone is tickling his belly while he zooms overhead.

So, in case any of you from UA flight 481 are reading this, thanks for being so gracious and fun.  And, Giant Guy, sorry my baby made your head toot.

Things You Learn When Traveling Internationally With a Baby

1) There is no such thing as traveling light with a baby.  I am a world class packer (5 years of being a consultant would do that) and went to Africa for three weeks with only one bag.  And, yet, for three weeks with baby (granted, in two totally different climates), I required two suitcases, a carry-on, a purse and a stroller.  Yes, I know they have diapers in England...

2) Everyone is an expert on all things related to your child, though they don't know his name.  "That baby should be wearing socks."  "Babies should not eat that."  "Why is he so happy?"  "You should give him Benadryl."

For the record, bebe uttered not a peep during any of the flights but upon seeing us board the plane, total strangers were tossing Benadryl at us.  Furthermore, I practically begged my pediatrician for permission to drug sweet bebe (yes, I know Mom-of-the-Year Award is mine, mine, mine!) but the phrase "respiratory failure" changed my mind.  Immediately.

3) Most flight attendants are amazing and crazy-kind (they brought us, well they brought bebe, homemade snickerdoodles and zoomed him around the plane) but there are some who are past cranky.  Like the moron who did not think I should be allowed to board early because "why do you possibly need extra time?"  I have NO ISSUES with homosexuals but, please, please don't cop an attitude with me about needing a little extra time when I have to hoof down the jetway with bebe and two bags all while dismantling a stroller while you tap your polished shoes at me declaring "TSA says I can't hold the baby for you."  Seriously, dude, what is your alternative?

4) Babies are the best ice-breakers around.  No one is a stranger when they want to pet your kid.

5)  If you have a baby, you don't have to stand in line at The Louvre.  Suh-weet!  {Yes, I realize that it is probably not a great trade-off: the hour in line in exchange for the millions of dollars you spend on them but, if you have already made the commitment...).

6) Now I know why people hire (and fire) Brazilian nannies.  I sat next to a gorgeous Brazilian woman from Heathrow to Chicago who was madly in love with bebe.  And he with her.  I was more than happy to have her play with him and entertain him but NO FLIPPIN' WAY could she move in with us.  Yes, you may love my child but the last thing in the world I want is some hot Brazilian in my house when I have dirty hair and have not had time to shave in a week.  Sorry, sweetie, sucks to be you.

British Customs

Most of you know that I decided at the last minute to fly to Europe with the baby.  Big news, even an infant needs a passport now.  Expediting a passport is a hassle and ridiculously expensive.  Trust me on this one:  if you are pondering fleeing the country any time soon, get bebe's passport now.  Also plan on it taking over an hour just to get the photos taken.  Really?  Exactly four inches of shoulder must show?  Both ears?  And I can't even have a thumb in the photo?  Baby also can't have his eyes even partially closed nor can he be smiling or laughing.  Seriously.  And, furthermore, they do this on a glaring white background which is a further disaster if your child has white blonde hair and is pale.  My beautiful child looks like an x-ray in his photo.  The tragedy.

So, anyway, back to the point.  Bebe boy and I fly into Heathrow.  He was a ROCK STAR on the plane.  Not a peep, whimper or cry out of him.  Brilliant.  Slept like a champ.  The only sound he made was a case of the giggles somewhere over Iceland.  Yes, he laughs in his sleep -- gets that from me.  What can I say?  We have the gift of joy.  The man behind me on the plane recorded the sound on his phone and is now using that as his ring tone.  My baby's belly laughs are that adorable.  Not to brag...

So Rock Star and I land.  All is well.  We are zipping through Heathrow with the stroller, a carry on and my purse.  I have NEVER carried this much stuff on a flight.  Well, not since 1997 when I became a consultant.  In case you don't know, the word "consultant" means "travels all the time, eats and drinks too much and NEVER carries more than a small suitcase and a laptop case.  Never.  Not even to a wedding.  Their own wedding."  Seriously, I went to Africa for three weeks with one medium sized bag and that included me packing food (just in case).

