Thanksgiving 17

Today I am thankful for the hounds, Delilah and Humphrey.  The Divine Miss D is an Old English Bulldog that we rescued from a breeder.  Poor thing has a bad eye (untreated by aforementioned abusive breeder asshole).  She had never walked and was in the bottom of cages three high and dozens wide.  Poor thing did not even have a name.  They called her Q since she was their 17th bulldog and Q is the 17th letter of the alphabet (oh how clever, you are asshole breeder). 

But now Lilah has a permanent home with us.  She has gotten used to the good life, I assure you.  Now she turns up her nose at non-organic yogurt (I don't know how she can tell but she can) and refuses to walk in the snow.  However, she adores the baby and will let him jump on her and tug on her ears for hours.  For that alone, "the ex-hooker with the bad eye" aka "pig dog") has found her "furr-ever" home.

Humphrey is a huge sled dog Malamute thing.  We got him from the shelter.  Poor Humphrey was a three time loser at "the joint" because he likes to run.  If someone leaves the door open, run he will.  Some time I will blog about his wild nights with the coyotes (no, I am not making this up).  He has decided that it is his job to make sure that the baby does not crawl outside.  Sadly, without thumbs his only alternative to stop the procession is to flatten the baby and leave a paw on top of him as a weight.  However, it does work.

People often ask us why we have a strict "used dog" policy.  Our thought is that we do not want to encourage bad breeders and doesn't everything deserve a second (or fourth in the case of Humphrey) chance?

The beasts add so much to our lives in addition to the hair, the random kibble drops, the indoor accidents...

Potatoes au Gratin Like No Other

Seriously, these are like no other au gratins... I learned to make them when I lived in Paris ~~ oh me oh my oh!

2 pounds of yukon gold or red potatoes (peeled and sliced BUT NOT washed, you need the starch) (russets are too powdery)
1 quart of half and half
3 teaspoons of minced garlic
1 small leek (white and light green parts only), sliced thinly
handful of good quality dry cheese (gruyere, emmenthal, etc), grated
salt and pepper

Mix the potatoes, half and half, garlic, leek, salt and pepper in a large enameled sauce pan (separate the potato slices).  Bring to a boil on top of the stove.  Let boil for a minute or two.  Turn off the heat and toss the cheese on top (I like to incorporate some of the cheese into the potatoes and let the majority sit on top but this is up to you).  Bake at 400 degrees for about an hour and let cool for 10 minutes before serving.

NOTE:  If you don't have an enameled pan (like Le Creuset) 1) you should (Tuesday Morning has great prices on them) and 2) you can boil the potato mixture off in a regular sauce pan and then transfer them over to a baking dish before you cheese them up.  Hey, you are doing the dishes, not me. 

Pumpkin Cake with Cream Cheese Frosting

This is from the Junior League of Colorado Springs' Peak at the Springs cookbook.  Let me know if you want a copy, it is AMAZING!

Cake
2 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ginger
1/2 teaspoon ground cloves
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg
4 eggs
1 cup veggie oil
2 cups sugar
15 ounce can of pumpkin

Cream Cheese Frosting (NOT TO BE MISSED)
8 ounces cream cheese (softened)
1/2 cup butter (yes, one stick)
1 teaspoon vanilla
4 cups confectioners' sugar

CAKE:  Sift dry ingredients together.  Combine the wet ingredients in a large mixing bowl and mix well.  Add in the flour montage.  Pour into a greased and floured 9x13 inch cake pan.  Bake at 350 for 45 - 50 minutes (insert toothpick to make sure it is done).  Allow to cool.

FROSTING:  Beat cream cheese, butter and vanilla in a mixing bowl until creamy.  Add the sugar gradually, beating constantly until smooth.  Spread over cooled cake.

NOTE:  In the cookbook, it is written much more professionally but I can't be bothered right now.  If you don't know what the toothpick test is, then you are only reading this, not reading it with the intention of baking it.  However, call me if you have any dramas with it.  I tutor both math and food on the phone.

Chocolate Bourbon Pecan Pie

I like to do this as a part (so much prettier in presentation) but that is your choice.  Quite the libertarian, no?

