Swine Flu Blues

Swine flu is really getting me down. Normally, I'm not the type of person who worries much about this sort of thing. Sure, I might take the usual precautions (I'm not a complete dipshit) but aside from feeling bad for those impacted by the illness, I wouldn't typically lose much, if any, sleep over it. This time though, things are a bit different.

First and foremost, I have kids. That changes the game dramatically. It's funny how we rarely give a crap about ourselves ("Swine flu? Pshaw. I'll just wear a mask during my trip to Cancun!) but as soon as children enter the picture, we find ourselves wondering if they make Hazmat suits for babies and toddlers. Kids' immune systems don't fully mature until they are at least three to four years old. This means they are particularly susceptible to whatever creeping crud is roaming around out there in the ether.

Secondly, unless you've been living under a rock for the past few months (or I don't know you at all), you may have heard that my family has been under constant viral and bacterial attack since early January. I can vaguely recall my other friends going through something similar during their first year with two children but until you experience it for yourself, you really have no idea how hellish it can be. Taking care of a sick kid can be challenging...taking care of two sick kids is VERY challenging...but taking care of two sick kids while you are also sick is mind-bogglingly wretched (yes, mind-bogglingly is a word...just looked it up). Bottom line, not only are my kids super susceptible to getting sick, but K and I (and my parents) are too.

Which brings me back to the point of this post. I'm feeling particularly vulnerable to swine flu. At the moment, I feel like we might as well have a giant sign on our house saying "Welcome to San Jose Swine Flu!" It certainly doesn't help that a high school just a mile or so up the road has shut down for a week (reopening May 6) due to a student testing positive for the illness.

On Tuesday I had to go grocery shopping. I was maybe 10 minutes into the trip when I realized I'd completely forgotten to wipe down the shopping cart handle. Luckily I had a little pack of disinfectant wipes in my purse. I quickly whipped one out and ran it along the cart. Then I sprayed some CleanWell on my hands for good measure. From the moment I'd left the car to the moment I remembered to wipe down the shopping cart, I'd touched numerous items of food, the shopping cart handle, my face, and Z more times than I could count. Who knew what germy hands had been here before mine? And what about when I went to pay at the checkout stand? Who else had touched the credit card keypad and digital pen? And the gal bagging my groceries...was she ok? Or the guy handing me my receipt? Had they perhaps been in contact with someone who wasn't? By the time I got to my car, I felt close to tears....

...which is why I turned on the radio...only to hear the NPR announcer quote the CDC director who'd just released a statment saying "swine flu deaths are anticipated in the U.S." Ummm...what?! I mean, dude, isn't your job as rep for the CDC to CALM PEOPLE DOWN!? Because telling me to anticipate death as a result of the swine flu just isn't cutting it in my book.

Meanwhile, M is still going to daycare. Granted, it's a very small home daycare with no more than four other children. And L is very good about making sure the kids keep their hands clean and sending the sick ones home. But when I stop to think about all the people each kid's mom and dad come into contact with during the work day...and then wonder if they are being as vigilant as I'm trying to be when it comes to hand washing, disinfecting, etc...I find myself thinking maybe I should consider pulling M out until things blows over. Then I start pondering M's upcoming birthday party and other parties we'd been invited to. Are those still a good idea? When the CDC says to "limit interaction with large groups," could they mean birthday parties too? Ugh.

Maybe I'm overreacting (I see you nodding over there...stop that!). I suspect K thinks I am. He rolled his eyes at me yesterday when I insisted he wash his hands mere seconds after he walked in the door from work. But my gut tells me I shouldn't fuck around with this thing. I know first hand how vulnerable my little family unit is to all sorts of God-awful crap. And I'm not about to take any chances.

PS if you really want to scare the crapola out of yourself, be sure to pick up a copy of Steven King's The Stand.

PPS Happy Birthday K!!!! Sorry for the downer post on your b-day....

My Fantasy Vacation(s)

I seem to have vacations on the brain these days. Probably because I'd like to go on one. And maybe because my mom is heading off to a Caribbean cruise next week with my grandma and a few cousins (where they hopefully will avoid catching swine flu). In any case, as we have already ascertained, unless K and I win the lotto...it's highly unlikely we'll be going anywhere this year (and no, the trip to Ireland in February does not qualify as a vacation. That was a family visit and while lots of fun, most definitely not relaxing).

But because I just can't seem to let it go, I decided to torture myself a bit and take a look at my very favorite luxury travel website: Abercrombie & Kent (not to be confused with the teen clothing store known for its risque pics of semi-nude adolescents). If I were to win the lottery and then decide to take a celebratory trip, I'd contact this company post haste.

One gets a distinct sense of the types of vacations A&K dabbles in when one pops over to their homepage. This is the first photo that greeted me:


Feeling a bit nostalgic for the heyday of the British Raj (minus the famines and epidemics, of course)? Well look no further!

But lest you think A&K trips are only for those who prefer not to rub elbows with the natives, think again. A quick survey of their 2009 web catalog reveals a huge variety of trips for very, very, very wealthy people of all tastes. Here were a few that struck my fancy:

Fighting Climate Change in Antartica
Uganda: Gorilla Encounter
Elegance in Motion: Southeast Asia by Train and Ship
Kingdoms of the Sky: Sikkam and Bhutan
In the Wake of the Bounty: Clipper Odyssey
Israel: Women of the Bible
A Wine Connoisseur's Trip through Burgundy

Sadly, I think any vacation we take this year will have a much more mundane title...something along the lines of: Finding Yourself in Fresno, In the Bowels of Bakersfield, Modesto: Where George Lucas's First Big Movie was Filmed (But Not Really).

Drama at Daycare

I think one of the biggest challenges of being a parent is having to navigate the sometimes tricky waters of child/child relations. Especially when those children are very young and still developing basic social skills.

At the moment, M is having some issues with another kid at daycare. "Noah" is a sweetheart--loving and cheerful. He's also very social and because he's just a little guy, Noah hasn't yet developed the ability to read his audience. To put it bluntly, he tends to come on a bit strong and is generally oblivious to how this may impact those around him. But he's also a big softy and prone to taking things personally. I suspect when he grows up, Noah is going to be an extremely successful businessman...possibly in sales or marketing. But for now, he's the unwitting bane of M's existance.