But now that I am a mom (even a low-maintenance, low-drama mama), I required two suitcases, two carry-ons and a stroller for three weeks in Europe and Texas.  Oh egads.  I am THAT woman now.  Ughhh.

Back to the point, baby is in his stroller, carry on is tucked into the very trendy stroller, I am toting my purse and we are zooming through Heathrow.  Feeling very trendy and continental.  Until we get to British customs.  The bane of my existence.

In case you don't know, I am American.  I have no intention of giving up my citizenship.  I loved living overseas and would like to move back to Europe in the future but I am not immigrating nor am I ever going to qualify for government hand-outs.  Anywhere.  Not even Sweden.

However, the British customs people are somehow convinced that I am running away and planning on mooching off their government.  I swear, "mooch" or "dreg of society" is somewhere on my permanent record in the UK.  It must be, why else would they hate funny, charming me so much?  I spend a lot of money in their country and totally build up the coffers.

The customs line is divided into "UK and EU" people over here and "Filthy Foreigner Who Want Handouts" over there.  Into the FFWWH line I go.  This line is always crazy long and full of people who all seem to cough a lot and wear muted colors.  I swear, it reminds me the "huddled masses" from the 1800s.

Now far be it from me but I always thought of myself as a bright spot in this line.  Friendly.  American.  Wearing pastels. I speak English (not their English but not Russian either).  I know all the answers, have all the papers.  Have return tickets.  I am practically a professional.

I get to the front of the line and angry lady says "Where is his landing card?" pointing towards bebe boy.    "They said that it was one landing card per family so he does not have one."  "HE NEEDS HIS OWN.  Get to the back of the line."  I mean, really, it is 10 quick questions and I can't stay here and fill it out?  Come on now, lady.  I can have it done before you are through scowling at me.

No luck.  Cranky sends me to the back of the line where I go without too much protest for fear of a strip search.

Lucky me, a flight from Russia has just landed.  Dear gawd.  I swear most of them were drunk or refugees.  How did a nice girl like me end up in this line?  Can't I get grandfathered in since I have no intention of declaring asylum or something?  But nooooo.  There I stand in line with bebe.  Even he (at the age of one year and one day) covered his mouth with his coat since the coughers were surrounding us.  I was looking for a shirt that said "Got TB?" on it.

So to the back of the line we go.  I am no longer feeling trendy or continental.  Alas.

Luck of luck, I get the same bitch again.  I hand her both of our landing cards and our passports.  Cranky looks at the baby and declares him pale.  No-flippin-duh, lady.  How many tan platinum blondes do you know?  However, I can't be too sarcastic for fear of getting sent to the sick line with the hacking Russians.  Just what this holiday needs is a session in quarantine.  "Yep, we are a pale family.  But healthy.  Eat lots of spinach and yogurt.  Like Greek Popeyes."  I know I am babbling but I can't stop.  Please, please don't send us to the sickie line.  At this moment I understand why Michael Jackson traveled with a mask on.

She looks our documents over and says, completely straight-faced, "You did not fill out his occupation.  What is his job?"  "Umm, seriously?  He is a baby he does not have a job."  "What does he do?"  {Clearly, the problem must be that I don't understand the words "occupation" or "job."  When in doubt assume illiteracy}  "He does not do anything.  He is a baby.  He eats, poos and plays."  "Har-rumph."

Then she asks me "Did he fill this out himself?"  "Are you joking?  Look at him.  He is one.  He can't write or read yet.  The line was long but not THAT long, lady."  "Har-rumph."

And with that I took my pale, illiterate, unemployed baby to England.

Catching Up

So it has been a while... sorry about that but, well, life got a little out of control for a while there.  I was supposed to go to India.  As in I packed (96 tabs of Immodium, anyone?), made it all the way to the airport, did the teary good-bye to the baby... and found out that I was supposed to have a visa before I left the ground.  Ummm, I can't buy one upon arrival like everywhere else on the planet?  No.

