9 Billion Kids and Counting

The Duggar Family

Sigh.  I have yet another confession to make.  Prior to having a kid, I really enjoyed the TLC show "__ Kids and Counting."  I left the number blank because the show is about the Duggar family and their numerous, ever expanding kids (the number, not the size).  To-date, they have spawned 19 children.  Nineteen.  Michelle Duggar gave birth nineteen times.  Just, wow.

Anyway, I have again sort of picked up the show because there is nothing else to watch on Tuesdays.  And I am very disappointed in my reaction.  I judge.  And I judge and I judge and I judge.  For some reason, after having one child I am appalled at what I perceive to be a lack of responsibility in having nineteen children.  Perhaps it's the fact that I could never, in this lifetime, have the ability to parent that many kids.  But I think it's more that neither do they--the older of the kids end up parenting the smaller ones.  And it upsets me.  And THAT upsets me.  What business of mine is it?  I guess, though, if you put your family out for the world to judge, it shouldn't be shocking to anyone that judgment is what you will receive.

The most fascinating aspect of the show, though, is the fact that I genuinely like (most of) the people in the family.  They seem like really good kids/ adults.  I would LOVE to see what they're like off-camera, though.  Does Michelle ever lose it and tell Jim Bob that he's a sexist pig and to go f*&k himself?  God, I hope she does.  But I doubt it.  I suspect that they really mean it when they say they try to be good people.  And it seems that they are.  I don't necessarily agree that their lifestyle is for everyone, but maybe a lack of connection to the outside world can keep you optimistic and caring.  Who knows. 

The point is, you can live your life however you choose.  And, no matter how I try not to, I can judge you for it.

Holiday Hooplah

I love all holidays.  I love the fanfare, the decorations, the partying and the general joy that comes with them.  For years I have fantasized about huge family dinner parties for various holidays at which I ceremoneously present the beautiful 45 pound turkey I had spent all day preparing.  Yes, like many, I have bought into what life should look like at the holidays.

The funny part, though, is that I always assumed it didn't look the way I had envisioned because of me.  I figured that, once I got married, or once I had kids, or once I joined the Marines--something would happen that would trigger instant Norman Rockwellness.  Ok, fine, Martha Stewartness works too.  I would spend holidays "practicing" for those moments--preparing different side dishes to try out when I had people for whom to cook.  Yes, I was pathetic.  But I was also certain that "someday" would come.

Well, it sort of has.  But it's not what I had planned.  For starters, in the real world Martha spent months in jail.  But now that I have an immediate group of people who are legally obligated to attend holidays with me, it's just tiring.  It's fun, definitely, and totally worth it.  But generally I prefer to spend holidays with my son and my dad, watching sports and eating on the couch.  I don't think Mr. Rockwell envisioned such a scene....

But here's the thing (and all due respect to Norman)--I think these informal, less-than-photo-perfect days make me happier than anything I could envision.  I know plenty of people who break out the good china, force their significant others not to work, and wait for a feeling of completeness that never comes.  It's kind of sad. 

So this Fourth of July, let go of the picture in your head of children marching to a neighborhood parade to a finish line at whcih you had concocted a feast so magnificent, people from neighboring counties ask next year to attend (ok, fine, maybe that was just in my head).  So what if your holiday consists of you and the dog and a box of Wheaties.  If you're enjoying the Wheaties and the dog's company, you're doing better than most.  Be safe, have fun, and party like holidays were meant to be partied--just enjoying the day.

Ah the Storms

Tsk, Tsk

Sigh.  Remember when I recommended a funny, profanity-laced "children's" story?  Remember how I said that I thought it was really funny?  Yeah, well, the world now has something to say about me.  And you.

The book is everywhere.  Over the past weekend I had family over and a number of aunts had heard of it but hadn't seen it.  They thought it was hilarious, too.  Everyone I know is obsessed.  None of this surprises me.  And what shouldn't be shocking (yet somehow is) to me, is that the popularity of this book is causing people to...wait for it...judge.  And then, of course, everyone has to weigh in.  The following article puts forth four theories as to what those who actually (gasp) own the book are doing/ thinking in life:  http://theweek.com/article/index/216690/what-go-the-fck-to-sleeps-success-says-about-parents-4-theories

Actually, the article regurgitates others' theories.  The theories range from the fact that the book puts a voice to frustrations faced by parents ("I am a s*&tty-@ssed parent...") to it is sexist because women could (apparently) never write such a book.  My personal favorite, though, is that, because I like the book, I have "an over-the-top, pent-up fury toward [my child]."  Fury.  Awesome.  (Yes, it names me, personally).  (Not really).

I think this theory is hysterical.  Finding humor in a new twist on everyday life is now "fury" toward one's children.  I also liked the book "Girl With a Dragon Tattoo" but to the best of my knowledge it did not make me a psychopath.  Nor Swedish.  I'm pretty sure it didn't bring out tendencies toward either that I was secretly harboring.  Well, I do occasionally like an IKEA run, but there was no secret there.

Sure, a lot of the time such "theories" are pushed by attention-whores trying to get in on a publicity run.  And many times they are just random people who are trying to stir things up.  But the issue I have is that I am quite certain there are people out there who believe the "fury theory" and judge.  Because a parent can't walk out the door without being judged.  Or, rather, can't awaken without being judged because typically it is the parent him/herself who is the worst. 