It's unfortunate, really. I had high hopes that M would hit it off with Noah. When he started at daycare, M's current best bud had left for "big kid preschool" and she was feeling rather bereft. Enter Noah. And exit my dreams for a deep, abiding friendship between the two.

See, M is a particular little gal. She can be extremely sweet and loving. But she can also be incredibly complex and not a little contrary. M isn't the most physical kid on the planet. She likes hugs and kisses and being held...but only when it's on her terms. So it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out why M gets frustrated with poor Noah when he rapidly moves in on her personal space the moment she shows up in the morning. He's like a little ball of energy and noise...clearly VERY excited to see his buddy and shortly after, VERY crushed when said pal doesn't respond to his overtures as he'd hoped. A typical arrival at daycare goes something like this.

M very excited to get out of car and walk to daycare facility. We arrive at door, she knocks, I ring doorbell. The lovely L opens the door to welcome us when suddenly, from behind her, emerges a chipper, cheerful whirlwind. Noah with a huge grin and arms open wide for the loving embrace he knows is sure to come: "Hi M!! Hi M!! Hi!"
The smile on M's face vanishes. She turns to me with a look of panic.
Noah moves in for the kill: "Hi M!!"
M, holding her arms in front of her in a "get thee back" gesture: "No! No! My NO like Noah!!! Go way!"
Noah, smile faltering, looks a bit uncertain, then lip wobbling, begins to cry as if his little heart is going to shatter into tiny pieces.
M begins to cry and demands to be held.
I spend the next five minutes trying to detach myself from her grip, calm her down, and help L to comfort a clearly distraught Noah.
Repeat above scene ad nauseum.

Last week, after one particularly harrowing drop-off, I spoke briefly with L to brainstorm ways we could nip this in the bud. During our chat, she mentioned M has not only done this when we've dropped her off but also sometimes when Noah's parents drop him off in the morning (when M is already there). I cringed inwardly at the thought of M making her opinions about little Noah known in the presence of his mom and dad. They must think we are the biggest a-holes.

When M and I returned home that night, I attempted to talk to her in very basic terms about how we don't hurt peoples' feelings, about how it felt to Noah when she pushed him away and said she didn't like him, and practiced things she might try instead (like smiling, saying "hi Noah!", and then walking to another room to put some space between them for a few minutes, etc). I thought it was going really well...M seemed to get into the whole role playing thing and appeared to understand my points. And then she looked at me very solemnly and said, "But mommy, my NO LIKE Noah!"

Ah yes. Now we reach the crux of the matter. How does one convince a young child to be friendly to a kid they don't particularly care for? At M's age, kids lack a social filter. They haven't a clue about faking it and they are incredibly, emotionally honest (ever seen a toddler throw a tantrum? Then you know exactly what I'm talking about). So I'm a bit uncertain how to go about the business of a) letting M know she doesn't have to like and be friends with everyone but b) she does need to be kind even to those she doesn't really care for however c) if someone is bothering her, she should feel empowered to take polite evasive action.

Suggestions welcome.

Is it just me, or does this cake suck?

Black licorice. You either love it, or you hate it. I LOVE the stuff. Can't get enough of it. You can probably imagine the sheer joy I felt when I discovered pastis (and why I have a soft spot in my heart for any country that has taken my favorite candy and turned it into an aperitif).

What does this have to do with cake you ask? Patience my friends.

So as I was saying, I love black licorice. Which is why, roughly 12 years ago, I was excited to come across a cookbook carrying a recipe for Anise Cake. I picked up the book, Cooking Provence: Four Generations of Recipes and Traditions by Antoine Bouterin, on a whim. I think I may still have been dating the delectable Julien from Marseilles at the time and therefore had a fascination for all things Provencal. Anyway, when I spotted the anise cake recipe inside, I knew I immediately had to make it. I popped out to the store, bought the ingredients, rolled up my sleeves, and started baking.

The aroma from the oven was heavenly....a combination of warm vanilla cake and licorice whips. I could barely wait for the cake to cool before I commenced stuffing it into my mouth. Only to just as quickly, with a speed I didn't know I had in me, spit it out onto the floor.

Have you ever wondered what black licorice would taste like if it were piping hot and giving off strong fumes of alcohol mixed with rocket fuel? This, my friends, was it. The flavor was so incredibly medicinal that my eyes continued to water for several minutes after I removed it from my mouth. It was, in a word, nasty.

I then hurried back to the recipe, convinced I'd totally screwed up somehow. Clearly a cake described like this--This easy-to-prepare cake offers the mysterious flavor and aroma of anise, one of our favorite Provencal accents--should not taste like the bottom of a gas can. So I made it again...very, very carefully. But as before, it tasted like absolute shit. Over the next several years, I attempted to bake this cake numerous times....with the same results.

So now I need your help to solve this mystery. Am I missing something? Or is the recipe screwed up? If you have time and are interested in taking on my cake baking challenge, I've included the recipe below. Please let me know if your creation comes out remotely edible (and by that I mean it doesn't bring tears of pain to your eyes and cause your sinuses to unclog).

Anise Cake (Gateau a l'Anis)

3 large eggs, lightly beaten
2 cups all-purpose flour
1 cup sugar
1 tablespoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
2 teaspoons pure anise extract
1/3 teaspoon pastis or other anise-flavored liquer

Preheat oven to 375F. Butter and sugar five 4" savarin molds, one 10" savarin mold, or other similar sized molds.
In a large bowl, combine all ingredients except the pastis, and mix well into a thick, smooth batter. Pour the batter into the molds, filling them halfway. Bake until golden and firm, about 35 minutes. Unmold onto a serving platter and drizzle with the pastis. Serve cold.

Remembrance of Vacations Past

Last weekend I told Karl I wanted to take a vacation. And then we both laughed. Truth is, unless we win the lottery or rob a bank, a vacation that involves a passport or air travel just ain't gonna happen. It made me realize just how many cool places we managed to go before everything went to hell in a hand basket, and how much I took those trips for granted. Some places we saw courtesy of our jobs and some places we visited courtesy of the frequent flyer miles earned at said jobs. Regardless of how we got there, we were damn lucky to go.

So without further adieu, I present a whirlwind tour of some of our best vacations (and vacation photos) of the past few years, in no particular order.

