Recipes from the Bottom of Our Stomachs

Kiwi Try to Eat What I Cooked? Pretty Peas?

The microwave: cooking
appliance or instrument
of torture? You decide.

Let’s face it: along with “peace” and “good will,” the holiday season is also filled with stress and hunger pangs.

Here’s an excerpt from my upcoming cookbook for parents with finicky toddlers/preschoolers, aspiring vegetarian tweens, spouses who cannot boil water, and microwave ovens whose sole function is to burn anything placed within.

LITTLE SPROUTS’ BOUNTIFUL HEALTH SALAD
Avoid future eating disorders with this classic.
4 T cubed cooked free-range chicken
4 T cubed mild cheddar cheese
2 T organic whole milk vanilla yogurt
2 T petite peas
2 T corn niblets
1 T raisins

Place all ingredients on a plate, but do not let any food item touch another. Squish peas between forefinger and thumb; flick results at siblings. Give chicken to cat lurking beneath the table. Smear yogurt in hair, on pants, and on dining room wall. Lick cheese. Eat raisins. Ignore corn. Ask for a Popsicle.

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BECOMING A PRE-TEEN VEGETARIAN IS A MISSED STEAK
Encourage your tweenager’s culinary independence.
2 c vegetable stock
1 c wheat berries
½ brick extra-firm tofu
½ c petite peas
1 carrot

Announce conversion to vegetarianism to live more harmoniously with nature and BTW, Justin-Taylor-Zac-Pattinson Whatzhisface is vegetarian, like! Totally! OMG! (Translation: “By the way, I’m extremely excited that as a fellow vegetarian, I improve my chance of becoming the future Mrs. Whatzhisface, oh my gosh!”)

Food to parents.
Ammunition to kids.

Dice tofu; squirm at unexpected slimy texture - way gah-ross, makes me wanna vom, not EI (translation: “So disgusting that I tend toward regurgitating rather than eating it”). Place wheat berries and vegetable stock in Mom’s favorite Calphalon sauce pan; boil off too much vegetable stock so that wheat berries form crusty, reeking gunk in bottom of pot. Grrr and WE! (Translation: “Whatever,” with a frustrated growl.)

Join siblings’ pea-flicking fight. Hit younger siblings with carrot before shredding both carrot and first knuckle of left hand on grater; sniffle that cooking is like hellacious 2 D max and I’m sooooo over it. (Translation: “I find food preparation horribly difficult, and surrender to defeat.”) Offer tofu to cat (who refuses). Steal siblings’ unlicked cheese cubes.

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BIG DADDY’S AIR SANDWICH
Perfect for those “on the go” meals: just slap it together.
2 slices artisan whole grain bread
1 slice smoked turkey
1 slice Monterey Jack cheese
2 T cranberry-orange relish
Alfalfa sprouts

The family cat: a
surprisingly effective
replacement for a floor
mop. (But sheer hell
on upholstery.)

Layer one slice of bread on the other. Hear roar of the big game’s crowd on TV in the next room. Sprint out the door with bread clutched in hand; leave turkey, cheese, relish, and sprouts on kitchen counter till post-game show ends. Stagger back to kitchen; discover cat has eaten the turkey and cheese, cold-shouldered the sprouts, and spilled and tracked cranberry relish from the counter, across the floor, and onto the new cream throw pillows from Crate and Barrel.

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NUTHIN’ BUTT PURE RUMP ROAST
Enjoy California casual dining at its finest.
1 boneless beef rump roast (4-5 lb.)
10 garlic cloves
5 medium onions
6 c water
½ c all-purpose flour
¼ c vegetable shortening
2 c Holiday M&Ms

Your kids may cheer for
the Pizza Guy louder than
they cheer for your
rump roast.  Really.

Trim excess fat from rump roast. Think about fat on rumps in general; think about fat on own rump in particular. Make a New Year’s resolution to join Weight Watchers. Eat toddlers’ leftover corn and tween’s tofu. Begin chopping onions; get a little teary-eyed. Eat two handfuls of Holiday M&Ms when kids aren’t looking. Stop to play with toddlers; when they ask why you smell like chocolate, respond with a straight face: “All mommies smell like chocolate.”

Resume chopping onions. Cry harder. Eat remaining M&Ms; lick the bowl. Wipe toddlers’ tears when you refuse to play more so you can cook. Get stomachache from pea, corn, tofu, and M&M mixture. Abandon rump roast; shoo cat away. Direct husband to clean up rump, yogurt smears, wheat berry gunk, wilted sprouts, and empty cranberry relish jar; remind him of the ruined throw pillows if he protests. Phone in pizza order: one “Say Cheese, Please” for the kids and one “Carnivore Special” for the grown-ups and cat.

Bon appétit!

*** Happy holidays!  (I'm taking a blog break for a month.)  Stay tuned for the January 15 blog: "The Interviewer Strikes Back." ***

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The Grass Is Always Greener

...on the Other Side of 21.

Be honest: how old were
you when this gem
hit the theatres?

