Friday, January 23, 2009
TGIF
I have lots of posts in my head but none that are ready to be committed to keyboard yet. It's supposed to be warm today, so we're hoping to have an extended outside afternoon play session. And we're expecting a friend over--she called, desperate, at 8:30 this morning--but hasn't appeared yet. She's got a baby in tow, though, so no worries. Besides, my kids are happily playing upstairs. They're cuddled up in the same bed reading each other stories. I love the new brother-sister time they are creating for themselves. Which is why I'm downstairs by myself on the computer. More later.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Soup's Off
I've made two different batches of soup this week that haven't worked at all: split pea-lentil "confetti" soup and butternut squash soup. The pea-lentil soup was a bag mix from a company whose other soups I really like, but only one word can be used to describe this one: boring. I mean, it tasted of water. Sure, I didn't add the ham bone but I added other things that usually compensate for the lack of meat. Perhaps I should've cooked the beans in veggie stock instead of water. Ugh. I'm just not sure I can bring myself to eat it, if I can even get it doctored to edible. The other soup--a butternut squash one based on a recipe by Mark Bittman that uses 2 lbs squash, stock, and various garnishes--is extremely mediocre. I think my squash was mediocre--I know, I know, not the best time for squash, but my veg board soup challenge was pumpkin and so I substituted butternut (because I couldn't find a pumpkin). I'm going to save it for dinner and see if Mama can help me fix it. Or tell me that she agrees that it's inedible, too. What a disappointment. I might just have a can of Campbell's tomato or part of a box of Trader Joe's Sweet Potato Bisque instead.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
How to Read a Museum Wall Label
While museum wall labels are fairly transparent, there are a few quirks to understand. The example below is representative of a typical label, but museums do vary their formats.
Artist’s Name (with Country of Origin, Birth and Death Dates in parentheses)
Title of Work of Art [almost always italicized]
Medium [i.e. what its made of], dimensions [usually L x W x H]
How the museum acquired the object [donation/gift, purchase, loan, etc.], sometimes the year
####.### [Accession number, oftentimes the year the work was acquired and the number it was that year. 2009.2 means the object was acquired in 2009 and was the 2nd object acquired that year]
On many labels, there is a paragraph of information written by the curators or more rarely the educators pointing out interesting information about the object itself, the artist, the method of the work's creation, or the country or time period in which it was created. Some labels omit this section all together, frequently in contemporary galleries. The best labels don't use jargon without defining terms or refer to anything you can't see (i.e. other works, other artists).
Want to impress your friends? Position yourself in front of the label and casually glance at it while talking (docents and lecturer use this trick-of-the-trade all the time). If you are talking with childre, sometimes it's best to hide the label so those kids (who always have great eyes) don't just read you what the curators wrote--sometimes just knowing the title can skew their perceptions of the work.
Artist’s Name (with Country of Origin, Birth and Death Dates in parentheses)
Title of Work of Art [almost always italicized]
Medium [i.e. what its made of], dimensions [usually L x W x H]
How the museum acquired the object [donation/gift, purchase, loan, etc.], sometimes the year
####.### [Accession number, oftentimes the year the work was acquired and the number it was that year. 2009.2 means the object was acquired in 2009 and was the 2nd object acquired that year]
On many labels, there is a paragraph of information written by the curators or more rarely the educators pointing out interesting information about the object itself, the artist, the method of the work's creation, or the country or time period in which it was created. Some labels omit this section all together, frequently in contemporary galleries. The best labels don't use jargon without defining terms or refer to anything you can't see (i.e. other works, other artists).
Want to impress your friends? Position yourself in front of the label and casually glance at it while talking (docents and lecturer use this trick-of-the-trade all the time). If you are talking with childre, sometimes it's best to hide the label so those kids (who always have great eyes) don't just read you what the curators wrote--sometimes just knowing the title can skew their perceptions of the work.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
A Child's Understanding of the Inauguration and Presidency
Sis has long thought that President Obama was a personal friend of ours. On Election Day, she was convinced he was going to call us. And now, she wants to go visit. During the Inauguration, she kept saying, "I want to go see Obama at his white house." And the emphasis was similar to if he had lived in, say, a gray house. Not "WhiteHouse" the way adults refer to it, but "white house." Two distinct and separate words. She wanted to know if he had pets--a dog--like Gommie? No, not a pug. She was intrigued that he has two kids--"just like you!"
So she wants to go tomorrow. I said we would plan a trip to D.C. eventually, especially because there are panda bears there. "Obama has a pet panda bear?" Bud chimed in. Well, if he's president and it's the National Zoo, is he nominally in charge? "No, hon, the zoo has the pandas." Bud was a little less focused on Obama--"Mom, is he the guy in the necktie?" Um, well, yes, one of them. "Does he have black hair?" Yes, yes, he does (and I imagine most of the others were gray). "Look he has a white shirt. It matches his house."
"Is he even in charge of Texas?" Bud asked. Yes, even Texas. Even if they don't want him to be (except Gommie and Pop, Banana and Soccer).
So she wants to go tomorrow. I said we would plan a trip to D.C. eventually, especially because there are panda bears there. "Obama has a pet panda bear?" Bud chimed in. Well, if he's president and it's the National Zoo, is he nominally in charge? "No, hon, the zoo has the pandas." Bud was a little less focused on Obama--"Mom, is he the guy in the necktie?" Um, well, yes, one of them. "Does he have black hair?" Yes, yes, he does (and I imagine most of the others were gray). "Look he has a white shirt. It matches his house."
"Is he even in charge of Texas?" Bud asked. Yes, even Texas. Even if they don't want him to be (except Gommie and Pop, Banana and Soccer).
Thinking of Miss T
Just want to send love to Miss T today. I really liked your trivet. Thinking about you. Missing you. Wanting some of those baked goods.
Obamalicious!
We just talked to Gommie and Pop, who are toasting champagne down in Houston. There, rare democrats in a conservative Bush stronghold, they have found the last eight years hard to stomach and deserve a litte liberal celebration. Gommie cried as she spoke to Sis and told her she can be proud to be an American today. Sis just giggled and told Gommie she was feeling "Obamalicious" here on "Obama Day," inspired by the book Pinkalicious, about a girl who loved (and then turned) pink, which Gommie gave her for Christmas. Bud joined in chanting "Obamalicious! Obamalicious!" Happy Obama Day!
"I'm Too Excited to Eat Cookies"
Sis, Bud, and I just finished watching the Inauguration, sitting on my bed, eating cookies. Though, Sis said, "I'm too excited to eat cookies" and put hers back in the bag. Bud ate his (and some of hers), admiring Aretha Franklin and John Williams's "Air and Simple Gifts" with Yo-Yo Ma and Itzhak Pearlman. I cried the whole time, which surprised the kids and discomfited them somewhat, even though I explained that they were happy tears.
"Why, Mommy?"
Because this inauguration means you can do anything, be anything. Even though you are bi-racial. Even though you have two mommies.
Because, even though we still have severe problems, we now have hope again, we now have faith again, and pride and trust, all the things we had lost over the last eight years.
Because this is the possibility, the promise, of the world that I wanted for you when you were born. I was pregnant at the start of Bush's second term and I remember telling Mama, discouraged, that I couldn't imagine what we were thinking bringing children into that world. She reassured me that children were proof of our hope, our contribution to the creation of the world we want.
Here it is, Bud and Sis: a new start for the world we want, a world that won't reject you because of your face or your parents, a world where anything can happen, a world where we take better care of each other and our planet, a world just like the one described in your favorite book, Can You Say Peace?, a world just like the one described by President Obama (though, I don't think you were listening by then). And we're all going to build it together. That's why we left school early; that's why we rushed home; that's why we ate cookies on my bed; that's why we weren't watching your favorite shows. I didn't want you to miss the beginning.
So let's eat those cookies and celebrate!
"Why, Mommy?"
Because this inauguration means you can do anything, be anything. Even though you are bi-racial. Even though you have two mommies.
Because, even though we still have severe problems, we now have hope again, we now have faith again, and pride and trust, all the things we had lost over the last eight years.
Because this is the possibility, the promise, of the world that I wanted for you when you were born. I was pregnant at the start of Bush's second term and I remember telling Mama, discouraged, that I couldn't imagine what we were thinking bringing children into that world. She reassured me that children were proof of our hope, our contribution to the creation of the world we want.
Here it is, Bud and Sis: a new start for the world we want, a world that won't reject you because of your face or your parents, a world where anything can happen, a world where we take better care of each other and our planet, a world just like the one described in your favorite book, Can You Say Peace?, a world just like the one described by President Obama (though, I don't think you were listening by then). And we're all going to build it together. That's why we left school early; that's why we rushed home; that's why we ate cookies on my bed; that's why we weren't watching your favorite shows. I didn't want you to miss the beginning.
So let's eat those cookies and celebrate!
We Made it!
With just a few minutes to spare, we are home, on my bed, with our cookies, ready to see the Inauguration!
Not Live Blogging the Inauguration
The kids had a snow delay this morning, which means I didn't get my planned 2 1/2 hours of inauguration viewing this morning. Instead, we played this morning and made cornbread, then went to school. I picked up some red and white (no blue) cookies for our Obama party and came home, which gave me about 40 minutes to watch coverage and talk to my mom who is absolutely thrilled. Now it's time to rush off to pick them up and beat it home so hopefully we can see the swearing in and the speech. Sis is excited and wants to go see Obama at his White House. Bud just likes to have the tv on (even if Obama is not Caillou!).
Okay, start your engines, here I go . . . . but I'm taping it just in case. But live is better.
Okay, start your engines, here I go . . . . but I'm taping it just in case. But live is better.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Prepping and Practicing (or, White Girls Can't Speak Mandarin)
I practiced some of my Mandarin today at our local Asian grocery.
"Xing jia yu-ie!" I said to the cashier in my best Chow Gou.
She replied in Cantonese: "Gung hay fat choi!"
And then added, "Xin Nian Kuai Le!" And I'm not sure what that is, Mandarin, perhaps.
And then Sis added, "Xing nian hao!"
See, there are several ways to wish someone a happy new year. You can wish "happy new year" or "good health" or "have a prosperous new year"--any combination of health, wealth, happiness, longevity, or similar good wishes--just think of all the ways you can sign a Christmas card these days and multiple it by, well, how many dialects of Chinese are there? (One website says 1500 recorded ones).
Then we started talking about red envelopes, or ang bao. We're trying to teach the kids the rhyme they should say:
"Xing jia yu-ie
Xing nih huac chai
Ang bao tua tua gai." (approximately)
This is basically "Happy New Year! Good health! Let the red envelope be a big one."
The cashier had her own rhyme in Cantonese but neither Mama nor I caught it.
Of course, you want that to be a big envelope because it contains money, often a multiple of your age. Which is not what you think it is. For the Chinese, you are one year old the minute you are born and then you turn two on your first new year (even if it isn't a year away). They don't really celebrate birthdays per se. New Year's is the big celebration and it lasts, all told, for a few weeks. The kids are going to be 5. Oh my gosh, I just realized I'm 40!!!! Not that it matters in China, because the first significant birthday is, I believe, 65 or so. Aging is a good thing.
We actually didn't buy anything in the way of traditional New Year's foods; Ma and Gong will get all of that this week. We restocked Mama's sauce supply and got two boxes of Pocky for the kids (yes, yes, I know, that's Japanese--but we are severely curtailing what we will buy food-wise that is actually made in China, excluding anything with dairy). We also got some red and gold decorations, including four little lanterns and decoration for the front door with numerous symbols (ancient money, coins, firecrackers, bamboo, even happy cats, and some calligraphic new year's wishes--if some is good, more is better, and too much is best).
And of course, several ang bao.
"Xing jia yu-ie!" I said to the cashier in my best Chow Gou.
She replied in Cantonese: "Gung hay fat choi!"
And then added, "Xin Nian Kuai Le!" And I'm not sure what that is, Mandarin, perhaps.
And then Sis added, "Xing nian hao!"
See, there are several ways to wish someone a happy new year. You can wish "happy new year" or "good health" or "have a prosperous new year"--any combination of health, wealth, happiness, longevity, or similar good wishes--just think of all the ways you can sign a Christmas card these days and multiple it by, well, how many dialects of Chinese are there? (One website says 1500 recorded ones).
Then we started talking about red envelopes, or ang bao. We're trying to teach the kids the rhyme they should say:
"Xing jia yu-ie
Xing nih huac chai
Ang bao tua tua gai." (approximately)
This is basically "Happy New Year! Good health! Let the red envelope be a big one."
The cashier had her own rhyme in Cantonese but neither Mama nor I caught it.
Of course, you want that to be a big envelope because it contains money, often a multiple of your age. Which is not what you think it is. For the Chinese, you are one year old the minute you are born and then you turn two on your first new year (even if it isn't a year away). They don't really celebrate birthdays per se. New Year's is the big celebration and it lasts, all told, for a few weeks. The kids are going to be 5. Oh my gosh, I just realized I'm 40!!!! Not that it matters in China, because the first significant birthday is, I believe, 65 or so. Aging is a good thing.
We actually didn't buy anything in the way of traditional New Year's foods; Ma and Gong will get all of that this week. We restocked Mama's sauce supply and got two boxes of Pocky for the kids (yes, yes, I know, that's Japanese--but we are severely curtailing what we will buy food-wise that is actually made in China, excluding anything with dairy). We also got some red and gold decorations, including four little lanterns and decoration for the front door with numerous symbols (ancient money, coins, firecrackers, bamboo, even happy cats, and some calligraphic new year's wishes--if some is good, more is better, and too much is best).
And of course, several ang bao.
Katie Bar the Door!
Because the last of our childproofing, corralling gates is gone! We took the gate away from the base of the stairs, as it had become not much more than a toy to swing on and a place to hang clothes/jackets/whatever needed to go upstairs. The kids have free reign of the house now, adding physical control to psychological. And it wasn't even that bittersweet. For weeks, we've mostly been keeping it unlocked as long as they asked permission to go upstairs. And they feel very grown up in being trusted with forays to the second floor. So now we've made the freedom not only actual but symbolic, by removing the last possible barrier. But, for those of you who have toddlers who visit my house, we still have a pressure gate we can put up to block the stairs. The cats will like it better that way.
I Can't Believe It's Snowing
Sure, sure, it's lovely, fluffy snow. And it's snowed a little or a lot everyday for three days--I bet we've added 6+ inches to our accumulation. And the kids have now actually seen 6-sided, crystalline snowflakes in person, several times. And we had that snowball fight in our ice forts today. Though, we haven't managed a snowfriend yet because this is not the best snow for that. And we didn't make more rainbow snow paint. Or more snow ice cream. I wonder if the winter wonderland is losing its charm? It sure is pretty falling outside.
But there had better be school tomorrow.
But there had better be school tomorrow.
Ask What You Can Read for Your Country
Several weeks ago, the NYTimes reported on the new NEA study that adults are reading more fiction books than in the last 25 years, reversing a trend where less than half of Americans over the age of 18 had read a play, poem, or work of fiction in the last 12 months.
