Times are they achangin'?

When I became pregnant with Lauren, it began the period of considered buying. I was, after all, the Queen of Cleaner and had one for virtually every surface in our apartment. And yes, I had different sponges for different activities - they were color coded: green for ammonia-based cleaner, pink for the dishes and sink, and blue for bleach. Easily remembered as pink = sink, green = clean, blue = bleach. I did, in fact, scrub my kitchen and bathroom floors (all 3 feet square each) on my hands and knees. Ok, I was a bit obsessive about it.

One of the first things my obgyn said was, you need to be careful about household cleaners. Thus began the search for non-toxic safe cleaners. Now, this was a few years ago and even The Fairway only carried one line of product back then and it was damn pricey. They still can be pricey, but there's a lot more selection in much more common places like the local grocery or discount store. I am used to the idea that these products just don't clean as well as my old lethal friends did. I like me some of that Method Bathroom Cleaner with essence of eucalyptus, but instead of the once a week sprinkle I could do with Very Toxic Bleach Containing Product, depending on the weather (the humid weather encourages bacteria growth), I sometimes have to scrub the toilet out 3 times a week to keep things clean in there.

Yeah, I know. The bacteria probably keeps my sewer pipes clean. My black water doesn't contain high levels of plant-killing phosphorus. I know all that. It also takes all of 30 seconds to spray down and scrub the toilet...it isn't as though it's taking away from the important things in my life like blogging...

I buy a lot of the Method products. I like them well because I have a very sensitive nose and they smell pleasant and clean. I read that the best cleaner in the whole wide world is one you can make yourself out of diluted white vinegar, and the best abrasive is baking soda...but I really hate the smell of vinegar. It doesn't make me think ooh my house is fresh and clean, it makes me think salad.

Anyway, I was grocery shopping last night. My local Stop & Shop has a New Product and Sales Aisle. I'm an outside the rim shopper, so I don't frequent the aisles unless I'm buying pasta or beans. I still have some leftover ham from Easter in the freezer, so I thought I'd pick up a bag of split peas. And I saw it. Clorox Greenworks.
I didn't know what to make of it either. I shouldn't really be surprised, the grocery stores have been tracking our purchases for at least the past 10 years now. Companies like Clorox buy that information and see that moms like me stopped buying their product and are willing to shell out upwards of $5 for something else. Of course they came up with their own version - at $2.99 per bottle.

This made me smile. Because sometimes you feel like the things you do can't possibly make any difference. But you know what? It seems they are listening as we speak with our dollars. Maybe in a few years I won't have to scour and search for the few bits of organic produce and hormone and antibiotic-free meat.

Nice night

Why go out to dinner when you can cook like this? Seared tuna steak on a bed of sauteed organic chard - a one pan dish with a dressing made from tamari, sesame oil, rice wine vinegar, ginger, and red pepper flakes. Enjoyed best with a glass of Smoking Loon Syrah.

After a glass of wine and a box of Clairol Natural Instincts in Sahara. The tone changed only slightly with this semi-permanent color, but it is definitely brightened and conditioned as promised.

I haven't told you about my new car. It's a Mazda 5. My first Japanese car.
It is a bit bigger than my Chevy was - it has a third row of seats - and yet other than being a bit higher, it is just like driving a car. And best yet, it is LESS expensive than our last lease! Who'd've thunk we could spend less on a new car?

Wherein Lady Epiphany does the 'splainin'

I have a terrible temper and am one of the least patient people ever. If you live with me that means you get used to very little things setting me off and listening to me stomp and rail about whatever it is. In my bigger fits of temper, I've been known to smash things. I always opt for insurance on my cell phone. I've had to use it a few times. You may notice our cable remotes have scuff marks because I discovered the cable company will replace them no-questions-asked.

I got angry and I pulled down my blog except for a post, my bio, and copyright in the sidebar. I stomped around awhile. I deleted a post (or maybe two or three). I restored some posts, but not the sidebar. Friends and family called and inquired. I didn't have a good reason to do what I did, I was just pissed off and wanted to break something. You're right if you're thinking I should've gone to the gym or done some yoga, but I didn't.

