Three Things for Today

1. The powers that be command that every town here in Central PA have their Trick or Treat Night on a different night--never actually on October 31st. Some townships trick-or-treat up to a week earlier. Lame. This irritates me every year and not just because it means I have to have their costumes done earlier. It's just dumb.

...aaaaaaand this is where you're supposed to view a supremely adorable image of my three girls all in their flower costumes, which Ruby cleverly donned as "The Olive Garden." I had a photoshoot right before trick-or-treating and by the time that wrapped up and I had uploaded my images to the computer, my camera battery was like "Peace!" So accept this illustration I did a couple of years ago of some trick-or-treaters instead. And you can look forward to seeing my girls as flowers next year...Mom.


2. I purchased some brussel sprouts at the grocery store today. I've never had brussel sprouts and will be following Ina Garten's technique--just roasting them with olive oil, salt and pepper. I'm a big Ina fan so I have high hopes. I know people have strong feelings against brussel sprouts and recall a scene in Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs (the children's book not the horrid movie) where at a birthday party, the sky serves brussel sprouts and peanut butter with mayonnaise. The children look less than enthused. Why does this particular food get a bad rap? I'm ready to find out.

3. My brother sent me these two links this morning and it made my day. John just probably thought I'd like the song/performance because it was both really good and odd which is always a winning combination but it ended up really speaking to me in a way a song/performance hasn't in a long time. It's hard to explain but for me, it personified what being in love is like, specifically my relationship with Go. The song, the lyrics, the energy, the driving beat, the ebb and flow, the melody, the interchanging major and minor chords. And I'm particularly glad that the song I felt "fit" us happened to be an awesome one and not Who Let The Dogs Out.

Same song. Two different performances. Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros. "Home."

Dear Chick Who Tries To Talk To Me At Gymnastics,

Even though I would have rather been listening to music, knitting and watching my kid, the first week of class this session, I gave you a chance. I didn't break out my iPod and left my needles in my bag. Instead, I tried to be friendly and sat there and talked with you for an hour about the nightmares of potty training even though this is a conversation I try to avoid having--I've had it way too many times and frankly, it bores me to tears. But the real kicker was when you started telling me what a "bad child" your youngest daughter is...while she was right next to you. No wonder she's so disobedient. She's being told she is, so of course she's going to continue that pattern of behavior. It also made me extremely uncomfortable when you spanked her in front of me. It was a mild swat, but a swat nonetheless and I just don't care to witness it, especially when she received the overly-severe punishment for something so trivial as untying your shoes while you weren't looking. I guess you were too engrossed in your monologue about how awful she acts and why can't she just poop in the toilet for you? And maybe, just maybe, I'm going to venture to say that you're not really reading that parenting book you're toting around with you. I'm starting to think it's just a prop, like that chick I'd see around campus my freshman year of college who used to carry around a skate board with her but never actually rode it. The thing's wheels were pristine. Anyway, I wonder if that "book" of yours says anything in there about going a full 5 seconds without hollaring "Don't do that or I'll (enter empty threat here)!" I'm not claiming to be a perfect parent but it was all too much. So this week, as I sat next to you with my ear buds in, my music blasting and with knitting needles clicking, I realize I came off rude. But I'm not going to apologize for it. You make me uncomfortable and talking to you about boring stuff and watching your poor parenting skills is not how I want to spend that hour. And I'm not even going to be mad at you for making me turn up my volume full blast and ruining what's left of my abused ear drums just so I wouldn't have to hear you tell your poor daughter what a bad girl she is for an entire hour.

Good luck to you and may I suggest perhaps a different parenting book,
Annie Reynolds

As Political As I Get

Here's the real reason why McCaine is ahead:

Mike Huckabee's chilling resemblance to 24's Season 5 Shady-McShaderson President Logan.











Now there's good a reason not to vote for someone.

Ten Things I Don't Understand:

1. Most fads of the 90's, especially this one:

2. These animals and the people who prefer them over dogs:

3. These hideous things:

4. Why this is the most popular "sport" in America:

5. Why this guy is even on TV:

6. Why people choose to live in this:         
7. How this became ok:                                                        
  8. What people are thinking:                                                         
9. Who cares:

                                                         

10. Why the guy on the right is still single:

Give it up for

My trip is drawing quickly to a close, though I still have one last leg left. Thus far, I've connected with people I haven't seen in awhile, some I haven't seen in years. While jogging today, slap, shuffle, slap, shuffle, it hit me that I know a great number of very courageous people; people that have been through and are going through some major trials in their lives. We all know by now that it is through these trials and the consequent turmoil that give perspective, build character, give us depth, make us more interesting, more likely to reach out to other people and in a twisted way and in the long run: happier. To watch those who struggle with grace and tenacity is inspiring and humbing. I admire the people that are in my life. So here's to you, people in my life.

