Sitting Still

veggie booty

Somewhere around the middle of May, after a lot of consideration, I decided to become a vegetarian.  Actually, I'm sort of a complicated vegetarian, because my label is technically a pesco-lacto-ovo vegetarian.  That's Latin for "I still eat seafood, milk products and eggs."  I've considered going veggie for a long time and dabbled in variations of it on and off since high school.  The time had come to resolve the issue for myself: either change my diet, or stop worrying about it.  And, since I knew I couldn't just let. it. go. (I'm charmingly obsessive like that), I decided to commit to the change.

It's been surprisingly easy.  Keeping seafood on the menu, at least for now, has definitely lessened any feelings I might have had about "restricting" myself. While some may argue that fish and shellfish also suffer to become food, I personally just have less of an ethical problem with eating a creature that a) has lived a normal life up until the time it's caught, and b) is available to me locally, fresh and sustainable.  Of course, these contingencies mean that I try to eat local, in season, wild-caught seafood -- a task at which I mostly succeed.  The other reason I'm keeping fish and shellfish is that we like to eat out quite a bit, and the menu is a lot bigger for me with those things on it.  Selfish? Yes, undeniably so.  But it's where I'm at right now and I'm ok with it.

I think a lot of people think of vegetarianism in all it's forms, including vegan, in terms of what you can't eat.  Reading the book Skinny Bitch -- which I enjoyed and helped catalyze my decision, although they propose a vegan diet and I'm just not ready for that -- reframed this point for me.  It's not that you "can't" eat certain animal products, you're just choosing not to.  And it's not about what you "don't" eat, it's about what you DO.

Bottom line: It makes me feel good.  I feel better about contributing less to the mistreatment of animals, and I feel healthier eating a diet rich in fruits and vegetables and whole grains and (mostly) plant proteins. I'm trying lots of new products and experimenting with recipes that demonstrate just how much YUM you can get on a vegetarian diet. For instance, the soybean?  It's an amazing plant.  I have a new respect. And I've eaten these amazing vegan chocolate chip cookies made fresh by our local health food store that put that processed Keebler crap to shame.

So, the girl who once claimed that she couldn't live without a little pork in her cooked greens is now delightfully bacon-free.  And she's pretty darn happy about it.

Happy (slightly belated) Father's Day

Do you remember distinct moments of falling in love?  The words, or images, or touches that let you know, yes -- this is the one.  Because I have some, and I remember the moment I knew my husband would be a good father.

Ron was seventeen years old when his niece was born.  When I started dating him and met her, she was six months old.  One day while looking through pictures of her doing the latest cute-baby thing, I saw a photo that made me fall in love.  On the couch, Ron lay flat on his back, wearing a white undershirt and some pajama pants.  On his chest, curled up like a tiny pink frog, was his infant niece, asleep.  And while I wasn't at that point sizing him up for his ability to care for little humans, I think there was a primal part of me that etched that image onto my deep memory.  Note to self: this might be a good one with whom to share your genes.  Maybe all those make out sessions aren't such a bad idea after all.

Many kisses and fifteen years later, that teenager napping with the baby on his chest has two kids of his own. It's a crazy thing to watch the twenty-something cutie you married turn into a father.  Trades are completed: shot glass for sippy cup, action films for cartoons, trips to Thailand for trips to the zoo.  He learns how to wrangle a wriggling baby into a diaper, and he teaches a preschooler how to cast a fishing line with her new pink Barbie rod.  Discussions are had about serious things -- discipline methods, college savings plans, life insurance -- like we're real honest-to-God grown-ups with a constant sense that the decisions we make now affect these little folks who depend on us.

Ron works incredibly hard to provide our family with what we need and want.  He became a father for the first time just as he entered the most rigorous part of his training, and balancing work and family was not easy.  In the last year, however, some of that pressure has eased, and with it has come more time for family life.  Of course, that doesn't always mean the fun stuff.  Sometimes it means standing in the midst of chaos while the baby spits up everywhere and the preschooler loses her shit for no apparent reason and your wife slowly goes crazy because of the spitting-upping and the shit-losing.  And all three of them look to you to make things work better. 

Talk about pressure.  Microsurgery ain't got nothing on the insanity we call fatherhood.

But the 17-year-old who babysat his niece has stepped up nicely to the challenge of being a dad.  And just as I fell in love with him that day, there are moments he shares with the kids everyday that make me do it all over again.  Playing soccer with Claire.  Looking for a way to learn Chinese with her.  Going fishing two days in a row just because she loved it so much (didn't catch a thing).  Taking her to work and teaching her about "fixing kids' eyes."  Promising her that we'll go camping this fall in a tent with sleeping bags.  Snuggling Gage.  Making him put his hands on his hips and say "oh, no you didn't" just to make me laugh.  Discussing your shared interest in my boobs.  Taking a nap together.