Have you?
I've read several books, all histories and biographies (the biographies of George Eliot and Mrs. Beeton by Kathryn Hughes, Unredeemed Captive, to name a few off the top of my head. On my desk right now are histories of housework in both the U.S. and the U.K., as well as Taste: A Story of Britain through its Cooking ), but I don't think I've read a novel since the last Harry Potter book came out. Wait, when was Sarah Waters's Nightwatch, which was a Booker Prize finalist--I read that. (And I have Eric Carle memorized. Does that count?)
I am inspired to continue to squeeze reading into my daily activities, perhaps even expand my selections, by Michiko Kakutani's exploration of almost-President Barack Obama's reading habits. Her thumbnail list of his favorites include:
The Bible
“Parting the Waters,” Taylor Branch
“Self-Reliance,” Ralph Waldo Emerson
Gandhi’s autobiography
“Team of Rivals,” Doris Kearns Goodwin
“The Golden Notebook,” Doris Lessing
Lincoln’s collected writings
“Moby-Dick,” Herman Melville
“Song of Solomon,” Toni Morrison
Works of Reinhold Niebuhr
“Gilead,” Marilynne Robinson
Shakespeare’s tragedies
Except parts of the Bible and several of Shakespeare's tragedies, I'm embarrased to admit I haven't read any of those (I'm going to bet that my mom has read 75% of them, at least). I think I'll put Doris Kearn Goodwin's Team of Rivals on my list, right after Geraldine Brooks's March, which isn't on the list but is on my nightstand. I haven't been much of a fiction reader (excludng my devouring of "history mysteries" as twinkie reading during my grad school days) and am illiterate when it comes to contemporary, or late 20th-century, fiction, which is a constant source of shame and regret since everyone thinks I'm caught up.
Even with my ignorance of contemporary fiction, I value it and was saddened to read Stanley Fish's piece on "The Last Professor." While specifically about the decline of the importance of the liberal arts and humanities at colleges and universities, Fish's essay really chronicles the demise of art and the humanitites, some commentors (they aren't really commentators, right?) called it culture, in our society. Because some disciplines, including philosophy and literature and my own art history, have no practical use in a market-driven state, which focuses on efficiency, productivity, and transparency, they will simply disappear. When universities have a puprose outside of their walls, for instance as Judith Warner has described in investigating the pharmaceutical company-research university connection, the universities and professors become corrupt. Considering Enron, Madoff, Wall Street, to name just a few, has a market-based, practical, producing society really stood us in good stead? There is money, of course, and the advantages it can buy, but beyond that? It's like major league sports . . . beyond making money, do they have value that transcends, say, books? If books could make money (which all indications are that they, and bookstores, are not), would this be a discussion?
Even if I don't read novels--or study philosophy--I want them to exist and for people to study them in a world far removed from the demands of the marketplace, just as I immersed myself in art history for so many years and still visit museums to revisit and rekindle that love. Intriguingly, in the essay, Fish referred to such places, the wealthy universities, as "functioning almost as museums." This seems to recall Theodor Adorno's notion of a museum as mausoleum, containing only dead artifacts and no longer relevant to "living" society. Are books and art really dead to us? Not to our new president, thankfully. And maybe Obama's own dedication to culture and the life of the mind will continue and encourage the trend that the NEA has spotted. And Stanley Fish will be wrong. Because in the end, I don't think Fish wants to be right.
I think I'm going to log off and go read.
Have you?
I've read several books, all histories and biographies (the biographies of George Eliot and Mrs. Beeton by Kathryn Hughes, Unredeemed Captive, to name a few off the top of my head. On my desk right now are histories of housework in both the U.S. and the U.K., as well as Taste: A Story of Britain through its Cooking ), but I don't think I've read a novel since the last Harry Potter book came out. Wait, when was Sarah Waters's Nightwatch, which was a Booker Prize finalist--I read that. (And I have Eric Carle memorized. Does that count?)
I am inspired to continue to squeeze reading into my daily activities, perhaps even expand my selections, by Michiko Kakutani's exploration of almost-President Barack Obama's reading habits. Her thumbnail list of his favorites include:
The Bible
“Parting the Waters,” Taylor Branch
“Self-Reliance,” Ralph Waldo Emerson
Gandhi’s autobiography
“Team of Rivals,” Doris Kearns Goodwin
“The Golden Notebook,” Doris Lessing
Lincoln’s collected writings
“Moby-Dick,” Herman Melville
“Song of Solomon,” Toni Morrison
Works of Reinhold Niebuhr
“Gilead,” Marilynne Robinson
Shakespeare’s tragedies
Except parts of the Bible and several of Shakespeare's tragedies, I'm embarrased to admit I haven't read any of those (I'm going to bet that my mom has read 75% of them, at least). I think I'll put Doris Kearn Goodwin's Team of Rivals on my list, right after Geraldine Brooks's March, which isn't on the list but is on my nightstand. I haven't been much of a fiction reader (excludng my devouring of "history mysteries" as twinkie reading during my grad school days) and am illiterate when it comes to contemporary, or late 20th-century, fiction, which is a constant source of shame and regret since everyone thinks I'm caught up.
Even with my ignorance of contemporary fiction, I value it and was saddened to read Stanley Fish's piece on "The Last Professor." While specifically about the decline of the importance of the liberal arts and humanities at colleges and universities, Fish's essay really chronicles the demise of art and the humanitites, some commentors (they aren't really commentators, right?) called it culture, in our society. Because some disciplines, including philosophy and literature and my own art history, have no practical use in a market-driven state, which focuses on efficiency, productivity, and transparency, they will simply disappear. When universities have a puprose outside of their walls, for instance as Judith Warner has described in investigating the pharmaceutical company-research university connection, the universities and professors become corrupt. Considering Enron, Madoff, Wall Street, to name just a few, has a market-based, practical, producing society really stood us in good stead? There is money, of course, and the advantages it can buy, but beyond that? It's like major league sports . . . beyond making money, do they have value that transcends, say, books? If books could make money (which all indications are that they, and bookstores, are not), would this be a discussion?
Even if I don't read novels--or study philosophy--I want them to exist and for people to study them in a world far removed from the demands of the marketplace, just as I immersed myself in art history for so many years and still visit museums to revisit and rekindle that love. Intriguingly, in the essay, Fish referred to such places, the wealthy universities, as "functioning almost as museums." This seems to recall Theodor Adorno's notion of a museum as mausoleum, containing only dead artifacts and no longer relevant to "living" society. Are books and art really dead to us? Not to our new president, thankfully. And maybe Obama's own dedication to culture and the life of the mind will continue and encourage the trend that the NEA has spotted. And Stanley Fish will be wrong. Because in the end, I don't think Fish wants to be right.
I think I'm going to log off and go read.
I Like to Eat, Eat, Eat Apples and . . . Whatever
Yesterday at church, Mama had the experience of telling someone a story that the listener already knew because that person reads my blog. Mama said it felt very strange. It doesn't actually happen to me much, mainly because I know who reads this (among people I know in real life--their own blogs are linked to mine or they email me to comment; as for other people, I have no clue really--I only have one commentor now whom I have never met in person--and I don't look at my Google analytics anymore because most of it is search engine traffic with a very high bounce rate). My mom apparently had the same experience recently, because she didn't know that her mahjong friend or my aunt read this and repeated a story to them.
Anyway, Mama was surprised that someone else knew the applesauce story, about how we read Sis's book on apples and then made the sauce. The listener--hi Miss D from church!--then gave us her own suggestion for applesauce, which is to add other fruit to the apples while they are cooking. And so, tonight, we bought more apples and will add some frozen blueberries when we make more later this week. Bud will love it. Thanks, Miss D!
Anyway, Mama was surprised that someone else knew the applesauce story, about how we read Sis's book on apples and then made the sauce. The listener--hi Miss D from church!--then gave us her own suggestion for applesauce, which is to add other fruit to the apples while they are cooking. And so, tonight, we bought more apples and will add some frozen blueberries when we make more later this week. Bud will love it. Thanks, Miss D!
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Joys and Concerns
Thoughts go out to Mama Teacher who had a hat trick this weekend: she needs major dental repair; their tv died; and she pulled a muscle in her back and hurts. I hope that's it.
Also, to our minister who had her own hat trick last week: she sliced her finger open and it needed stitches (and got infected); her husband Mr K hit a deer with the car (deer survived, car needs help); and then in the freakiest bit, a branch fell on her car and took out a rearview mirror and then bounced and took out his car's rearview mirror because he was following her home. If I didn't know them well, I wouldn't believe it (though, we have teased them that knowing them well is dangerous).
Also, to our minister who had her own hat trick last week: she sliced her finger open and it needed stitches (and got infected); her husband Mr K hit a deer with the car (deer survived, car needs help); and then in the freakiest bit, a branch fell on her car and took out a rearview mirror and then bounced and took out his car's rearview mirror because he was following her home. If I didn't know them well, I wouldn't believe it (though, we have teased them that knowing them well is dangerous).
The Sweetest Sound Ever
. . . . besides all the mushy-gushy mommy answers is the sound of my frozen dishwasher coming back to life after being comatose for three days! Thank goodness for the sun. And for my handwasher, Mama!
Snow Dishes, or Frugal Luxuries
Among the books I brought home from the library last week was Frugal Luxuries: Simple Pleasures to Enhance Your Life and Comfort Your Soul by Tracy McBride. I had been attracted to it by the words "frugal" as we try to decrease our monthly discretionary spending (yep, we're the consumers ruining the economy by cutting back our spending even though technically we don't have to yet, i.e. Mama is still employed, but we think we would be reckless not to), as well as "simple" because I'm inspired by but not quite a dedicated follower of the simple living movement and "soul" because I'm a good spiritual path-seeking UU.
I skimmed the book, which isn't quite a manifesto for simple living. McBride is very interested in stuff, just not new stuff; she likes old, used, recycled, reclaimed, and inexpensive stuff. Simple living, as I understand it, is usually a rejection of materialism, not a way to find stuff easily and cheaply. That said, I did like some of McBride's ideas, mainly the ones about adding art and beauty back into our lives with special touches. For her, this means a cut-glass pitcher of water with lemon slices on the table at every meal. I had to stop to think what it meant to me. I don't usually spend much time on pretty or special touches. "Pretty" and "special" tend to be breakable and I have not one but two little bull calves in my china shop. But as Mama and I go through the basement and discard things (which is why I'm not even going to link to Motherlode's article on the baseball cards; no sense giving Mama any more reasons for keeping stuff around!), I realize that I have lots of things that I have been saving. For a rainy day, for when the kids were older, for a special occasion. But with McBride in mind, I figured there was no time like the present.
So, when it snowed last time, I went downstairs and brought up a set of dishes from who knows where or whom that are decorated with wintery designs like snowflakes and ice skates. I served our traditional snow snack of hot chocolate and popcorn in the oversized mugs and dessert plates, explaining to Bud and Sis that these were our new "snow dishes." At the time, I wasn't sure they thought it was special to have a set of dishes just for snowy days, but today when it snowed Bud immediately requested the "snow dishes," even remembering who in the family got which wintery design. I guess the only downside to the success of McBride's suggestion is that now there will be less stuff to throw out of the basement!
I skimmed the book, which isn't quite a manifesto for simple living. McBride is very interested in stuff, just not new stuff; she likes old, used, recycled, reclaimed, and inexpensive stuff. Simple living, as I understand it, is usually a rejection of materialism, not a way to find stuff easily and cheaply. That said, I did like some of McBride's ideas, mainly the ones about adding art and beauty back into our lives with special touches. For her, this means a cut-glass pitcher of water with lemon slices on the table at every meal. I had to stop to think what it meant to me. I don't usually spend much time on pretty or special touches. "Pretty" and "special" tend to be breakable and I have not one but two little bull calves in my china shop. But as Mama and I go through the basement and discard things (which is why I'm not even going to link to Motherlode's article on the baseball cards; no sense giving Mama any more reasons for keeping stuff around!), I realize that I have lots of things that I have been saving. For a rainy day, for when the kids were older, for a special occasion. But with McBride in mind, I figured there was no time like the present.
So, when it snowed last time, I went downstairs and brought up a set of dishes from who knows where or whom that are decorated with wintery designs like snowflakes and ice skates. I served our traditional snow snack of hot chocolate and popcorn in the oversized mugs and dessert plates, explaining to Bud and Sis that these were our new "snow dishes." At the time, I wasn't sure they thought it was special to have a set of dishes just for snowy days, but today when it snowed Bud immediately requested the "snow dishes," even remembering who in the family got which wintery design. I guess the only downside to the success of McBride's suggestion is that now there will be less stuff to throw out of the basement!
Taking the Show on the Road
Mama and I stole a quick kiss and a hug in the living room this evening and Sis yelled at us from across the room, "Can you do that in the other room?"
Ars Longa, Vita Brevis
I am always a little bit homesick after visiting the city. I feel that way after I go back to Texas, too. It's not that I want to live in NYC or in Houston again, but that I have a bittersweet nostalgia for all that is good and a selective blindness about all that is not. We chose to live in the 'burbs even before there were kids, wanting a home, a yard, more space, a slower pace, at a price we could afford. But then we were both commuting into the city five days a week and enjoying all of its charms and few of its hassles. Then for a bit, Mama alone commuted while I was at home with the babes and I could feed off of her city energy and enjoy things and tales she brought back. Now, of course, she has a much easier commute and I like having her not-so-far-away, but I miss the city.
(My one Connecticut joke: do you know what they call people from Connecticut? Connecticutters? Connecticutians? Connecticutites? No. Commuters.)
We want to raise our children here in Connecticut, where the laws support our family as does the community of which we are a part. I had a suburban childhood and loved it, wanting that for them. And with mommies with a familiarity and love of the city, the kids will have the best of both worlds, especially with grandparents still in Queens. At least we are going to try to go down regularly, knowing that as life gets more hectic and scheduled, visits will probably be fewer and farther apart.
I wish there was a way that I could easily do that with my career, the other thing from yesterday's visit for which I still yearn occasionally. Like living in NYC, working takes on an afterglow when you aren't actually doing it. Long meetings with curators who can't explain the exhibition for which you must program? Budgets that don't allow you to do what you dream of? Audiences that don't show up? All that email and voicemail and still more meetings? No, I remember the great tours and the packed lecture halls and the crisp new brochures and the comrade-in-arms colleagues and the engagement with art and scholarship. I'm homesick for my career. But I can't have that for 2 hours twice a week, or even next year for 2 hours three times a week--especially because I only want the good parts, not the annoying ones, which is why I haven't tried too hard to find something professional to do just yet (to the disappointment of my professional friends, those without kids). Just as we wanted to live in the burbs, we wanted a stay-at-home-mom for the kids, someone totally focused on and available for/to them in these early years (not to say that work-away-from-home moms like Mama aren't totally focused in a philosophical way on their kids, but there isn't the same kind of present-ness/presence. And believe me we talk about it. We're like the "Blue and the Grey"--or was it "North and South" with the split family?-of the Mommy Wars. It's Reconstruction here now. Except no one won and no one lost). And just as I'm not ready to sacrifice my community here for the city, I am not ready to sacrifice my SAHM-ness for my career. I want it all, know that's not possible, and am just a little down right now. At least, with art and the city, there is always something to go home to.