Pastry dough (pie or tart)

4-ounces of really good quality bittersweet chocolate (about 60% cocoa), finely chopped (buy extra, because 1) you will eat some of it while cooking and 2) I like to drizzle some of it over the top of the pie once it is cooked and cooled.  I did not include that in the directions, just a free bonus feature!
2 cups pecan halves (7 ounces), toasted and cooled (toasted is key!)
3 large eggs
1/3 cup packed light brown sugar
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1/4 teaspoon salt
3/4 cup dark corn syrup
1.5 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted
2 tablespoons bourbon
 
 
 
Preheat oven to 375°F with rack in middle.
 

Melt chocolate in a double boiler and let cool.

Spread chocolate in bottom of pie/tart shell with back of spoon and let it cool. 

Once the chocolate is cooled (important because otherwise they stick to the bottom of the crust instead of floating on the top the way God intended) put pecans in the shell.

Whisk together everything else.
Bake pie until filling is puffy and crust is golden, 45 to 55 minutes.

Once cooled, drizzle with additional melted chocolate (if desired).  Serve with (duh!), lightly sweetened whipped cream (home made, of course). 

Unsnap pants.  Trust me on this one.

Thanksgiving 14, 15 and 16

This daily thing is hard for me.  I had my accounting final on Saturday (yes, Saturday!  Can you imagine?  Spending Saturday night in an Accounting final is pretty much the nail in the coffin of patheticness.  Seriously).  And I have been snuffley for a week. 

Yes, I made up the word "snuffley" but it is both cute and practical.  Cute because it is what I imagine Snuffleupagus' momma called him.  Practical because it combines "stuffy" and "sniffley" into one cute package.  Feel free to borrow it.  Hell, I even have my pediatrician using it now.  By the way, the "L" sound at the end is the key to its cuteness.  No, I am not a linguist, I just practice a lot while I drive to and from Denver.

So, here are my thankfuls for Sunday, Monday and today.

Sunday:  I am BEYOND thankful to be done with accounting.  The bane of my existence.  For the rest of my life.  {Assuming that I did not get a "C" and have to retake it.  I would just die.  I have never gotten a "C" in my life.  Hell, a "B" makes me tear up}.  I know it is petty but I am simply past grateful not to have to deal with Accounting, pretty much EVER again.

Monday:  I got a completely unexpected gift from a friend of mine.  It says "lucky mommy" and has my baby's initial and birthstone.  So unexpected and so sweet.  I have the best friends on the planet.  Huge thanks, MP!

Tuesday:  Today I am thankful for cooking.  Mine and others.  I love to cook and I especially love to cook for others.  This afternoon, I am making pumpkin cake and a chocolate bourbon pecan pie.  Recipes to follow...

Oh Those Thanksgiving Traditions

My mother and I are the absolute opposite of one another in a million ways.  Well, pretty much in every way except for our wide feet, our complete disinterest in cars and our an unnatural compulsions to buy bed linens and pretty towels.  But that is where the similarities end with us.  For example:

I love volunteering; my mother thinks "God helps those who help themselves."
I could never clean again and be perfectly content, my mother is fanatically clean.  {Seriously and sadly, the smell of bleach and ammonia instantly put me back to my childhood}.
I read all the time, the last thing my mother read was The Thorn Birds (When it came out.  In the 70s).
I love to cook, my mother loathes it. 
I am all about traditions, she hates them.  Hell, we don't even like the same kind of pie.  She likes pumpkin (which to me has the creepiest texture EVER) and I love pecan (chocolate bourbon pecan, to be precise) which she thinks is cloyingly sweet (isn't that the point?  If you want lettuce, eat lettuce.  If you want a diabetic coma of goodness, eat pecan pie). 

However, be that as it may, we did indeed have some Thanksgiving traditions when I was growing up.  Odd though they were, they were ours.

1) Thanksgiving morning Mom would say "you really want to do this big production thing again?"  Mind you, my mother did not cook EVER so Thanksgiving was torment to her.  Not that we had a big meal that took days to cook.  It merely consisted of a turkey breast, mashed potatoes, microwaved green beans and a frozen apple pie (none of liked apple pie but this is what she inevitably bought.  Probably on sale).

2) For Christmas Day we would go to Jack in the Box.  Yes, they were open.  The one off 635 and Ferguson in Dallas.  Yes, it is beyond pathetic but THERE WAS A LINE!  So my brother and I consoled ourselves with the fact that we were not the only loser family out there. 