During Thanksgiving weekend, my sister-in-law Michelle (who looks like a younger, blond Angelina Jolie with fewer children) noticed that the “Kids’ Table” occupants are now sporting wedding rings, drivers’ licenses, and college diplomas - and don’t predate (gulp) Star Wars, let alone Pee-Wee's Big Adventure.

“Omigod,” Michelle groaned. “I am feeling so O-to-the-L-to-the-D!”

It took me a moment (and another slug of caffeine) before I translated her statement to “Oh, my God, I feel old” ...which really made me feel so O-to-the-L-to-the-D.

Do celebrations of anniversaries of my 39th birthday constitute “old”? I think not. Maybe grudging middle age. Which leads me to share a few observations about middle age and (ah!) sweet youth...

*****

YOU KNOW YOU’RE MIDDLE-AGED WHEN...

• Your kid’s teacher is younger than you ... by 15 years.

• You know how to install a dishwasher, replace a fluorescent light fixture, and repair the sprinkler system without reading an owner’s manual or researching it on the Internet.

• Your work career spans longer than your school career (including preschool and the graduate work).

Science has yet to explain
the phenomenon of how
fat leaps from cake to
hips without ingestion.

• Your official age is 39-and-holding.

• At least one muscle or joint in your body always aches or creaks (or both).

• Your favorite alphanumeric phrase is “401K.”

• You gain weight just by looking at chocolate cake.

• The “oldies” radio station now plays songs from your high school and college years. (Duran Duran! Huey Lewis and the News! John Mellencamp!)

• Who cares how ugly those shoes are as long as they’re comfortable!

• You wish you were 21.

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YOU KNOW YOU’RE STILL YOUNG WHEN...

• You have more than enough élan to pull off an ensemble of a hot pink shirt, lime green pants, a necklace that bears an eerie resemblance to a bicycle chain, and a faux leopard fur capelet. Or a fairy princess gown, a feather boa, and motorcycle boots.

• You wish Miley Cyrus was your big sister.

• You really care who wins an MTV Video Music Award.

• You count your age in halves and quarters (as in “I’m 7¾ years old” or “I can’t wait till I’m 12½”).

• Twinkies taste good.

• You sprint up four flights of stairs without breaking a sweat, with enough breath and energy left to do an intricate victory dance.

Instrument of torture or
fashion statement?
Your answer will
reveal your age.

• Who’s Huey Lewis?

• Who cares how uncomfortable those shoes are as long as they’re gorgeous!

• You wish you were 21.

*** Stay tuned for the December 15 blog: "Recipes from the Bottom of Our Stomachs (Kiwi Try to Eat What I Cooked? Pretty Peas?)." ***

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The Evolution of Parenting Views

You Who Think You Know It All Are Annoying to Those of Us That Do.

Behold humble pie.  It
goes well with crow.

Question: Who are the world’s foremost authorities on parenting?

Answer: People who’ve never had children, of course!

Admittedly, I was a card-carrying member of this elite group for almost 30 years. At the sight of a toddler throwing a tantrum in the frozen food aisle, a ketchup-smeared girl running amok in a restaurant, or a boy clad in Spiderman pajamas and rubber boots at the dentist’s office, my disdain was boundless.

"MY child will NEVER behave like THAT," I’d announce haughtily to all in earshot. "Clearly THOSE parents haven’t a CLUE on how to control their children."

Then I had child. Then two more. Now guess who has the tantrum-throwing, ketchup-smeared, rubber-booted kids?

And all I can say these days is, "Please pass the humble pie; I’ll have it with crow on the side."

*****

THEN (Before Childbirth): "My child will not ingest any substance with zero nutritional value."
NOW (After Childbirth): "Just a couple M&M’s. No more."

THEN: “I will not sound like my mother.”
NOW: “Don't cross your eyes or they’ll get stuck like that! Be careful or you'll put your eye out. What if everyone jumped off the Golden Gate Bridge? Would you do it, too?”

What if everyone jumped
off the Golden Gate Bridge?
Would you do it, too?

THEN: “I will not sound like my father.”
NOW: “Money does not grow on trees! Don’t make me come back there. Yes, I AM the boss of you. Bored! How can you be bored? I was never bored at your age!”

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THEN: “Money cannot buy happiness...”
NOW: “... but it can buy that Barbie dollhouse which will keep you busy for an extra half hour. Then Mommy will be happy. So, actually, money can buy happiness - in 30-minute increments.”

THEN: “Honesty is a virtue.”
NOW: “Sorry, Sweetheart, McDonald’s is closed. They’ve stopped cooking French fries. Forever.”

THEN: “TV cannot replace books and educational toys.”
NOW: “Shh, Sweetheart, Daddy’s trying to watch the last few minutes of Dancing with the Stars. Have a few more M&M’s and watch it with him.”

THEN: “We must be kind and courteous to others.”
NOW: “That #@*% idiot just cut me off! Hey, #$&@, I got a kid in the back seat! ... Um, Sweetheart, ‘#@*% idiot’ means ‘unsafe person.’”

Pajamas at an afternoon
wedding? You betcha!