Crete 2007

Thailand 2004

St. Thomas 2008

England 2004

Jamaica 2005

American River, California 2004

Maui 2007

Grand Canyon 2006

Ireland 2004

Whistler, Canada 2004

Cancun, Mexico 2005

April 24, 1915

“Our strength lies in our intensive attacks and our barbarity...After all, who today remembers the genocide of the Armenians?” Adolf Hitler

(I would like to thank my grandpa H, a former Air Force historian, for taking the time to create a written family history about the genocide. I am proud to say I sourced a huge chunk of the content below from his documents).

Just under 100 years ago today, after decades of strained relationship between Armenia and Turkey, the Turks decided to deport the entire Armenian population by marching them into the deserts of Syria, Mesopotamia (Iran, Iraq), and Arabia. During the march, many people were tortured and killed in ways far too upsetting and numerous to list. Some simply died from heat exhaustion and starvation. As many as 1.5 million Armenians perished. But some, like my grandfather's family, survived.

On July 13, 1915, the six villages of Musa Dagh (The Mountain of Moses) received a summons from the Turkish government. They were told to prepare themselves for deportation in eight days. The villagers were well aware of what had happened during earlier Armenian deportations and the majority decided to resist (those who didn't were never heard from again). They gathered all their animals, farm tools, food, and available weapons. They then climbed to the top of the mountain in a single day. Trenches were dug, barricades erected, and sharp shooters placed at strategic locations.

When the eight-day grace period expired and the Turks realized the villagers were not going to abide by the deportation ruling, they decided to invade. The first attack occurred on August 8 but failed. The Turks regrouped and gathered a force of 3,000 soldiers. Although they were only 400 yards from the villagers, the forces were separated by a deep and impassable ravine. The meager Armenian fighting force of about 650 men took advantage of the situation. They surrounded the Turkish forces and engaged them in hand-to-hand combat. In the mass confusion, the Turks were ordered to retreat and by morning, the entire area was free of Turkish forces.

In spite of the villagers success in warding off the Turks, they became worried about the future. How long could they hold out? What would be the final outcome? With hordes of Turks surrounding the landward side of the Mount and with food suplies almost exhausted, the only realistic salvation for escape was by sea. The villagers began to devise a plan.

A group of well-trained observers were immediately placed sea-side to scan the Mediterranean for ships in the area. Skilled swimmers were also on hand and ready to swim to and board nearby ships with a petition pleading for immediate aid and assistance. And two oversized white flags were fabricated, one with a large red cross and the other with large black lettering reading: WE ARE ARMENIANS. HELP US. The two flags were attached to the two tallest trees facing seaward.

Days later, the French cruiser, Guichen, while patrolling the northern shore of Syria under the blockade imposed by the allies (remember this was in the thick of WW I), was sighted and responded to the flag. The ship's captain contacted the Admiral of the appropriately-named Jeanne D'Arc and within 24 hours, she and another French cruiser arrived on the scene. Eventually three other ships joined them (one of them British). And in the early morning hours of September 10, 4,092 men, women, and children boarded the ships and headed for a temporary refugee camp in Port Said, Egypt.

Seven members of my family, including my great-grandmother and two of her children, were rescued from Musa Dagh. Three additional family members, all males and of draft age, had fled to South America in 1911 to avoid being conscripted in the Turkish army. One of them, my great-grandfather Zakaria, had already been forcibly conscripted by the Turks and had no interest in being drafted again. Eventually the family regrouped and relocated to New Britain, Connecticut where most of my grandfather's family still lives to this day. Amazingly and sadly, only one family member did not survive the ordeal, my grandfather's older sister, Armenouhi. She died of malnutrition between the ages of two and three in the Port Said refugee camp.

How I Turned My Road Rage into Something More Productive

NOTE: J would like to apologize in advance to anyone she may inadvertantly offend with this post. But J also knows NONE of her friends would ever do any of the things listed below. And J, of course, is a perfect driver.

Anyone who has driven with me and survived knows I don't have a lot of patience with the other idiots...er, drivers...on the road. Every time I get behind the wheel of my car, you can rest assured I will get pissed off at least once, if not several, times. My top three peeves are, in order of annoyance:

1) People who insist on traveling UNDER the speed limit in the fast lane and who WILL NOT move to let faster traffic pass
2) People who think the way to successfully merge onto a busy road or freeway is by darting out into oncoming traffic and then coming to a complete stop
3) People who truly think they are capable of holding a cell phone and driving at the same time, in spite of the fact that they are weaving in and out of the lane like a drunk and it's now illegal (that's why they have speaker phones, earpieces, and hands-free units people!!)

(yes, I know I said "top three" but I thought of this one after the fact)

4) People who insist on driving right up my ass when I'm going a respectable 75-80 mph on the freeway (I have a handy way of getting rid of these folks. It's called "press the dashboard hazard button". Works every time)

B.K. (Before Kids), I could--and did--happily fling numerous expletives and eloquent hand gestures towards the worst offenders. These days, I have to tone it down a lot. Which is why I was SO thrilled to discover California's Smoking Vehicle Complaint Program. This wonderful program has made it possible for me to take out my road-related frustrations on someone who most certainly deserves it. All without dropping a single F-bomb!

In case you haven't heard of it (or aren't a CA resident) let me give you a brief overview. It's pretty simple. If you happen to see some moron driving down the road with a smoking tailpipe (like this one)....

...you can:

1) Carefully drive close enough to the offender to take note of his/her license plate numbers
2) Discretely dial the Air Resources smog hotline number (best to have this pre-programmed so you don't have to look down at your keypad while driving and risk a) getting ticketed and b) getting killed)
3) Provide the requested info--license plate, vehicle make and model, location--when prompted by the prerecorded message

How cool is that?! Wondering what happens after you report an offender? Take a look here. I confess to hoping for a more dramatic scenario (like something out of Cops) but I suppose this'll do.

Up Close and Personal with Otitis Media

Otitis Media is the fancy name for the common ear infection. But don't let the word "common" fool you. Because there is nothing common about this nasty bastard. The mere mention of "ear infection" can be enough to cause parents to begin wailing and gnashing their teeth...and for good reason. I never really understood why until otitis media decided to pay our home a visit. And like the house guest from hell, the little shit has more than overstayed his welcome.

Exactly 34 days ago today, M started complaining of pain in her left ear. Thus began the first of multiple visits to her pediatrician (with a few visits to urgent care and our naturopath thrown in for fun), the first of many doses of various antibiotics, and the first of my many fist-gnawing guilt fests about M's health.