(My one Connecticut joke: do you know what they call people from Connecticut? Connecticutters? Connecticutians? Connecticutites? No. Commuters.)
We want to raise our children here in Connecticut, where the laws support our family as does the community of which we are a part. I had a suburban childhood and loved it, wanting that for them. And with mommies with a familiarity and love of the city, the kids will have the best of both worlds, especially with grandparents still in Queens. At least we are going to try to go down regularly, knowing that as life gets more hectic and scheduled, visits will probably be fewer and farther apart.
I wish there was a way that I could easily do that with my career, the other thing from yesterday's visit for which I still yearn occasionally. Like living in NYC, working takes on an afterglow when you aren't actually doing it. Long meetings with curators who can't explain the exhibition for which you must program? Budgets that don't allow you to do what you dream of? Audiences that don't show up? All that email and voicemail and still more meetings? No, I remember the great tours and the packed lecture halls and the crisp new brochures and the comrade-in-arms colleagues and the engagement with art and scholarship. I'm homesick for my career. But I can't have that for 2 hours twice a week, or even next year for 2 hours three times a week--especially because I only want the good parts, not the annoying ones, which is why I haven't tried too hard to find something professional to do just yet (to the disappointment of my professional friends, those without kids). Just as we wanted to live in the burbs, we wanted a stay-at-home-mom for the kids, someone totally focused on and available for/to them in these early years (not to say that work-away-from-home moms like Mama aren't totally focused in a philosophical way on their kids, but there isn't the same kind of present-ness/presence. And believe me we talk about it. We're like the "Blue and the Grey"--or was it "North and South" with the split family?-of the Mommy Wars. It's Reconstruction here now. Except no one won and no one lost). And just as I'm not ready to sacrifice my community here for the city, I am not ready to sacrifice my SAHM-ness for my career. I want it all, know that's not possible, and am just a little down right now. At least, with art and the city, there is always something to go home to.
"They Hit Puberty and Their Wheels Fall Off"
Sis was playing in the nursery after service and coffee hour this morning, pulling a toy riding horse with wheels around. She turned to our minister's husband, our favorite Mr. K, and said she needed to take the little horse to her mommy, the big spring-suspended riding horse.
Mr. K, who never misses a beat and has a wicked keen sense of Monty-Python/adolescent humor, said that apparently when these nursery horses grow up they lose their wheels and get springs. Having two not-quite-adult sons, Mr. K thought that was an apt metaphor for adolescence: they hit puberty and their wheels fall off.
Heaven help us. We have almost a decade and a half before that happens, but Mr. K is convinced we are in for trouble. He says that Sis and Bud have "strong personalities," which on the whole he admires in them (his is a family of strong personalities). Especially because they're not his! But since his wife is our minister, I figure my 4 a.m. calls of distress twelve years down the road will wake him up too. And he'll deserve it.
Until then, I like our wheels just fine.
But I think we need helmets too.
Mr. K, who never misses a beat and has a wicked keen sense of Monty-Python/adolescent humor, said that apparently when these nursery horses grow up they lose their wheels and get springs. Having two not-quite-adult sons, Mr. K thought that was an apt metaphor for adolescence: they hit puberty and their wheels fall off.
Heaven help us. We have almost a decade and a half before that happens, but Mr. K is convinced we are in for trouble. He says that Sis and Bud have "strong personalities," which on the whole he admires in them (his is a family of strong personalities). Especially because they're not his! But since his wife is our minister, I figure my 4 a.m. calls of distress twelve years down the road will wake him up too. And he'll deserve it.
Until then, I like our wheels just fine.
But I think we need helmets too.
Post-Visit Activity: Paper, Paper Everywhere
One of my favorite parts of visiting a museum, beyond the art, is picking up all their pieces of paper: calendars, maps, brochures, and especially family guides. Is it any wonder that my favorite part of my career has been writing museum materials, be it curricula for teachers, family guides, program listings, or museum brochures? (If only I couldn've gotten my hands on my last museum's labels!) The Met is always wonderful inspiration, in this and other aspects of education, for they offer an educator's dream-come-true of printed materials. Yesterday, we came home with pamphlets about animals, dancers, armor, sketching, and the wonderful family map containing full-color poster with minute drawings of the collections.
That is probably the only piece of paper that won't end up in my files unused. It is a sad but well-known fact that visitors pick up all the materials at the information desk and either a). read them when they get home or b). never read them. Neither helps facilitate their visit, which means that they either a). don't need the help or b). don't want it. Even as a professional, I behave as a normal visitor, which is why my unpacked bag still contains clean copies of all the brochures I picked up.
Except that we devoured that family map. As I have mentioned, we spent a lot of time the night before our visit discussing the trip and the rules of the museum while looking at the map we printed off their website with the sarcophagus on the cover. The next day, as we were waiting for the program to start, I grabbed two in-house copies of the map, even though I had ours in my bag. Thus, I was surprised to see the poster inside. For 15 minutes, Bud and Sis oohed-and-aahed over the little pictures. "Mommy, I found the musical instruments!" and "Mama, where is that building inside a building?" I could point out where we would visit the arms and armor, where Sis would get to see her beloved baby Jesus (I know I keep mentioning this but, as a non-Christian UU, I am still fascinated by her obsession with Jesus. I won't have the heart to explain the true meaning of Easter--well, that is, if you aren't looking at Easter's pagan origins. Thank heavens she's also obsessed with bunnies and won't notice anything else), and look longingly at the 19th-century wing we wouldn't be visiting (once a Victorianist, always a Victorianist). This is a great map and the kids' response to it was exactly what the educators must have hoped: they became extremely enthusiastic about the museum, did some very concentrated looking and studying of the materials, and then let the map be their guide during our visit. The only downside: the museum doesn't sell a slightly larger version of the map in the Met Kids shop, where I went looking for it at the end of our visit. So, I did what any other educator would do--grabbed extra copies!
That is probably the only piece of paper that won't end up in my files unused. It is a sad but well-known fact that visitors pick up all the materials at the information desk and either a). read them when they get home or b). never read them. Neither helps facilitate their visit, which means that they either a). don't need the help or b). don't want it. Even as a professional, I behave as a normal visitor, which is why my unpacked bag still contains clean copies of all the brochures I picked up.
Except that we devoured that family map. As I have mentioned, we spent a lot of time the night before our visit discussing the trip and the rules of the museum while looking at the map we printed off their website with the sarcophagus on the cover. The next day, as we were waiting for the program to start, I grabbed two in-house copies of the map, even though I had ours in my bag. Thus, I was surprised to see the poster inside. For 15 minutes, Bud and Sis oohed-and-aahed over the little pictures. "Mommy, I found the musical instruments!" and "Mama, where is that building inside a building?" I could point out where we would visit the arms and armor, where Sis would get to see her beloved baby Jesus (I know I keep mentioning this but, as a non-Christian UU, I am still fascinated by her obsession with Jesus. I won't have the heart to explain the true meaning of Easter--well, that is, if you aren't looking at Easter's pagan origins. Thank heavens she's also obsessed with bunnies and won't notice anything else), and look longingly at the 19th-century wing we wouldn't be visiting (once a Victorianist, always a Victorianist). This is a great map and the kids' response to it was exactly what the educators must have hoped: they became extremely enthusiastic about the museum, did some very concentrated looking and studying of the materials, and then let the map be their guide during our visit. The only downside: the museum doesn't sell a slightly larger version of the map in the Met Kids shop, where I went looking for it at the end of our visit. So, I did what any other educator would do--grabbed extra copies!
Saturday, January 17, 2009
The Visit, Edited for Content*
Where there is art, there are nudes. And today proved no exception, especially because we visited the "Art and Love in Renaissance Italy" exhibition at the Met today. I had given them a quick talk before we entered, beyond "quiet voices" (special exhibitions are always so much quieter than the permanent collection), about how they were going to see a bunch of naked bodies (and yes, yes, I could expound on the differences between naked and nude, but not here, not now). No big deal. Everybody has a body and artist like to paint them. Here we go. I probably should've just waited 'til we came across one because they excitedly asked where the naked people were throughout the first few clothed galleries. But then Sis saw one: two toddler boys pulling on each other's penises, a painting on a childbirth tray. I wasn't there when she spotted it, but apparently she said, "They shouldn't do that." And then came and found me to show me the art. And ask for an explanation (Mama just stood by, curious to see what I'd come up with.) Bud immediately wanted to know, in a loud stage-whisper, why the boys were doing that. Because little boys do that, I said, you do that, and the whole room was about children (or childbirth and the works of art associated with it). Let the fun begin.
We talked about penises until we came across all the naked ladies. Sis said, "there are lots of mommies with no clothes on." This was the room with the Prado's Titian of Venus with the Organ Player and Dog, as well as the Met's Venus and Cupid by Lotto. And lots of other "naked mommies" (can't wait for the visitors who google that and show up here!). As I stood looking at the Titian, Sis queried, "why is that man staring at the naked lady?" And the man next to us seemed to leave rather quickly, while others turned to us bemused. Not ready to delve into the art history of it, I simply said, "Well, we're all looking at her because she's pretty." It's true, isn't it? I tried to interest Bud in other aspects of the painting--the organ, the peacock near the fountain, the deer in the park--but the glare on the painting ("all the white dots") made it and many others hard to see from his vantage point (something for me to remember when I start lecturing, I mean talking, to my kids about what we're seeing).
As interesting as all the nudes were (and I was really glad to have seen the show, even if I didn't get to linger at all), they weren't the best parts. Those were, predictably:
We talked about penises until we came across all the naked ladies. Sis said, "there are lots of mommies with no clothes on." This was the room with the Prado's Titian of Venus with the Organ Player and Dog, as well as the Met's Venus and Cupid by Lotto. And lots of other "naked mommies" (can't wait for the visitors who google that and show up here!). As I stood looking at the Titian, Sis queried, "why is that man staring at the naked lady?" And the man next to us seemed to leave rather quickly, while others turned to us bemused. Not ready to delve into the art history of it, I simply said, "Well, we're all looking at her because she's pretty." It's true, isn't it? I tried to interest Bud in other aspects of the painting--the organ, the peacock near the fountain, the deer in the park--but the glare on the painting ("all the white dots") made it and many others hard to see from his vantage point (something for me to remember when I start lecturing, I mean talking, to my kids about what we're seeing).
As interesting as all the nudes were (and I was really glad to have seen the show, even if I didn't get to linger at all), they weren't the best parts. Those were, predictably:
- the cafeteria (chicken nuggets and fries in a paper taxi cab holder!!! "Mom, I've never eaten from a taxi before!" Sis exclaimed)
- the elevators (and the broken escalator we didn't get to ride), even the ones where guards got to push the buttons instead of the kids
- the automatic flush toilets (how have they not seen these before??)
There was some art in the top five, thankfully:
4. "the room with the building it in" (i.e. the Temple of Dendur gallery)
5. the jousters and horses (Arms and Armor)
Notice that the museum education program we specifically came to attend was not in that list? Actually, the program was pretty good (though I will fault their publicity materials for not providing any details about the structure of it, which would have helped in prepping the kids the night before). We all gathered with the lecturers and discussed the rules, old hat to my two by then and to many of the regulars in the group (of which there were several; made me wish we lived close enough to be a Met regular. But I don't have the quirky fashion sense of these urban mamas, and there wasn't a "Titanesque" one among them!). Then we moved to the modern art wing to discuss--get this, Dr. American Modern--Georgia O'Keeffe! Yep, our first museum program was about her paintings of bones, starting with a children's book called Georgia's Bones by Jen Bryant. Bud and Sis were entranced with the paintings, even with just being in the space, and so sat still and quietly while the lecturer read the story and started talking about the paintings. Then we moved on to an art project, coloring a piece of paper background and adding a cow's skull in the foreground. The kiddos loved flopping on their stomachs on the gallery floor to color on sheets of paper and weren't quite ready to stop when we moved on to talk about another painting. Sis, without being told, knew the painting was of a flower and she was the one--of all those kids--who raised her hand and correctly identified it. Mama especially was so proud. The kids soon became fidgety (the lecturer should've wrapped up but kept adding a few things and was losing her crowd. Old habits die hard, so I did thoroughly analyze her tour--good interaction with the kids, smooth transitions, nice pacing, varied activities--but I would get her to tighten it up a bit, both in length and in theme--I mean, she started the book, stopped to talk about the art, and never finished the book!) and we headed to lunch, only to find the cafeteria didn't open for 30 minutes.
Never, never, never try to see a museum with hungry kids. Oooooh, that was a long 30 minutes. And so, we pulled out all the stops, changed our itinerary, and headed to the Temple of Dendur, stopping to see the blue hippo/mascot William along the way. We'd gone to the shop while waiting for the program to begin and had bought 6 postcards of works of art that I thought we would be able to see during our visit: William the faience hippo; the Temple of Dendur; a Tiffany window; a suit of armor; Goya's portrait of a little boy with animals; and a Degas of dancers. We actually managed to visit all of them but the last. Both Sis and Bud had fun matching the images to the works in the gallery, Sis always being the first to spot the one we were searching for. Sis really liked little William and even chose a stuffed one as her souvenir of the day. Bud wasn't that interested. And while both admired the temple, neither wanted to get particularly close, being more interested in the sphinx, the water, and the crocodile with the broken tail.
We saw many other things: the Christmas tree in the Medieval Hall being dismantled behind barricades; several nativities and statues of Mary and the baby Jesus (still a favorite of Sis's); paintings of musical instruments (but not the real instruments, next time); the "new" Greek and Roman installation that Mama hadn't seen yet. We played lots of "I Spy," finding dragons, white horses, pianos, but no bunny rabbits. We couldn't squeeze in China, not wanting to give it short shift, nor visit the closed American sculpture court. As we kept repeating, to them and to ourselves, there is so much to see and you can never see it all. So we bought a stuffed hippo and a ukelele (for Bud), plus a few books--You Can't Take A Balloon into The Metropolitan Musuem of Art and Museum Shapes--and headed to the wonderful underground parking garage (which meant we didn't even have to carry in our coats, much less check them) and home. Inspired by our day, and ready and willing to come again.
****Title changed so people looking for porn quit coming to this post.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Pre-Visit Activity: Our Trip to the Met
We are going to the Metropolitan Museum of Art tomorrow. While it's not our first trip to an art museum, having been to The Art Institute of Chicago, the Yale University Art Gallery, and the Folk Art Museum, it really is the big leagues: the kids are old enough to understand some of what they are seeing and we are actually attending a program while we are there. It will be their first museum education program, about which I am extremely excited.