I guess, then, I would like to apologize if I unwrapped anyone's deep-seeded fury.  And if that is the case, stay away from the Larson novels, please.  And Stephen King.  But please read Harry Potter, then call me.  If you were magical, that would rock.

Will Chicago Ever Recover?

For the past several weeks I have, of course, missed my friends pretty much constantly.  I have also missed my city--Chicago is just an awesome place to be.  But lately I have been missing even the strange people I saw only rarely and who, undoubtedly, don't know or care that I am not currently there.  I'm talking about the people I saw constantly but knew not at all--the Starbucks people, the dry cleaners, etc.  I miss them.  And I worry that, without me, their businesses will go under.

I'm actually only half-joking.  I have no illusions that I was keeping these businesses afloat.  But it is easy to see how this long-standing economic crisis keeps plugging along.  I am, clearly, far from the only person who finds herself cutting back on non-essentials.  There are very few who I know who haven't been touched by the economy today.  And, as a result, people cut back on pedicures and ice cream and highlights--all of the fun stuff in life.  And then the people who provided those services are touched by the economy and THEY cut back on stuff.  And so on.  This is all stuff that you know, of course.  I just find it fascinating to think about the personal relationships that I had acquired over the years and how those are missed dearly as we;;.

Take, for example, my esthetician Marta.  In essence, she does facials and waxing and stuff like that.  That's right--I miss the wax lady.  Marta is a freaking genius.  Even a friend who didn't at the time live in Chicago made sure to get to Marta when she visited.  She was a wonder with the wax.  But more than that, she is an awesome person.  Marta has family near mine, she has hopes and dreams and she is generally just a nice person.  Plus she told me dirt about the people in the city that she encountered, the stories about which would make your toes curl.  I miss Marta.

When I headed out, I didn't get to say goodbye to Marta.  Or the Japanese couple who ran the dry cleaners.  Or the barrista at Julius Meinl who had a daughter just a month older than my son.  Or the nice Pakistani guy who sold me my lottery tickets.  Will their lives go on without me?  I'm guessing most likely.  I suspect that they couldn't care less that I have not been to see them recently.  But I hope somehow they know that I do miss them.  Crazy.  What a sap.  But they were a part of my life.  And I wish them well.

You Put WHAT On?

No, really, this is me in a bikini.
I swear.

The other day I did two things that shocked me, both related.  The first is I went into Old Navy and I purchased a bikini.  That's right, I bought an article of clothing I have not worn in over 15 years.  And for good reason.  The second is that I put it on.  And wore it most of the afternoon.  Seriously.

Generally I am of the opinion that women over 12 should not wear bikinis.  Because if you look good in it after that age, you suck.  And if you don't, well, I don't want to see it.  I have strictly adhered to this philosophy.  Tankinis are fine if you're in your teens or twenties.  After 30 it should be strictly mu-mus.  Particularly if you have had kids.  I don't care if you are Giselle.  Well, fine, if you are Giselle wear the bikini but know that the rest of us loathe you.  And totally call me--we should have a drink sometime, as I would love Patriots tickets.  But about the bikini: don't.

So, why did I deviate?  Well, for starters I have been spending a lot of time outside with the munchkin.  And the thing is, the sun feels REALLY good on your body, especially when you haven't seen it in a while.  Even though I slather on the sunscreen, as I have mentioned, just feeling it is awesome.  And so I decided that a bikini was necessary.  I wore the shirt over it for a while, then I realized that nobody but my kid could see me.  And he didn't give a crap what I was wearing, as long as he could play in the sprinkler.  Alarmingly, he did figure out how to untie the top pretty quickly--are guys just born with that knowledge???  Anyway, my point is, I took the plunge.  It wasn't pretty, but it was kind of fun.

I guess I recommend going out on a limb in your backyard.  After a while I even pretended I looked good.  Who knows--maybe you and the fam will end up doing the slip and slide naked.  Um, if you do, please don't tell me about it.  But have some fun this summer.  Do "wild and crazy" things.  Been a while since you've been wild and crazy, yes?  So go for it.  Live life on the edge.  And in a bikini.

Mom Cave



Ok, fine, this is Disneyland.
But to me my Mom Cave is almost
as exciting.

 As you are no doubt aware, there is a recent phenomenon called "man caves" in the world.  They are rooms where men can put and do manly type things.  The concept isn't anything new, certainly, but the name is.  Man caves on the whole upset me because I am jealous--I want a room with those things typically thought to be in such rooms.  And last I checked, I wasn't a dude.  Big TVs, great sound systems, sporting goods/ memorabelia and even the occasional bars deck out a typical man cave.  Not to mention comfy furniture.  Sounds awesome to me.

On the whole, I like the idea of man caves.  They're thought to be places where guys can get away and be guys.  Get away from what, you may ask.  Well, truthfully, get away from their families.  And while this may sound harsh, I totally get it.  Kids tend to overrun the house.  And, typically, women tend to oversee the overrunning.  So having a place where you don't have to worry about stepping on toy trucks, or where the channel isn't permanently set on Phineas and Ferb is sort of a necessity in life.  If you are going to be sane, I say it's your best bet.  Which is why I have created a mom cave.