This especially goes out to all the:

-mothers of three under the age of four

-mothers of Irish Twins

-third trimester pregnansters

-single parents

-middle-aged X-SAHM who now have jobs to pay for their kids' college tuitions

-chefs at a busy restaurants

-walkers of very old dogs

-widows

-people on diets

-people who deal with chronic health issues

-the families of those who deal with chronic health issues

-teachers

-middle-aged women who jog, especially the one I saw today running in jeans

-people choosing to make better decisions and positive changes

-people that give it to me straight

-marriages that have survived

-givers of shirts off their backs

-the over-worked and under-paid and the un-appreciated

-vets who send sincere sympathy cards

-those with no agenda

-receivers of pokes and shots
-givers of pokes and shots

-grievers

-listeners

-bloggers who put themselves out there, who entertain me, who make me think

A Conversation After Today's Spin Class

Me: Oh shoot, I'm late. I have to get my kids and go!
Man: Did I hear you say "kids?"
Me: Yah.
Man: You mean to tell me you've got kids?!!
Me: Yah! ( I totally thought this guy had seen me with them before, walking into the gym. How dare he not remember my every move!)
Man: How many?
Me: Two.
Man: Are you serious?!!
Me: Yah, totally! I have a 4 yr old and a 1 and a half year old.
Man: How old are you?!!
Me: 27.
Man: (starts laughing) I thought you were 17!

Awesome? Not awesome? I can't decide.

A big fat thank you

I rented two DVDs of the first season of Arrested Development yesterday. For the past 4 years, I have had numerous, numerous people tell me that I need to watch this show, especially lately. I can't thank those who recommended this show to me enough. I'm only 2 DVDs in but I'm already totally in love with it and its quirky characters. Why aren't there more shows/movies/books that are more character driven than plot driven? It seems like the masses prefer plot over characters, which is a shame and probably why the show (and others like it) didn't last long. It's too bad. It's pure genius.

Let's Practice Doing That

Last year during our trip to San Francisco, I bought this book.


It is paragraphs like these that make me so glad I bought it. Whether you are an artist or not, I find this exerpt extremely applicable. And the wording is so typical from a "self help" type book, it makes me smile...but kind of cringe at the same time.

"What really distinguishes the productive artist from the would-be artist? The former looks at the blank ceiling of the Sistine Chapel and says, "Hm, I wonder what should go there?" The other says "My God, no way I'm touching that!"
Most people are in the second category. They see difficulty where the creative person sees opportunity. If you find yourself in that second category, what should you do? First, become aware of that secret muffled message. Second, when you hear it, try to change it. In cognitive therapy this techinique is called "thought substitution." You could try replacing "This is too hard" with one of the following messages:
"This will be easy"
"This will be hard but not THAT hard"
"This will be VERY hard, but I'm game"
Each of these affirmations has its merits, and it doesn't matter which one you choose. What's important is that you dispel the idea that creating is too hard, that it's somehow beyond your capabilities. In this period of exploration, it would be good if you got aquainted with using all three of these affirmations. Let's practice doing that."

Ok, I know. It's incredibly cheesy. Even so, I think there's a lot to be said for not letting your fears stand in the way of what you want to do. Take this family for instance:

Ode to Vosges

I live in Hershey, Pennsylvania. When I tell most outsiders this, they dramatically throw their hand to their forehead and exclaim that I must be in heaven. Considering that 2 weeks before we moved here Ruby was diagnosed with Diabetes put a damper on the excitement of living in this chocolate crazed town. Another reason I don't share their sentiments is that while I think Hershey is a lovely place to live (if you're going to live in the East), the chocolate itself is pretty much the Wonder Bread of all chocolates in my mind. I am a major chocolate snob. (Are you suprised?) If the chocolate comes from the grocery store, it's most likely not worth eating. I hold back thumbing my nose everytime I drive down Chocolate Avenue underneath the Hershey kisses lamposts. So a couple of weeks ago when we went to NYC, I found Vosges Haut Chocolat, my new favorite chocolate shop. And imagine my suprise when I checked my hotmail junk mail a couple days ago and found an email from Vosges. Salivating, I opened the email and doth my eyes deceive me? Did I just get a personal email from a Vosges employee explaining that she enjoyed my blog and would I like to receive complimentary Vosges chocolates? Did I just die and receive my heavenly reward for being such a good girl? And how did this angel get my email address and how did she find my blog? Ah yes, I had linked their website back when I posted about visiting the store on our trip to NYC.