So, while we have only told them here at the proverbial last minute that we are going, I have been long considering how we would prepare them. Tonight we looked over the Family Map from the Met's website and they were immediately struck by the cartoons of the woman stepping out of the sarcophagus on the cover. What was that? What was she doing? How do you explain sarcophagi to three year olds who can't comprehend death or after-life or ancient Egypt? Bud kept saying he didn't want to die and didn't want me to die because he didn't want us to go in the box; Sis wanted to die so she could get in the box. While morbid sounding, they really didn't understand the true impact of what they were saying, but it was disturbing nonetheless. And there is a lot of art about death (luckily there were no nudes in the map but there will be in the museum. I have that lesson ready too).
We got past that and started talking about rules at the art museum:
So, while we have only told them here at the proverbial last minute that we are going, I have been long considering how we would prepare them. Tonight we looked over the Family Map from the Met's website and they were immediately struck by the cartoons of the woman stepping out of the sarcophagus on the cover. What was that? What was she doing? How do you explain sarcophagi to three year olds who can't comprehend death or after-life or ancient Egypt? Bud kept saying he didn't want to die and didn't want me to die because he didn't want us to go in the box; Sis wanted to die so she could get in the box. While morbid sounding, they really didn't understand the true impact of what they were saying, but it was disturbing nonetheless. And there is a lot of art about death (luckily there were no nudes in the map but there will be in the museum. I have that lesson ready too).
We got past that and started talking about rules at the art museum:
- We will talk in quiet, inside voices.
- We will walk and stick together.
- We will look with our eyes and not touch anything.
Why? Why can't they touch? Can they touch their maps? Of course, they can touch their maps or the postcards I promised to buy them at the shop. But they can't touch art. Why? Because our hands have greasy oils that eat art. Yes, even if they wash them. Oooooh. Works everytime, even if it is a bit dramatic. Good thing I've had lots of practice going over museum rules with kids.
But, Bud wondered, could we dance in the museum like that girl? That girl being Ella from Ella's Trip to the Museumby Elaine Clayton. Ella goes on a field trip to an art museum and communes, even enters, the works on display (and dancing with a statue of the goddess Flora), all while her teacher gives a boring tour (don't get me started on the representation of educators/docents in art museums in popular culture). Sis found the book in question and we read it. The guard gets angry, Bud notes. Yes, I reminded him that guards were there to protect the art and us the visitors; there would be no dancing in the Met tomorrow.
Even if I'm dancing in my head all the way there . . . .
On Anger, Part 3
Having spent some time this week recalling my classical education, I should have remembered one of the pervasive themes in Greek literature: hubris.
After my self-congratulatory and -celebratory post on anger management this morning, our afternoon completely dissolved into a study in frustration and anger. And I'm going to blame it all on computer games. After rest time, a snack, and some art time when they drew suns and smiley faces, the kids wanted to play computer games. Now, I don't particularly enjoy playing computer games but I relented because they seemed so excited, though I had told myself that I really would make computer games Mama's preserve.
I should stick to my decisions. The children were quickly frustrated by games they didn't understand and couldn't play, and, even though I was sitting right there, I am not fluent in computer game structures and strategies and couldn't help much. That's right Dr. Mommy Hungry was defeated by Diego. Or by systems limitations: several games required plug-ins and I couldn't remember the administrator password on my computer, not being its usual administrator. This went on longer than I ever should have let it, even after I said they could only play the Caillou games we all knew how to play. That's when odd things would happen, like they would suddenly change webpages (I learned later this was a quirk if they hit the wrong mouse button; Mama worked tonight to disable it). They'd have to start their game/turn all over again, severely trying the patience of both the waiting child and me. I finally ended it, to tears all around, realizing that no one was having a good time and it was just getting worse. I apologized for getting angry at the computer explaining that I didn't like that I couldn't help them to have fun. I should've apologized for not following my mommy instincts and not turning on the damned games in the first place. Strike one.
So, we went in the kitchen to cook dinner and Bud was helping me scramble eggs. Sis decided she wanted to move her chair back to the table, would I give her a "ride?" No. I needed to watch Bud cook over the hot skillet. But had I said no too sharply? Too loudly? More tears, and cries of "I want Gommie." Oooh, that hurt. Strike two. Even though I explained my reasons for saying no--the ones of health and safety--it didn't heal her hurt or mine (since I felt mean, even if justified).
We downed dinner unhappily, but had some bright moments afterwards talking about our trip to the Met tomorrow, and then headed up to bed, sans Mama who was running late from a meeting. More chaos, more anger. When they refused to get dressed and wouldn't even hear my directions over their rambunctiousness, I just closed the door to their room, which they can't open by themselves from the inside, and left them there. Quiet commenced and then cries from Bud: "Mommy, I got dressed. Why did you leave?"
Strike three, Mommy's out.
After my self-congratulatory and -celebratory post on anger management this morning, our afternoon completely dissolved into a study in frustration and anger. And I'm going to blame it all on computer games. After rest time, a snack, and some art time when they drew suns and smiley faces, the kids wanted to play computer games. Now, I don't particularly enjoy playing computer games but I relented because they seemed so excited, though I had told myself that I really would make computer games Mama's preserve.
I should stick to my decisions. The children were quickly frustrated by games they didn't understand and couldn't play, and, even though I was sitting right there, I am not fluent in computer game structures and strategies and couldn't help much. That's right Dr. Mommy Hungry was defeated by Diego. Or by systems limitations: several games required plug-ins and I couldn't remember the administrator password on my computer, not being its usual administrator. This went on longer than I ever should have let it, even after I said they could only play the Caillou games we all knew how to play. That's when odd things would happen, like they would suddenly change webpages (I learned later this was a quirk if they hit the wrong mouse button; Mama worked tonight to disable it). They'd have to start their game/turn all over again, severely trying the patience of both the waiting child and me. I finally ended it, to tears all around, realizing that no one was having a good time and it was just getting worse. I apologized for getting angry at the computer explaining that I didn't like that I couldn't help them to have fun. I should've apologized for not following my mommy instincts and not turning on the damned games in the first place. Strike one.
So, we went in the kitchen to cook dinner and Bud was helping me scramble eggs. Sis decided she wanted to move her chair back to the table, would I give her a "ride?" No. I needed to watch Bud cook over the hot skillet. But had I said no too sharply? Too loudly? More tears, and cries of "I want Gommie." Oooh, that hurt. Strike two. Even though I explained my reasons for saying no--the ones of health and safety--it didn't heal her hurt or mine (since I felt mean, even if justified).
We downed dinner unhappily, but had some bright moments afterwards talking about our trip to the Met tomorrow, and then headed up to bed, sans Mama who was running late from a meeting. More chaos, more anger. When they refused to get dressed and wouldn't even hear my directions over their rambunctiousness, I just closed the door to their room, which they can't open by themselves from the inside, and left them there. Quiet commenced and then cries from Bud: "Mommy, I got dressed. Why did you leave?"
Strike three, Mommy's out.
On Anger, Part 2
I had just gotten off the phone with a friend from Chicago, gotten the kids breakfast, and dashed into the other room to read the headlines of the NYTimes. As I scanned the article on the "Miracle on the Hudson," I heard this very familiar "drop-drop-drop" from the kitchen. I looked in to see a sea of Cheerios (oops, is that brand-name reference number two in three sentences? Ouch, I didn't know I did that) and raisins on the floor. Three-and-a-half year olds don't need to test gravity; they passed that developmental milestone (with great creativity and determination) way back.
But I didn't lose my cool. Actually, I'm not even sure I was angry, so much as annoyed and a little amused that they could make such a mess in so short a time, perhaps even a little guilty that I had been reading the paper in those moments instead of watching them eat. But I had to muster some mommy outrage and calmly discipline them for making a mess and wasting food, all the while I was thinking of the Motherlode post on anger yesterday. So, there was no yelling just an immediate end to breakfast, the insistence that they help clean it up, and then banishment to the living room where they could await our "time in" while I finished up. By then, they were both crying, mainly because they still wanted to play and eat. It was very much the Gone with the Wind/Scarlett O'Hara "the thief who was sorry he got caught but not at all sorry he stole" routine. But we discussed the whole incident, got dressed for our playgroup, and got out the door. No apologies necessary. What a relief!
-=-=-=-=-
Oh, and in the off-chance she comes back, a "hello and thanks" to Lisa Belkin, author of Motherlode, for her visit and comment on my blog yesterday. I'm very glad my kiddos are too young to read this "live" or as it happens, though I keep them, and the future, in mind when I write (as this is in part my virtual scrapbook for them). But I have already embarrassed my mom (who lives faraway and is, with other distant family and friends, my main audience) any number of times! I guess children always have that ability, even grown ones.
But I didn't lose my cool. Actually, I'm not even sure I was angry, so much as annoyed and a little amused that they could make such a mess in so short a time, perhaps even a little guilty that I had been reading the paper in those moments instead of watching them eat. But I had to muster some mommy outrage and calmly discipline them for making a mess and wasting food, all the while I was thinking of the Motherlode post on anger yesterday. So, there was no yelling just an immediate end to breakfast, the insistence that they help clean it up, and then banishment to the living room where they could await our "time in" while I finished up. By then, they were both crying, mainly because they still wanted to play and eat. It was very much the Gone with the Wind/Scarlett O'Hara "the thief who was sorry he got caught but not at all sorry he stole" routine. But we discussed the whole incident, got dressed for our playgroup, and got out the door. No apologies necessary. What a relief!
-=-=-=-=-
Oh, and in the off-chance she comes back, a "hello and thanks" to Lisa Belkin, author of Motherlode, for her visit and comment on my blog yesterday. I'm very glad my kiddos are too young to read this "live" or as it happens, though I keep them, and the future, in mind when I write (as this is in part my virtual scrapbook for them). But I have already embarrassed my mom (who lives faraway and is, with other distant family and friends, my main audience) any number of times! I guess children always have that ability, even grown ones.
A Love-Hate Relationship
Time for the question-of-the-day: what is your least favorite chore?
Easy: I don't like dealing with food, surprising considering that I like to eat. I never liked touching raw meat and I wasn't so thrilled with handling leftover meat (ewh, cold slimy turkey in a zipper bag, anyone? Just another vegetarian perk. Or is that perq?). I don't like food getting wet and so have an aversion to doing dirty dishes unless the plates are scraped clean. Stopper in the sink have bits of food in it? I could retch. Cleaning out the fridge, dealing with leftovers and produce gone bad, even taking out the garbage are all very, very challenging for me. My sense of smell is incredibly sensitive (a leftover from pregnancy; it was always good but now it is amazing) and it is connected right to my gag reflex. Visuals don't help either. So poor Mama is stuck with most food duties, from cleaning the fridge to taking out the garbage. At least I can cook, now that there is not really much meet involved (and when there is, it's those practically antiseptic pre-packaged chicken breasts), though Mama will tell you that I am very quick to throw out food that I suspect might be thinking about going bad (hey, I've had food poisoning one too many times). I'd clean bathrooms, vaccuum, dust, fold clothes, anytime compared to the majority of kitchen duties.
Easy: I don't like dealing with food, surprising considering that I like to eat. I never liked touching raw meat and I wasn't so thrilled with handling leftover meat (ewh, cold slimy turkey in a zipper bag, anyone? Just another vegetarian perk. Or is that perq?). I don't like food getting wet and so have an aversion to doing dirty dishes unless the plates are scraped clean. Stopper in the sink have bits of food in it? I could retch. Cleaning out the fridge, dealing with leftovers and produce gone bad, even taking out the garbage are all very, very challenging for me. My sense of smell is incredibly sensitive (a leftover from pregnancy; it was always good but now it is amazing) and it is connected right to my gag reflex. Visuals don't help either. So poor Mama is stuck with most food duties, from cleaning the fridge to taking out the garbage. At least I can cook, now that there is not really much meet involved (and when there is, it's those practically antiseptic pre-packaged chicken breasts), though Mama will tell you that I am very quick to throw out food that I suspect might be thinking about going bad (hey, I've had food poisoning one too many times). I'd clean bathrooms, vaccuum, dust, fold clothes, anytime compared to the majority of kitchen duties.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
On Anger
Great post over at Motherlode today by both Belkin and her guest writer, on getting angry at kids. And the comments, as usual, are as enlightening (or, more appropriately, entertaining) as the essay.
But more than the "I-yelled-and-the-kids-were-shocked-and-it-affected-us-all-and-I-apologized" moral of the story (which I think most of us have experienced), I appreciated Belkin's preface:
Even though my mom specifically argued with my dad in front of us so that we would know that people fight and also made a point of fighting "fair" (and sending "I" messages), I am not particularly comfortable with anger, confrontation, or fighting. I definitely remember being scared of arguing with Mama in our first few years together, of being afraid that conflict would mean the relationship was sound. But even after we became comfortable with our methods of conflict resolution (which, I don't think, ever involved yelling), we still never fought much. We're just not fighters. And we were too co-dependent for that like any good, young, new, stereotypical lesbian couple.
It has, in fact, been parenting that has given us advanced training in arguing and disagreeing, mainly because we were so exhausted the first few years, had too much to do, and couldn't always figure out the best ways to do it. See, we come from families with extremely divergent family and parenting styles and that is just hardwired in each of us to the point that you forget it's a choice and that there are other ways to do things. But we are working through most of that, with no yelling.
But have I had to apologize to the kids for losing my cool, just like the guest blogger? You bet. Has Mama? Of course. Was I sorry? Yes. Will they remember? No telling. As my mom has said, her memories (and regrets) probably don't align with my memories and you can just never know (for instance, apparently she vividly remembers the one time she slapped me . . . and, while I know it happened, it just wasn't traumatic for me and I couldn't even tell you the circumstances. She, however, apparently cried in her room most of the rest of the night. See, Mom, it's okay). There was a poem I can't find that I read the first year or so of having the kids, probably in Mothering, maybe not. In the poem, the mom goes into the nursery, for she has an infant, and apologizes to the sleeping baby for not being the kind of mom she wanted to be that day. But in the poem, in the blog, in life, the apology is the key. Especially when moms are trying so hard to get it right.
But more than the "I-yelled-and-the-kids-were-shocked-and-it-affected-us-all-and-I-apologized" moral of the story (which I think most of us have experienced), I appreciated Belkin's preface:
We rarely talk about the anger of being a parent. We know the lurking
danger — of anger turning physical, or crossing a line. That means we also don’t
talk about the fact that we all lose it. Or the corollary fact that sometimes
anger works.
When all else fails, a few claps of oral thunder certainly show that Mom or
Dad has had it, that humans can be pushed just so far, and this is what it looks
like when you’ve pushed them too much.
I have friends whose parents really never yelled. Those same friends
were terrified at their first fight with their own spouse, or their first anger
at their own children; they were certain the marriage was over and the kids
would be taken away. There is a lesson learned by some yelling (not abusing or
berating, or belittling, but emoting; not constantly, but sometimes): we get
mad, we make up, we still love each other.
Even though my mom specifically argued with my dad in front of us so that we would know that people fight and also made a point of fighting "fair" (and sending "I" messages), I am not particularly comfortable with anger, confrontation, or fighting. I definitely remember being scared of arguing with Mama in our first few years together, of being afraid that conflict would mean the relationship was sound. But even after we became comfortable with our methods of conflict resolution (which, I don't think, ever involved yelling), we still never fought much. We're just not fighters. And we were too co-dependent for that like any good, young, new, stereotypical lesbian couple.