We have a cabin in our backyard.  It is used primarily for storage--I have a LOT of crap.  And so when we came here, into the cabin went various pieces of furniture and artwork that wouldn't fit into the house.  I decided a few days ago to put those to good use.  And so, part of the cabin is now dedicated to my mom cave.  And it's heaven.  There is a mini desk, some tables, a love seat, some chairs and lamps.  I set up a radio last night and, blissfully, I turned it up to almost full volume.  Because I could.  The (ack) sewing machine is plugged in full time, and there are magazines on the table.  And I don't have to worry about any of the above being knocked to the ground by the man of the house (because he can).  I love my mom cave.

Here's the deal--this whole concept sounds insane to me.  This is my house.  Theoretically.  But in practice, it's my son's.  Every night I drag toy after toy into the playroom.  Carefully, I pick up anything that I brought out to entertain myself, because first thing in the morning, he will be checking it out and, most likely, destroying it.  Again, because he can.  So having my own space that is mine (particularly as an only child) has seriously saved my sanity.  So I vote seek out a tiny corner of the world and make it yours.  And make it lock.  Mom caves for all! 

Now all I need is the bar....

Must Love Dogs

There are many states, particularly many western states, in which dogs are pretty much a protected class of the community.  Montana is definitely one of these states.  Even in some airports here, dogs are a common staple.  In restaurants, perfectly fine (and I'm not talking about service dogs).  On the street, no problem.  Dogs are treated better than most humans here.

It cracked me up when there were stories in Chicago about people freaking because dogs aren't on leashes or are in parks.  Don't get me wrong--I don't think the freaker-outers were wrong, necessarily.  It just made me laugh because the concept of restricting the comings and goings of dogs has less of a chance of flying here than restricting guns.  And that's saying something.  I, for one, had no opinion on the topic for most of my life.  I love dogs.  I find them awesome.  And I think they do good things for dog-owners.  But as a parent I also find them scary.  So I have remained Switzerland.  Until now.

Anyone who has ever taken care of a kid knows how hard it is to make the child (of any age) go to bed.  See prior post on the Mansbach book.  So once that child is asleep, you literally would do anything for that kid to remain that way.  And, as is often the case with desire and fate, the rest of the world will do anything to attempt to wake the kid up.  Your child napping?  The neighbor instinctively thinks it is a good time to mow.  Just put the little dear down for the night?  The city has planned a massive WWII recreation directly over your house for just this moment.  It's you versus the world.  Some nights/ days you win and some you cry.

But around here, the one constant on which I can depend to wake up my kid (and me) is the barking dogs.  They're everywhere.  Most horrifically, there is one visiting next door.  He's horrible.  And I have NEVER even thought these words about any dog.  But I want to lock this thing in my car with the windows rolled up.  All night long he yaps.  And I don't blame him--it's a new place.  But nobody does anything about it, because, hey, it's Montana and dogs bark.  So I want to lock them in my car with the windows rolled up.  For several nights in a row, we've played out a symphony of partial sleep, barking, crying, sleep again, barking and crying.  I'm serious--I want to let this dog out to run free.  I won't, to be clear.  But for the first time, ever, I want to.

Dogs.  Man's best friend.  Montana's upper class.  My nightmare.

Most Awesome Parenting Book Ever

As you may know or may have gathered, my sense of humor is a bit...off.  I love sarcasm and particularly when this is combined with parenting "tips," I'm in heaven.  For example, before the baby was born, I was in love with this book called "The Three Martini Playdate" by Christine Mellor.  It's beautiful.  There is a chapter about allowing your little snowflake to run around with a fork in his hands because, shockingly, there are sharp edges outside of your home and the world isn't baby-proofed.  It comments that once he puts the fork in a socket he won't do so again.  Horribly off-color.  But my kid's weapon of choice is a screwdriver, I find the chapter very funny (I don't really let him put screwdrivers into a socket nor run around with them).  Anyway, the book is a gem.


Found on http://www.amazon.com/

But there is a new parenting book that is absolutely the bees' knees.  It has become quite the fad for parents to buy it for one another.  In fact, two different friends Amazon-ed it to me in the same week.  And there is good reason--when we read it both my dad and I were crying, we were laughing so hard.  It is called "Go the F%ck to Sleep" and is by Adam Mansbach.

The book is genius.  Particularly if you have a potty mouth like I, it's so dead-on, it's scary.  It could have just been funny for the title and the premise.  But there's so much more.  The illustrations are art--my kid loves looking at them (though I change the words).  The story is priceless.  It starts out basic enough: "The cats nestle close to their kittens, the lambs have laid down with the sheep.  You're cozy and warm in your bed, my dear.  Please go the f&ck to sleep."  But as it goes on, it perfectly chronicles the deep-seeded plight of all caretakers as they try to get a child to go to sleep.  My personal favorite is a line that all adults have wanted to say at one point or another--whether or not they admit it:  "I know you're not thirsty.  That's bulls&it.  Stop lying.  Lie the f&ck down, my darling, and sleep."  It's childish, horribly vulgar language-wise, and absolutely accurate.

And so there you have my recommendation of the week.  Seriously, if you don't mind the language, check out the book.  If you don't, someone else will and you will be the only loser on the block without it.  Just saying.

Meet My Dealer

I have a new drug.  It's much more fun than crack (I assume), is sadly legal and is much more expensive.  My drug of choice is anything and everything that can be found at my dealer:  The Home Depot.