After some investigation and deciding that the employee was just a very, very nice person and not an internet predator, I emailed back my address. Today in the mail as promised, I received my chocolates. I am waiting until Go gets home to break these bad boys open because I think the next time I'd see him would be in divorce court if I dared to eat these chocolates without him.


Our whole Vosges Chocolates experience has been beyond delightful. Bob, Harry (2 of Go's brothers), Go, myself and the girls were trekking around Soho. We came upon a shop adorned in deep purple. (This image of the shop is a different location than the one we went to, but the same store design.) As I've mentioned before, I am not a fan of the color purple, so I hung back. Bob headed inside with Harry trailing behind him. I wasn't really paying attention to the fact that it was a chocolate shop, otherwise I think I would have been heading the venture inside. "Go ahead. I'll stay out here with the girls." I really just wanted to lean agaist the wall and stare at people. Go shrugged and went inside. Two seconds later, he popped his head out the door and said "Trust me, you're going to want to come in here." We hefted the stroller inside and instantly, I fell in love. Bob was already at the counter, chatting it up with an employee (who I'm hoping was the same employee that emailed me.) Smiling, she presented him with 5 truffles placed on a small retanglular platter. I appreciate good design and this shop was brimming with it. I was even warming up to the purple--it works for them for some reason.


We ordered some chilled haut chocolat, which was divine and worth every penny. Over on the other side of the counter, the employee was explaining that she had placed Bob chocolates on the little platter in the order that he should eat them, that he should start with the least strong tasting first, working up to the strongest, deepest chocolate last.
The truffles, though, were unlike any chocolate I had tasted and I have tried quite a few exotic chocolates in my day. I especially liked the Absinthe truffle, made with Chinese star anaise, fennel, Pastis and dark chocolate. I also tried the Black Pearl truffle, made with ginger, wasabi, sesame seeds and dark chocolate. We talked with the employee for awhile and she showed us some other things, made us smell them and gave us more samples. Snickering, we put my in-laws address on their mailing list in hopes that we would receive Vosges chocolates in our Christmas stocking this Christmas. The girl who helped us was spunky and cute and I was hoping Harry, my unmarried bro-in-law would whisk her away with us and marry her so we could partake in these heavenly chocolates for the rest of our days. Unfortunately, he's shy. Anway, I could have stayed there all day. The whole experience was a delight and my tastebuds have never been more satisfied, I would venture to say. Look into their product--you will not be sorry.
Thank you P.W., thank you for sending us your crazy delicious Vosges chocolates.

I'm grouchy.

Things I don't like:
-country music
-biting into a pistachio nut and find myself eating a worm
-goodbyes
-American Idol & Dancing with the Stars
-Regis Philbin
-Carrot Top
-Paris Hilton
-Barney
-chain restaurants
-cats
-cars that emit black smoke from their exhaust pipes
-lies
-turtle necks
-Nicholas Sparks
-places where it's way too hot
-places where it's way too cold
-Nascar racing
-allergies
-Diabetes
-Ulcerative Colitis
-Ankylosis Spondylitis
-Acid Reflux
-Torticollis
-hospitals
-medical bills
-the first couple and last couple of weeks of my pregnancies
-airports
-tarangulas
-distance
-eyelash curlers
-the color purple
-being swindled
-germs
-cigarette smoke
-broken glass
-the phrase "We'll do"
-the word "ointment"
-ointment

Young Mothers, Unite!

Seriously, what's better than this?