It has, in fact, been parenting that has given us advanced training in arguing and disagreeing, mainly because we were so exhausted the first few years, had too much to do, and couldn't always figure out the best ways to do it. See, we come from families with extremely divergent family and parenting styles and that is just hardwired in each of us to the point that you forget it's a choice and that there are other ways to do things. But we are working through most of that, with no yelling.
But have I had to apologize to the kids for losing my cool, just like the guest blogger? You bet. Has Mama? Of course. Was I sorry? Yes. Will they remember? No telling. As my mom has said, her memories (and regrets) probably don't align with my memories and you can just never know (for instance, apparently she vividly remembers the one time she slapped me . . . and, while I know it happened, it just wasn't traumatic for me and I couldn't even tell you the circumstances. She, however, apparently cried in her room most of the rest of the night. See, Mom, it's okay). There was a poem I can't find that I read the first year or so of having the kids, probably in Mothering, maybe not. In the poem, the mom goes into the nursery, for she has an infant, and apologizes to the sleeping baby for not being the kind of mom she wanted to be that day. But in the poem, in the blog, in life, the apology is the key. Especially when moms are trying so hard to get it right.
Got Game?
I'm not a game player, as I believe I've confessed here, and I am really not a video game player, having come of age during Pac-Man and Space Invaders and not really seeing the point of hanging out with the boys in the stinky arcade next to the movie theater (and we didn't really have a system to play at home because, well, I didn't like to play video games). Mama likes certain games and we tried MYST together for awhile, but I'm hopeless. We also tried chess, and that's about the only game I'll play with Mama. And I'm okay with that.
Games, however, are important and I keep coming across articles pointing that out to me (I think the most recent was in Mothering). So, we gamely (snicker) opened the CandyLand and Chutes and Laddes that Aunt Banana sent for the holidays and have tried to play. Sis, however, doesn't really like playing the way the rules states but instead prefers to move the pieces around like they are sightseeing. Bud actually wants to play and we got through a whole game of Chutes and Ladders, with some help, because he didn't always move his piece in the right direction.
We also think it's important that the kids learn some computer skills, starting with how to use a mouse. So, we have been playing a few games here and there. Mama even got them their own mouse/trackball to use since the touchpad on our laptop is too challenging for beginners. And when we go to the library, they play some Reader Rabbit games there. Personally, I like letting them send email to family, which consists mainly of upper and lower case letters often from their names. But I'll watch them play too.
Today, they were playing more advanced games--Diego, Miss Spider--things they aren't really ready for. And Sis, getting frustrated, said to the computer, "That is not the way I want to do it." I totally understand, Sis, and I'll play "Touring CandyLand" with you any day.
Games, however, are important and I keep coming across articles pointing that out to me (I think the most recent was in Mothering). So, we gamely (snicker) opened the CandyLand and Chutes and Laddes that Aunt Banana sent for the holidays and have tried to play. Sis, however, doesn't really like playing the way the rules states but instead prefers to move the pieces around like they are sightseeing. Bud actually wants to play and we got through a whole game of Chutes and Ladders, with some help, because he didn't always move his piece in the right direction.
We also think it's important that the kids learn some computer skills, starting with how to use a mouse. So, we have been playing a few games here and there. Mama even got them their own mouse/trackball to use since the touchpad on our laptop is too challenging for beginners. And when we go to the library, they play some Reader Rabbit games there. Personally, I like letting them send email to family, which consists mainly of upper and lower case letters often from their names. But I'll watch them play too.
Today, they were playing more advanced games--Diego, Miss Spider--things they aren't really ready for. And Sis, getting frustrated, said to the computer, "That is not the way I want to do it." I totally understand, Sis, and I'll play "Touring CandyLand" with you any day.
Prayers
My thoughts and prayers go out to the crew and passengers of the plane that went down in the Hudson, and the families and friends who love them. Also, for the rescuers working in the frigid waters.
Called It
I cancelled school today. We're not going out in this. I'm going to have to figure out how to be comfortable driving in snow but today is not the day. And, in the end, the book orders that were due today can now be turned in on Tuesday. That might have been the deciding factor--you know how I like book orders and I was almost willing to drive to turn in our order. But now, we can put our snow plan in action. I'm sorry the kids won't be in school--they love school--but they'll love playing at home too.
Delayed
School has only been delayed, not cancelled, which means the kiddos have school this morning--for about 1 hour and 15 minutes. Enough time for me to grab some coffee and wait to pick them up. It's no secret that I am extremely uncomfortable driving in snow, especially falling snow that hasn't been ploughed. And we're having snow, from now til noonish. But, I also have some mommy pride--if there is school, I shouldn't let a little thing like fear keep them from getting there. Except. Except, Mama has cleaned my car and shoveled the drive but if more collects, I can't clear the driveway myself. And then I'd have to drive in it. So, partially, attendance today is going to depend on just how much falls between now and then. Two hours is a long time for snow to gather. I wish they'd just called it, as, I'm sure, all the kids in the region do. So far, I've told the kiddos I don't know if there is school. And they are young enough to believe me.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Let it Snow (Again)
Looks like we're in for a bunch of snow tonight, upwards of 4 inches. I'm going to bet that there is no school tomorrow. Which will be fine, even fun. We're ready: snow boots, sweetened condensed milk, marshmallows and hot chocolate makings, popcorn, squirt bottles and food coloring, frozen black construction paper (for looking at snowflakes quickly--the frozen part delays the melting of the specimens). Only wish we could share the fun with friends, but who would drive in such weather? Well, friends, if you are out there and want to party at our house ('cos you know I'm not driving!), you are cordially invited. Otherwise, stay home, stay safe, have fun and let us know what you do--I'm always looking for new ideas.
Getting Ready for the New Year
The Year of the Ox will be here in about 10 days and we've already started preparations. Today, Ma and Gong brought new clothes for Bud and Sis, a Chinese tradition. Bud has a gorgeous blue, red, and gold silk suit with dragons. Sis's lovely suit is pink with light green, covered in cherry blossoms. They both tried them on and were excited to have such special clothes, which they will wear to the New Year's celebrations at Ma and Gong's house, also at school, playgroup, a friend's house (for Tet, the Vietnamese name for New Year), and perhaps even to church.
We've been reading our new book, from Barefoot Press, entitled The Great Race, which relates the story of how the years came to be named after animals. This weekend we'll pull our New Year's box out of the basement and decorate the house with red lanterns, banners full of wishes for health and prosperity, and faux firecrackers. Ma and Gong even made us a few signs today wishing happy new year. Then there will be the requisite run to the store for various foods to share, though Ma and Gong will do the bulk of the shopping in various Chinatowns (Flushing, Bay Ridge, probably not Manhattan) in NYC. I'll relate more of the traditions after we go down to celebrate; it's actually a very solemn occasion, with numerous prayers and rituals and proscribed foods, over several days. And for the first time, I think the kids will remember, even if they don't totally understand. It was Mama's favorite holiday as a child and I hope it's the same for Bud and Sis.
We've been reading our new book, from Barefoot Press, entitled The Great Race, which relates the story of how the years came to be named after animals. This weekend we'll pull our New Year's box out of the basement and decorate the house with red lanterns, banners full of wishes for health and prosperity, and faux firecrackers. Ma and Gong even made us a few signs today wishing happy new year. Then there will be the requisite run to the store for various foods to share, though Ma and Gong will do the bulk of the shopping in various Chinatowns (Flushing, Bay Ridge, probably not Manhattan) in NYC. I'll relate more of the traditions after we go down to celebrate; it's actually a very solemn occasion, with numerous prayers and rituals and proscribed foods, over several days. And for the first time, I think the kids will remember, even if they don't totally understand. It was Mama's favorite holiday as a child and I hope it's the same for Bud and Sis.
A Lot of Class
Ma and Gong came to visit today, taking off from work to see us and go with us to Chinese class. We were supposed to get together last week but the awful weather canceled the visit as well as class. They arrived this morning, played with the kiddos, had lunch from our favorite deli with us, and then headed to class with us.
They'd brought special "khanom," or sweets (in Thai--the first word I learned!), for the kids to give the teacher (Lao she) for Chinese New Year. They even worked with the kids on how to wish her a happy new year, "Sing nian hao" (I believe--but Sis got it spot on). And when we arrived at class, Sis marched up proudly to Lao she and handed over the tin of treats, saying happy new year. Ma and Gong conversed with Lao she in Mandarin and I gathered they were introducing themselves and talking about Chinese.
See, Mandarin is, as I figure it, Ma and Gong's third language. They speak and write Chow Gio (not sure how that's spelled), the dialect from their family's region of China, as well as Thai, the language of the country where they both were born and grew up (into immigrant families. Keep up: Ma and Gong's parents all immigrated from China to Thailand before the Revolution, met, and married and had their kids in Bangkok, where, at the time, I believe it wasn't easy to be Chinese in Thailand). Gong, especially, learned Mandarin as a young man; Ma speaks some and is learning more from their serialized Chinese movies. Of course, Mandarin and Chow Gio are written exactly the same and pronounced totally differently (as are all Chinese dialects. English is similar, in a way. It's mostly written the same in the US, UK, Australia, and Canada, but if you were to write how we pronounce it phonetically, it would totally look different. And sometimes, of course excepting Lambeth, I can't understand a word some Brits say. And often watch the BBC subtitled). That makes English their fourth language. I think they also both know a little Cantonese. And Ma learned German for her dissertation. Which she wrote in English. Ma and Gong have lived the immigrant experience twice over and mastered new languages and new cultures as the outsiders twice. Impressed yet? I am. Always. No more so than when I'm sitting in Chinese class trying to grasp tones and pronunciations.
Ma and I had a good laugh though, as we worked our way through animals and then foods today. One of the words was "cookie." I could hear Ma and Gong next to me discussing it. Neither knew cookie in any other language but English, because they just don't eat cookies (mind you, the Chinese and Thai have their fair share of sweets, but these kind of cookies are a western thing apparently). So there were Ma and I learning Mandarin together! Of course, she got it faster than I did. The kids faster than both of us. And I still can't tell you what it is. I'll need to practice before next week.
After class, Ma talked to Lao she more and I gather that Lao she told her that Sis and Bud were smart and picking it up quickly, which made us both proud. Ma bowed to her, "xie xie" and "ti jian" (please forgive my pigeon Pinyin) all around, and we left. It was a great day. For all of us.
They'd brought special "khanom," or sweets (in Thai--the first word I learned!), for the kids to give the teacher (Lao she) for Chinese New Year. They even worked with the kids on how to wish her a happy new year, "Sing nian hao" (I believe--but Sis got it spot on). And when we arrived at class, Sis marched up proudly to Lao she and handed over the tin of treats, saying happy new year. Ma and Gong conversed with Lao she in Mandarin and I gathered they were introducing themselves and talking about Chinese.
See, Mandarin is, as I figure it, Ma and Gong's third language. They speak and write Chow Gio (not sure how that's spelled), the dialect from their family's region of China, as well as Thai, the language of the country where they both were born and grew up (into immigrant families. Keep up: Ma and Gong's parents all immigrated from China to Thailand before the Revolution, met, and married and had their kids in Bangkok, where, at the time, I believe it wasn't easy to be Chinese in Thailand). Gong, especially, learned Mandarin as a young man; Ma speaks some and is learning more from their serialized Chinese movies. Of course, Mandarin and Chow Gio are written exactly the same and pronounced totally differently (as are all Chinese dialects. English is similar, in a way. It's mostly written the same in the US, UK, Australia, and Canada, but if you were to write how we pronounce it phonetically, it would totally look different. And sometimes, of course excepting Lambeth, I can't understand a word some Brits say. And often watch the BBC subtitled). That makes English their fourth language. I think they also both know a little Cantonese. And Ma learned German for her dissertation. Which she wrote in English. Ma and Gong have lived the immigrant experience twice over and mastered new languages and new cultures as the outsiders twice. Impressed yet? I am. Always. No more so than when I'm sitting in Chinese class trying to grasp tones and pronunciations.
Ma and I had a good laugh though, as we worked our way through animals and then foods today. One of the words was "cookie." I could hear Ma and Gong next to me discussing it. Neither knew cookie in any other language but English, because they just don't eat cookies (mind you, the Chinese and Thai have their fair share of sweets, but these kind of cookies are a western thing apparently). So there were Ma and I learning Mandarin together! Of course, she got it faster than I did. The kids faster than both of us. And I still can't tell you what it is. I'll need to practice before next week.
After class, Ma talked to Lao she more and I gather that Lao she told her that Sis and Bud were smart and picking it up quickly, which made us both proud. Ma bowed to her, "xie xie" and "ti jian" (please forgive my pigeon Pinyin) all around, and we left. It was a great day. For all of us.
Super Kids
The caped wonder, Super Scott, aka CJ, Mama Teacher's son, came over yesterday wearing his blue superhero cape-blanket. Apparently, on the way over, he wished that we would all play superheroes. And he got his wish. By the midde of his visit, Sis and Bud had similiarly donned cape-blankets and they all got Mama Teacher and me caped too. We all flew around the living room, talking about our different powers. CJ's power was rescuing the earth. Sis healed "owies" (how do you spell that??). I forget what Bud's power was. Mama Teacher and I were "super mommies." Then the kids started to rescue each other. At one point, "Super Scott" asked Sis to rescue him. And in a dramatic pose, head turned, she just stood there. So I prodded her, "Sis, CJ asked you to rescue him."
Her reply: "I'm thinking about it."
Super.
Her reply: "I'm thinking about it."
Super.
Question of the Day
My pal Miss T, over at Love Big, Bake Often, has discovered a question-of-the-day journalling website. I can't get the .pdfs open but do want to answer the question posed today: what would you change about the world? I agreed with all of Miss T's answers and would boil them down to one word: respect. I would inject respect into our personal and public behaviors--respect for ourselves, respect for others, respect for the planet. I would demand respect from corporations and governments--respect for other peoples as well as individuals, respect for the planet, respect for differences, respect for the past and for the future, as well as the present. With more respect there would be more dialogue and less violence (on interpersonal and international levels); consensus building instead of partisanship; improvement in the environment; equal rights for women, ethnic and religious minorities, and GLBTs; equitable pay; health coverage; as well as just a general increase in civility which improves day-to-day well being. I can see it leading to so many wonderful things. But it is so hard to overcome fear and distrust and create respect, especially where there is such a history of distrust and disrespect. I think, however, that the election of Barack Obama is proof that we are taking steps in the right direction. Next Tuesday can't come soon enough for me.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Snack Cake
"Mom, let's make an everyday cake. Not a birthday cake. A regular everyday cake," Sis implored.
"You mean a snack cake?"
"Yes, chocolate snack cake."