See, if you haven't figured it out already, any time things don't go as planned with your kids (illnesses, developmental delays, potty training challenges, an inability to memorize the Declaration of Independence by age three) parents--in particular moms--will immediately assume it's because they screwed up. And as M's ear infection saga stretched into days and then weeks, I began self-flagellating in earnest. I've even got a mantra of sorts...a little something I chant repeatedly to make the guilt that much more crushing:

"I must have done something wrong."

That's right folks! In spite of the fact that....

1) I breast fed M for her first few months
2) Switched to an organic formula that did not contain high-fructose corn syrup and added sugar
3) Prepared M's pureed meals from scratch using only the freshest, organic fruits and vegetables
4) Gave M a daily cup of organic yogurt (made from the milk of grass-fed cows) to increase her exposure to probiotics
5) Used unbleached, biodegradable (and FRIGGING expensive-as-hell) diapers
6) Only bought bottles and sippy cups made of "good" plastics or stainless steel
7) Ensured her mattress, bedding, and PJs were made of 100% organic materials
8) Purchased paraben-free, pthalate-free, sodium lauryl sulfate-free (but unfortunately not F-R-E-E) soaps, shampoos, conditioners, lotions, and sunscreens

....it apparently was not good enough. Because if it were, then shouldn't M be healthy as a friggin horse?! Why in the hell is M suffering from the mother of all ear infections?! Why are we now on our FOURTH round of antibiotics? And why have we had to take her to a doctor not once, not twice, but SIX TIMES in four weeks!?

Look. I'm no idiot. I know it's normal for kids this age--breast or formula fed--to go through a huge number of illnesses. They have immature immune systems and consequently are susceptible to all sorts of crap...blah, blah, blah. But this ear infection business was NOT part of the deal.

...brief intermission while J has a mini-tantrum, eventually calms self down with some delicious ice cream (have you tried this? It's really, really good...and possibly the explanation for my expanding waistline), and resumes typing...

When I stop and think about it, I suspect what's really going on here is fear, plain and simple. The truth is, we do everything we can to keep our children safe and in doing that, we sometimes convince ourselves that we've beat the system. Then when something goes wrong, we are forced to admit we cannot protect them at all times. And it scares the crap out of us. In other words, if M can, in spite of everything I've done, get a month-long ear infection...what else could happen to her? (Please don't answer that question).

For now, I guess it's antibiotics vs. ear infection, round four. Wish us luck.

Ladybugs, Part Deux: Attack of the Red, Fanged Beetles

So the great ladybug release went off without a hitch. Well, aside from one small detail: M is apparently terrified of ladybugs. She watched from inside the house as I opened the container and released them. This was not quite the Earth Day experience I'd hoped for.

Truth be told, I had completely forgotten last summer's "incident." M and my mom were in the backyard when a ladybug suddenly landed on her arm and, as she reminded me several times this evening, bit her. (For those of you remotely familiar with ladybugs, I suspect you will, like I did, doubt the veracity of M's story. I've never heard of a ladybug biting anyone. I stand corrected).

In summary, when I think of a ladybug, this is the mental image I have:

When M thinks of a ladybug, she pictures something a little more, uh, sinister:

To top things off, I just discovered releasing ladybugs into my garden is actually not very earth-friendly at all. Sheesh! Next year, I think I'll just buy some CFLs and call it a day.

PS the ladybugs are doing fine (see below):

Ladybug, Ladybug...

In honor of Earth Day, I decided to orchestrate a quick, earth-friendly project M and I could do together. So yesterday evening, before picking her up from daycare, I stopped at the garden store. I didn't really have anything specific in mind but the local nursery seemed like a good place to start. I knew I needed something:

a) inexpensive
b) earth-friendly
c) fast and easy enough to hold the attention of a two-year old

After some aimless wandering, I ended up in the natural pest-control section. Imagine my excitement when I spotted several refrigerated containers of praying mantis eggs! (yes, the enthusiasm is genuine. I have always loved mantises [or mantids as they are apparently called]). I almost bought them, too, but then remembered M's fear of long, leggy insects and reluctantly put them back on the shelf. And that, my friends, is when I hit the jackpot (metaphorically speaking of course):


Ladybugs! Cute as a button and efficient pest killers. Cheap too! I bought a container and took my new-found friends home.

Per the instructions, the little guys need to be released just before the sun sets. This way they will snuggle up on some plants for the night and, if all goes as planned, wake up tomorrow morning totally thrilled with their new home and not inclined to relocate. So M and I shall free the ladybugs at dusk tonight as a gift to the planet (and our yard).

Check back later this evening for the thrilling conclusion!

Well, so much for that idea...

Interesting Wall Street Journal article on blogging. Apparently it "takes about 100,000 unique visitors a month to generate an income of $75,000 a year." Hmmm. Probably a good thing I wasn't planning on using my blog to make money. But if the WSJ is correct, it looks like I'm in good company (there are over 20 million U.S. bloggers out there!). And I must agree with the whole "high job satisfaction" comment. This is the most fun I've had in, like, forever!

Clothes shopping, and why it sucks

Yesterday was a real scorcher. The temps hovered somewhere in the low-90s and Z wasn't feeling all that great. I decided we needed to get out of the house and take advantage of someone else's a/c. The local mall seemed like a good choice.

As a rule, I generally avoid indoor malls. The lack of a regular paycheck will do that to you. But I also find the crowds and noise to be a major energy drain. However on a very hot day when you have a cranky child on your hands, the mall can be a life saver. So off we went.

My original plan was to stroll the perimeter a few times and do some window shopping. But as so frequently happens, I found myself unable to resist the pull of my favorite clothing stores. This was a VERY bad idea.

Listen. There are few things that get me down faster than the reality check that typically follows an "I must try all these cute clothes on!" high. Way back before the effects of gravity, time, and childbirth took over -- I used to be a size two. Now, like Norma "I'm ready for my close up" Desmond in Sunset Boulevard, I spend far too much time trying to recapture my faded glory and not enough coming to terms with how I look today. This does not a good clothes shopping experience make.

So back to yesterday. It was a total downer. And by that I mean it made me want to crawl into a hole, curl up, and die....and then stuff my face with deep-fried dough topped with powdered sugar. Like this:


Mmmmmmm. Funnel cake.

I digress.