Not to be too American but really shouldn't I be entitled to separate rules?  Visas are simply about income generation (they don't do a background check or anything) and I was more than willing to pay.  Plus, do Americans defect to India?  Honestly?

And, of course, this happens when Hubby cell is dead so I can't call him to come back and get me.  So, I call the Verizon store (where I know he is going to see if his new phone has arrived) and have the following conversation.  Sadly, this really did happen, I am not exaggerating.

me:  This is going to sound odd but have you seen a tall blonde guy in the store recently carrying the most beautiful baby ever?  (Okay, I might have some mommy-goggles going on here but, really, he is a beauty).
unsuspecting phone answerer at store:  What?

me:  I assure you that I am not a stalker but my husband should be in there any minute to pick up his new phone and I am stuck at the airport.
upaas: He is not here now.  Let me see if his phone has arrived and if he has picked it up.
me:  Thanks!

(time passes, time passes)

upaas: His phone is not here and I can't tell if he has already been by.  Sorry.
me:  Can you leave a message in the order system or something?

upaas: Oh wait!  They might be here now.  What is the little guy wearing?
me:  Khaki Janie and Jack pants with teddy bears embroidered on them, a cream colored turtleneck from Baby Gap and a vest with a teddy bear that matches the trousers.  This morning he had on socks but he always takes them off in the car...

upaas: Way too many details and like I need to know the store name.  We are not identifying a crime scene, you know.  You are either his mom or the world's most detail-oriented stalker.
me:  I promise, I am his mom.  Wanna hear about my labor dramas?
upaas:  God no.  But, you are right, he is the cutest little guy I have ever seen.
me:  Told you so!

So, by the time Hubby made it back to Denver to get me, I had made reservations for bebe and I to go to Europe to celebrate his first birthday.  Yes, I know he is only one (of all people on the planet, I know precisely how old he is) but why not have him experience Europe even if he does not remember every detail later?  Besides, we were going to see friends and I KNOW he will remember all the love he was showered with.  Plus, United would not refund my money so I had a voucher... and why not use it?

I have to admit that I was nervous about flying internationally with the kiddo.  He has flown a couple of times from Colorado to Texas but those are short flights.  What if he had a meltdown on the plane and I was THAT MOM on the plane?

Bebe was a ROCK STAR on all the flights.   Seriously, not a peep out of him (other than getting the giggles in his sleep somewhere over Iceland).  Yes, I find it beyond endearing that my sweet baby boy laughs in his sleep.  How great it is that your waking hours are simply too short to fit in all your happiness?

We started off in London visiting his godfathers, Tom and Ody.  They are beyond in love with him which makes my heart melt.  Then we went to Paris to see Antoine and his brood and, well, see Paris.  Sadly, we got caught in the Eurostar meltdown (that will be a totally different blog entry).

From Europe, we went to Texas to meet up with Daddy-O, spend Christmas with the family and see Luc's godmom Aunt Bella and her hubby Nitro (who willingly hummed a lullaby to bebe for half an hour.  I will always have a soft spot in my heart for him due to that alone).  Then back to Colorado.

That is the (ridiculously) long version of why I have not been posting recently.

Beef and Bok Choy Soup with Udon Noodles

We ate an embarrassing amount of this last night.  The bebe (who is not quite one) ate about a cup himself.  It is that good.

2 inches knob of ginger (peeled, sliced thickly and crushed with the edge of a heavy knife)
2 tablespoons oil
1.5 yellow onions (cut in half and then thinly sliced)
2 inches of lemongrass (cut into half inch pieces and crushed)
1 cinnamon stick (if you don't have a stick, don't substitute ground cinnamon, I think that would make it funky tasting)
1 star anise (if you have it, if not no worries.  It is dinner not a criminal trial.  Don't stress.)
7 cloves of garlic, minced
1 tablespoon chili garlic paste
4 cups stock (make your own if possible)
1/2 cup soy sauce
1.5 pounds steak (thinly sliced; it is easier to slice beef if it is partially frozen)
1 large head of bok choy (bottom cut off), chopped into 1 - 2 inch pieces  (or 4 baby bok choy)
1 or 2 packages (depending upon how much you like noodles in your soup) of fresh udon noodles (they are in the refrigerated section at Whole Foods near the hummus.  Not sure if that helps you but I do what I can)