Visions of boxed mix from my childhood danced in my head--you know the kind, the one that came with this little cardboard baking pan that you prepared the mix in and then baked. I can't even remember what it tasted like, just that we liked the idea of an easy snack (not that I think we ever baked these after school, probably more of a weekend/sleepover kinda thing).
So there I am, googling "chocolate snack cake" and finding numerous different options (did I check the zillion cookbooks I have? No, of course not). I chose the "mix-in-the-pan" one, since it reminded me of the ones we used to make. And they loved that part! They noticed right away that we weren't using a mixer. And then they realized we didn't add eggs. As always, sniffing the vanilla and licking the spoon were their favorite parts. This time, they also really liked carefully stirring the mix in the pan. Well, that and then playing with the leftover baking soda and vinegar to make bubble explosions in the sink while the cake baked.
And for once, they actually ate the cake that we made!
-=-=-=-=-
Mix-In-The-Pan Chocolate Snack Cake
1 2/3 cups all-purpose flour
1 cup brown sugar, firmly packed
1/4 cup unsweetened baking cocoa1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 cup water
1/3 cup vegetable oil
1 teaspoon white distilled vinegar
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 tablespoons powdered sugar
In an ungreased 8-inch square pan mix together flour, brown sugar, unsweetened baking cocoa, baking soda, and salt. Stir in water, oil, vinegar, and vanilla.
Bake at 350*F for 35 to 40 minutes or until the center is set. Dust with powdered sugar.
Makes 8 servings.
Cooksrecipes.com
"You mean a snack cake?"
"Yes, chocolate snack cake."
Visions of boxed mix from my childhood danced in my head--you know the kind, the one that came with this little cardboard baking pan that you prepared the mix in and then baked. I can't even remember what it tasted like, just that we liked the idea of an easy snack (not that I think we ever baked these after school, probably more of a weekend/sleepover kinda thing).
So there I am, googling "chocolate snack cake" and finding numerous different options (did I check the zillion cookbooks I have? No, of course not). I chose the "mix-in-the-pan" one, since it reminded me of the ones we used to make. And they loved that part! They noticed right away that we weren't using a mixer. And then they realized we didn't add eggs. As always, sniffing the vanilla and licking the spoon were their favorite parts. This time, they also really liked carefully stirring the mix in the pan. Well, that and then playing with the leftover baking soda and vinegar to make bubble explosions in the sink while the cake baked.
And for once, they actually ate the cake that we made!
-=-=-=-=-
Mix-In-The-Pan Chocolate Snack Cake
1 2/3 cups all-purpose flour
1 cup brown sugar, firmly packed
1/4 cup unsweetened baking cocoa1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 cup water
1/3 cup vegetable oil
1 teaspoon white distilled vinegar
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 tablespoons powdered sugar
In an ungreased 8-inch square pan mix together flour, brown sugar, unsweetened baking cocoa, baking soda, and salt. Stir in water, oil, vinegar, and vanilla.
Bake at 350*F for 35 to 40 minutes or until the center is set. Dust with powdered sugar.
Makes 8 servings.
Cooksrecipes.com
Lightning Rod
Ooooh, too bad there isn't a comments section on the article on Paul Offit's book, Autism's False Prophets. I can only imagine the furor caused by the book, which apparently states the scientific case against antivaccine adherents who believe vaccines cause autism, and even the article. There would be some amazing fireworks.
Because several of our friends are in the midst of PDDNOS and similar autism-spectrum diagnoses with their children, and because my kiddos were preemies (with multiple food sensitivities to boot) and had their immunizations spaced out, I have long followed the autism/vaccination debate. For the record, I'm a vaccination agnostic: I don't think we really know what causes autism and therefore can't rule out the possibility that vaccinations, among other environmental factors, have an effect (for the record, I haven't read Offit's book--or Jenny McCarthy's--and don't plan to). I doubt a single book can derail what has become a big industry of celebrities and theories, with McCarthy on one side and Amanda Peet on the other. It's like "Medical Battle of the Network Stars." Has American medicine and parenting really come down to which celebrity you have on your side? I guess doctors aren't sexy enough to get their points covered by major news outlets. Well, there's always Sanjay Gupta for Surgeon General . . . he's a doctor and a tv star!
Because several of our friends are in the midst of PDDNOS and similar autism-spectrum diagnoses with their children, and because my kiddos were preemies (with multiple food sensitivities to boot) and had their immunizations spaced out, I have long followed the autism/vaccination debate. For the record, I'm a vaccination agnostic: I don't think we really know what causes autism and therefore can't rule out the possibility that vaccinations, among other environmental factors, have an effect (for the record, I haven't read Offit's book--or Jenny McCarthy's--and don't plan to). I doubt a single book can derail what has become a big industry of celebrities and theories, with McCarthy on one side and Amanda Peet on the other. It's like "Medical Battle of the Network Stars." Has American medicine and parenting really come down to which celebrity you have on your side? I guess doctors aren't sexy enough to get their points covered by major news outlets. Well, there's always Sanjay Gupta for Surgeon General . . . he's a doctor and a tv star!
Prescription: Manners
Are manners the purview of pediatricians? Can you imagine your doctor asking about or commenting on your child's social skills at his or her next check-up? Perri Klasss, MD, whose essays I have long enjoyed, makes the case for manners as a medical issue in today's NYTimes. Writes Klass,
No wonder her favorite parenting book is written by Miss Manners (another writer I have long liked)! But really, if you define parenting the way she does, it all makes sense:
The conversations that every pediatrician has, over and over, about “limit
setting” and “consistently praising good behavior” are conversations about
manners. And when you are in the exam room with a child who seems to have none,
you begin to wonder what is going on at home and at school, and questions of
family dysfunction or neurodevelopmental problems begin to cross your mind.
No wonder her favorite parenting book is written by Miss Manners (another writer I have long liked)! But really, if you define parenting the way she does, it all makes sense:
And that job is to start with a being who has no thought for the feelings
of others, no code of behavior beyond its own needs and comforts — and, guided
by love and duty, to do your best to transform that being into what your
grandmother (or Socrates) might call a mensch. . . .
As a pediatrician, I worry about the trajectories of children’s growth and
development: measuring a baby’s head size, weighing a toddler, asking about the
language skills of a preschooler. Manners are another side of the journey every
child makes from helplessness to autonomy. And a child who learns to manage a
little courtesy, even under the pressure of a visit to the doctor, is a child
who is operating well in the world, a child with a positive prognosis.
Guinea Pig
The teachers were very excited to see Sis at school today. Not because they like her special, but because they needed her to test snow. See, at about 29 lbs, she is probably their lightest student and so they wanted to see if she could crack snow instead of slipping across it. They figured if she could crunch through the playground, all the kids could and would be safe. Gamely she went out back and made great crunches in the icy snow. She's quite a stomper. We practiced all weekend, after buying her new baby pink snowboots on sale Saturday. Everyone was very happy to get outside, none more so than Sis.
Rainbow Snow
Yep, we have gay snow here in Connecticut.
Actually, it looks more like a Babies-R-Us exploded on our front yard, with pink and blue snow all over the place. Sis wanted to paint the snow today. Bud wanted nothing to do with the outdoors. But I found two squirt bottles, filled them with water, and added food coloring. Instant fun! Soon they were both in the yard, decorating the snow, writing their initials, painting their snow forts, desperately wanting to squirt each other and the house and the car, which were all off-limits.
I wanted to play too but didn't have my own squirt bottle. I guess I'll need to go pick up a few more. Then we really can make a rainbow!
Actually, it looks more like a Babies-R-Us exploded on our front yard, with pink and blue snow all over the place. Sis wanted to paint the snow today. Bud wanted nothing to do with the outdoors. But I found two squirt bottles, filled them with water, and added food coloring. Instant fun! Soon they were both in the yard, decorating the snow, writing their initials, painting their snow forts, desperately wanting to squirt each other and the house and the car, which were all off-limits.
I wanted to play too but didn't have my own squirt bottle. I guess I'll need to go pick up a few more. Then we really can make a rainbow!
Soup's On
Trying a new soup today, from Fresh from the Vegetarian Slow Cooker. It's All-Day Minestrone. Now, I know I've had minestrone before but I'm not sure I could've told you what goes in it. I would've guessed beans. This one actually has green beans, yellow squash, and chickpeas. But not cannellini.
I realized as I was prepping it that my knife skills are really improving. This isn't a goal of mine--I'm perfectly happy using my Pampered Chef chopper or food processor--but sometimes I just chop. Today, I chopped and diced everything (though, it's probably all more like "cubed," not being small enough to qualify as minced or diced) before I finished it off with my PC chopper (which I love!). In fact, I probably cut up that onion well enough before I used the mechanical chopper. Mind you, a month ago, I wouldn't have chopped much at all, just cut all the veggies into pieces to fit in the chopper. But practice makes perfect, I guess. Really cooking 5-6 meals a week, sometimes with lunches cooked too, has made me a more relaxed, efficient, and competent homecook. I could always follow a recipe but was turned off by too much prep (or by raw meat, which now there isn't any!). And while I love to bake, the skills just aren't the same. Now I can make scrambled eggs with my eyes closed, throw together a good soup with whatever I have around, and come up with imaginative ways to season yet another pot of lentils. Add to that decently chop vegetables! And I'm liking it. And proud of myself! So come on over and try my homecooking, 'cos soup's on!
-=-=-=-=-
All-Day Minestrone
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 medium-size yellow onion, minced
1 celery rib, chopped
1 large carrot, chopped
2 garlic cloves, minced
4 oz green beans, ends trimmed and cut into 1" pieces
1-15 oz can chickpeas, drained and rinsed (or 1 1/2 cups slow cooked)
1-14.5 oz can diced tomatoes, left undrained
1 medium-size zucchini or yellow summer squash, diced
6 cups stock
sat and black pepper
1/2 cup raw or 1 cup cooked ditalini or other small soup pasta
1/4 cup pesto
Pour the oil in the bottom of the 4-6 quart slow cooked. Add onions, celery, carrot, and garlic, cover, and cook on High while you assemble the reminaing ingredients.
After they've been prepped, add the green beans, chickeas, tomatoes, zucchini, and stock to theslow cooker and season with salt and pepper. Cover and cook on Low for 7-8 hours.
If using raw pasta, about an hour before you're ready to serve, add it to the slow cooker and cover.
Just before serving, stir in the pesto and already cooked pasta, if using.
Fresh from the Vegetarian Slow Cooker
I realized as I was prepping it that my knife skills are really improving. This isn't a goal of mine--I'm perfectly happy using my Pampered Chef chopper or food processor--but sometimes I just chop. Today, I chopped and diced everything (though, it's probably all more like "cubed," not being small enough to qualify as minced or diced) before I finished it off with my PC chopper (which I love!). In fact, I probably cut up that onion well enough before I used the mechanical chopper. Mind you, a month ago, I wouldn't have chopped much at all, just cut all the veggies into pieces to fit in the chopper. But practice makes perfect, I guess. Really cooking 5-6 meals a week, sometimes with lunches cooked too, has made me a more relaxed, efficient, and competent homecook. I could always follow a recipe but was turned off by too much prep (or by raw meat, which now there isn't any!). And while I love to bake, the skills just aren't the same. Now I can make scrambled eggs with my eyes closed, throw together a good soup with whatever I have around, and come up with imaginative ways to season yet another pot of lentils. Add to that decently chop vegetables! And I'm liking it. And proud of myself! So come on over and try my homecooking, 'cos soup's on!
-=-=-=-=-
All-Day Minestrone
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 medium-size yellow onion, minced
1 celery rib, chopped
1 large carrot, chopped
2 garlic cloves, minced
4 oz green beans, ends trimmed and cut into 1" pieces
1-15 oz can chickpeas, drained and rinsed (or 1 1/2 cups slow cooked)
1-14.5 oz can diced tomatoes, left undrained
1 medium-size zucchini or yellow summer squash, diced
6 cups stock
sat and black pepper
1/2 cup raw or 1 cup cooked ditalini or other small soup pasta
1/4 cup pesto
Pour the oil in the bottom of the 4-6 quart slow cooked. Add onions, celery, carrot, and garlic, cover, and cook on High while you assemble the reminaing ingredients.
After they've been prepped, add the green beans, chickeas, tomatoes, zucchini, and stock to theslow cooker and season with salt and pepper. Cover and cook on Low for 7-8 hours.
If using raw pasta, about an hour before you're ready to serve, add it to the slow cooker and cover.
Just before serving, stir in the pesto and already cooked pasta, if using.
Fresh from the Vegetarian Slow Cooker
A Trip in Time
I really like to travel, or, more specifically, be at a new destination (not so fond of the getting there). I haven't done any traveling since I was pregnant, really, outside of a couple of trips to Texas, plus Boston and D.C. overnight. But as for new, interesting places, nope. And I would love to. It doesn't need to be a week or two in Florida, Italy, or South Korea (places my friends have taken children recently) to count for me. I'm not sure, right now, that would be fun.
But we live in a part of the country that I haven't really explored yet. Never been to upstate New York, anywhere in MA outside of Boston, much of PA or NJ, or anywhere else around here (i.e. RI, VT, NH, ME,). That means there is tons of new stuff for us to visit within a few hours' drive. So I proposed to Mama, who did a lot of traveling around here as a girl, that we take an overnight or weekend trip, either in the fall or spring, somewhere nearby. I suggested the Berkshires/Litchfield, a visit to Philly to see our friends (and then west of there) or Montauk. Mama lit on Plimoth Plantation in MA. Oooh, a trip and a living history museum. What could be better! So, we're doing what we used to do when we planned a trip: she does all the research and planning while I do all the daydreaming about it. I'm not sure what the kids' role will be, especially since we probably won't tell them we're going until a few days in advance. I'm giddy with anticipation even if it could be 9 months away, for just one night.
I guess I need to get out more. But it's a start.
But we live in a part of the country that I haven't really explored yet. Never been to upstate New York, anywhere in MA outside of Boston, much of PA or NJ, or anywhere else around here (i.e. RI, VT, NH, ME,). That means there is tons of new stuff for us to visit within a few hours' drive. So I proposed to Mama, who did a lot of traveling around here as a girl, that we take an overnight or weekend trip, either in the fall or spring, somewhere nearby. I suggested the Berkshires/Litchfield, a visit to Philly to see our friends (and then west of there) or Montauk. Mama lit on Plimoth Plantation in MA. Oooh, a trip and a living history museum. What could be better! So, we're doing what we used to do when we planned a trip: she does all the research and planning while I do all the daydreaming about it. I'm not sure what the kids' role will be, especially since we probably won't tell them we're going until a few days in advance. I'm giddy with anticipation even if it could be 9 months away, for just one night.
I guess I need to get out more. But it's a start.
Monday, January 12, 2009
A Time to Keep, A Time to Clean
We were cleaning out the basement tonight, as we work towards our goal of going through everything down there and getting the basement ready to be "finished" (by the time we finish cleaning it, we will have the spare change to afford remodeling. It's a long-term goal).