As you know, I'm having fun gardening.  I haven't been outside much (ok, at all) over the past decade, so it's a good time had by all. This all seems innocuous enough, until you add up the number of times I have been to Home Depot within the past 8 weeks.  It ain't pretty.  I go and wander aisle after aisle of piping and grill supplies and mulch.  And as I have (quite literally) no money for such items, I can't figure out why I go and torture myself.  I stare wistfully at the double shower, complete with 3 types of DIY tile.  The shower is bigger than my current bathroom.  But I can't stop.  And even if I walk out of there with nothing or with a $0.99 pepper seed packet, I'm thrilled.  It's weird.  There's no other way to say it.

Case in point--over the weekend the baby and I went to get Grandpa's Father's Day present (happy belated Father's Day, by the way).  It's not completely out in left field to get him a gift card from my crack dealer.  He is doing home improvement stuff of his own and has his own mountains of bills to pay.  So we thought it would be fun to get him something useful.  So we tear into the store, a clear mission in mind.  We are not going to be derailed by the enticements of new outdoor tiles that we neither need nor can afford.  We were in the store about 8 minutes.  We came out with the gift card, yay!  And a sprinkler.  What the....  Sure, we needed a sprinkler.  But not at that exact moment.  And sure the sprinkler was $3.  But seriously?  I was elated until I got into the car.  What is wrong with me?  All I could hear was the "Brokeback Mountain" line "I can't quit you."  Pathetic.

I'm currently seeking treatment.  I literally have about 50 cents (sadly, the monetary amount, not the rapper) to my name, and I have a new resolve to avoid the dealer.  We'll see.  If anyone knows of a good treatment program, I'm all ears.  Or if Ace Hardware is having a sale, let me know....

War of the Wills

It is difficult for me to grasp the fact that something so good can be so irritating.  I am talking about the fact that my kid has one of the strongest wills around.  And it's driving me insane.

I am very proud of my kid, as you know.  He is full-blown toddler these days and is starting to get pretty good at communicating.  He says words like "ball" and "banana" and means it when he wants a ball or banana.  Man, does he mean it.  No reasoning such as "there are no bananas because Mommy has been too lazy to go to the store and the idea of it makes her head hurt" will sway him.  The kid wants a frickin banana.  Now.  And when he doesn't get said banana, he screams.  Awesome.

We all want our kids to be self-sufficient.  We want them to be those kids on the playground who protect the other kids, don't put up with any crap, and are generally kind, sweet and macho.  Even the girls.  But when it comes to interacting with parents, we would prefer they be completely docile.  And just as they are frustrated that they can't fully explain themselves, we are frustrated that they cannot be reasoned with.  Toddlerhood is an awesome grab bag of frustrations.

I have to say, however, it is working wonders on my patience.  Not just with him, but with the world as a whole.  There are even moments where I find a little zen place and couldn't care less that the woman is looking at me like I'm a monster when my child throws something across the store.  Sure, I prefer the "aren't you the perfect boy" comments.  A lot.  I totally love those.  But trying not to let the not-so-perfect-moments bother us is half the battle.  If you have any tips, let me know.  I'd go with booze, but that's too expensive at the moment.  So for now it's all about giving in.

The learning curve for both of us is also very cool, however.  When kids figure something new out, it's as if the entire world has been opened to them (and you).  And it has.  Their expanse of knowledge and wonder has just been multiplied by a power of a million.  And how cool is that?  When was the last time you learned something so awe-inspiring?

The Thin Tan Line

There is something strange happening to my body.  It's very similar to the experiences of Spiderman, though sadly it has nothing to do with the horribly disfiguring bug bite from the other day.  I think, if memory serves, it is that phenomenon called...a tan.

My body hasn't seen sunlight in 15 years.  And I have been to the Caribbean.  Twice.  It just seems that wherever I was, even if it was on vacation, there wasn't the opportunity for tans.  And, yes, I understand that this is a good thing.  I even came to recognize it as a status symbol.  People in Chicago rarely bare their bodies anyway (unless, of course, you are a Bleacher Bum and own a sequined Cubs bikini--I wish I were joking) and on those rare occasions when the humidity forces you to do so, the more you glow with pale, the cooler you are.  Seriously, Chicagoans could take on the Cullens when it comes to pale and sparkly (too pop culture?).  And we're proud of it.  Because everyone around us is in the same boat.

So the other day I took a look at my arm.  There was a strange mark on my wrist.  Next to the mosquito bites (no, I'm not over this bug thing yet).  It was a strange white stripe right where my watch usually goes...oh, right!  Suntan.  Huh.  I seriously douse myself in sunscreen.  And my poor kid wanders around town with his hair matted to his pale little head after receiving treatment after treatment of the stuff.  But these days we are outside all of the time.  And, as a result, suntan. 

It's a very strange feeling.  Part of me wants to be that girl of 13 (before all of the skin cancer studies) who would literally make herself crispy on vacation, just to show off when she returned to the snow.  Part of me wants to buy a burqa.  I've never been outdoorsy in a time of sun avoidance.  How does one do it?  And when I return to Chicago, will I be mocked?  Or randomly stopped by cops (low blow--sorry, CPD)?  How does one walk the tan line?

That Bugs Me

I have a major complaint to make to the state of Montana.  The giant, flesh-eating, harrassing bugs have to go. 

I distinctly recall being overjoyed during my first summer in the city that there were relatively few bugs, particularly mosquitoes.  I don't know if they're too drunk from hanging in Wrigleyville or they're afraid of getting shot or what.  But for whatever reason, the pests are very well controlled in the city.  It was heaven.  Unless you had a habit of wading through the weeds in city parks, you were relatively safe from infiltration.