3) Watching the Cowboys play football on Thanksgiving Day.  My brother would cry and tear down his McDonalds poster of them when they lost.  It was so sad.  Even back then, I was a math geek.  I would silently calculate every way that they could come back (24 points behind?  Easy.  Three touch downs complete with extra points, and a field goal.  Or eight field goals.  Or two touchdowns, two extra points, three field goals and a safety.  Or 12 safeties....).  To this day, my favorite score in football is still the safety.

4) One of us would think that we should say grace and my mother would insist that we were all going to become "Jesus freaks" if we did this. 

Yep, good times at the hacienda growing up...

Chilled Avocado Soup

This is one of the bebe's favorites.  We like it too. 

Ingredients


3 ripe avocados
2 cups low-fat buttermilk
1/3 cup walnut halves
1 Tablespoon dill, plus more for garnish
1 Tablespoon fresh cilantro
1/4 cup diced red onion, or half a small onion
1 tablespoon red wine vinegar
1 teaspoon coarse salt
Directions

1.Halve and pit two avocados. With a spoon, scoop out flesh and transfer to a blender. Add buttermilk, walnuts, dill, cilantro, red onion, vinegar, salt, and 1 cup water and puree until smooth.

2.Cover the blender and refrigerate until the soup is well chilled, at least one hour. Halve and pit remaining avocado. Cut into four sections lengthwise, and then cut crosswise into 1/2-inch chunks. Divide soup among four bowls and garnish each with diced avocado and dill, if desired.

Thanksgiving 13

I am not feeling up to snuff.  Not horrendous, mind you, just not normal.  I am sure that part of it is a virus (Hubby is finishing up the piggy flu - which, by the way, is a TOTAL misnomer.  He has yet to turn pink or grow a curly tail.  Much to my disappointment.  Though he does squeal if you tickle his ears just right.  Much to my amusement).  The baby has an ear infection but that kid is a stud -- he only whimpered for a couple of hours one day (he had a 102.4 degree fever along with the ear infection, he was entitled to a little whining).  Plus, I am finishing finals today {yes, on a Saturday} and I have a million things to do before Thanksgiving and my trip to India.  And our house is in shambles.  As in coal miners would look at it and say "Oh hell no.  It is too dangerous in there.  I have a family to feed and this is too risky.  Back to the safety and security of the mine.  Don't forget to bring the parakeets, they have NO chance of survival in this wreckage." 

However, in the midst of all of this I am immensely grateful for my neighbor, Trudy.  She not only is in love with my bebe boy but she brought over soup for me {of course, the baby wolfed down a full bowl of it as well.  That child is such a chowhound}.

Me? A Meth Addict? Seriously, I Am in My Pajamas...

So, in the middle of the night I had to get some Tylenol for the baby.  Yes, this task sucks as much as it seems like it would.

But, get this, the grocery store had one orange construction cone on each end of the medication aisle. 

Not knowing why it was there, I simply walked around it.  Really, this did not require a particular amount of stealthness on my part.  No camouflage outfit, no twigs in my hair, none of that weird ass netting dangling off of me. 

Some emo, asexual teenager drags itself up and says "like, you can't like be here dude.  Didn't you see the cone, man?"

"Yes, I did see the oddly placed cone.  Thanks."

"No, you like can't buy meds at night."

"I am sorry.  Are you still talking to me?"  WTF is it with emo kids that they can't speak beyond a murmur?  Would it wreck their fragile demeanor to enunciate?  Bad hair and mumbling -- all they need is bad skin for the teenager trifecta!

"Yeah, like you can't be here."

Not that I am a stud BY ANY STRETCH of the imagination.  But, should it come down to it, even I (a frazzled mom of a sick infant and hubby, in the midst of finals and planning a trip to India) could take out the 85-pound asexual kid holding a box of macaroons. 

"Listen, kid, I am not even sure if you are speaking.  And, if so, if you are talking to me since you are unable to make eye contact.  I hope you are done because I am bored already."  Yes, I know this is rude {which I normally am not} but, honest to God, I have not slept in days, my beloved, never-cries-even-when-I-left-one-of-his-testicles-hanging-out-of-his-diaper baby is sobbing uncontrollably at home and I am not in the mood to deal with a walking, mumbling mood swing.  Sorry, sue me. 