Anyway, my task tonight was several boxes of papers from my school and work days. And so I journeyed back in time through college, grad school, and my first, second, and third big museum jobs. There were syllabi from favorite classes, papers I'd written on Pygmalion and on Dutch genre paintings, transcripts from my three schools, bibliographies from my oral exams, folder upon folder from my dissertation research and writing including numerous edited outlines and drafts, plus grant applications from programs I created and administered, fliers for lectures I gave, outlines for tours, drafts and final proofs of articles I published, programs from conferences I presented at, emails and letters from colleagues all over the world, and everything from articles working with special needs visitors to photocopies of 19th-century British parliamentary records.
It was amazing, inspiring even, to be reminded of everything I had done, things so far from where I am now. And it was also very liberating to toss (actually, recycle) so much of it--I just won't ever need outlines, notes, edits, and copies of Chapter 2 anymore! Nor do I need a complete bibliography on art of the ancient Near East, with a focus on Assyrian cylinder stones. And I've given enough tours that I didn't need to keep "nitty gritty notes on designing a docent tour." But I did keep every photocopy I ever made of museum cartoons in Punch. I know I have another Punch article in me, probably on museums and the marriage market in late 19th-century London. And I kept three edited drafts of my complete dissertation, one each from three of my readers, including complimentary emails from my advisor. And I kept several outlines from talks I gave in Chicago. Plus syllabi from my favorite undergraduate art history classes, just in case I ever need inspiration for my own teaching.
Oddly, happily, I wasn't depressed by any of this, as I thought I might be. I really enjoyed the walk down memory lane. Sometimes I get in a real funk about having so completely left my academic, achieving, career-oriented self so far behind and become fearful that I won't ever be able to reclaim some part of that self again. I miss it at times, even if I love being a stay-at-home-mom to the kiddos. But reading through it all brought it back so vividly, so clearly, so immediately, that I know with just some effort, I could be back in the swing of it again. I was strongly reminded of how much I really do love it. And when it's time, there are 8 folders of cartoons from Punch just begging to be explored and explained.
Anyway, my task tonight was several boxes of papers from my school and work days. And so I journeyed back in time through college, grad school, and my first, second, and third big museum jobs. There were syllabi from favorite classes, papers I'd written on Pygmalion and on Dutch genre paintings, transcripts from my three schools, bibliographies from my oral exams, folder upon folder from my dissertation research and writing including numerous edited outlines and drafts, plus grant applications from programs I created and administered, fliers for lectures I gave, outlines for tours, drafts and final proofs of articles I published, programs from conferences I presented at, emails and letters from colleagues all over the world, and everything from articles working with special needs visitors to photocopies of 19th-century British parliamentary records.
It was amazing, inspiring even, to be reminded of everything I had done, things so far from where I am now. And it was also very liberating to toss (actually, recycle) so much of it--I just won't ever need outlines, notes, edits, and copies of Chapter 2 anymore! Nor do I need a complete bibliography on art of the ancient Near East, with a focus on Assyrian cylinder stones. And I've given enough tours that I didn't need to keep "nitty gritty notes on designing a docent tour." But I did keep every photocopy I ever made of museum cartoons in Punch. I know I have another Punch article in me, probably on museums and the marriage market in late 19th-century London. And I kept three edited drafts of my complete dissertation, one each from three of my readers, including complimentary emails from my advisor. And I kept several outlines from talks I gave in Chicago. Plus syllabi from my favorite undergraduate art history classes, just in case I ever need inspiration for my own teaching.
Oddly, happily, I wasn't depressed by any of this, as I thought I might be. I really enjoyed the walk down memory lane. Sometimes I get in a real funk about having so completely left my academic, achieving, career-oriented self so far behind and become fearful that I won't ever be able to reclaim some part of that self again. I miss it at times, even if I love being a stay-at-home-mom to the kiddos. But reading through it all brought it back so vividly, so clearly, so immediately, that I know with just some effort, I could be back in the swing of it again. I was strongly reminded of how much I really do love it. And when it's time, there are 8 folders of cartoons from Punch just begging to be explored and explained.
A Tragic Affair
There was a joke going around when I was a classics major about what one Greek tailor said to another:
"Euripides, Eumenides!" (you have to say it with a faux Greek accent to get it)
Ha, ha, ha.
Apparently, earlier this week, Mama woke up totally stressed that she couldn't remember the ancient Greek play about the woman who buried her brother. 1. Can you guess? (see answers below). 2. And who wrote that play? 3. But don't get it confused with the play about the woman sacrified so Agamemnon's fleet could sail. 4. And who wrote that? 5. The woman was a sister of Orestes, but that tragic cycle was written by . . . ? 6. And what was their sister's name?
Confused yet? Don't let it keep you awake . . .
"Euripides, Eumenides!" (you have to say it with a faux Greek accent to get it)
Ha, ha, ha.
Apparently, earlier this week, Mama woke up totally stressed that she couldn't remember the ancient Greek play about the woman who buried her brother. 1. Can you guess? (see answers below). 2. And who wrote that play? 3. But don't get it confused with the play about the woman sacrified so Agamemnon's fleet could sail. 4. And who wrote that? 5. The woman was a sister of Orestes, but that tragic cycle was written by . . . ? 6. And what was their sister's name?
Confused yet? Don't let it keep you awake . . .
- Antigone
- Sophocles
- Iphigenia
- Euripides
- Aeschylus
- Electra
Remember the Sabbath Day
The book Simplify Your Life With Kids tells a story of a working woman whose son once asked if she ever sat down. Surprised, she realized that she had no "down time" with her family and decided to establish the weekend as "family time"--no phone calls, social engagements, errands, housework. Mama, who goes from putting in a busy work week to putting in a busy at-home work weekend, thought this sounded appealing. She also recalled that she had always liked, even envied, the way her orthodox Jewish friends had to take Saturdays "off"--no homework, no errands, no chores, nothing but family or friend time, relaxation, reflection, rejuvenation (well, and religion, but Mama wasn't part of that). So, she suggested we do the same, at least a variant of it.
Now, we already pretty much save the weekends as family time, with few social engagements other than all-family ones. But we almost always separate with Mama doing her chores while I play with the kids or Mama playing with the kids while I have some "me-myself" time, which means we are almost never together as a family unit, all four of us doing something. Except, as we realized, when we go out, specifically when we have a family day at a local museum, nature center, or other local destination. Coincidentally, this is our favorite way to spend the weekend. To capture that together feeling without having to go away from home, Mama suggested that we not do any "work" on Saturdays--no laundry, no yard work, no cleaning, no need to accomplish something or finish a task, unless it's together, in other words, no splitting up.
And so we tried it on Sunday, knowing it would be an imperfect test because we always use Sunday to get ready for the week but hadn't had time to prep in advance of our new "family" day. But we did it: we played games, folded origami, cut snowflakes, built snow forts, made hot chocolate, cooked lunch, watched tv in one pile on the bed, read stories, while letting laundry and other things pile up (dishes were the exception; can't ignore dishes for a whole day). The original goal was to continue "family" time past the kids' bedtime, so that Mama and I could devote an evening to each other instead of to our usual chores, but this week, at least, we had to do all the things we usually do on Sunday afternoon. Next week we'll be more ready.
Now, we already pretty much save the weekends as family time, with few social engagements other than all-family ones. But we almost always separate with Mama doing her chores while I play with the kids or Mama playing with the kids while I have some "me-myself" time, which means we are almost never together as a family unit, all four of us doing something. Except, as we realized, when we go out, specifically when we have a family day at a local museum, nature center, or other local destination. Coincidentally, this is our favorite way to spend the weekend. To capture that together feeling without having to go away from home, Mama suggested that we not do any "work" on Saturdays--no laundry, no yard work, no cleaning, no need to accomplish something or finish a task, unless it's together, in other words, no splitting up.
And so we tried it on Sunday, knowing it would be an imperfect test because we always use Sunday to get ready for the week but hadn't had time to prep in advance of our new "family" day. But we did it: we played games, folded origami, cut snowflakes, built snow forts, made hot chocolate, cooked lunch, watched tv in one pile on the bed, read stories, while letting laundry and other things pile up (dishes were the exception; can't ignore dishes for a whole day). The original goal was to continue "family" time past the kids' bedtime, so that Mama and I could devote an evening to each other instead of to our usual chores, but this week, at least, we had to do all the things we usually do on Sunday afternoon. Next week we'll be more ready.
Snow Cream Update
We tried another version of snow cream this weekend, this time the one with lemon instant pudding in 5 cups of snow.
Ugh.
Sure, it does become something that looks like ice cream after lots of stirring, but the flavor was awful. The lemon flavor that is transformed and tempered by two cups of milk is icky and fake when added to snow (though, I'm off instant pudding anyway, as you know).
So, stick with the sweetened condensed milk. It's just better.
Ugh.
Sure, it does become something that looks like ice cream after lots of stirring, but the flavor was awful. The lemon flavor that is transformed and tempered by two cups of milk is icky and fake when added to snow (though, I'm off instant pudding anyway, as you know).
So, stick with the sweetened condensed milk. It's just better.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Frontyardigans: Snow Fort
"This is crazy snow," Sis noted as she stomped across the crackling surface of the ice-encrusted snow in her new baby pink boots.
Indeed. With about a half-inch glaze on the surface and a litte layer of powdery soft snow underneath, this was not the snow the kiddos are used to. When they walked on it, it would fracture in all directions creating shards of ice. Can't use that for snowballs, snowmen, or snow angels. But the crunching sound was a game in itself, as we marched across the front yard listening to our footsteps.
Then we realized you could stack the ice panels and fill in the layers with snow. Ice forts! "What's gonna work? Teamwork!" Soon, two semi-circular structures emerged from the white wasteland of our front yard, as Bud and Sis cracked ice and dragged the panels to me to stack and Mama shoveled more snow and ice towards us. I'd love to say we stayed outside in the 20F+ weather but we didn't last long enough to play in the forts we built. But the forts are still there, morphing into real solid walls in the sun. And since it's not cold enough to truly melt anything, we have lots of other days that we can enjoy the forts.
Indeed. With about a half-inch glaze on the surface and a litte layer of powdery soft snow underneath, this was not the snow the kiddos are used to. When they walked on it, it would fracture in all directions creating shards of ice. Can't use that for snowballs, snowmen, or snow angels. But the crunching sound was a game in itself, as we marched across the front yard listening to our footsteps.
Then we realized you could stack the ice panels and fill in the layers with snow. Ice forts! "What's gonna work? Teamwork!" Soon, two semi-circular structures emerged from the white wasteland of our front yard, as Bud and Sis cracked ice and dragged the panels to me to stack and Mama shoveled more snow and ice towards us. I'd love to say we stayed outside in the 20F+ weather but we didn't last long enough to play in the forts we built. But the forts are still there, morphing into real solid walls in the sun. And since it's not cold enough to truly melt anything, we have lots of other days that we can enjoy the forts.
"I'm Gonna Live Forever"
We had one of those perfect family moments on Friday night. We were supposed to be heading up to bed and we were finishing cleaning up the toys, with music on the iPod. "The Body Electric" from Fame came on and, instead of going up, we all stayed downstairs and danced. Sis had the guitar; Bud had his banjo. I had the tambourine and Mama, later, had the camera filming it all. We danced and sang and played and spun. And so we played the song again. Then I couldn't resist playing the theme from Fame. Finally, exhausted, the kiddos allowed us to herd them upstairs for a much-later-than-normal bedtime, which in the end, didn't really matter much.
In truth, however morbidly, it would've made a great commercial for MADD, in the event of some unspeakable tragedy, you know the ones.
Especially with the admittedly spiritual lyrics:
It was a beautiful, one-with-the-universe, moment of immortality, when thoughts of anything furture or past are gone and it's only the joy of the present that matters. What's bedtime compared with that?
In truth, however morbidly, it would've made a great commercial for MADD, in the event of some unspeakable tragedy, you know the ones.
Especially with the admittedly spiritual lyrics:
I sing the body electric
I glory in the glow of rebirth
Creating my
own tomorrow
When I shall embody the earth
And I'll serenade Venus
I'll serenade Mars
And I'll burn with the fire of ten million stars
And in time
And in time
We will all be stars.
It was a beautiful, one-with-the-universe, moment of immortality, when thoughts of anything furture or past are gone and it's only the joy of the present that matters. What's bedtime compared with that?
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Art on My Mind: Caspar David Friedrich
I have been thinking of snow all winter, since we've had several snow storms, many more already than all of last year. And this image and others like it, kept coming to mind. But, embarrassingly, I couldn't remember Friedrich's name, which really upset me. I used to be able to recite all sorts of information about paintings, artists, styles, etc., at the drop of the hat. So to forget the German Romantic painter of the early 19th-century was shameful. Sure, I haven't used that information actively since orals in 1998, but, well, I should remember. What is it that Ali McGraw's dying character says at the end of Love Story, something about Radcliffe grads not supposed to forget? It's kinda like that.
Anyway, I hadn't realized until I picked this image that it had been destroyed during WWII, which means that any color photographs you see are purely approximate. I love the Gothic ruin, so common in Romantic images, as well as all the nature vs. human aspects of the trees and architecture with the tiny almost inconsequential humans dwarfed by it all, and the winter/death/cemetery correlations. Sublime, allegorical landscape at its best. And though for me winter has happier connotations (more like Avercamp's Winter Scene with Skaters Near a Castle at the National Gallery, London, 1608-09), Friedrich's paintings so perfectly capture the look of the landscape in deep winter, even here in New England without Gothic ruins around.
Anyway, I hadn't realized until I picked this image that it had been destroyed during WWII, which means that any color photographs you see are purely approximate. I love the Gothic ruin, so common in Romantic images, as well as all the nature vs. human aspects of the trees and architecture with the tiny almost inconsequential humans dwarfed by it all, and the winter/death/cemetery correlations. Sublime, allegorical landscape at its best. And though for me winter has happier connotations (more like Avercamp's Winter Scene with Skaters Near a Castle at the National Gallery, London, 1608-09), Friedrich's paintings so perfectly capture the look of the landscape in deep winter, even here in New England without Gothic ruins around.
Friday, January 9, 2009
Catching Up
Mama is making our pre-storm grocery run and so I'm going to catch up on some blogging. Whew, what a week! It started with Bud puking in the car on the way to Christmas with Ma and Gong while simultaneously our alarm company called to say they'd gotten a burglary alert on the house. Ho, ho, ho. That all turned out okay (only carsick and felt better immediately, despite the mess, and the police checked and there was no break-in, probably just a bird hit a window). Then all of our regular activities started, preschool and babysitter, workouts and Chinese class. Except it wasn't regular because a midweek ice storm canceled Chinese class and kept us homebound, though Bud and Sis readjusted to school just fine. And now it's Friday and we're expecting 5-7" tomorrow!