I had forgotten, therefore, that such is not the case in Big Sky country.  Particularly because we have been having so much rain, they're horrible right now.  But I didn't expect them to take me on, personally.  Yet they have.  I have been digging out yet another garden in the backyard.  I was terrified of what I would find, as I was clearing waist-high weeds and turning up huge rocks.  Much to my surprise, however, not a snake or a spider in sight.  The most terrifying thing found were earth worms.  CRAZY!  I was overjoyed, as I am more than afraid of snakes, even garden snakes.  Anyway, I thought I was in the clear until I started turning up with welts all over my legs.  Ick.  Mosquitoes.  So I bought some repellant and doused myself and my kid in it daily.  Well, apparently this ticks them off.  Because yesterday I was brutally attacked by something (I can't be sure it was a mosquito--it may have been a relative), right at the corner of my eye.  The result is something out of a creep show.  My eye has swollen almost shut!  It's horrifying.  And I went to the CVS pharmacy and they say there's not much I can do about it.  I don't actually know what bit me but whatever it was, it had a personal vendetta.  My son is afraid of me today.  I refuse to leave the house in case there are others out there.  Awful.

I can live with the winters, I can LOVE the lack of humidity, but I have had it with the bugs.  I'm putting netting over my entire backyard.  I am buying every tiki torch and fan and candle on the market.  The bastards are going down.  They thought I had it in for slugs?  NOTHING compared to whatever ate half my face off.  This is war.

Trend-Setter

You should know that I am incredibly trend-setting.  I do something and the world follows.  Ok, fine, I'm completely making that up.  But lately I have noticed that an awful lot of people appear to be in situations similar to mine.  And I'm not saying that in a good way.

The other night I was watching a show called House Hunters International.  It is on HGTV and is awesome.  They follow couples who are moving from one country to another and help them pick out the right home.  I love it because I am a HUGE voyeur when it comes to how people in other countries live.  I love checking out the options as to what life could look like. Anyway, there have been people moving from Africa to Australia and from Connecticut to Italy.  The show relevant to this post involved a family moving from San Francisco to Iceland.  The husband was from Iceland originally and the couple had an infant son.  The show doesn't go immensely into the personal lives of the subjects (really, the stars are the houses), but there were little pieces of information as to why they were leaving the States.  In short, they couldn't afford it after he lost his job.  They were struggling in California and a move to be near his family would significantly improve their quality of life both monetarily and when it came to their son.  It was sort of hard to watch.  But it, of course, had a happy ending two months later with a gorgeous (but small) condo.  The kicker?  She was thrilled at the new pace of her life, at the chance to spend time with her son and with her new GARDEN.  Seriously.  There are clones of us all running around (at least in Iceland).

I am well aware of how much I have complained about this move.  And some of it is very justified.  But I have to agree with the SanFransisco-Icelander woman--it sucks, the change is hard, and it is absolutely invaluable for making us see that life doesn't have to go mach 20 in order to be happy.  So many people today have found themselves stepping off of the fast track (usually aganst their wills) to find that a more leisurely pace is really, really great.  The ability to spend time with friends and loved ones is invaluable.  And the opportunity to breathe (while disconcerting) is heavenly.

I'm not advocating quitting your job and moving to Belize.  Ok, yes, I am.  But my point is that there is a whole big world out there with a lot of opportunities.  If you're smarter than I am, you will choose to go that route instead of waiting for life to push you there.  Life is very, very uncertain and no amount of planning can change that, as so many of us have recently found out.  But it doesn't have to be a bad thing.  And if it's actually your decision, it can be even better.  So drop your pencils and coffee--run from your office buildings!  Be free!  And when your spouse or parents yell at you, please don't mention you read this....

What Do You Think?

I have always been fascinated by people who care what other people think.  This is primarily because I am one of them.  I hate this fact.  Particularly lately, after finding relatively few acquaintances who were willing to help me out when I needed it (friends and family were an ENTIRELY different story), it really irritates me that I still find myself caring whether others "like me" or not. 

Why do we do this?  For example, last weekend a small group of friends and I got dressed up for a bachelorette party.  We donned rather spectacular (if I may say so) 80s garb and headed out on the town.  I do have to say that living through a number of decades has significantly tempered my embarrassment level--I had no problems dressing up in the first place.  But I did find myself noticing the looks and, although it disappeared quickly, I felt the color rise in my cheeks momentarily.  Why, exactly?  I don't really know anyone here.  And even if I did, why would I care?  Judgement for something as insignificant as having fun shouldn't even give me a second thought.  It irked me that I even noticed. 

So tell me--why do we care so much what other people think?  I find myself trying to explain to people why I don't have an "official" job, as though I have something for which to apologize.  I practice entire speeches in my head for the next person who comments, ever so slightly, on my parenting.  I preface discussing any purchases I make with a disclaimer of how much they were on sale.  How is any of the above anyone's concern?

So tell me, folks, why do we care?  Should we?  Does it keep us in line?  Or is it only harmful?  And tell me the truth--do you like me?  Are my clothes ok?  Am I doing ok with my child?  Why aren't you answering?