Look, it's bad enough that some key body parts (and you know who you are, you traitors!) have decided to hold a race to see who can reach my feet first. And that I now know how a JELL-O mold would feel if it had to stuff itself into a pair of pants. But to then try on an item of clothing...only to find that the size I was just two weeks ago is now TOO FUCKING SMALL...is really the final blow.

I work out people! I do. But this is not an encouraging sign. In fact, it makes me want to say "screw this!" and move my ass to Hawaii where they appreciate big people. Where I might actually feel slender and graceful. And where I can comfortably walk around in something like this....

...without living in fear that I might meet the wrong end of a whaler's harpoon.

Please be sure to visit me at my new Hawaiian home on the appropriately named "Big Island." I'll be the sunburnt gal rocking the muumuu. Aloha!

I contemplate writing a romance novel...but am distracted

I have toyed for years with the idea of writing a romance novel. They sell like hot cakes (especially in times of economic duress), are formulaic in nature (which means the plots aren't too hard to dream up), and unless you're going for the Diana Gabaldon look and feel, they are relatively short, light, and sweet.

On a whim, I decided to reaquaint myself with the genre and it's many, many subgenres (and there are a gazillion subgenres: vampires, gothic, mystery, fantasy, historic, futuristic, time travel, ghosts, western, gay, etc, etc). Since I'm on a budget, I thought instead of buying some books, maybe I'd just do a little surfing to see what romance authors, fans, and publishers have to say for themselves.

Everything was going rather smoothly until I spotted this (WARNING: Probably not suitable for work. Definitely not suitable for kids):

Um, WTF?! Now before you accuse me of seeking out and posting soft-core porn on my innocent blog I do want to point out that a) this book was found on a reputable romance novel review website and b) it is on sale at Amazon.com (although Amazon has, rightly so IMHO, categorized it as "erotica").

Anyway, this got me to thinking about book covers and wondering if authors get any say in the layout/design. I mean, did the author(s) of BSA above have any opp to veto the cover before it went on the market? Then again, given the title and back cover description, I suspect this cover art was exactly what they were aiming for.

So then I started wondering what other hidden gems I might discover in the way of cheesy romance covers. Allow me to share (and I promise nothing will be quite as, er, eye opening as the previous item):

It probably goes without saying that if I saw this man and his lustrous mullet beckoning me, I would run screaming in the other direction. Oh, and given a viking's penchant for mostly northerly climes, why does this fellow look like he just stepped out of a tanning bed?

Do you think this poor chap realizes his pants are made of kryptonite? I suspect that explains his rather stiff stance. Hell, at least he's wearing pants...

Which is more than I can say for this guy. Christ almighty. Get a room you two!

"My dearest! What dost thou think of my man-girdle? Sexy, no?" If this is how Scottish border lords typically dress (Philip?), I can't say I blame the gal down there in the world's smallest hot tub for having a drink. Bottoms up sister, looks like you'll need it.

PS Be sure to take a peek at one artist's tongue-in-cheek look at romance novel covers. Very, very funny.
PPS Good lord. Do you think Michelle has this on the wall of her office at the White House?

Why I LOVE My Local Library

Here in the sunny Silicon Valley, we have a pretty kick-ass library system. Or at least those of us living in SanJo do. It's like a hybrid between a regular bookstore (a la Borders, Barnes and Nobles) and Amazon.com. Let me explain.

SJ public libraries have a central online system that allows you to locate a book, from the comfort of home, and put it on hold in any branch library of your choice. When the requested book arrives at your branch, it is placed on a designated hold shelf with a handy-dandy tag on which your first initial and last name are printed. All you have to do is show up, go to said shelf, grab your book(s), and check them out. Oh, and did I mention ALL of this is completely free of charge? Not only that, but several branches have received multi-million dollar renovations so you might actually want to stay awhile. And tell me...how many libraries have their own Flickr page and wireless?!

This is all VERY good news for an avid (and poor) bibliophile like myself. I still use Amazon.com, though mostly to keep track of books I want to check out in the future (the online library list only lets you hold 10 books at a time). For what it's worth, here are the ten books on my hold list:

The Whimsical Bakehouse: Fun to Make Cakes that Taste as Good as They Look
The Forgotten Garden: A Novel
The Seance
Lowboy: A Novel
Blueberry Girl
Fevre Dream
The History of the Snowman
Pride and Prejudice and Zombies
Olives and Oranges: Recipes and Flavor Secrets from Italy, Spain, Cyprus, and Beyond
Fruitless Fall: The Collapse of the Honey Bee and the Coming Agricultural Crisis

The Joys of Defriending

I recently discovered how to defriend people on Facebook. And once I realized how easy, painless, and non-confrontational it was...I was hooked. I decided to do a thorough review of my entire friend list and lighten the load.

Some people were easy targets: an elementary school pal with, shall we say, very conservative tendencies and an "anti-Obama" countdown ticker on her main page. The guy I vaguely recalled from high school who'd found Jesus and wanted everyone to know about it via his status updates. The random dude who shared a last name with me and nothing else.

And then there were those who fell in the grey area: a woman I knew in highschool and barely remembered but who seemed interesting though we never actually talked after I accepted her friend request. Extended family members who I had less in common with than complete strangers but felt compelled to friend because, well, they're family. Former colleagues who I never really spent much time with when we worked together but who might prove to be good future networking contacts. And the list went on and on.

Don't get me wrong. I firmly believe in different strokes for different folks. But just because I'm open minded towards people doesn't mean I have to hang out with them, virtually or otherwise.

I suppose all of this begs the question, why did I friend them in the first place? I blame some of it on the initial honeymoon phase that comes with setting up a Facebook account. The thrill of adding friends to my network managed to override my normally cautious temperment. In the case of childhood and adolescent friends, curiosity won out. I hadn't seen these people in years and was interested to see what sort of adults they'd evolved into. And sometimes, I'd get a request from someone I couldn't recall for the life of me and would accept if only to connect the dots.

In the end, I kept most of my original list in tact and only removed those people who a) I didn't know from a hole in the wall and b) I didn't particularly care for. I never let them know in advance...just took one last look at their profiles and then clicked the button. Cowardly of me? Perhaps. But I haven't had any regrets. Though sometimes I do wonder if they noticed my absence and what they thought about it, if they gave it any thought at all.

Have you ever defriended someone? Why? On the flip side, ever been defriended (that you know of)?