THEN: “Manners are the way to brighten up a day. ‘Please,’ ‘thank you,’ and ‘may I’ will be our watchwords.”
NOW: “May I remind you to please sit down? Now. I said, NOW! THANK YOU!”

THEN: “I will never lose my temper. I will never raise my voice. I shall be calm, cool, and collected at all times.”
NOW: “Aaagggghhh! I can’t hear myself think! QUIT YELLING! STOP SCREECHING!!!!”

THEN: “Patience. Patience. Patience.”
NOW: “Here, take the whole #@*% bag of M&M’s and BE QUIET!”

Thanks to Sean and Christina - parents of four kids, ages 1 through 14 - who read the original draft of these “before/after” parenting views and then express-mailed us a five-pound bag of M&M’s... which we used up. Quickly.

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*** Stay tuned for the November 30 blog: "The Grass Is Always Greener (On the Other Side of 21)." ***

If Mothers Ran the World

Give Mom an Inch and She’ll Think She’s a Ruler.

"Queen Mother" can
 take on a whole
 new meaning.

In a fit of pique, my middle-school daughter called me a “tyrant” and “despot.” (Kudos to her reading teacher for excellent vocabulary lessons.) While I prefer the term “disciplinarian” - or even “martinet” - it got me thinking: what if mothers ruled the world? Forget about Democrats and Republicans; cancel the Tea Parties. Never mind Bloc Québécois and the Citizens for Undead Rights and Equality. Move over Jedi Order and Galactic Empire.

Imagine a United Nations of Mommies...

NO WAR

What would happen if a country misbehaves toward another country?

Instant time-out.

Repeat offenders shall lose privileges (e.g., allowance, favorite toys, satellite TV, Internet access, and reindeer games), write a letter of apology and deliver it in person, and offer to mow the other country’s lawn free for a month.

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GOOD-BYE ENERGY CRISIS

Picture the reduction in fossil fuel dependency when everyone travels via car pools in minivans and Volvo station wagons, bicycles (with Snell B-95 or equivalent helmets), stroller power, and “walking feet.”

Think about the decreased load on power grids when everyone gets only one hour of TV or Wii, but not both. And all lights are out by 8:00 p.m. SHARP!

FEED WORLD HUNGER

To feed the hungry:
move extra food from
Point A to Point B.

Remember all those starving children in those foreign fill-in-the-blank countries?

Under the new rule, the world is a giant potluck dinner, where there’s always far too much food. Every night, we’ll wrap up the extras and send it all out with a kiss.

POVERTY DEFEATED

One word: share.

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HOMES FOR THE HOMELESS

Yes, everyone shall be allowed to bring home a “stray” (pet or person) ... even though guess who will end up feeding him, cleaning up after him, and taking him for walks every day?

HOLISTIC HEALTH CARE

Mommy's kiss cures
a thousand ailments.

The World Health Organization, Centers for Disease Control, and American Medical Association shall officially recognize the medicinal power of Mommy’s kisses.

EDUCATIONAL REFORM

Teachers’ salaries shall triple. Star teachers’ salaries shall quintuple, especially those that teach words like “tyrant” and “despot.” Bad teachers shall be gently redirected down an alternative career path – e.g., hall monitor, sheep castrator, or avian vomitologist.

The excellent teacher salaries shall attract more qualified candidates to teaching professions, so class sizes shall dwindle. Better teachers plus smaller classes equals an exponential rise in the quality of education.
Students will love school, not fear or dread it. And they’d reach their fortieth birthdays without recurring dreams about forgetting to study for an exam or showing up to class without their homework.

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NO LOSERS

We’d restructure the sporting world’s award systems. For example, in the Olympics, everyone gets a gold medal for trying; first place finishers get a lollipop (no artificial colors and sweetened with organic barley malt syrup) as a bonus.

FASHION REDEFINED

Clean underwear shall be de rigueur, because you never know when you’ll get into an accident.

“Haute couture” shall be synonymous with “Mom jeans.”

By law, Lady Gaga, Miley Cyrus, and Britney Spears would wear more clothes. Brad Pitt, David Beckham, and the red-haired guy at the gym would wear less.

BUT SERIOUSLY, FOLKS...

Exercise your
Mom Power!

Sigh. While world domination may be a pleasant daydream for now, here’s reality: November 2 is Election Day here in the USA. Think of all the suffragists’ hard work and sacrifices that went into the Nineteenth Amendment; think of all the places in today’s world where women are “spoils of war,” sold, mutilated, or “protected” under the rubric of culture or religion.

Do not take women’s rights for granted. Let your voice be heard! Get out there and rock the vote, Mommies.

*** Stay tuned for the November 15 blog: "The Evolution of Parenting Views: You Who Think You Know It All Are Annoying to Those of Us That Do." ***

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Top 10 Clues You’re Pregnant Before Receipt of Official Medical Confirmation

We Don’t Need No Stinkin’ Blood Test.

Pregnant or hitting the
potato chips too often?
You decide.

A good friend suspects she’s got a proverbial bun - or two - in the oven, and only awaits the arrival home of her husband tonight before she piddles on The Stick. Given the relative accuracy of The Stick nowadays - and her uncanny ability to follow package directions to the exact letter - a follow-up visit to the doctor seems almost superfluous (except for the part where she’d like an accurate count of the buns; as a mom of twins, I can appreciate that sentiment).