NOTE:  You are going to dig out the ginger, lemongrass, anise and the cinnamon stick before serving.  Hence, why I had you leave it in larger pieces.  I made the mistake of slicing the garlic and cutting the ginger and lemongrass in small pieces last night.  Differentiating between ginger and garlic was not a fun use of my time.  Learn from my mistake.

In a large pot, saute the onion in the oil until softened.  Add in the cinnamon, lemongrass and star anise (stir constantly for 45 seconds until they release their fragrance.  Smells SO YUMMY).  Add in the garlic, ginger and chili paste (stir for another minute or so).  Add stock, 4 cups of water and soy sauce.

Raise the heat and bring to a boil.  Once boiling, drop in the sliced beef and return to a boil.  Reduce the heat, cover the pot and simmer until the beef is tender (this is totally dependent upon what kind of beef you bought.  The tougher the cut, the longer it should cook -- up to an hour and a half).

Meanwhile, have some wine, play with the baby, update your Facebook status, whatever.

Once the meat is tender, dig out the lemongrass, anise, cinnamon and ginger.  Don't burn yourself like I did.

Bring soup back to a boil and toss in the thicker ends of the bok choy.  Let them boil for 2 - 3 minutes and toss in the green tops.  After two minutes, toss in your noodles (mine said to boil for 2 minutes but read your own directions).

We like this so much, it is going in our regular repertoire which is great praise indeed since I am the self-appointed "Soup Queen."

Bebe Food

The most surprising thing about having a baby has been the barrage of people who, clearly, know more about my baby and our lifestyle than I do.  They are also, no doubt, more dedicated to the health and happiness of said child that his parents who are, obviously, morons.

Before I start my rant, let me clarify a couple of things.  My husband and I both have multiple graduate degrees (granted, not in nutrition or child development but we are not categorical morons.  Contrary to what my mother says).  Neither of us have eating disorders.  And my husband is known as Captain Safety.  He always knows the nearest exits, where fire extinguishers are located and sizes up everyone in a room for potential threats.  Twenty plus years in the military will do that to you.  I, on the other hand, rely on good karma.

That being said, the High Anxiety Moms (HAMs) that I blogged about earlier seem to think that I have a death wish for my child.  Apparently, the fact that I don't assume everyone is a child molester or kidnapper makes me a "bad mommy."  I was at a Sri Lankan curry house (The Curry Leaf in Colorado Springs -- yummy!) the other day and the 80 year old cook (I assume) came out to dote on sweet bebe (who was wolfing down curried dahl and green beans like nobody's business.  Even I was a bit embarrassed at the gluttony).  She rubbed his belly, picked him up, swirled him around and kissed him non-stop.  Clearly, it was torturous for my uber-affectionate, belly-laughing bebe.  I thought it was cute and no instinctive (maternal or otherwise) alarms went off.  I took it as an opportunity to feed myself rather than the baby.  This is what I call a bonanza moment.  Curried chicken and potatoes for everyone.

My girlfriend was hysterical on my behalf "What if she tries to kidnap him?  What will you do then?"  I honestly could not answer.  Not because I was speechless (I assure you that has NEVER happened to me.  I heart talking), but because I am supposed to panic about an elderly Sri Lankan woman making a run for it while I watch?  Seriously?  This is what I am supposed to add to my list of worries?  Global warming?  Check.  An unhealthy food supply?  Check.  An ancient Sri Lankan stealing my child and selling him off to the white slave market?  Check.

She further added that I feed the baby "too much weird food."  Well, as long as you are criticizing my parenting skills, please feel free to tack on more to the list.  Go on, I'll wait.