It shuffles off to get the manager who, thankfully, speaks.  But, GET THIS...

Meth requires Sudafed as an ingredient.  So, in order to reduce meth production grocery stores put up a cone at night so that the criminals can't get to the Sudafed.

I swear, I am not making this up.

I calmly explain that I very rarely participate in criminal activity and I certainly would not ruin my kitchen and my French copper pots (which I LOVE) to cook up batches of meth so all is well with me.  Just getting my baby Tylenol and heading back to the germy, hellhole known as my house.  Thankyouverymuch. 

The manager says that since I am not allowed to be in the aisle, he does not think that I am allowed to buy Tylenol but he is not sure.  Can I wait while he calls the day manager? 

Seriously.

"Okay, night manager guy.  You think that someone who MAKES AND DISTRIBUTES one of the most horrid and addictive drugs that our society has ever known 1) is going to be deterred by a cone 2) only shops at night, since you can buy a boatload of  Sudafed during daylight hours and 3) would not simply steal the Sudafed?  I mean, really, don't be an idiot."

Night manager has no response to this logic.  But this is the clincher:  he refuses to let me pay for the Tylenol since he does not want it on his "record" that medication was sold while he was on night duty.

This is why smart people need to have more babies.  The gene pool is getting spookily shallow.

Thanksgiving 12

Being an insomniac (5th generation - yeah!), I am thankful when I do sleep well.  Right now is not one of those times (finals, sick baby, sick hubby, planning a trip to India).  However, like former smokers who swear they could start smoking again tomorrow even after not smoking for decades, I do remember exactly what it was like to sleep well and I crave it like nicotine, heroin, really good brownies. 

My preference is for the brownies but I am pathetic like that.  So NOT an urban, living-on-the-edge kind of girl.

You Don't Threaten Momma

I have told several stories about my mother but this one is a classic. 

My brother and I knew from the moment that we were born that we were not in charge and that our mother's love for us was totally conditional upon our behavior.  I am not whining or going into therapy, it is simply the way of the world for her.

Jimmy decides when he is about four that he is going to run away.  One of his little buddies had threatened it and the buddy's mom cried, hugged him, asked him to stay and made him cookies.  Jimmy with all the naivety of a four year old actually believed that all mothers behave this way. 

Rookie mistake. 

I tried to warn him that our mother was not like other mothers but he was determined.  So, off he trots to tell Mom that he is hitting the road.  Smell ya later, lady.

My mother has no reaction other than "Okay.  I'll miss you.  Bye."

Jimmy huffs to the door but can't get it unlocked.  So back to my mother he goes thinking "She will totally know that I mean it and I will get those cookies."

I issue another warning that this plan is doomed.  Doomed I say!

My mom hears his dilemma and calmly unlocks the door.  Jimmy starts to panic about where he will go.  It is very hard to run away when you are not allowed to cross the street on your own. 

"Oh, one more thing," my mother says.  Jimmy starts to smile, convinced that she is going to break down or at least crack a bit. 

At this point, she strips him COMPLETELY NAKED, lifts him up and puts him out on the front porch.  "You came into my world naked, baby boy, you will leave my world naked."

And she shuts the door.

Jimmy comes back in the house, covering his own self like fig leaves.  As he walks by, he mutters "Well that did not go well.  And we are not getting cookies in case you are wondering."

I tried to warn him...

Thanksgiving 11

Today I am thankful for my awesome pediatrician at the AFA.  He is so laid back and personable (plus, he shops at Whole Foods which makes me trust him).  I could not manage an alarmist and he is the anti-alarmist.

Sweet bebe boy has an ear infection which is causing a fever.  There is NOTHING worse than seeing your baby sick.  I can't imagine having a baby with a long-term disease or illness.  My thoughts go out to all the parents who do. 

25 Random Things About Me

I know that pert near everyone did this list on Facebook this summer but here is a repeat of mine...  hey, it is finals week, Hubby is sick and I am always time constrained...

You are supposed to write a note with 25 random things, facts, habits, or goals about you.