So today, I just want to say thank you.  Thank you for giving all that you do to this family -- time, energy, support in many forms.  Thank you for partnering with me to muddle through the uncertainty about doing the right thing for them.  Thank you for trusting me to mother your children as best I know how, and thank you for forgiving me when I screw it up.  Thank you for believing with me that one of the best gifts we can give our children is a happy, healthy marriage, and thank you for working with me to create that despite all the challenges we've faced.

Thank you for being a man who puts his family first, and who shows that in the decisions, big and small, that you make every day.  

We love you.  Happy Father's Day.

Gage at 5 months

My son is five months old.  Five and a half, to be exact. Cue the whining mama: where does the time go?

He just had his four month check-up last week (at five months, as I neglectfully missed the visit I'd scheduled -- oops) and weighs in at almost 19 pounds, 27.5 inches long.  He's in the 97th percentile all the way around, which makes me say good job buddy -- a solid A in the eating department!

We still haven't managed to establish any kind of schedule, but he generally falls into the pattern of eat, play, sleep (which, come to think of it, would be the infant's answer to Eat, Pray, Love, dontcha think?).  I seem to think Claire was in this nice two-naps-a-day pattern by this age, but then again, Claire did not get carted all over town because her mama and big sister were bored at home.  So there's that. A week ago I would have told you he is consistently sleeping through the night, and that is still mostly true, except for the days when I've stayed up far too late -- then he's up at the least convenient time! (The children, they prey on your weaknesses...)

But, ah, the giggles.  They are plentiful, especially if you tickle him in the sweet spot between his chins or lift him up into an airplane in the air.  And he likes nothing better than to be naked, squirming, kicking, and grabbing his penis.  Yes, he's found it, although it's not unusual for him to stick his hand down there and grab hold of the fat roll right next door on his thigh instead, which cracks me up like nothing else.  Claire is the BEST TOY EVER, and even when she is right up in his face and practically laying on top of him and I'm yelling "Don't break his ribs!" -- even then, he's laughing at her.  It's easy to see already that these two are going to get into all kinds of mischief and that I'll be lucky to stay one step ahead.

When I found out I was having a boy, I was a little uncertain about what that would bring.  Now, I can't imagine having it any other way.  He's my buddy, and my constant companion, and his gummy smile and grabby, curious hands are a source of much delight.  I have a little boy, and he's awesomeness.

confession

 Hi there.  Long time no talk. I'd love to make excuses, but the truth is that I've been cheating on you again.

About three weeks ago I was hired as a "city expert" for SavvySource, a preschool resource guide rolling out city-specific blogs for parents of young children.  About two weeks ago I got the list of 15 topic assignments that had to go live last Monday, at which point I started staying up far too late and praying to meet deadline.  Now, I'm at Being Savvy Charleston, writing about getting out and about with preschool-aged children in my fair city.  Check out the list of cities on board -- there are others blogging in 20+ cities across the U.S., with more to come in the next month or so.

Now I'm busy scoping out the best free and low-cost summer enrichment fun for the short crowd and calling it "work."  Sweet.

Come and see:

• Who I think I am to be called a "city expert"
• How we like to enjoy the South Carolina Aquarium (stay for the joke at the end)
• My half-day walking tour suggestion for a kid-focused visit of downtown

I hope you'll say hello to me at the new place.

Now that I'm up and running over there, I hope to be back here more often as well.  (Trust me, the gym membership alone has given me more blog fodder than I could have ever hoped for.)

P.S. This blog was sort of broken for a period as well.  The good folks of Typepad fixed it. For the friends who frantically e-mailed me, please note: a disappeared blog doesn't mean that I've died, promise.  Heck, I blogged from the delivery room, so I'd probably do it on my deathbed as well.

getting in shape, because "round" is not a good shape

After listening to DBN go on and on about her obsession with the gym, I decided that I couldn't let her be the only skinny bitch around. Monday, I joined a gym. A gym with free daycare. I figured, if nothing else, I could go take a shower without interruption. That alone would be worth the monthly fee.

Tuesday morning I had hoped to get to the CardioGroove class, because everyone knows that a 30-something white woman is precisely what an aerobic dance class needs. However, the class time fell right when Gage was going to need a feeding, so I dropped into the earlier PUMP class instead. 