I was indiscriminate about handing out my address about a month or so after I started this blog. I've written before that it is hard to know who reads sometimes because I occasionally write about stuff I probably wouldn't talk about in person. I also write in vignettes, so if you do know me in person you find that a lot of what I write about is very much just a sketch of the experience or event. I mistakenly thought I was beyond being upset by people not liking what I write about. I discovered this week I am not. I felt like I invited people over to look at my garden and then stood partially clothed in front of the window, and I was appalled that they stared. Well, damn it, I thought, if they don't like it they should leave! And really? Probably they just came to admire my crocuses and got an eyeful. I turned that into they are judging me. After the first time I came out in my chicken suit and swim fins, they might've stopped reading or thought, sometimes she writes about weird stuff. I try not to write hurtful stuff, but I am probably occasionally mean, even though it's not why I'm here.

Why do I blog? It is my way of healing the small bits of my life that need that. It is a way to grow into the person I want to be. It isn't the only means. Occasionally, I talk about food, going to the gym, yoga, sleep and lack of sleep, going to school and church, and volunteering in the school district. These are also ways that I try to heal and grow. I'm working on spending more time doing things I enjoy and being with people who make me feel good. I am blessed with a lot of those people.

I am still here. I don't know if that fully explains my crazy this week, but I'll certainly try to be a little less crazy and spend some time doing those things on that list I need to heal and grow.

The lurkers

You've seen shades of me you probably wouldn't have otherwise because I am a better writer than conversationalist. Those who've known me well probably learned things I'd not have spoken about, it's allowed some a more intimate view into my world. I am aware of you sitting silently. It doesn't usually bother me.

But today, I am frustrated with your presence. I am allowed to swear in my own living room. I am a grown up! Stop tsking at me. Sometimes I talk louder than I mean to and think I have random illnesses! Sometimes I realize as I am amidst a conversation with the president of the PTO and the lady I know from church that I haven't brushed my hair and I'm not wearing any make up. I see you silently shaking your head thinking about how much better you can do this.

I invite you to. And to go away.

Negative space

My house looks like my dryer tumbled lavender-scented clothes out of it into various rooms of the house. Life is endless loads of laundry loaded in heavy with vomit. Every bedroom smells sickly sweet to me, as I scrub the once sticky with apple juice throw up bedroom floor for the fifth time.

I'm tired. Tired of staring at the walls of my house stuck inside with a seemly perfectly fine toddler whose eyes appear a bit sunken from a 24-hour bug. We're in the diarrhea phase now. Drink more water, please. Don't wanna. Drink more water, please. Don't wanna. More Noggin. More Noggin.

I put the flannels in the top of our closet. The new shelves of the walk-in so that the built-in would close once the heavy sheets are off the bed. The closet floor thick with the clothes packed away that still don't fit. I opened the box and threw them on the floor. Maybe bag to bring to GoodWill? The clothes are ugly and worn.

I'm tired.

I can't remember the last time I grocery shopped.

Garbage needs to go out. Dishes to be washed. The not-really-sick person has thrown all the toys on the living room floor.

I think about making a list. I think about stripping the beds upstairs. More piles of laundry make my head swim. There are 2 loads folded on the coffee table. Another load in the dryer still. More laundry?

I realized that I haven't crossed out Tuesday or Wednesday in my calendar. Yoga 9:15. Choir 4 PM. I erase them. I cross Wednesday out. I flip to April to write down meetings scheduled. I don't return message about poll sitting. Poll sitting? I don't respond to the email about Zero Waste Lunch from the PTO.

I'm tired. My head aches vaguely from 3 cups of coffee and nothing to eat. Oh, not nothing. A dry blueberry Kashi waffle.

I guess I'd better put away the laundry.

At 22 months

Lauren, June 2004

Lindsay, March 2008

Answers to your most pressing questions

The salad that went along with Easter dinner was leafy organic hydroponic greens with shaved parmiggiano, red bell pepper, pine nuts, and vinaigrette.

The frog rain boots actually belong to Lauren. Lindsay wore them for the Official Easter Photo. The Easter dresses were purchased and worn for Tim's wedding, which was June 2. As you might surmise from the photographs, they were both a bit too large then. Lauren's sweater was purchased to wear over the dress for my step-brother-in-law's wedding (though it was late July, she did not wear it then) and Lindsay's is a hand-me-down.

They are particularly hard to balance in when on the wrong feet.

The "cigar" was a wooden screw from Lauren's toolbox.

Happy Easter

Help, Internets!

It looks like leafy greens will be part of our Easter dinner. What's your favorite simple salad?