1) Some of the things I don’t understand:

people who eat that weird, bright orange, faux cheese that comes wrapped in cellophane
road rage
smokers who bitch about their health
people who keep rodents for pets
reality tv
women who don’t spa
homophobes (people, they are not recruiting!)
string theory
2) Of the seven deadly sins, I totally bypassed sloth, rage and envy.
3) I have an unnatural attraction to men in Oxford button down shirts – clearly, too many years of Catholic school. So much the better if they row crew and/or play lacrosse.
4) Some of the best things I have ever done for myself: moving to Europe, joining the Junior League, learning to cook (at the Cordon Bleu School no less), becoming an extrovert (by sheer will).
5) Perhaps the most powerful decision I have ever made was to choose a homebirth.
6) I obsessively change the radio in the car but not at home. I adore NPR except for its music selection – honestly, who wants to hear the pan flute?
7) My favorite part of men’s bodies is that round bone on their wrist. I have dated men based on that alone. For the record, Ken’s is the second best I have ever seen. Simply DIVINE!
8) I was never obsessed with being a mom and now can’t imagine not being one. And I really, really want to be good at this. Thank you, universe, for giving me the most mellow baby on the planet – I recognize that I totally hit the Baby Bonanza.
9) I have the best karma imaginable. When something does not according to my plan, I am sincerely shocked and have been known to remind the universe that I am its “fair-haired girl.” Sadly, I have also told the universe to “get on the stick” when things did not go my way. Can you say ungrateful bitch?
10) I am like catnip to eccentrics. If you show up at a bar in fishing waders with bait on your hat, you will INEVITABLY want to dance with me. The fact that there is no music playing makes it all the better. Yes, this happened. Speaking of, I have had my aura read by six different people in four countries (and oddly enough, they all said the same thing). One started picking the fuzz out of it while I was at the farmer’s market which was more than a little awkward.
11) I cried when no one believed Big Bird about Snuffleupagus’ existence. I swear that is why I don’t like television to this day.
12) I often think that I will move to Tuscany and have an organic farm and winery. Then I spend all day in my garden and realize I was not meant for manual labor.
13) I find false modesty annoying. Along that note, yes, I find myself funny.
14) People who don’t read make me even sadder than people who can’t read. And that, my friends, is mighty, mighty sad.
15) I use ellipses way too much …(the grammatical kind, not the mathematical kind.  Though I can make those too, in case you were curious).
16) I hate it when people come up to me and say something to the extent of “I heard you are funny. Make me laugh.” Honestly, I am not a clown and to quote Kim “the monkey has dropped her cymbals.”
17) I have an unnatural obsession (yes, that is the correct word, affinity is too weak) for shoes, jewelry, lip balm and lipsticks, handbags and French perfume. I have over 300 handbags that I keep inventoried. Yes, I know this is abnormal/OCDesque and totally embrace it. One of the happiest days of my life was spent at the Christian Dior employee only sale in Paris. Sigh…
18) I was told recently by a nurse that I could never be a heroin addict because I have bad veins. Well, then, I guess I will take “crack whore” off my list of career goals. Fortheloveofgawd, use your head, lady.
19) I still laugh at Kim’s quote “Yes, I know I am drunk at a funeral but I am, even with that mark against me, the least tacky person here. You should see all the white shoes and it is not even Easter.”  (In bff's defense, drunk is temporary but tacky is forever).
20) Like the Queen song, I keep my Moet and Chandon in a pretty cabinet. And my Dom. And my Veuve Clicquot.  I heart champagne way too much.
21) If I don’t know which team to cheer for I base it on: 1) teams that are the faves of my friends 2) cities I like to visit 3) team colors. I also avoid rooting for teams that have birds as their mascots. And I will always loathe the Falcons because of Michael “mean to dogs, mean to dogs” Vick (and I hate, hate, hate the Eagles for willingly drafting Mean to Dogs. Finally, I base preferences as to which players endorse what products. McNabb and Chunky Soup? Disgusting!
22) I don’t understand why people will boast about being math illiterate. No one would ever admit to not being able to read but people downright brag about not being able to add/solve for x/calculate percentages. And, for the record, please don’t ask mathematicians to calculate the tip since they are “good at math.” They did not get a degree in multiplication and find those who ask to be simpletons. Trust me on this one.
23) I still really want a horse.
24) The Container Store makes me feel bad about myself. And, besides, what do organized people do with all that extra time they have since they are not looking for their keys?
25) I am eternally grateful for my fabulous friends, my brother, Hubby and Bebe. I am so not worthy of all my blessings.