The schedule provided to me did not give a description of PUMP. After Monday's experience, my version would be something along the lines of "Holy hell that hurts." I should have known I was in trouble when I walked in and everyone had pulled out one of each of the pieces of equipment: a step, two sets of weights, a ball, a resistance band, and a personal trainer named Mario. 

Just kidding. They don't keep buff men in the equipment closet. They keep them in the free weight area, silly.

An hour later, and I'd strength trained every major muscle group in my body. Two days later, I'm finding it hard to sit on the toilet because my quads hurt so damn much. But it's a good hurt. Yeah, sure it is. 

Class ended with a set of abdominal strengthening exercises, and learned that I am a medical marvel: I have absolutely no abdominal muscles and yet I somehow manage to stay upright. Thank goodness for skin and a quality Cesarean repair, because otherwise my guts might just be dangling, and even elastic waisted pants couldn't help me then.

* * * * * 

If anyone else is looking for a little friendly competition/support for getting back into shape, come join us in the Debunot Cellunot challenge! 

don't think, just type

Hi! How y'all been?

Busy here, of course, though that's the lamest ass excuse in the book. Truth is, I've had plenty to write about but got out of the habit of writing and the longer I waited the more I felt like I had to write something good rather than the meaningless navel-gazing I usually indulge in here, and so I waited and waited and before I knew it, it had been a few weeks and I still hadn't thought of anything provocative to say. So I decided to just login and spew some randomness and get it out of the way, in hopes that TOMORROW I might get all insightful, though it ain't likely, as obviously it hasn't happened in three weeks, and who am I kidding?

So, anyway. How y'all been?

Lots happening here. Big things. Let's take it slowly, and with fewer run-on sentences:

Claire is finishing up her preschool year. This year, she only went three mornings a week. Next year, if she stays at the same school, it will be every morning, and then (gulp!) kindergarten. She's currently obsessed with High School Musical and can sing the soundtracks from both movies. Her gymnastics class finished up last Friday with a demonstration and awards ceremony, and she got a trophy. Then today she had her dance recital, which was awesome and hilarious, and she got another one. She could not be more pleased. 

Gage is being kind of a pain-in-the-ass, which is out of character for him. I think it's teething -- either that or he's got an unusual taste for his own fingers and an overactive salivary gland. I'm hoping those suckers are all busting through simultaneously because he seems miserable. He also takes after his father and his father before him in that the least amount of discomfort is cause for much bellering and carrying on. High drama -- it's a family tradition!

I am actively looking for a job and had an interview last Friday that seems promising. I'd love to be part-time, working into full-time as Gage gets a little older and Claire heads toward kindergarten. It's hard to figure out what to tackle first -- a job or childcare -- and I spent a few days chasing my tail until I decided I had to get a job first. I'm also sewing again. First I tackled an insane yardage of pink spandex and blue sequins to make dance costumes for the recital. Next I'm going to whip up some hand-crafted baby gifts to put in a friend's indie gift shop. We'll see if they sell. There's also a chance I'll be in Greece at the end of September for a much-coveted vacation alone. More on that later.

Ron is finishing up his training, and in about a month gets elevated from "overworked trainee" to "sugar daddy." KIDDING. But this is a real job, with a schedule of his own and an office and everything, so it's a pretty big deal. He's surfing again. Oh, and planning to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro sometime in the next few years.

We've had some visitors and some vacation time and some family adventures, including a kayak trip (Ron and I), a visit from my MIL and her friend Laura (much wine), a trip to AZ (me and kids), and time back at the beach (all of the above). Charleston is awesome this time of year, and the Spoleto festival begins this weekend. Ron got me tickets to see Monkey: Journey to the West this Thursday, and I'm looking forward to it. I might even ask him along, if he behaves between now and then.

fall rush, 2026

My son is a baby frat boy.

The term was coined by my friend Liz, who saw him wearing a cute plaid collared shirt with khaki cargo shorts and a wide, who-wouldn't-love-this? grin. At first I was offended, but the more I observe, the more accurate I think the description is.

Yesterday, we went to a birthday party for one of Claire's friends. I'd put Gage in a cute but kind of girly-looking seersucker outfit. He grumbled about it, but I insisted to him that he looked adorable. Then he found the one guaranteed way out of a sissy boy outfit: he crapped all over it. With the costume change, we were back to the wrinkled button-down shirt and grey shorts.

When we arrived at the party, Gage quickly located his new girlfriend. She was thin. She was blonde. She was adorable. He kept flirting with her, throwing gummy smiles and boyish glances her way, while trying not to try too hard. The next thing I know, he's sitting on her lap, gnawing on her elbow and she's gently rubbing his back telling him what a good boy he is.