Handy Nanny

I don't know if you have happened upon Disney's cartoon Handy Manny, or not, but if you have, I have a quick observation.  He's full of crap.  For those of you who don't know, Manny is an hispanic cartoon character with a tool box full of talking tools.  They walk around town fixing whatever disaster is about to befall its citizens and bestowing upon the viewers handy advice such as "take turns."  But my point is this--I, too, would be "handy" if I had a box of talking, self-suficient tools.  The tools do all of the work.  Manny gets the name of the show.  Such a crock.

That said, I have completely come to understand how it is that retirees tend to lean toward the home repair to fill their days.  First, there is an abundance of projects that always need to be done.  Second, for the first time in one's life, there is an abundance of time in which to do said projects.  Third, it's just fun. 

One of the things I love most about the law is the problem-solving aspect.  Your client has a problem, you need to solve it.  It's very cool to work out solutions and to double-check your work.  Or maybe I am a dork.  Whatever.  The point is, home repair is the same thing.  For example, I have a tiny patch of dirt that runs along my driveway, next to my house.  The prior tenants had filled it with rocks and I didn't like it.  So I prepared it for flowers.  I was very excited to watch them grow and make my driveway the envy of all driveways.  Until, of course, the rains came.  There is a spot where the water rolls off of the roof and into the dirt.  As a result, my flowers were pushed all the way across the driveway by my occasional lake.  Not good.  I thought and I thought how to fix the problem, but the patch of dirt has just sat empty (there are, however, flowers sprouting from the cracks.  Yay).  Finally, yesterday, it popped into my head that I could make an actual pond for the water, and plant flowers around it.  So freaking simple!  I took an old bowl, dug a trench for it, and voila!  VERY excited.  Of course it rained and I excitedly ran outside to look.  Instant pond.  So easy and yet so much joy.

It's amazing how easily entertained we can be.  Particularly when one has no control over her life at the moment, controlling aspects of the house is heavenly.  Hey!  Maybe I should retire.  Then I can add golf to my daily activities.  Awesome.  If anyone feels like joining my retirement home, bring a sleeping bag and a hammer.  Talking hammers given priority.

The Great Outdoors

As I write this, I am listening to my poor child throw a major tantrum.  He is in his room, which is next to mine, and is pounding on the wall yelling "Mama" because he doesn't want to nap.  This, as many of you know, is a unique form of torture bestowed by children.  The guilt as a parent is overwhelming and is only barely outweighed by the knowledge that he needs his nap.  As do I.  And so, I pretend it is the latest Adult Alternative song, and type away.

Usually he's pretty good about his morning naps.  So what is the issue today?  He's mad because I made him come inside.  As you know, we have been cooped up for weeks with torrential rains and freezing temperatures.  And as you also know, my son has been a bit...reluctant...to experience the outdoors that Montana has to offer.  Well, today both issues have been (at least temporarily) resolved.  We have been running around the backyard pulling weeds, the front yard trimming trees, and the neighborhood on our bike.  It's been a great time.  As a result, the kid is now an outdoorsman.  I literally saw him standing in the grass, head up to the sky with his eyes closed, grinning.  He's loving it.  And I have to admit, even with parks, the city doesn't offer such outdoorsey joy.

What is it about being outside in the sunshine that makes us so elated?  Is it an instinctual, primitive thing?  Such as, does it mean that crops are growing and food will soon be plentiful?  Or is that just me and my little garden?  Is it even more biological--our bodies need sunshine to thrive and is it that we have been craving it after a long (anti) drought?

I'm not sure of the answer, but I am absolutely amazed at how this little boy has taken to being outside.  He doesn't care what he's doing, as long as he is teeterig around.  He still prefers the cement (that's my boy), but he will only come indoors kicking and screaming.  I guess there are bright spots all around us.

The Thick and Thin of Things

When I first returned to Montana, someone noted that she thought it would be a change for me because "people here don't take care of themselves the way people do in big cities."  She was referring to looks (this person's favorite focal point) and clearly had never been to Milwaukee.  She is a fitness fanatic, and the comment made me laugh.  In my opinion there is very little difference in the relative weights of people here versus those in Chicago.  With one notable exception--me.

I have never been particularly good at maintaining a workout schedule.  Such is largely (pun intended) the case because I didn't have time.  When you're working 80 hour weeks, the last thing you want to do during those precious few free (and sober) hours is exercise.  And so I figured that having more time would mean that I, naturally, would become Giselle within weeks.  So, am I now a supermodel?  Yep.  One from 1982 who has spent the past 30 years locked in a Hostess factory. 

I guess I can see it.  Much of my free time is spent baking things.  Cookies, brownies, pies--you name it.  And, as my son is not exactly a human vacuum when it comes to food, I thereafter eat the (carmelized) fruits of my labor.  Moreover, in a city you definitely walk a heckofalot more than you do outside of one.  Plus, I lived on the fourth and fifth floors of a walk-up.  One that did not contain an elevator.  Lugging a child and the billion pounds of crap he/she requires up four flights of stairs will keep you from being 50000 pounds. 

And so, I must either do something about my ballooning waistline, or I must resign myself to becoming the cliche of which the woman spoke.  Any suggestions?  Hold on, I need to get a brownie before I read your response.

Public "Scandal"

I try not to comment on politics too much in our discussions.  This is primarily because when I do so, I tend to tick people off.  This, in and of itself, doesn't bother me much.  But when there really isn't room for debate (you and I can't engage in much of a back and forth), then it's just not worth commenting.