Fearless

I needed something fun. When I received an email that the choir was looking for some supplemental voices to carry off the big numbers for the Good Friday and Easter services, I got excited. Ooh! I could sing Hallelujah Chorus! I actually know that one! When Nick didn't blink at the idea of taking care of my two kids, I wrote the pastor that I'd be there. As I recall, the last time I sang the Handel, I sang the tenor part and wrote I could sing either the alto or tenor parts.

Ha ha ha. Contrary to yesterday's commentary, this isn't high school.

The hymns were hard and unfamiliar. I've forgotten how to breathe, and had to struggle to keep up with reading 4-part choral music. Oh what was I thinking?! Fortunately, the woman to my left was strong sight-reader, so I followed her tune. After the Beethoven and Handel my upper range, unpracticed and weak from nearly two decades of cigarette smoking (even a year in the past, the damage is there), was thready and faint. The last hymns we sung were only 5 of us singing 4 parts, I doubled a veteran alto. I did okay.

As I stood to leave at the end of the rehearsal, the tenor and alto (husband and wife) smiled, thanked me, and asked if I would come sing with them regularly. "I love to sing," I replied, my voice tired and hoarse, "but my schedule is hard. And Oh MY! I'd forgotten how hard this all is."

The choir director shares our pastor's casual confidence that everything will come together.
They make it easy to work past that initial fear that I don't belong. That I can't. I did. I do.

Being outside

I cajoled Alec into coming home early so that I might attend a district meeting last night. Although he rushed, and I fed and got the kids ready for bed that his half hour or so with them could be spend playing or reading before bed, I ended up arriving quite late to the meeting.

As I sat there, listening for a second year to "property taxes are going up 4% AND the school budget will be cut by a half million" and the reasons why we have to [rah rah rah] come together and get people out to vote yes, thinking wow this is a waste of time. And that's sort of sad, I put in a lot of time volunteering for the district and I walk away feeling tired. I signed my name to the "will make phone calls" list and sighed as I put on my coat 2 hours after I'd arrived. My compadres made distracted small talk and I left when I realized I was standing alone looking around.

When Alec asked me how it went, I commented that despite how much time I put in, it always seems they are demanding more of my time. They're never particularly grateful because they feel like they are sacrificing far more of their time. It was how I'd processed volunteering was supposed to feel like. Except...

Except now I go to church where you're also encouraged to give of yourself and your time. And yet, when I do that, I feel like it is important to people and I'm making a difference. I find the more I give, the more I have to give. Is it a well-placed atta girl? Maybe.

At every meeting lately, the executive board announces that there are 10 of us "who show up". It's starting to feel like a self-fulfilling prophesy. And what's hard is every time I say something the long-timers look at me like "Oh, she's actually speaking? When will she stop?" I'm far outside the in group. This isn't perception. One of the presidents said this morning, "Oh, we all went out to CBs for a drink after the meeting. Sorry we missed you". It's like high school all over again.

And last night's elections sealed my fate of another year of this.

Too tired to caption this

I'll let you ponder the sunglasses on her head, shot glass, and "cigar". A round of Lindsay Lohan meets the paparazzi, anyone?

Gasoline

...is over $3 here in Jersey. Which means, of course, that all you Northernmost readers are paying more than $3.50 per gallon. Parenthetically, my gas station was also selling milk for $3.50/gal.

It cost me $40 to fill up today.

My life: A turn for the surreal

Well, my friends, I survived an overnight at Nanny's house. Things went okay. Not that I'll be clamoring to head up there again any time soon, but it was fine. Really.

I've begun the process of joining the church. During the introductions to the consistory, I said I wanted to teach. I hadn't planned to say it, nor had I really considered it. I've been given the 3-4 year olds' curriculum to review. Among the things I'd done last week was to order a book on teaching Spanish to kids. I only know Spanish from half-listening to Dora the Explorer, but I can read stuff out of a book. This isn't really any different. I would be learning along with them.

I played guitar in church yesterday. It didn't go well - the procession required that I walk outside to the front of the church, which meant my guitar slipped out of tune. I also learned the song in the wrong key or the pastor changed keys. The last time I played with him, I could see his hands, so I just followed along that way, but this time he was on the altar behind all the kids. I faked the best I could and smiled my way out. Hopefully it will go better on Easter.

Reflecting at different places in my life

Toddler Lauren plays with a phone:

(shouts) What?! Oh, you've KILLING me! I can't BELIEVE it!

...she finishes the call by slamming the phone down hard.

Toddler Lindsay plays with a phone:

(sweetly) Hel-lo? Yes, ok! Buh-bye!