A Word about Autoimmune Diseases

Not too long ago, I found out that a childhood friend had been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. It came, as these things often do, as a complete shock to her. No one in her family had ever been diagnosed with it. And she's only in her 30s. When I found out, I immediately went online and began researching MS. Here's what I discovered:

1) MS is much more common than you might think
2) It's not really an "old-age disease"-- many sufferers are diagnosed in their late 20s and early 30s
3) It appears to strike women more than men (but men are still vulnerable to it, see Montel Williams)

MS is an autoimmune disease, in other words...a disease in which the immune system goes haywire and starts attacking, instead of protecting, the body. MS forms lesions on various areas of the nervous system. These lesions, in turn, interfere with the normal functions of the nervous system and wreak havoc (large or small) on numerous physical and mental functions: speech, motor skills, temperment, etc. Like a game of roulette (but a lot less fun), you never really know when and where the ball is going to land and what that's going to mean for you.

My very first brush with an autoimmune disease happened several years ago when my mom was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis. RA not only effects the joints but, like MS, can cause lesions to form in various organs...most frequently the lungs. So while someone suffering from RA will experience the painful twinges associated with your garden-variety arthritis, they also are at high risk for developing severe breathing problems and have to be monitored carefully. Also like MS (and most autoimmune diseases, for that matter), rheumatoid arthritis is three times more likely to show up in women than men, and it often strikes people in the prime of life.

What gives?! Why is the female sex so much more vulnerable to autoimmune disorders? There are several studies underway to try and determine the cause(s). Some potential candidates are:

- cosmetics (scary!)
- industrial pollution
- agricultural pesticides (all the more reason to buy organic!)
- increased stress levels
- all of the above
- none of the above

Meanwhile, aside from taking drugs (frequently in the form of intramuscular shots which have fun side effects like weight gain, dry mouth, and depression), there aren't any cures for these bastards. So if, like me, you are currently autoimmune disease-free but know of someone who has been diagnosed with one....you probably feel a bit useless. As in "I want to help....but what the hell can I do?"

First of all, you can vote with your wallet. Try checking here before purchasing cosmetics and other bodycare items to make sure you are stocking up on products that use minimal chemicals. Buy organic when possible and always wash the hell out of any non-organic produce before you eat it. Maybe this will inspire companies to start paying closer attention to the ingredients they are putting on our faces and in our food.

Also, just about every one of these diseases has its own association and research foundation. Because it's not cheap to study diseases, they are always in search of additional funds. You can donate directly to the foundation of your choice (not sure which to choose? try the general, all-purpose American Autoimmune Association). Or join one of the many walks going on across the country several times a year.

The MS walk in my area is this weekend. Unfortunately, I won't be able to make it. But check here if you're interested in signing up or participating in one in your area. Or maybe I'll see you at the local RA walk in May?

Cake vs. Cupcake -- Round One

Sorry but I'm going to have to write more about M's upcoming birthday party. In fact, I think it's safe to say you'll be reading about it for some weeks to come. And then a brief reprieve until September when I focus on Z's first birthday.

I have almost, but not quite, decided to bake instead of buy M's birthday cake. If you've never bought a cake at a bakery (no, Safeway and Costco do not count), then let me be the first to tell you they aren't cheap. Not by a long shot. It's pretty standard to pay upwards of $100 for a cake. So in an effort to save a little casheesh and maybe spend it on something more fun (like, say, a birthday gift for the birthday girl), I have almost convinced myself to make my own cake.

I say almost. That's because I still have one niggling concern. It's that I would like to create this:


but it will, instead, most certainly look like this*:

* Is it me or 1) does the green blob and squiggle (which I suspect is supposed to be a balloon) look like a lost sperm? 2) and is "Oop" the child's name? Or are the parents trying to hint (with the help of the green sperm) that the kid was a happy accident (Oops)?

Now I'm wondering if I should embrace cupcakes instead. Cupcakes, if you haven't noticed, are a "big thing" these days. Cute, boutique-y cupcake bakeries are popping up all over the place. In fact one opened up not far from here and rumor has it another is opening up in downtown SJ (Mecca of culture that it is). Aside from the fact that they're de rigueur, cupcakes are the perfect size for kids, and easy to make (aka hard to fuck up). And because they are so popular, there appears to be an abundance of cupcake cookbooks on the market, which means lots of yummy recipes to choose from.

So it's cupcakes all 'round, right? Well...not so fast. Here's my dilemma. We've got a lot of folks coming to our shindig. That means I have to bake, and then decorate, quite a few cupcakes. I'm no Martha Stewart but I do feel compelled to do SOMETHING that fits in with M's princess theme. Do I really want to commit to creating several dozen perfectly decorated cupcakes, especially considering I have never actually decorated a thing in my life?

What do you think? Or should I just say "screw it" and order a cake at my old standby?

A Visit to an Old Friend

Today Z and I decided to pay a visit to a old family friend. As you probably surmised from the accompanying photo, Sheila passed away almost five years ago from cancer. She was incredibly outgoing, incredibly funny, and loved people of all types. Something that, to me, totally sums up Sheila as a person: shortly after she finished her first round of chemo and when it appeared the cancer had gone into remission, she decided to get a full facelift. As she told me when I visited her soon after the surgery, "I suspect this cancer is going to kill me off. I'll be damned if I'm going to go out looking like an old hag. I'm tired of my face looking like my ass." Cheers, Sheila!

Sheila is interred at Oak Hill Cemetery in San Jose. She's only a few miles from our house so I try to stop by now and again. The cemetery itself is incredibly huge. I couldn't find the stats online but I suspect it spans several hundreds of acres and it has sections dedicated to people of just about every nationality and faith you can think of.

I like visiting Sheila. Graveyards can, for obvious reasons, be very sad and sobering. But because many graveyards are frequently large and set apart from the suburban hustle and bustle, they can also be peaceful and contemplative places to visit. Apparently I'm not the only one who feels this way because at Oak Hill, I frequently see people with fancy cameras taking photos of statuary, people with books reading under one of the huge oak trees, and sometimes even people eating lunch.

Before I end this post, I want to share a photo of one of the chapels. It was, in fact, where we held Sheila's memorial service. It's supposed to be non-denominational for people of all (or no) faiths. Which is why I suppose it has such a unique architectural style:



I think this place looks like a cross between someone's idea of an English hamlet and what I imagine Bilbo Baggin's local community center would look like if the Shire had one. The inside is even more interesting as there are two small streams of water running down either side of the aisle lending the place a very zen-like feeling.