In honor of her (and all possibly expectant moms everywhere), I offer these “Top 10 Clues You’re Pregnant Before Receipt of Official Medical Confirmation.” In my friend’s case, a positive test would be welcome news ... so good luck!

Top 10 Clues You’re Pregnant Before Receipt of Official Medical Confirmation

10. Your base of operations moves to the bathroom.

9. At the sight, sound or thought of a baby, you whimper and drool like a puppy. If you had a tail, you’d wag it.

8. Greeting cards make you burst into tears. So do diaper commercials. And egg salad sandwiches.

7. You suffer from (or enjoy) bizarre, intense, short-lived, often concurrent cravings: fried squid and cole slaw; strawberry jam and chicken chow mein; guacamole and filet mignon, pink lemonade and Raisinettes ... but not pickles. Nor ice cream.

6. Cravings aside, you can eat only a forkful of cole slaw before you feel bloated or nauseated. Or both.

5. You eye strollers the way you used to eye pricey sport cars.

Shut eye? Get it while the
baby's on the inside,
because you won't get
any when the baby is
on the outside.

4. If you sit down, you fall asleep. Immediately.

3. Your center of gravity shifts a half-inch south each week.

2. Your waistline expands a half-inch each week (even though you’ve been subsisting on a pint of cole slaw, a forkful at a time). Even your elastic-waist pants are straining their fibers.

1. Can you say “perpetual backache”?

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*** Stay tuned for the October 31 blog: "If Mothers Ran the World (Give Mom an Inch and She'll Think She's a Ruler)." ***

Reading Grown-Up Books

What a Novel Idea.

Bespectacled, wrinkled,
sleepy, prone to grumpiness
and drooling, reading
- meet my doppelganger.

I kid you not: today, I read Green Eggs and Ham aloud 9¼ consecutive times. To break the Sam-I-am monotony, round number 5 started with a faux British accent, but both kids chastised me for “reading different” and demanded we start all over again (hence the ¼ round). By round 9¼, my eyes were threatening to cross permanently, and so I begged off the book.

Of course, the kids took pity... by choosing another book. I lost count of how many times we read The Cat in the Hat with nary a fake accent. And then Horton Hatches the Egg. (I’ve now got a love-hate thing for Dr. Seuss.)

Yes, my kids and I got in some quality bonding time. Yes, children learn through repetition. Yes, cultivating pre-literacy is vital during those early childhood years.

And YES, mommies of repetition-addicted toddlers and preschoolers need to cleanse our reading palates occasionally... even if our only chance to read non-kiddie stuff during the day is while standing over the stove, waiting for the pasta water to boil.

May I share some book suggestions for your next grown-up reading session? Think of the following paragraphs as a virtual book club: reading recommendations and discussion, without snooty literati or bad hors d’oeuvres! (I’d offer more titles, but we only eat pasta once per week.)

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HISTORICAL (HYSTERICAL) ROMANCE

Even if your mate is Prince Charming, you need an occasional bodice-ripper because fantasy is fun. Think of it as a mental staycation. Save the Stephen Hawking book for another time; instead, pick up a Regency or Victorian historical romance and indulge that Anglophile itch that 9¼ readings of Jemima Puddle-Duck simply cannot scratch.

Celeste Bradley’s Duke Most Wanted fits the bill. Here, gawky, flat-chested, and feisty Sophie leverages the free services of a London haute couture designer to transform herself into the elegant but still feisty Sofia. (“Free” and “haute couture” in the same sentence: how’s that for fantasy?) Sofia then attempts to woo her best male friend: a self-confessed reprobate who suddenly becomes a duke when his drunken father and brothers perish at the feet of a rampaging elephant.

See why I call it a hysterical romance?

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ROMANCE SANS RAMPAGING ELEPHANT

Sad, but true: in my sophomore world literature class, Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice wowed the girls and rendered the boys comatose. Who wanted to be as witty and feisty as Elizabeth Bennet? Party with a haughty yet handsome Mr. Darcy? Live in a crib as righteously gnarly as Pemberley? Who had a sibling as unbearable as Lydia Bennet? And a frenemy as obnoxious as Caroline Bingley? We girls, that’s who.

Read (or reread) Pride and Prejudice to appreciate the real standout of the story: Elizabeth’s mom. Deliciously ridiculous, Mrs. Bennet gossips, frets, and schemes in her quest to marry her daughters off to single men in possession of a good fortune. No matter how much our real mothers embarrassed us in public - and at age fifteen, it doesn’t take much - we took comfort in knowing Mrs. Bennet’s escapades trumped them all.

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LOVE AMIDST ULTRAVIOLENT ZOMBIE MAYHEM

As feisty as we find Elizabeth Bennet in the original Pride and Prejudice, now imagine her with a samurai sword and throwing stars! Seth Grahame-Smith mixes Jane Austen’s text with random attacks from “unmentionables” (i.e., zombies, not ladies’ underwear), and seasons it liberally with wacky Mystery Science Theatre 3000-style humor to produce Pride and Prejudice and Zombies.