Thanksgiving 10

I know this is goofy but I am so thankful for sunlight.  Too many dreary days in a row make me too melancholy.  On the occasional overcast day, I love baking cookies and reading in front of the fire.  However, after two days I am reading Sylvia Plath poetry and listening to Edith Piaf and other early emos.  Day Three I am scribbling my will on the back of an envelope, weighting my pockets down with pebbles and turning on the gas oven as a back-up.

I know, I know this from someone who lived in (and LOVED) Belgium for four years. 

However, I traveled five days a week for my job so I often moved from Belgium's clouds to the equally gray landscapes of Paderborn or Eindhoven.  Not better weather but clearly the variety in accents made all the difference.

Regardless, I am thankful for Colorado's perpetual sunshine.  It makes like so much easier for us solar-powered types. 

Quote of the Day

Not that I actually have a daily (or even monthly) quote but my brother just said this about our mother and it cracked me up. 


That woman is "a battering ram of bad advice."

Heifer International!

A further explanation of yesterday's FB status.

Hubby and I are extremely blessed and we know it.  We are, however, afraid of raising a spoiled, bratty child.  You know the ones:  they demand a toy because they did not throw a tantrum at Target (let me tell you how well demands worked at my mother's house), they have yet to utter "please" or "thank you" by the tender age of 16, they complain because they don't have this or that (my new Mercedes has a flat tire - wah, wah, wah), they would not know volunteerism if it wacked them in the face.

Yes, I realize that he is not even a year old and that he is great at sharing (he shares his yogurt with Delilah the bulldog, unless it is Banilla, his favorite.  If that is the case, the dog can rot).  However, I still worry that he will be bratty at some point and I figure there is no time like the present to start his appreciation for all his blessings.  {On a personal note, I am CONVINCED beyond a doubt that one of the reasons why I have received so much is because 1) I give a lot to non-profits {time and money} and 2) I am one grateful bitch.  I believe it is a law of the universe.  Seriously.  Try it and let me know if your life does not start looking up.}

So, Hubs and I decided that every year we would make a donation to Heifer International (LOVE THEM) in bebe's honor.  By the time, he is 18 we want to have donated an ark (their words, not ours).  In our idyllic world, he will research and figure out how many lives the donations have changed over time (like the dozen chickens we donated year two would have become x chickens now and would have produced y eggs, saving z lives because of protein, minerals, etc).  Philanthropy and Algebra combined:  boNANza!

I know, I know it is probably rose-colored glasses to think that an eight year old will want to donate part of his savings {we are thinking we might expect him to donate 10% of his allowance, birthday booty, etc to causes of his choice -- what do you think of that?  Are will going to raise a well-rounded, giving sweetheart or stingy curmudgeon if we "force" it upon him?}.  However, we do have this vision of him helping to select the animals in the future and him wanting to help pay for the gift.

Last year we gave ducks (because he had a pair of duck pajamas that I loved.  Brilliant rationale, I know).  This year, we are deciding between chickens and bees.  But we might have to repeat the ducks because he loves his rubber duckie so, so much.  Sadly, he can't eat honey yet and does not have a rubber chicken.  Though he loves lamb kabobs so maybe we should donate some sheep...  oh, train of consciousness, how easily you get derailed...

So, that is the long version of my Facebook status from yesterday.

Thanksgiving 9

As Hubby lays in bed with a cold...

Ungrateful side note:  Has anyone else noticed that, as a general rule, men are fine with serious, life-threatening wounds but are totally knocked out by the common cold?  Honest to God, Hubby was mortared/rocketed in Afghanistan and that was on his list of "no biggies."  However, three shoulder and knee surgery later, he is flat on his back from a cold. 

You would think the world was ending.  Seriously, I had a 9.5 pound baby and 36 hours of labor without anesthesia and I complained less than Mr Runny Nose.  I mentioned once "Oh dear God this hurts" and I assumed that he would be able to recall it, preferably for the rest of his life, or, at the very least, the rest of the event.  But the converse is not true.  He is compelled to remind me every time he regains consciousness that he does not feel well.  "Yes, Sweetness, the fact that you have been asleep for 24 hours would indicate as much.  However, you will be happy to know that I got the memo the first 300 times you mentioned it."