...with a few exceptions, this being one.  I'm sure you have heard the "scandal" of the New York Representative who got into some hot water because he sent compromising photos of himself to random strangers via Twitter.  He is a politician, is married, has a baby on the way, and sent the photos to people he had never met in his life.  Um, ok.  At first, I couldn't see the problem.  I admit I am a bit more lax when it comes to morality than most, but the photos weren't nudes and he wasn't doing anything that compromised our country, so why is it my problem?  But the more I learned about how he really didn't know the women to whom he sent the photos, the more concerned I became that the guy is, more than anything, completely stupid.  But in discussing this with a friend, we noted that maybe he's just like many, many people around the world.  He just doesn't get that the Internet is public.

As we have discussed before, I am completely paranoid.  Although you all get to hear every thought that crosses my brain (and trust me, there aren't many), there is a level of anonymity.  Apart, of course, from the fact that I know many of you personally.  But I am a freak.  I ask my friends not to post photos on Facebook and, as you know, comments that divulge personal info don't get published.

On the flip-side, though, is the fact that EVERYTHING we say and do on the Internet is public or potentially public.  Trust me--in my line of work I have obtained emails between people who NEVER thought the outside world would see their comments.  And suddenly it is an issue that the off-color joke you just sent might mean you have racist tendencies.  But more than that, I have dealt with people who post on blogs or other public sites that "those damn lawyers" will "never catch me."  Um, yeah, we will, and when you say stuff like that publicly we will easily do so.  You get the picture.  People just don't get that what they are saying is as though they had posted it in the New York Times, times a million.

So back to Representative W.  What the heck?  Seriously, how do you, as a public official, not know that this stuff is going to get out there?  Or do you secretly want the world to know that you are (to use Jon Stewart's words) "ripped" and "huge"?  Regardless, it can't be worth it.  I don't give a crap about politicians' mistresses or drug habits or airport bathroom escapades.  I do, however, care when our elected officials are dumb.  And I just can't comprehend what could possibly make this man think that this stuff won't get out there.  Weird, sexual photos.  Perfect strangers.  Internet.  What am I missing here?

And so, my friends, please feel free to post whatever photos of yourself you feel like on this site.  But understand that I will sell them to the hightest bidder.  And if you are a politician, please have your apology speech ready.  Because while I personally don't care whether you are ripped and huge, there are apparently many, many who do.  And I intend to profit from it.

What Do I Do?

The other day I was asked by someone what I do in a day.  It wasn't a malicious question (the type I asked of stay-at-home parents before I had a kid).  It was just a simple inquiry.  I was so excited--now was my chance to demonstrate why the past few weeks have been about a billion times more exhausting than years as a lawyer.  And so I smiled, took a deep breath and said....I have no idea.

Here's the thing: I am not kidding when I say this is a lot harder for me.  It's a never-ending routine of cleaning and cooking and playing and weeding and errand-ing.  But I can't possibly explain it because even when I just list off the things above, that really doesn't do it justice and sounds stupid.  I feel like both a pansy and a fool--I completely judged stay at homes and now can't possibly explain why it's more difficult for me.

Part of it, I think, is the routine.  My child functions SO much better when he naps at the same time, eats at the same time and plays at the same time.  And my child functioning well makes MY life much easier.  So I try to keep most days the same.  Which is crazy for someone like me.  I loved the law because litigation was constantly changing--one day you're doing depositions, the next you are writing and the next you are in Brussels.  So trying to do the same thing day-in, day-out is grueling.  And the awful part is, I still can't put words on what "the same thing" is!  I have no idea what I do in a day.  I know it's a lot, I know I don't get breaks or huge changes, but I have no idea what I do.  Do you?  Anyone?  What the heck do I do in a day?

The Hostess With the Not-So-Mostess

I love get-togethers.  Whether a party of 4 or 40, I absolutely love them.  I love going to them and I love throwing them.  I love all aspects of them--from the planning to the seating charts to the food to the graphs of conversations you expect to take place (that's not normal?) to the decorations...you get the picture.  Love it.

When my friends and I had exactly zero responsibilities and a fair amount of disposable income, having people over for games or planning birthday outings was absolutely tops.  For example, on one of my whatever-number birthdays, my awesome friends planned an elaborate outing at a martini bar.  Which was fan-freaking-tastic.  And which I promptly left at 10:00 while they happily carried on throughout the evening.  By way of further example, "backyard" (fine, back or roof deck) BBQs were also the norm--someone would put down plenty in booze and brats (hey, it was the Midwest) and, as mosquitos are too busy watching the Cubs suck to bother people in Chicago, it made for several happy nights.

So, things are totally the same now, right?  Um, no.  And it's not the location that has changed.  Last weekend I had a few family members over for a BBQ.  Nothing big and not very well-scripted--very last minute, "hey you haven't seen the baby yet" kind of thing.  But, still, I was very excited to get food and plates, etc.  It felt like getting back into the swing of things (maybe I am a 55 year old male going through a midlife crisis?) and socializing.  Yeah, and I was a TOTAL disaster.  I completely forgot to put out the potato salad.  The corn wasn't done until some 20 minutes after the burgers were getting cold.  And I ultimately ran out of buns.  WHAT HAPPENED TO ME???  The worst part?  I was dead-exhausted by halfway through.  By 4pm I wanted to kick everyone out.  It was insane.  AND I only had part of one poorly-made mojito.  Pitiful.  Just pitiful.