England is overrun by a scourge of the undead. The Bennet sisters have mastered the art of deadly combat. Longbourn sports a dojo. Lady Catherine de Bourgh commands a ninja army. And Mr. Darcy is haughty yet handsome - and an expert zombie slayer. Will true love rise above the carnage?

Your husband may lose consciousness when you try discussing Pride and Prejudice, but when you start laughing aloud during your Pride and Prejudice and Zombies reading, he’ll put down the TV remote and scuttle over to check out what’s so bleeping funny. Guaranteed.

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CAN UNDERWEAR BE UNCOMFORTABLE? OF CORSET CAN.

Remember your nine-year-old self? Did you inhale Laura Ingalls Wilder’s Little House books? Were you and your friends united in your admiration for feisty, petticoated Laura? Did you wish you could run barefoot on the prairie and eat griddle cakes around a campfire? Did you think Nellie Oleson a blight on the face of this green earth?

Reconnect with your inner nine-year-old: borrow a fourth grader’s copy of Little House on the Prairie and transport yourself to a time when life seemed simpler - stewed jack rabbit with white-flour dumplings was “an especially good supper,” while good little girls found a tin cup and a shiny new penny - how thrilling! - in their stockings on Christmas morning.

And now that you’re a mom, you’ll also be extra thankful that you live in the age of the iPhone and mocha frappuccino, instead of what Laura’s mom Caroline endured: whalebone corsets, starched (!!) nightgowns, shock absorber-less covered wagon travel, and prairie fire battles while armed with nothing but a wet gunny sack. Indomitable? You betcha. Gimme 9¼ rounds of Green Eggs and Ham over frontier malaria any day.

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THERE’S SOMETHING ABOUT POTTERING WITH POISONS THAT CLARIFIES THE MIND

There’s not a corset or petticoat to be had in Alan Bradley’s The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie.

Meet eleven year old Flavia de Luce: precocious, incorrigible, clever, feisty, and passionate about chemistry - especially poisons. If she had had the misfortune of Nellie Oleson’s acquaintance, you can be sure she’d spike Nellie’s lipstick with pentadecyclcatechol (poison ivy to us mortals), instead of luring her into a pond of leeches like Miss Ingalls.

When the constabulary arrests Flavia’s widowed father for murder, Flavia leaps into action to hunt down the real murderer. She’s packing a fierce mixture of intelligence and determination, plus enough dryly humorous observations of the world to make you laugh aloud.

Move over Nancy Drew, Ingrid Levin-Hill, and Lulu Dark: Flavia’s in da house. Flavia may be a kid, but The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie most assuredly ain’t a kid’s book. (If you have a preadolescent kid and said, “Ingrid-Lulu-who?” then get thee and thy ’tween to a library pronto: why wouldst thou be a breeder of kid lit cluelessness?)

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MY DOG ATE IT (AND THEN SPEWED ALL OVER THE RUG)

By now, you’ve undoubtedly noticed a preponderance of feisty female protagonists in these book recommendations. Lest I get too predictable, let’s close with a final title.

Garth Stein’s The Art of Racing in the Rain is told from the point of view of a dog. (Yes, you heard right.) Said dog is named Enzo, male... and, well, feisty. (Sue me. I couldn’t resist.)

Enzo recounts the story of a widower dad’s custody battle with his in-laws over his little girl Zoe. The Art of Racing in the Rain is rife with car racing analogies (Enzo, after all, is named after Enzo Ferrari), and chock full of what makes an excellent five-Kleenex read: love, despair, humility, redemption, joy, loyalty, and hope.

Despite being a dog - or perhaps because he is a dog - Enzo breathes humor and humanity. Reading this book will also prevent you from drop-kicking your own Fido out the back door after he’s barfed on the living room rug for the second time this week. Fido - and your kids, who love him despite the lingering odor - will thank you, even if the rug doesn’t.

Happy reading!

(All book cover images herein constitute brazen copyright infringement. Please keep me out of jail by buying a book or two; then my lawyer can argue that I gave the authors and their publishers free advertising.)

*** Stay tuned for the October 15 blog: "Top 10 Clues You’re Pregnant Before Receipt of Official Medical Confirmation: We Don’t Need No Stinkin’ Blood Test." ***

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Quiz: Too Pooped to Peep

Is It Possible to Get Tired of Sleeping?

What mom bloggers look like
at day's end (also the
quality of our vision).

Here’s a simple quiz to rate your level of parenthood-related exhaustion. Are you too pooped to peep?

1. When do you write and mail your Christmas greetings?

A. By Thanksgiving, because aside from weekends in Vegas, you’ve got plenty of quiet, spare time.
B. By Christmas, because you like to be punctual.
C. By Memorial Day the following year... if you’re lucky.

2. How does your kitchen floor look?

A. Like the gleaming, spotless, unscathed area of flooring it should be.
B. Like the “ten-second rule” would truly work if you didn’t squint too much.
C. Like an acceptable spot for a nap, because it’s a horizontal surface and you’ll still be in the middle of it all.