But back to gratitude.  I am so grateful for my health and the health of my loved ones.  Cold dramas aside, we are all crazy healthy and, for that, I am so, so happy.

People often ask me why I am so laid back as a mom.  I finally concluded that when you face your worst fears, you really stop sweating all the small stuff.  Sweet bebe got RSV (a nasty lung infection as in his pulse ox rate got down to 28) and spent 17 days in the ICU when he was 2 weeks old.  When a nurse says "If he makes it..." Well, you don't get upset when the baby eats some dog food.

And, finally, since I often rant about food ... a friend of mine asked me "where do you get your prescriptions filled?"  "Uh, we don't have any prescriptions."  "Fine, where do you get the baby's medicines filled?"  "He has never had prescriptions either.  So, I guess you could say that we fill them at Whole Foods in the kefir and spinach section."

Mommy Lessons

If you missed Friday's blog about my mom and the film discussion, I recommend that you go read it.  It is a quickie and hilarious.  I have had so many people email me about it...

A couple of things I have learned since becoming a mom:
1)  The following stains platinum blonde baby hair:

strawberries
dark chocolate
blackberries
poo

These stains will dissipate within a couple of days but the berries leave pink or purple highlights for about a week.  People will ask if you are trying to make "a statement" with your child's hair.  At first I explained but then I got annoyed and sick of 'splaining {Lucy!}.  So I started telling the nosey weirdoes that we were showing our support of breast cancer awareness and Barney (that obnoxious purple monster who sings and dances.  We don't watch it, for the record).  This tended to shut them up.  Except for one moron who asked if Barney had breast cancer. 

Just stop talking and please use a condom.  The world has enough morons without you adding more to the ranks.

2)  Should you want dreadlocks without the hassle of braiding, knotting and not washing (and doesn't that get itchy?), a nice gouda fondue rapidly speeds this process along.  I can also vouch for the lightening fast speed with which yogurt causes tangles. 

Dreadlock lesson part two:  Do not think that it is best to wait for the gouda to dry so that you can comb it out.   Once cheese hardens (especially cheese that has been mixed with leeks, dried cranberries, wine and corn starch), it becomes, essentially, a stalactite.  There is no brushing it out and you can't safely reheat your head to a high enough temperature to get it melty again.  The only choice is to cut the monstrosity out.  I have a nice bald patch on the side of my head from this lesson.  And my {childless} hairdresser had the nerve to ask me "You don't tell people you come here, do you?"  Like I am a walking bad advertisement...

Thanksgiving 6, 7 and 8

I had an email-free weekend... fabulous but today's Inbox is a little scary.  So, I figured I would post Sat, Sun and today's yahooos all at once. 

Saturday:  Totally grateful for aspirin.  I had a major hangover from too much wine {and sushi} on Friday night.  Note to self:  you are no longer 25, self. Stop drinking like you are.  And, furthermore, self, bebe does not care if you are hungover and will still wake up ready to play even if you are not.  Use your head for something outside of a hatrack, self. 

Sunday:  I was ridiculously grateful for my neighbor snow-blowing my driveway.  {I normally get annoyed with people randomly making a noun into a verb but, yet again, it is my blog so adapt}.  Hubby is sick and I really loathe shoveling snow. 

Monday:  I am so grateful for my neighbor watching bebe.  She is totally the "Oma" we all wish we had and my son is in love with her.  It is so cute to see them as the founding members of the Mutual Admiration Society.  And God love anyone who is willing to spend that many hours pushing him in a swing at the park... I lose interest at the half hour mark.  I know, I know -- bad mommy.

Thanksgiving 5

Today I am really thankful for music.  God knows I am not a musician or even remotely musically inclined but I love it nonetheless.

It can pep you up.  (Walking on Sunshine)

It can calm a baby.  (Beethoven especially)

What else can instantly bring back moments of your life (your first date, your wedding dance)?

Who doesn't laugh when they hear "I Will Survive" or "Paradise by the Dashboard Light" by Meatloaf?