Eventually he got handed back to me, but not without first making a pass at his new girlfriend's chest. I fed him a nice leisurely meal of milk and then put him on my shoulder.

He burped. No, babies burp. He belched, in the way that beer-guzzling, football-watching, pizza-eating men belch. It was loud and gross.

And then he smiled and looked around to see if anyone had appreciated it. He got a "That was a good one, buddy!" from someone, and you could see the sutures in his baby skull widen just a bit to accommodate his enormous head.

watch out world

I don't know where I lost it. That's the whole idea of losing something, right? You're not sure where you put it, or where it got to, or you'd go right to where you left it and pick it up and put it in your pocket and it wouldn't be a big deal. But sometimes the thing you've lost is hard to describe. That thingamajig. That whatchamacallit. That -- what's the word? Hmmm. I can't quite put my finger on it.

I'm guessing it got misplaced somewhere between the third trimester of pregnancy, delivering a baby, having a husband gone and then sick. When you're waiting for the other shoe to drop, you don't really care whether your feet are pedicured or that your sandals are last season. You just keep putting one foot in front of the other, looking up every once in the while to make sure you're headed in the general right direction, but not really sure which way that is.

Then all of a sudden you realize that it's been months since you read a book for pleasure. Or taken photographs for the fun of it with that camera you so desperately wanted. Or written something that was outside your comfort zone. It's been since December that you hosted friends at your house. Even longer since you wore something you liked for a reason other than it was clean. Nevermind that your year-long sabbatical for motherhood is approaching an end, and you're craving the stimulation of a workplace that does not constantly need cleaning and the wardrobe of clothing that is not made by Old Navy.

The haze of the fourth trimester is lifting. Gage is thriving. Claire is adjusting well to sisterhood. And now, I want me back. Strike that. I NEED me back.

Change comes slowly. Still one step at a time, but now in the direction I want, towards goals beyond survival. I'm looking for a job. Digging into the stack of books accumulated on my nightstand. Making an effort to trim down the pregnancy weight and find clothes that fit my body and make me happy.  Taking walks whenever I can and taking pictures whenever the mood strikes me. Volunteering to host a baby shower on a moment's notice despite the fact that the house is dirty and the yard still needs a spring clean-up. Enjoying my last months as a stay-at-home-mom with trips to the strawberry fields and plans to make homemade jam, at the same time I'm writing kickass cover letters and hoping for a great career opportunity.

One day at a time, one decision at a time, I'm starting to feel like myself again -- sassy, smart, and on top of my game. There's a spring in my step, a smile on my face, a twinkle in my eye, and a hunger in my soul. I want more, and I'm about to reach out and take it.

I don't know where I lost it, but I know it's returned: Mama's got her mojo back.

Consider yourself warned.

leafy greens are the new Prozac

After some contemplation, Ron and I decided to join a CSA this spring through a local farm. Every Tuesday, we drive to a nearby market, pick up our share of this week's harvest, and fill our refrigerator with healthy, locally-grown produce. It's fresh. It's delicious. It's, frankly, a bit overwhelming.

The crops harvested right now are from those plants that don't mind growing in the cooler weather -- namely, leafy greens of all varieties. This week, we got a box that included kale, green oak leaf lettuce, spinach, tat soi, arugula, mustard greens, and turnips with greens attached. Apparently, somebody thought our house needed some regularity, based on the high fiber content of my refrigerator.

Having all of this healthy food around is definitely good for our diets. We feel guilty letting any of it go to waste, and so I'm searching for ways to get greens into dishes aside from eating them raw. I'm beginning to think that CSA actually stands for "Consume Salads All.the.time." (If you have any favorite salads that take lettuce to a new level, please pass them along. Seriously.)

And while I sometimes wonder whether I can stand another lunch of salad and strawberries (also in season), I'm seeing benefits. Turns out those nutrition experts know what they're talking about when they tell us to eat this stuff. My skin has cleared up, my extra pregnancy insulation is thinning, and my mood has improved. It seems that when I put less crap in my body, I feel less crappy. Genius.

Now if I could just find a way to make those mustard greens tasty without cooking them with bacon, imagine what other improvements I might see. Possibilities are endless: children who never tantrum, a blissful marriage, the perfect work-life balance. All if I could eat my greens without a little salt and fat from the pig.

Yep, pork is all that stands between me and world domination. Delicious, delectable pork.

this evening

Sitting in a beach chair on my deck. Fussing with Twitter (addicted). Watching my husband play soccer-tball-tag with Claire while Gage snoozes in the swing.

Right now, for this moment, life is good.