I have had total strangers come up to me at restaurants and say "babies don't eat guacamole/spinach/beets/halibut.  He should be eating Pop Tarts or Cheerios."  Seriously?  You want me to trade in steamed spinach (one of bebe's favorites) for Pop Tarts?  Are you joking or just stupid?

I am shocked at what American parents DON'T feed their children.  I was at Garbanzo's recently (without bebe) chatting with another mom.  She was from Lebanon and her 1 year old was inhaling hummus, one of my baby's favorite foods EVER.  She made me laugh when she said "My mom is always harping that the baby does not eat enough hummus.  How is he supposed to grow without chickpeas?"

The irony of this amused me because I get criticized all the time for feeding bebe boy hummus.  And sushi.  And udon.  And fish.  And Chinese dumplings.  And brisket.  And crab legs.  And pico de gallo.  The lady at our sushi place loves the fact that we feed bebe sushi so she always brings him out extra miso (how he loves that!) and "special sushi that Japanese babies eat."  In exchange for free food, he gives her his best pterodactyl grin and lets her rub his belly unimpeded.  It is a win-win for all concerned.


The only thing that makes this better are the few people {whom I absolutely respect} who agree that no bebe ever was scarred for life from bok choy and udon noodle soup (recipe to follow, it was AMAZING).  


I am further consoled by the fact that somehow somewhere I just know that a Nepalese grandmother is screaming at her daughter "I can't believe you are feeding the baby Cheerios.  Are you trying to kill him?"

Travel Gratitude

So I am off to India today.  I assume I will have some wi-fi access but you never know.

My gratitude for today is travel.  I LOVE travel.  I know, I know, there are parts of it that bite but, seriously, think about the beauty of it.  You get in a plane and in a matter of hours you are in a WHOLE NEW PLACE.  I will fly from Denver to DC and then DC to Kuwait, Kuwait to New Delhi.  Seriously, a cocktail and a nap later and I wake up in the Middle East or India!

All while sitting in a chair and reading a novel.  I mean, HOW COOL IS THAT?  It took pioneers months to get across the US and I am going to India in a matter of hours.  So, let's not harp too much people.  Not that I like being frisked by the angry TSA lady (I would be pissed too if I had to wear that man-belt with my uniform) but it is a means to an end.

Thanksgiving the Sequel

So, I know it has been a while (and, even thought I don't see you, I have really missed you guys) but sweet bebe has had an ear infection, I have been getting ready for my trip to India and Hubby Darling has been under the weather and frantic with work.  Oh yeah, and Thanksgiving and company and trying to get my life together for next quarter and, and, and.

However, I decided that I liked the gratitude thing way too much to give it up.  So, I have decided to keep it up (for the most part,  If I skip a day I am thankful that the world will not end) for the next year.  I was chatting about this to a girlfriend (LOVE my girlfriends, they keep me sane.  Well, partially sane) and she swears a consistent focus on gratitude will change my life.  Which I am kind of opposed to since my life is pert near perfect as it is.  So, as a warning, if my life takes a turn for the worse, I will drop the gratitude thing and practice my curmudgeon-ness.  : )

Today I am crazy grateful for my son's belly laughs.  No one has a more infectious laugh than him.  And I mean NO ONE.  Seriously, he was laughing the other day at a restaurant (yes, we take him out to restaurants and, no, he does not cry but he does eat and laugh like no other baby) and he had the four tables around us laughing also.  It was fabulous.

And the oddest things can set him off.  The usual stuff makes him laugh (Daddy makes a jake brake sound, please don't ask me what a jake brake is, I just know the sound it makes; his ticklish thighs; dancing to "We Like to Move It, Move It") but the thing that makes him laugh the most is our English Bulldog, Delilah.  The mere sight of her sends him into peals of laughter. 

This was taken yesterday when The Divine Miss D walked into the room.  Honestly, how can you resist that face?

Personally, I love the following photo because he looks so angelic. 

How can you not be filled with gratitude when you see that little mug in the morning?