I am 26. I will be 27 in July. In today's society I'm considered pretty young to be married and to have 2 kids. Until just recently, every day when I'd wake up to one of my girl's voices, it would send a little surreal shock down my spine. In those first few hazy moments of the morning, I'd expect to open my eyes to my yellow bedroom back in Irvine and hear the crows cawing in the eucalyptus trees outside while I tumbled out of bed and made my way for the bathroom so I could brush my retainer. But in the past year or so, I've become used to the idea that I'm settled down, am married, have children. I'm a stay at home mom and have accepted this as my life, not that it was hard to accept or contrary to what I've always wanted and expected to happen but it's just taken some time. And I've realized that it's been moving to PA that has helped this along. Since moving here, I've had to defend myself and my age almost on a weekly basis. I have had comment after comment made to me about how I'm too young to be married and have two children. For example: a couple months back, I had just finished teaching a spin class and was sitting on a chair in the spin studio, taking off my cycle shoes when I was approached by four women in their 40's who had just taken my class, during which I mentioned something Ruby and May. You know, a little instructor banter. "We just have to ask", one of them said, her voice dripping with (insincere) apologies, "...how old are you?" I was a little taken aback. The women blinked and waited for my answer. I gave a little laugh and said "I'm 26." "And you have TWO children!" one of them said horrified, looking to the other women who mirrored her screwed up face. "Yes, " I replied still smiling, trying to be polite. "How old were you when you got MARRIED?" another asked. I told them and gave them my whole time line since they were so interested and they proceeded to shake their heads like it was the saddest thing they had ever heard and went on to say how they waited until after their careers to have children, that way they were more mature and ready to take on the responsibilities of motherhood and "isn't it just a shame today, these young mothers getting pregnant before they've really experienced what life has to offer." This bothered me. Excuse me, but I am experiencing what life has to offer. I'm raising children and since when did that lose importance? Since then, I have run into that scenario more often than I'd like but somehow it's made me more comfortable with my age and my situation, more firm in my convictions that what I'm doing is just as important as anything else, dare I say, more important. It's probably like what happened to me so many times in middle school and high school with constantly having to defend my religion - the more I did it, the more confident I was in defending it, being apart of it and letting it help shape my identity. So thanks rude ladies. Thank you for helping shape my identity of a young mother in today's sometimes disapproving society. And I just have to ask. How old are you?

Ew.

Last night we went to dinner at this little family owned pizzaria. The pizza is great but it’s even a better place to people watch. It’s owned by an Italian family who all have thick accents and are total archetypes of the "Italian immigrant." The women are spirited, wear lots of makeup and even more perfume and the men wear shirts with a completely inappropriate buttoned-to-unbuttoned ratio. Lots of gold chain jewelry. Lots of hair gel. Lots of hand gestures. We love it.

In the corner of the dive, there’s a TV that you cannot help but watch while you’re waiting for your pizza to be made. On last night was Seventh Heaven. Is this a show people really watch? Like sit down and watch it from beginning to end? I had never really seen it, I always avoided it for some reason and now I know why. Total sap fest. The dialogue was hilariously awful. The acting was so atrosous, if I had to see one more exaggerated eye roll or extreme grimace, I thought I was going to poke my eye out with a canoli.

I mean, I respect what the TV show is trying to do – provide a show for families that has clean language, no violence, and claims to have values (just because the Dad on the show is a minister I guess, and that the older sister turned down a co-worker when asked to “kick back with a cold one” in last night’s episode.) But by the time we got our pizza, I had filled my cheese quota and didn’t have much of an appetite. Since when did “wholesome” have to be this cheesy with cheese on top of extra cheese? Why does a clean TV show that families can watch together have to be this ridiculously bad? But mostly, why hasn’t anyone put a stop to this? I just don’t understand.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a Tivo date with Jack Bauer.

Books on tape

Now that I've established some of my favorite things (see new blog title) I thought I'd share another one of my family's favorite things--mostly Ruby's and mine: books on tape. My first encounter with these was Snow White when I was about 4. I later taped over the Snow White cassette and used it for one of my many mixed-tape masterpieces in Junior High/High school. All you had to do was put scotch tape over the little slots on the bottom of the cassette and you could record over anything. It was a great day when I figured that out, as that was what I spent most of my time doing back then. Books on tape were then forgotten until I was 12 and we listened to one on the way to my first Girls Camp, some romance/mystery novel that our driver kept having to frantically fast forward through the racey parts, which I found delicously scandelous. Then it wasn't until a couple of years ago when I saw my mother-in-law washing dishes while she listened to a book on tape. "What a great idea," I thought. So I too now have a stereo in my kitchen so I can listen to books while I work and I actually look forward to cleaning.

This is one of the books on tape that Ruby checked out from the library this week. (The ones for kids are the read-along kind with the book included.) Meryl Streep performs it and she's, of course, fabulous. I'm a big believer in reading to your children (Ruby and I are currently halfway through "Charlotte's Web) but I love the 13 minutes that this book on tape gives me (prime blogging time) while Ruby gets read to by Meryl Streep. Not too shabby.