3. How do you react to the sight of your partner in a swimsuit?

A. Hubba hubba!
B. Hubba hubba... but you’ll take a rain check till after you finish mopping the floor and writing the Christmas cards.
C. You almost call the police because there’s a stranger in the - oh, wait. Never mind.

4. What is your opinion of sleep?

A. It’s an activity you take for granted because you get at least nine blissful hours of it every night.
B. It’s an activity to be savored to the fullest, like sipping your way through an uncommon bottle of 2006 Hanzell Pinot Noir.
C. It’s an activity you daydream about the way other people daydream about Brad Pitt, Jennifer Lopez, chocolate, power, money, and pinot noir - combined.

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5. The idea of having six children in almost as many years sounds...

A. Like an adventure of a lifetime! You can’t wait to try it!
B. Intriguing in an abstract way.
C. Terrifying any way you look at it.

6. How go your conversational gambits?

A. Swimmingly; full of polysyllabic words, innuendo, logic, poetry, and wit.
B. Rationally, if between the hours of 9:00 am and 3:00 pm.
C. In incomplete, monosyllabic sentences no matter the time: e.g., “No!” “Stop!” “What?” and “Huh?”

A test of tiredness: how
heavy is the remote control?

7. Channel surfing is...

A. A home entertainment right.
B. Something the kids do while you frantically throw dinner together.
C. A mighty physical effort.

8. You wear...

A. The latest designer fashions because you have the time, money, and energy to devote to haute couture (or a reasonable facsimile thereof).
B. The comfortable basics: mix-and-match, elastic-waisted, stain resistant, and machine washable.
C. Your clothes inside out. And backwards. And by 10:00 a.m., adorned with spit-up, glue, or mustard - or some conglomeration thereof.

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9. You know you’re alive because...

A. You feel like bursting spontaneously into song.
B. You feel like bursting spontaneously into applause, especially when your kid puts his plate in the sink - without your asking!

C. You feel like bursting into spontaneous combustion, before you realize that it’s probably a perimenopausal hot flash.

10. Counting to ten is...

A. Something you do without thought in five different languages (one language for each country you’ve vacationed in during the last five years).
B. Something you do on a daily basis to avoid losing your temper.
C. Something that you vaguely recall doing once upon a time with ease, but can’t seem to manage now without the aid of coffee and a counting picture book.

SCORING

How’d you do? If you answered...

Mostly As - You have no children. Or you have children and a live-in nanny (or two), a maid, and a personal assistant, and your name is Angelina Jolie. Or you have children all over age 35 and off the payroll.

Mostly Bs - You are in admirable control of your life. Most of us moms aspire to your level, and many of us will reach it once our children graduate from college.

Mostly Cs - Congratulations! You ARE officially too pooped to peep. Welcome to the Exhausted Moms’ Club, where coffee is required and pinot noir is wishful thinking. You’re already paying your dues in more ways than one. No secret handshake is required; we can spare neither the energy nor the hands.

*** Stay tuned for the September 30 blog: "Reading Grown-Up Books: What a Novel Idea." ***

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How to Tell the Difference Between Toddlers and Tweens

You Almost Can’t.

With one pre-teen (“tween”) daughter, one toddler daughter, and one toddler son co-existing in semi-harmony (and semi-warfare) under the same roof, I live through a plethora of parenting lessons and observations every waking, never-dull moment.

I now offer this cheat sheet to moms with babes in arms and an eye on the Terrible Twos (Threes, Fours...) to come, and to moms with kids about to sup from the bowl of hormonal soup known as pre-adolescence.

(For those moms with a foot in both camps, I offer you a large glass of wine and a quiet place to lay your head.)

Top 15 Toddler Truisms (Especially Toddlers with Siblings)

1. Alliteration rocks.

2. The toy in my sibling’s hand is infinitely more interesting than the one in my hand - even if I have an exact duplicate.

3. I deserve a taste (or gulp) of whatever Dada is drinking. And I’ll cry when he refuses.

4. Happy Birthday to Me is a fantastic song every day.

5. Why crawl when I can walk?

6. Why walk when I can run?

7. When only one parent is supervising (especially outdoors), check which way my sibling is traveling and then move in the exact opposite direction. (See also #6.)

8. Food is just as tasty eaten off asphalt as from a plate.

9. If my sibling is crying, then there must be a good reason - so I’d better cry along (unless the reason is me, in which case I’d better hit him/her repeatedly).

10. Big sister’s bedroom is a tantalizing nirvana of unexplored, un-tasted choking hazards.

"No shampoooo!  Waaaa!"