Messing with Mama

I've been trying to teach Lindsay the stuff that we teach the under 2 set: how to sing the alphabet, count to 10, and animal sounds. Her letter singing improves each week and comes closer to sounding like individual letters. She actually can count to 13 or 14, depending on her mood, if you disregard 4, because she always skips it. But whenever you ask her what sound a given animal makes, she will say "Moo".

Today in the car, I noticed that she was playing a game. It took me a couple of rounds to realize it was "What does ____ say?" She said: "What does bird say? Tweet tweet! What does monkey say? Hoo hoo hee hee! What does lion say? Rarrrgh!"

"Wow, Lindsay! That's great!" I exclaimed, genuinely surprised. "What does the kitty say?"

She caught my eye in the rear view mirror and replied flatly, "Moo."

This kid is messing with me.

Sadly, there are things even Sybil can't fix

Lauren fell on the playground yesterday. She had worn black tights to school under her skirt, and when she skinned her knee, she ripped a hole in the knee. The school nurse had bandaged her knee. Sticking through the rather large hole was her pale knee covered by an almost comically large institutional bandage.

At bath time, as she was getting undressed, I said, "You can go ahead and throw the ripped tights in the garbage."

She pulled a pouty face. "They can't be sewn?"

I replied, "No, it just won't work out. I'm sorry. We'll have to buy you a new pair of black tights."

"But Mama, maybe you can't sew them...but surely my auntie can. She can sew anything!"

"Your auntie?" I struggled with whether she was referring to my sister or my sister-in-law. They both have artistic flair, but sewing? Doubtful.

"My auntie who sewed* Lindsay's bear."

"Ohhh...Auntie Sybil."

"Yes! Sybil can fix anything! Can we save them until we see her again?"

"I think not, but it was a good idea, Lo."


*[SIC] Bear is knit.

Bumper stickers

I hate daylight savings time. It's a conspiracy to make parents' lives difficult. You take 2 kids who are on perfectly fine sleep schedules - down at 8 PM and up at 7 AM - and shift it an hour so that instead they are wide awake at bedtime and exhausted at wake time, and it's a very annoying Monday morning. Lindsay dealt with it a little better than Lauren, but that was because she just went right to sleep at bedtime.

Lauren's class has either a teaching assistant or a student teacher, I'm not sure which he technically is. For some reason, they call him Mr [First name], which is a little odd since everyone else, teachers and staff is Ms [Last name] . He has the distinction of being one of two male teachers at the school. I've never met him formally, and Lauren speaks of him favorably. Last Wednesday, she told me that Mr [First name] is really a vampire. I was sort of surprised by this observation. I said, "What?!" and she explained that it had to do with his pointy teeth. "Yeah, but who said that?" "He did." Why? I thought, but instead just said, "Vampires are imaginary."

Today, driving back from the train station, I pulled into our street. It's pretty narrow, so if there's a car coming in the other direction, you have to pull over to let them pass. I had seen a car parked on our street that I'd also seen parked near the school. I don't know a whole lot about cars, so you know it's that it has some pretty odd bumper stickers. The car has two or three pink SGK Foundation magnets on it. Next to it, another sticker that says "I just really like cleavage". So today, as the car pulled over and I waved in thanks as I passed, I realized it was Mr [First name].

I felt pretty uncomfortable about it. I mean, I know he's a guy. Straight men like women's bodies. The bumper sticker is probably meant to be ironic. The sporting of the SGKF magnet isolates attention to a body part. Women's body parts are isolated to sell all sorts of things in ways that men's bodies just aren't, and bringing attention to an issue such as breast cancer is a worthy enough cause. Maybe it's the idea of this being funny that strikes me as wrong - it would be funny if it wasn't so...usual.

I thought, well what can be done about it? I suppose I could say, "Hey, your bumper sticker is NOT funny, Mr [First name]." Or I could go to the principal and tell her I think it is unfunny. It's probably hard enough being a male teacher where any action is subject to misinterpretation. I realize I probably harbor prejudice because he is a male teacher, in a way I wouldn't toward her other teachers. I tried to think of an example in which a teacher would display a prostate awareness sticker, and I just really like...and it's just so absurd I just can't get there. Would I say something to the principal about that?

What do you think?

Mommy rockstar

Although it's been probably 10 years since I've played guitar even for friends, it came up in conversation yesterday during Lauren's choir practice ("You play the guitar?!" "Yep, since I was 5."). So, not only did I accompany them yesterday, but I ended up playing during the Lenten service. I'm not sure if it would be different playing in the sanctuary, but I really had a great time. I surprised myself.