Oh, one last thing. For you trivia buffs, here's a list of some of the famous folks residing at Oak Hill. I didn't know who half of them were but still pretty interesting stuff.

An Open Letter to K

My Dearest -

You have had a truly shitty week on top of what has, frankly, been a few truly shitty months. Granted, it's not ALL been bad. There was the trip overseas to visit your family, your much deserved promotion, the all-too-brief visit from your parents. But for the most part, 2009 has not been kind. Take for example the following:

- your blood pressure (as I already mentioned in an earlier post) has risen to new, unhealthy heights
- your eyes, feeling neglected, decided it was high time to get a little respect and gave you a scare or two
- your entire family, including you, have suffered through endless weeks and weeks of mood-altering, tantrum-causing, sleep-depriving illnesses (and oh, by the way, mom called and M has a runny nose and is sneezing again)
- you are currently doing the work of at least three people while recieving the pay of one with little reprieve in sight
- the work project you put so much effort into has, through no fault of your own, gone over like a lead baloon, inspiring much wailing and gnashing of teeth

In short, 2009 can suck it.

But before you abandon all hope, remember you still have us (see photo in upper right corner of blog). And we can't wait until you are feeling like this again:

In the mean time, we love you. Keep fighting the good fight!

J, M, and little Z

A Few Signs of the Times

What does the economic downturn look like at my house? Come on in and I'll give you a tour! Let's start with the yard. First, a few photos:

No, this isn't the lawn of our redneck neighbor down the street (and we do have one. next time you visit, be sure to check out his rusty yellow truck on cinderblocks in the driveway). Instead, it's growing evidence of what happens when you cancel your weekly gardening service. Oswaldo, we miss you!

Next lets take a look in the garage. Who would guess that behind this bucolic image:

Lies the largest wholesale-goods warehouse chain in the world. Farewell Whole Foods. Hello Costco!

Now for the house. Lots of interesting things here. What's this I see?

Why it's a herd of dust bunnies! They sure have been a lot happier since we decided to cancel our bi-monthly cleaning services.

And this?

Bonnes vacances Dish Network. We hope to see you again soon!

Now for something a bit more intimate. (WARNING: if you can still afford regular spa appointments you may wish to avert your eyes):

Is it a caterpillar? K's attempt at a porn 'stache?

Never fear, dear readers. It's just one example of what happens when I'm left in charge of my more complex personal grooming needs. Be thankful I didn't post a photo of my toenails.

Before I go, I have one last photo to share. I'll preface it by saying that while it definitely sucks to give up life's little luxuries, at least K and I still have this:

So we're counting our blessings.

Tightening your belt? Going without? What things are you and your family giving up?

Today's Rant: The Myth of the Part-Time Job

Ok. So it's not a complete myth. Many people can, and do, have successful, well-paying part-time jobs. But my guess is (and please correct me if I'm wrong) most of these people are either single, semi-retired, or in a relationship without dependents. Because let's face it, when you have small kids at home, just about any job you take will either need to happen "after hours" (aka when the ankle-biters are a-bed) or will need to pay enough so you can afford part- or full-time childcare. In which case, you're simply working to pay for your childcare. Ummm....no thanks.

Oh, and by the way, those jobs that claim to be "tailor-made for stay-at-home moms and dads" are either glorified pyramid-scams or totally full of shit. As any parent will tell you, the chances of being able to do ANY work at home while in the presence of a non-napping small child are nil.

So why am I going on about this, you ask? Mostly because I'm frustrated. At this time, I have no interest in holding down a full-time paying job. But the idea of having a flexible part-time job (and the paychecks that come with it) is really appealing. Only it feels like the current system in the U.S. is not designed to support parents like me. Even regular freelancing isn't an option unless we are willing to put Z in daycare so I can set up a website and drum up business. And there's no guarantee that it'll be worth our while.

For now, our options are as follows:
- continue finding freelance work with folks who don't need to work with me during the day
- continue looking for a job of some sort, contract or otherwise, that will pay enough so we can afford childcare AND actually have some money left over
- continue bitching and moaning about the unfairness of it all
- join grassroots movements like this one and see what I can do to help change the current employment laws and guidelines for the better

Over and out.

The Truth About Pugs...

It's tax day. I was considering doing a tax-themed post. But how depressing would that be? So instead, I've decided to do an equally depressing post in honor of our two most neglected family members, Lucie and Edgar. First, let's take a walk down memory lane and have a look at these two during happier times:

Ah, the bloom of youth! Fresh faced, full of energy, and most importantly, the recipients of tons of attention from K and I.

Now let's take a peek at how they have fared since the blessed arrival of M and Z:

Hmmmm. Don't look for these two in future issues of Dog Fancy Magazine.

Before you contact PETA , I would like to point out that Lucie's haggard appearance is largely due to the onset of her seasonal shed AND she looks considerably better now than she did before I spent 20 minutes brushing her over the weekend.

As for Ed....well all I can say is black pugs don't age gracefully. He clearly needs to wash that grey right out of his hair. And sadly, he is losing his sight in one eye (hence the eye boogies).

Let this be a warning to those of you who have pets and are considering kids...or have kids and are considering a pet. My advice? Wait until your kids are old enough to help care for a pet...or at least old enough for you to nag about how they promised to help care for said pet but then mysteriously disappear when it comes time to feed, walk, brush, or clean up poop.

J begins to see the allure of a Chuck E. Cheese party

M is going to be three on May 19. So we're hosting a birthday party for her the weekend prior. Unlike the previous two years, she is starting to have definite opinions about her birthday. When we first broached the subject, M told me she wanted to be a princess. Which is why, two weeks ago, I found myself throwing together a rather gaudy evite (envision pink castles with purple turrets) and inviting 40+ kids/adults to M's Knights and Princesses Party. And it's why, today, I find myself searching the web for ideas on how to throw a successful princess party on the cheap. During my travels across the webisphere, I visited some interesting places.

Take for example, this company which has received many accolades in spite of having a site that looks like something Lisa Frank might throw up after one too many drinks.

Or this one, which by the look of things, hosts parties for children from very wealthy families (be sure to check out her blog and then sit back and savor the resulting feelings of inadequacy).

And then there's this one which has a Kids Pottery Barn-feel to it featuring cute kids in cute costumes having the time of their lives.