Here are the other things I've been thinking:
Here are the other things I've been thinking:
- Party planning vs. wedding planning: I love planning a party (though I didn't plan this next one well--I found out today it totally conflicts with a church friend's annual party, which is usually earlier in the month. And she thought mine would be later in February. Oh, well). And while the wedding was an important ceremony to mark a special event, it wasn't a party per se. There wil be a party, later in the spring--probably an outdoor picnic--and that will be a fun party, though, just as I like both parties and weddings, not much to plan beyond guest list and food (and I have a gorgeous new punch bowl as well as a cheese service for it, from the wedding). I have discovered an unfortunate side effect to our casual treatment of our wedding, mainly announcing it parenthetically in a general Christmas letter: lots of people thought they weren't invited. And wondered why. Oh, dear. I am so sorry. That's not what happened. The party is in the spring. You'll be invited. (Oh, an aside: My mom is actually keeping track of who sends gifts. She wants her friends and family to treat it the same way they treated Banana's wedding, even though, you know, Banana had a real wedding with invitations, a party, and guests. It's sweet, though, and we love that she values it the same. But some people in Texas are going to be in trouble. As for us, we're all good with no gifts. Even at the spring party. No worries. Not that we don't like the ones we've gotten, which are great . . . ergh, you understand.).
- Music and my munchkins: The kiddos got kid-style MP3 players from Ma and Gong for Christmas. We loaded them up with about 15 songs they love and they both randomly put them on and just listen, or dance around. When Bud first figured it out, he'd constantly run around saying, "Listen, I got 'Do-Re-Mi'." It was like each song was another gift. Sis's favorite song is Laurie Berkner's "We are the Dinosaurs." Bud likes that and "76 Trombones." They think the players are magic. I don't think they are far wrong. I mean, really, have people ever lived in an age when the fundamental tools of their lives were so far-removed from their understanding? Sure, they didn't understand the science of their bodies or environments, but they knew how a wagon or a hoe worked. Daily, I am amazed at what I can do with a computer or a cell phone or an iPod. I think it's switched: I bet I know more about causes of diseases and cellular reproduction and weather processes and physics than I could ever explain about a microchip or microwave technology. Even the people who work with computers, like Mama, wouldn't be able to, say, make one if by chance the world suffered a catastrophe and we had to start from scratch (which reminds me of all those people who memorized books in Fahrenheit 451. At least that I could do). We'd be back in the dark ages, for all most of us know about the real underpinnings of technology. Marx talked about the separation of people from their labor, well, this is the separation of people from their technologies. And I think the gap will just become wider. And have similarly disastrous consequences.
- Valentine's ideas (for teachers, friends, family, including crafts and cookies): I am so jazzed about the upcoming holiday. Yes, yes, I know, Chinese New Year first, but my magazines and the stores skip that and are on to the holiday of the pink and red hearts. So, for that, I think we will be doing constructiong paper and doily cards for classmates. Yep, there is a Valentine exchange!!! And none of this not-giving-one-to-everybody. You don't even address them! Perfect. And then, for teachers and family, I think we'll be glitter-gluing felt heart decorations. And we're hosting a cookie swap for playgroup--I'm hoping to ice some sugar cookies with Scandinavian folk art-inspired designs (you know, like the woven heart). There will be cookie decorating too. And I will finally distribute the bag of Valentine's playdough I've had for two years that I keep not getting to give out!
- An insight to veg culture: So I've made my first mistake on my WW vegetarian board. I posted a link to an article that contained a picture which happened to have a piece of meat in it. And people got upset. And then people got upset at the upset people. Oooooh. I hadn't even noticed the "piece of piggy in the picture." I know it happens, but I really, really can't imagine being so sensitive to meat that you can't accidentally see a small picture of it. How do they walk around town? Kinda turned me off the board for a bit, if only because it reminded me that I don't ever want to take the board or vegetarianism that seriously. The board is just some entertainment and exchange of information with people I have a few things in common with but absolutely do not "know." Or, sometimes, even understand.
- My goodness, it's snowing again! (wait, that's happening now, I won't post on that later) : Wait, I'm posting on it. Because it's going to snow. Again.
- Motherlode: men and the PTA, moms and budgets, finding mom a job: Mmm, too big for here, must be it's own post, but I give you the links to get started.
- Mothering: post-partum bodies, how to name your child: ditto, too philosophical for now. Wait, oh dear, it wasn't Mothering, it was Brain, Child. Not the same.
- Sis on Bud: "Just tell him what you want and he'll do it." "I will," he concurs: I swear they both said it. It's a good thing he's agreeable! It's hard to be the only guy (right, Dad?). Especially with three mommies!!
- How school changes kids--more clean up, more thank yous: The kids seem older suddenly, in some ways. Sis has been saying "thank you" a lot. They both are cleaning up after themselves better. Bud is desperate to help me out with cooking or vaccuuming or unloading the dishwasher. You name it. It's like somehow over Christmas break they matured just a little bit. She even looks older. I guess they are halfway through the year to four. Oh, and about the chores, though Bud's willingness to do them predated the goat, there is now a goat. Yep, a goat. They are raising money through chores to buy a goat through Heifer International; it's their preschool charitable activity for January (they've done food collection and coat collection too). Bud is desperate to make money doing chores so he can take it to school. Except he doesn't really understand. He knows he takes the money to school and gets a sticker. Sis knows the stickers go on a goat chart. But they are fuzzy about there being a real goat involved; at least they don't think they are getting a goat. Sis thinks they're going to send the goat chart to someone. Bud just wants the money. I'm being fleeced for a good cause (too bad it's not a sheep, or that would have been even more funny).
- Looking for my thing: I want my own thing. Miss T has baking, our friend Miss B is starting her life coach thing by running a personal renewal group (you'll be hearing more about this, maybe, depends on if I'm allowed to post stuff about it), my friend S even started an art blog way better than my other one (which I've temporarily taken offline for retooling). I want my thing. What is my thing? Yes, yes, mothering. And I throw a lot of time and energy into it. More than anything else. But I want a thing. And it's not baking or cooking (though I'm becoming a much more efficient homecook) which I don't do enough or well enough to qualify, it's not art history just because I'm so out of the loop and don't really want to devote the time and energy to be in the loop, and I'm not prepared to start a whole new thing because that takes to much time and energy, and well, I like the little things I have. But I want my thing to be bigger. Is parenting enough of a thing? Is blogging about parenting enough of a thing? I just don't know. But I'm feeling . . . thing-less.
- A questionnaire on their current favorites (Caillou, MP3 players, Santa,): another post
- Sis's intense emotions when people leave (including Mama, Gommie, and one of their student teachers): Poor Sis takes things very hard. Her emotions are so intense. She's either very happy, or not. And right now, she's not a lot because I think she feels left behind. Her favorite student teacher left school for good and she misses her constantly, then Gommie and Pop came and went and she can barely talk about or to Gommie, and finally Mama leaves every morning and is gone all day. And then, sometimes, I even leave for exercise class when the babysitter comes. And then the babysitter leaves. It's all just been too much for Sis, who will then be quiet or cry or just want to sit and cuddle. I'm not even sure how to help, except be there when she needs me.
Another Food List
I love lists and here is another one on the healthiest foods to eat that we don't, with tips on how to eat them (go to the link if you want to know why they are so healthy):
1. Beets: Fresh, raw and grated to make a salad. Heating decreases the antioxidant power.
2. Cabbage: Asian-style slaw or as a crunchy topping on burgers and sandwiches.
3. Swiss chard: Chop and saute in olive oil.
4. Cinnamon: Sprinkle on coffee or oatmeal.
5. Pomegranate juice: Just drink it.
6. Dried plums: Wrapped in prosciutto and baked.
7. Pumpkin seeds: Roasted as a snack, or sprinkled on salad.
8. Sardines: Choose sardines packed in olive or sardine oil. Eat plain, mixed with salad, on toast, or mashed with dijon mustard and onions as a spread.
9. Turmeric: Mix with scrambled eggs or in any vegetable dish.
10. Frozen blueberries: Blended with yogurt or chocolate soy milk and sprinkled with crushed almonds.
11. Canned pumpkin: Mix with a little butter, cinnamon and nutmeg.
TGIF
I thought it was going to be a long week, but it passed relatively quickly. Mostly in a good way. But with snow on the way and Mama home for two days, I'm really looking forward to the weekend, even though the week was good.
More later, lots of hands-on parenting this week.
More later, lots of hands-on parenting this week.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Not Instant Success
We made chocolate pudding yesterday. From a box of instant. Which I remember as being perfectly acceptable pudding.
Eh.
While the kids inhaled it, I didn't think it was that great (I only had a spoon, that was more than enough). Too sweet, not very chocolate-y, kinda gelatinous without being creamy.
Ugh.
I realized then that, while childhood favorites are just that, I should make more of a concerted effort to make some of these from scratch. Like the applesauce we made the other day. It's just better than the jarred stuff. No doubt, homemade pudding will be better too. And lots of things (like homemade frosting and sugar cookies). Perhaps only McDonald's french fries and Dunkin' Donuts doughnuts should remain store-bought.
So, when I buy the cream and gelatin for that homemade orange ice cream, I'm also picking up ingredients from Martha Stewart's recipe for pudding. It's a good thing.
-=-=-=-=-
Vanilla or Chocolate Pudding
Ingredients
Serves 4.
2/3 cup sugar
1/4 cup cornstarch
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/3 cup unsweetened cocoa powder (if making chocolate pudding)
2 1/2 cups milk
4 large egg yolks
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into pieces
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
Directions
Place a fine-mesh sieve over a medium bowl; set aside. In a medium saucepan, off heat, whisk together sugar, cornstarch, and salt. If making chocolate pudding, add cocoa powder. Very gradually (a few tablespoons at a time) whisk in milk, taking care to dissolve cornstarch. Whisk in egg yolks.
Whisking constantly, cook over medium heat until the first large bubble forms and sputters. Reduce heat to low; still whisking, cook 1 minute. Remove from heat; immediately pour through sieve into bowl. Stir butter and vanilla into hot pudding.
Place plastic wrap directly on surface of pudding (to prevent skin from forming); chill at least 3 hours and up to 3 days. Before serving, whisk pudding until smooth; divide among four serving dishes.
Martha Stewart, Everyday Food (see links for numerous variations on the pudding, including Chai-Cinnamon!)
Eh.
While the kids inhaled it, I didn't think it was that great (I only had a spoon, that was more than enough). Too sweet, not very chocolate-y, kinda gelatinous without being creamy.
Ugh.
I realized then that, while childhood favorites are just that, I should make more of a concerted effort to make some of these from scratch. Like the applesauce we made the other day. It's just better than the jarred stuff. No doubt, homemade pudding will be better too. And lots of things (like homemade frosting and sugar cookies). Perhaps only McDonald's french fries and Dunkin' Donuts doughnuts should remain store-bought.
So, when I buy the cream and gelatin for that homemade orange ice cream, I'm also picking up ingredients from Martha Stewart's recipe for pudding. It's a good thing.
-=-=-=-=-
Vanilla or Chocolate Pudding
Ingredients
Serves 4.
2/3 cup sugar
1/4 cup cornstarch
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/3 cup unsweetened cocoa powder (if making chocolate pudding)
2 1/2 cups milk
4 large egg yolks
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into pieces
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
Directions
Place a fine-mesh sieve over a medium bowl; set aside. In a medium saucepan, off heat, whisk together sugar, cornstarch, and salt. If making chocolate pudding, add cocoa powder. Very gradually (a few tablespoons at a time) whisk in milk, taking care to dissolve cornstarch. Whisk in egg yolks.
Whisking constantly, cook over medium heat until the first large bubble forms and sputters. Reduce heat to low; still whisking, cook 1 minute. Remove from heat; immediately pour through sieve into bowl. Stir butter and vanilla into hot pudding.
Place plastic wrap directly on surface of pudding (to prevent skin from forming); chill at least 3 hours and up to 3 days. Before serving, whisk pudding until smooth; divide among four serving dishes.
Martha Stewart, Everyday Food (see links for numerous variations on the pudding, including Chai-Cinnamon!)
Oh, My Darling Clementine
I have too many clementines. Bought them because Bud was eating them in droves last week. But not this week. And now there is a box chilling on my enclosed porch. Today, I stumbled across Tara Parker-Pope's blog on Orange Ice Cream, with its links to the new NYTimes series, "Cooking with Dexter," about adventures with a foodie 4-year old. Well, my 3-year olds aren't as experienced or knowedgable as Dexter (who grinds coffee beans and knows the difference between ice cream and sherbet), but they do like to cook. So, I imagine we'll be trying this treat, described as a Creamsicle/Orange Julius in Dexter's dad's (food editor Pete Wells) original article. I just need some gelatin and cream.
-=-=-=-=-
Tangerine Sherbet
By PETE WELLS
1/2 teaspoon gelatin
2 1/4 pounds tangerines
1/2 cup sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup heavy cream, chilled.
1. Freeze the canister of an ice-cream maker overnight.
2. Drop the gelatin and about 2 tablespoons of water into a small saucepan and turn your back on it. Strip the zest from two tangerines with a Microplane, a zester or, if you aren’t that kind of person, a regular potato peeler. Toss the zest into a bowl (if you used a potato peeler, give it a rough chop first) and squeeze the tangerines, even the naked ones, removing any seeds, to make 1 1/2 cups of juice.
3. Remembering the saucepan, put a little heat under it until the gelatin starts to look smooth, not grainy. Then stir in the sugar, salt, juice and zest and turn up the heat, letting it come to something like the temperature of your finger. Stir to make sure the sugar is dissolved, then chill it in the refrigerator. When it is cold, strain out the zest and toss the juice into the tank of your ice-cream maker along with the cream, which should be cold, too. Do whatever you usually do with your ice-cream maker until you have a creamy sherbet. With luck, you will have an extra hour to chill the sherbet before serving it. Tiny spoons will make it last longer, but not much longer. You might think about making twice as much. Adapted, with huge liberties, from “Chez Panisse Fruit,” by Alice Waters.
-=-=-=-=-
Tangerine Sherbet
By PETE WELLS
1/2 teaspoon gelatin
2 1/4 pounds tangerines
1/2 cup sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup heavy cream, chilled.
1. Freeze the canister of an ice-cream maker overnight.
2. Drop the gelatin and about 2 tablespoons of water into a small saucepan and turn your back on it. Strip the zest from two tangerines with a Microplane, a zester or, if you aren’t that kind of person, a regular potato peeler. Toss the zest into a bowl (if you used a potato peeler, give it a rough chop first) and squeeze the tangerines, even the naked ones, removing any seeds, to make 1 1/2 cups of juice.
3. Remembering the saucepan, put a little heat under it until the gelatin starts to look smooth, not grainy. Then stir in the sugar, salt, juice and zest and turn up the heat, letting it come to something like the temperature of your finger. Stir to make sure the sugar is dissolved, then chill it in the refrigerator. When it is cold, strain out the zest and toss the juice into the tank of your ice-cream maker along with the cream, which should be cold, too. Do whatever you usually do with your ice-cream maker until you have a creamy sherbet. With luck, you will have an extra hour to chill the sherbet before serving it. Tiny spoons will make it last longer, but not much longer. You might think about making twice as much. Adapted, with huge liberties, from “Chez Panisse Fruit,” by Alice Waters.
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