Funny that.

Percolating

I have a few ideas tumbling around the virtual dryer of my brain this morning.

I really think supporting green initiatives is important. I wish the focus was more on little changes than The Perfect Answer, because you've got to figure that's unattainable for most people. I live in a 90-year-old house. I'm sure there's a list of things I can do to make it run more efficiently that don't cost $20k like replacing 50 windows. When the first item on the list is "live in a brand new ecologically sound 125-square foot house", my brain turns off.

Yesterday, I read a blogger had calculated how much carbon her supposed extra 20 pounds were consuming per year and that if we only wouldn't be obese, we'd be helping the Earth. It's not just that we're taking up too much darn space and squishing you on the subway, but also that we're wasting more resources just by being here. It's handy we don't live as long as thinner people.

I also read about a condition called orthorexia, which I'd taken at some point to mean people who ate large amounts of carrots and turned their skin yellow - which happened to Lindsay as a baby because every single jarred pureed vegetable contains carrots. Orthorexia is an obsession with eating only "healthy" foods to a point of malnutrition. Healthy is in quotes because it's really subjective what's considered healthy at any time - it might be only things that contain no fat, or just vegetables. As with other aspects of life, I suspect nutrition is a matter of balance and probably different for different people. The notion that there is, again, a perfect diet, sort of puts me off.

My message in a bottle

Hopefully this gets me out of Mimi's dungeon.

Night out

On Friday morning, Alec sent me a text message about a Saturday evening event at which a friend of ours was reading poetry. "I thought you might enjoy a night out," he wrote.

Our weekends are always quite busy. We go to the gym on Saturday mornings en masse - I go to a yoga class, and Alec works out. We have lunch together, and then I have class in the afternoon. This Sunday, besides church, I had my second "new member's class" to attend in the evening.

We exchanged a few IMs later in the day about it, and decided I'd go. The event was at 8 PM at our church.

I got there a few minutes early. The parish hall was dimly lit, with about 10 tables topped with plastic table cloths. A woman placed votive candles on the tables. I sat alone at one of the tables on the periphery. A few minutes later, a couple asked if they could join me. I smiled and nodded. They introduced themselves. They were probably about the same age as my parents, and we exchanged pleasantries. It turned out that they also started going to church at the same time I did, and we talked about enjoying the services and events. They asked if I'd been to this event before, and I shook my head. The husband replied that the music was usually good and the discussion was always "interesting".

The music was percussive and relaxing. During the music, someone passed out a tri-fold pamphlet for an anti-war group. A woman distributed membership pamphlets for NOW.
The lead musician talked about how March began National Women's History Month.

The woman who walked up to read poetry was not our friend as I'd expected. She was a thin black woman with long gray hair pulled back into a ponytail. Her voice was soothing and warm, but her poetry was stark and raw.

The last speaker was a woman from NOW. I tend to shy away from this group because they seem to believe if you stay at home with your kids you're not a feminist. Feminism should mean we support our sisters in whatever they choose to do. She also said in her presentation that she could not in conscience vote for Hillary since she had done a disservice by remaining married to her publicly philandering husband.

There are a lot of reasons not to vote for Hillary. I think someone who represents NOW should support her, though. Or at least have a darn good reason not to.

During the course of the discussion that followed the poetry reading and presentations, two of the more predominant commenters used language like "capitalists" and "imperialists". After upbraiding Hillary for what amounts to things that aren't really our business, they talked down Barack's inexperience and the fear that he would manage to recruit young black men into the military. They announced there's no difference between the two political parties and that was the point where a man stood up and shouted about slots on the Supreme Court and the potential overturning of Roe v. Wade and how could they toy with that? The poet stood and revealed to the crowd that she is a communist, and told the man that if he thought she would be voting for a Republican that he "just has no [expletive] clue what's going on". She announced she needed a cigarette and walked out.

I blinked, not sure if I was more surprised to have just seen someone stand and announce they were a communist, or that she dropped an F-bomb in our parish hall.

I got home and described the evening to Alec, who by the end of the story was laughing through tears streaming down his face.

"You sent me to a meeting of the progressive party," I said quietly.

"I thought it would be a nice night out."

The next morning, I ran into the couple I'd met the night before and introduced Alec. "Are you going to go back?"

"It was certainly entertaining." I replied. "You really had to experience it to believe it."

Alec bit his lip and changed the subject.