11. Baths are fun only if no shampoo is involved.

12. Toes taste good.

13. Santa Claus may be a jolly fellow in picture books, but in person he is ONE SCARY DUDE.

14. It is perfectly normal to hug and kiss my sibling in one second and then smack him/her upside the head in the next.

15. Reverse psychology does not work. Repeat: does not work.

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Top 15 Tween Truisms

1. Lady Gaga rocks.

2. The iPod in Mom’s hand is infinitely fancier than the one in my hand.

3. I deserve a taste (or gulp) of whatever Dad is drinking. And I’ll pout when he refuses.

4. Anything from High School Musical 1 through 3 is a fantastic song every day.

5. Why walk when I can phone?

6. Why phone when I can text message? Oh wait, I can’t do that because Mom won’t get me a cell phone.

7. It’s fair to play Mom and Dad off each other. For example: “Dad, can I have a cell phone? Mom said it’s OK with her” and “Mom, can I have a cell phone? Dad said it’s OK with him” when all Mom or Dad ever said originally was “Don’t ask me now, can’t you see I’m on the phone?”

8. Food is just as tasty from Burger King as from a five star restaurant.

9. If my sibling is crying, then there must be a good reason - so I’d better cry along (unless the reason is me, in which case I’d better deny everything).

10. Mom’s closet is a tantalizing nirvana of unexplored, untried, unworn high-heeled shoes.

99 of 100 tweens will take
a burger and fries over a
Pemaquid Point lobster
pot pie any day.

11. Baths are fun only when scented bath salts, mood music, and a book are involved.

12. Saturated fats taste good.

13. Mom is the “Parent Formerly Known as Cool” ... or “The Big Fat Meanie,” depending on what she’s said “NO!!” about lately. (See also #6.)

14. It is perfectly normal to hug and kiss my siblings in one minute, screech at them in the next minute, and then dissolve into hysterical “Nobody understands me” tears for an hour.

15. Reverse psychology does not work. Repeat: Does. Not. Work.

*** Stay tuned for the next blog: "Quiz: Too Pooped to Peep (Is It Possible to Get Tired of Sleeping?)" ***

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ABCs for Moms

Are the ABCs in That Order Because of the Song?

Daphne duMaurier is perhaps best known for her masterpiece Rebecca, but my favorite duMaurier book is My Cousin, Rachel for one memorable scene: Philip’s account of his bachelor cousin Ambrose teaching him the alphabet by “using the initial letters of every swearword - twenty-six of them took some finding.”

My 14-year-old self spent far too much time trying to identify Ambrose’s twenty-six swearwords... alas, unsuccessfully. C’mon, admit it: wouldn’t you pay good money to have that list?

These days, with my two preschoolers, learning the alphabet is confined to G-rated, picturesque words like “apple” and “zebra” with nary a swearword in the mix (at least, not audibly).

But what if I had to teach the alphabet to a non-English speaking mom? It’d be as easy as, well, A-B-C, because we’d use words with concepts that moms across all language barriers can understand:

“A” is for the AVALANCHE that occurs when the tottering tower of unwashed dishes, bowls, and cups on the kitchen counter reaches its literal tipping point.

“B” is for BODILY FLUIDS that flow continuously in liquid, slurry, and semi-solid form from children’s orifices, especially after birthday parties featuring burritos, “kitchen sink” ice cream sundaes, and bounce houses - in that order. Whew. Let’s face it: motherhood is not for the faint of heart or weak of stomach.

Bouncing and birthday
parties: Do. Not. Mix.

“C” is for CAFFEINE, that vital prerequisite for a wide-awake mommy. On many days, I’d appreciate an intravenous drip of caffeine, but the medical establishment has yet to cooperate.

“D” is for DADDY. Let’s hear it for the big guy who actually enjoys wrestling in the dirt with the kids; who takes out the garbage, mops up the midnight barf, and assures Mommy that no, those pants do not make her butt look fat.

“E” is for ENERGY. Kids have a seemingly bottomless reservoir of the stuff, especially on those “Mommy’s gone decaf days.” Sigh. If only we could harness kids’ energy to power light bulbs and minor appliances.

“F” is for FATIGUE, a mom’s constant companion during the kids’ infant-toddler years. And the preschooler years. And the pre-teen years. And...

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“G” is for GOBBLE: what kids - and moms - do when faced with a heretofore forbidden dessert.

“H” is for HAND-ME-DOWNS. Thank goodness (or rather, thank you, Angela and Denise) for this wardrobe staple, especially when these clothes are far more stylish than what I could have managed to buy new with my fashion sense (or lack thereof).

“I” is for INSTRUCTIONS which moms repeat twice, thrice, a dozen, umpteen times to put the plate in the dishwasher and the underwear in the laundry basket. At some point, plan to tattoo these instructions on your kids’ (and husband’s) foreheads while they sleep.

“J” is for JUGGLER. Moms are expert jugglers of kids’ play dates, dance classes, soccer games, swim lessons, and orthodontist appointments, plus our own grocery lists, dinner menus, chores, volunteer gigs, work assignments, client meetings, etc. Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey jugglers ain’t got nothing on us moms. Who do you get when you cross a Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey juggler with a Donald Trump “apprentice”? M-o-m.

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“K” is for KISS. Dispense these freely and often to your kids. (Yeah, every list needs one sentimental, free-of-irony item.)

“L” is for LAUNDRY. Think paint, play dough, mud, ketchup, mustard, jam, grease, grass, bodily fluids... how can a kid get so many articles of clothing so filthy in a single day?!