On a budget? Never fear! There are a few "do-it-yourself" party sites you can peruse: here, here, and here. Of course probably best to view these first because, frankly, the ideas and accompanying photos look like complete shit when compared to the professionally organized parties above.

And what do I have to show for all this research? Not much other than this face:

True Glamour is AWOL

I'm finally shutting down and heading to bed. But before I go, I wanted to leave you with the following HBO movie promotional banner for Grey Gardens. Let's take a look:

Please note the subtitle of said film is "True Glamour Never Fades." Really? Then why, I ask, have they chosen what are possibly the two worst photos EVER taken of Jessica Lange and Drew Barrymore to represent "true glamour"? I get they are in character. But was the creative director home sick the day they got this poster approved?

On a related note, is it me or has Jessica Lange not aged well? Or maybe it's been too long since I saw a Hollywood actress who actually looks her age.

UPDATE: Danielle has helpfully pointed me towards a recent Vanity Fair photo of both Jessica and Drew (as part of a VF interview about Grey Gardens) where they look SIGNIFICANTLY better, Jessica in particular.

Nighty night!

K vs. the Economy, Round One

K loves his job. But ever since receiving a promotion a few months ago, his blood pressure has risen to new heights (140/72) and his ability to relax has hit an all time low. Oh, and did I mention his job is the only thing keeping us from living out of our car*?

Stress much?

Damn you economy! Damn you to hell!!

*alternatively, my parents have suggested smuggling us into their 50+ gated community but then we'd have to dress the kids up as elderly midgets** or pets and start using walkers whenever we leave the house during the day.

** No offense intended to actual little people (elderly or otherwise)

In which our heroine decides to plant a garden...

The economy is in the shitter (maybe you've heard?). Every day I read articles and hear news reports about how to save money, be more frugal, hunker down and sit out the storm. One piece of advice I hear over and over again is "grow your own food!". In this age of locavores, organic foods, and farmers markets...the idea of growing my own fruits and vegetables definitely has its appeal. There is something very tempting about the idea of feeding my family with food from our own garden a la Little House on the Prarie. In my mind's eye I see rows and rows of succulent, fragrant, and plump veggies and fruits of all shapes and sizes. And sometimes, when I'm feeling particularly delusional, I'll throw in a goat and a few chickens for good measure.

I can do this, I think. Yes I can!

So off to the garden store I go w/ M. I toss caution to the wind and begin grabbing any and all organic seedlings I can find. Basil? check. Parsely? check. Oregano? check. Tomatoes? check. Watermelon, blueberries, leeks, concord grapes, pumpkins? Check, check, check, check, check. As I wheel my cart o' plenty up to the register, I feel like a new woman. "I'm going to grow my own fruits and vegetables!" I tell the gal at the register. On my drive home we pass grocery store after grocery store. I look pityingly at all the poor schleps who still have to buy their food. I catch M's eye in the rearview mirror, "They don't know what they're missing." She nods in solemn agreement. When we get home, K's smile falters and then disappears when he sees the amount of plants I've purchased. "Ummm....how much did that cost?" I'm deeply offended. Can't he see I'm spending a little so we can ultimately save a lot?! I say, "K can't you see I'm spending a little so we can ultimately save a lot?!" M nods in agreement.

Fast forward 1.5 weeks. How does my garden grow, you ask? Did I mention that I only remember to water my houseplants when they are completely dessicated, wilted, and begging? Or that any available garden space in our yard has been taken over by our cat Oscar as his personal toilet? Aside from those trivial items, I'd say things are going swimmingly. Of course, I haven't yet bothered to actually plant our new additions. But this morning I took it upon myself to give them some water and they seemed extremely grateful. I have high hopes for the blueberry plant (bush? shrub?). Already there are several berries in the making and I have visions of pies, jams, and other summer treats dancing through my head. But I confess to having my doubts about the leeks. Right now they look like nothing more than lawn clippings. And as for the watermelons? Well, I'll let you judge for yourself:

Bitch, please.

I shed, therefore I am

I have been shedding hair for over three months. Anyone who knows me also knows that "glossy, thick, and abundant" does NOT describe my head of hair under the best of circumstances. Yes, I know the great hair exodus happens post-pregnancy. And I realize it can go on for a few months. But it's been almost FOUR MONTHS people!!!!! Four months of this greeting me after every shower (WARNING: Not for the faint of heart):

I have gone through at least four containers of Draino since January. I leave a trail of hair wherever I go. K has started using those pet hair remover rollers on the couch and our bed. And I am almost bald!!!!! It's getting ridiculous. Make it stop!

Job Hunting: The Passive Aggressive Way

Here's the deal. Aside from a few freelance writing/editing gigs, I am jobless (muchas gracias Yahoo!). And even though my husband and I decided it probably made sense for me to stay home with baby #2 for the first year, I still feel compelled to go online and look for work. So every morning while feeding Z her bottle, I log on and visit HotJobs, Monster, Craigslist, and LinkedIn (in that order) in the hopes that I'll spot the job of my dreams.

At least once or twice a week I will halfheartedly submit a resume and then regret doing so due to "what if?" anxiety (what if they call? what if I need to find childcare ASAP? what if they want me to interview? I have nothing to wear! I don't know the first thing about database technology! why oh why did I bother to submit my resume in the first place!?!) You get my drift. The good news? I rarely have to deal with my fears because I rarely get a phone call.

But there are some exceptions. Case in point: a few weeks ago I was contacted by a recruiter for a company who will remain unnamed. The position sounded like it had been tailor made for me. "...content/copy writer and editor....mid-sized technology company....pay commiserate w/experience....excellent benefits..." I was ecstatic, nervous (the litany of "what ifs" began doing a rapid flamenco in my brain), and for the first time in a while, seriously considering going back to a full-time job. I returned the recruiter's call and submitted my resume/cover letter for his inspection. All seemed to be going well. I waited, waited, waited, checked my voice mail, checked my email, waited. In a rare burst of initiative, I called the recruiter a second time and left a voice mail. And....nothing.

From time to time I still wonder what happened. He'd seen my resume on LinkedIn so it can't have been that. My cover letter is relatively innocuous and not likely to inspire sudden distaste in a prospective employer. Did he make a mistake? Had the job, unbeknownst to him, already been filled? Had he been made redundant mere minutes after our first phone call? Been abducted by aliens? Found Jesus? WTF?! Call me you bastard!! CALL MEEEEEEE!