I guess my point today is that our youth cannot be recaptured.  Nor can our abilities.  So I guess I am going to throw in the towel and hit Dennys for their 4:30 dinner specials.  Anyone care to join me?

The Name Game

The other day when I was in the state-run liquor store (you gotta love Montana), the checker mentioned that she has a two year old son and is pregnant.  I asked if she had any names picked out and she said she would probably make one up, like she did with her son Jusson.  OK.

I have to say, the naming of a child is a fascinating process.  I had a much more difficult time with boy names than I did with girls.  I, like many parents, wanted something not-too-crazy but also not run of the mill.  I agonized over it for months and only when I uttered it after he was born did his name really stick for me.  I still think it's a great name for him, so no regrets.  When it comes to some other names I have heard, however, not so much the case.  There are some, in my opinion, pretty harsh names for kids out there.  Sadly, like me, EVERYONE has an opinion.  I have one poor friend whose mother in law pretty much responded with "ick" upon hearing the child-to-be's name.  I have another friend whose MOTHER refuses to call her granddaughter by her given name.  She calls her something else entirely.  Like, say the little girl's name is "Jody," she calls her "Beth."  The name game is serious stuff in many families.

What has really surprised me, though, is the difference in names by geographic location.  Given today's technology and the nomadic nature of people, I would think names would generally be the same no matter where you live.  But I'm finding that not to be the case.  There are still the popular names here that there were in Chicago, but some of the more unusual ones are REALLY unusual. Some are terrific.  Others, not so much.  But it's very strange to me that it is noticable.

I do have to wonder how much influence family has on the issue.  As mentioned above, friends have dealt with family imput all over the place.  But the friends I mentioned weren't swayed by the pressure.  Others, I'm not so certain.  For example, my cousin recently had a baby boy.  She named him a great name.  But the first name is the town where our grandparents lived and the middle name is my grandpa's (very old-fashioned) name.  Like I said, it's a great name.  But her motivations for choosing it, I can't fathom.  It really seemed like she was trying to get the attention of our many, many aunts and uncles.  Very interesting to me.

I absolutely do not advocate making fun of a kid for his or her name.  At least not in front of him or her.  But take a gander at the names around you of little ones, and the next time you travel do the same.  Are there a billion Isabellas?  Or is it something different that creeps up?  If the former, be certain to burn all of the town's copies of Twilight.  In fact, do that anyway.  But my point is that I think you'll be surprised.  And if you are naming a child, I recommend staking out his or her college, doing an informal poll of what names will be accepted there in 18 years, then go home and have a drink because you are way too uptight.

Newsworthy

Hi folks.  As an initial matter, my apologies for my absence.  A nasty, week-long bout of the flu followed by visiting company has kept me from my daily rants.  While I am quite certain you can make it through the day without me, I'm also certain you would do anything to be distracted from your day jobs, so I apologize.

One of the first things I did upon arriving in Montana was set up my satellite TV.  I'm not kidding--before I had furniture, I had my receivers ready to go.  This may seem like quite an expense for someone counting their dimes, and it is.  But to understand me, you have to understand my obsession with football (American football--I'm not that hip).  I live for football.  And, more particularly, I live for the Chicago Bears.  My dad and I have shared season tickets for a number of years now, and we have this little fantastic family of season ticket holders around us.  And you haven't seen anything until you have seen one or more of the women of our clan climb up the steep stairs in the middle of winter, huge pregnant, navigating ice and stupid drunk fans because that's who we are.  So, point being, I needed to know that I could watch my Bears anywhere, any time (we'll talk about the potential lockout when I don't want to hurt someone over it).

One of the more odd pitfalls of going this route for television viewing, however, is that I do not get local channels.  Seriously.  I get the networks, but they're out of...Manhattan.  I'm not kidding.  Every night I watch the news and learn of the latest caper in Brooklyn or how Central Park was a bit too hot for roller blading today.  It's very strange.  And I love it.  I actually got into a tiff with someone here because she couldn't understand why I wouldn't demand to know what is going on where I live.  Well, first, I figure if something is going on, one of the neighbors will tell me.  Second, nothing is going on.  So there you go.

That said, I have very much missed the Chicago news.  I have no idea why, particularly since it terrified me after I had a kid.  It's pretty harsh, let's just say.  And I technically get my fix through the Tribune website.  But until tonight, I had felt very, very displaced.  In general, these days I'm not quite certain who I am.  I'm working on it, mind you, but everything I knew is different, so it's a slow process.

Anyway, last night I was feeling like myself more than normal, as I was watching the Cubs get spectacularly beaten by the Cardinals and was having a glass of wine.  Then, unlike most nights, I did not immediately go to bed when the game was over.  To my surprise, I had forgotten that the station showing the games also has Chicago news (I never said I was very bright).  So, delighted, I watched.  Also to my surprise, it was heaven.  The news wasn't any lighter than normal (muggings, shootings, train wrecks) but the voices and the places and the people were familiar.  I had spent over a third of my life getting to know Chicago as home.  And I was thrilled to see that I could still touch home, even from miles away.  It wasn't my friends, or my house, or the life I knew, but it was a tiny bit of me.  I suddenly remembered a bit of the woman who I had been for so long.  It was heaven. Who knew--something so insignificant as sights and sounds can center you a bit.  Look for the familiar.  They'll help you navigate the foreign.