“M” is for MARTINI, shaken not stirred, to be sipped while a handsome British gentleman listens raptly to the challenges of chaperoning the preschool field trip... oops, excuse me. Must’ve dozed off. Must. Get. More. Caffeine!

Everyone together now:
"Sugar-honey-iced-tea!!"

Speaking of which...

“N” is for NAP: the thing the children need so badly, yet adamantly refuse to succumb, while you’d sell your soul to the devil for one yourself.

“O” is for the “OH, &@*#$!!” to be muttered after a glass of milk splashes across the floor for the third time during the same meal.

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“P” is for PUNCTUAL, which hasn’t occurred since pre-pregnancy days. Getting all the kids fully dressed, combed, brushed, washed, and transported on time takes the patience of a saint and the leadership and logistical talents of Hannibal crossing the Alps. If we aim for a half-hour early, we end up a half-hour late. And strange, but true: aiming for an hour early makes us an hour late. Go figure.

“Q” is for QUIET, a relatively unknown concept in a house full of kids, pets, and - thanks, Grandpa - battery-operated toys. My husband once tried to prove that quiet happens between 1:00 and 4:00 a.m., but a subsequent tape recording revealed snores, snuffles, coughs, meows, and a plaintive, “Mom-meeee! I gotta potty!”

“R” is for RECKLESS abandon: how kids play and how moms eat chocolate.

“S” is for “SUGAR-Honey-Iced-Tea!” Too sleep-deprived to decipher this one? It’s a child-appropriate version of the earthier word you want to unleash under strain, but can’t, especially because the kids are sure to repeat any invective verbatim during church and/or Great-Aunt Ginger’s annual visit.

“T” is for TANTRUM, a seemingly daily, public, howling, all-appendages event, pitched by either over-stimulated child or under-stimulated (i.e., decaffeinated) mother, and sometimes both at the same time.

“U” is for UNDERWEAR. Investment advisors haven’t clued into this tip yet: if you toss a quarter into a jar for each pair of undies to wash during the potty-training years, you’ll have enough funds to cover each kid’s college tuition when the time comes. (A quarter for each pair during the post-potty training years will pay for grad school.)

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“V” is for VOLUME of sound. Kids have two volume settings: “loud” and “asleep.” Note that “asleep” does not equal “mute”; see the “Q is for quiet” entry.

“W” is for WHINE and its homonym WINE. Hearing too much of the former makes a mom wish for a large glass of the latter.

Cause: whine.
Effect: want wine.

“X” is for XEROSTOMIA. It’s the dryness of Mom’s mouth that results after an entire day of barking instructions, reading Green Eggs and Ham two dozen times aloud, singing countless rounds of Wheels on the Bus, catching adventurous toddlers before they fall off the monkey bars, apprehending fleet preschoolers before they tricycle into the street, and bellowing, “SUGAR-HONEY-ICED-TEA!” To get a mom’s mouth to water again, brandish a tray of Swiss chocolate truffles under her nose or show her a photo of a handsome British gentleman with a martini in hand.

“Y” is for “WHY?” Yes, it’s a phonetic cheat, but perfectly valid here. Because little enquiring minds want to know, moms hear “why” all day: “Why do cats meow and not bark? Why are there no dinosaurs now? Why is candy bad for me? Why can’t I have a crocodile? Why do I have to brush my teeth? Why is your tummy way bigger than mine? Why does Auntie Luella smell? Why does my butt itch? Why is your face turning red? Why, why, why...?”

“Z” is for ZZZ. Ah, moms’ sleep: more precious than platinum, more elusive than the Abominable Snowman, more coveted than George Clooney’s phone number, and more enjoyable - especially in an uninterrupted six-hour chunk - than the last éclair on the plate. May you catch some quality zzz’s soon. (If not, at least snatch the last éclair.)

Now we know Mom’s ABCs - next time won’t you sing with me?

*** Stay tuned for the August 30 blog: "How to Tell the Difference Between Toddlers and Tweens: You Almost Can’t." ***

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To Blog or Not to Blog

That Is the Fastest Way to Embarrass Your Kids.

Blogging prerequisites:
laptop and caffeine.

When I announced my plan to blog more-or-less weekly, here’s how the family took it:

Husband: Whipped out his all-purpose noncommittal comment that he believes won’t raise my ire (also applicable to daughters, sisters, and female in-laws): “Um. Uh-huh.”

Then, after he’d had a few minutes to think: “As long as you think you have the time for it.”  Then, after he’d had a weekend to digest the idea: “Don’t write about me, okay? Please?”

Pre-teen daughter: “Omigod. You’re not gonna use my name, are you? Are you gonna make fun of everything, like in your Christmas newsletter and totally embarrass us?” (Of course!)

Preschooler daughter: “Okay, Mommy. What’s a blog? Will you draw me a picture of a giraffe after I eat lunch?”

Preschooler son: “Can I play Wii now?”

Father-in-law: “Um. Uh-huh.” (Apparently, my husband has learned much under his father’s tutelage.)

Father: “Oh.” (That’s my dad’s all-purpose noncommittal comment.)

Brother: “Who do you think will win the World Cup?” (Definitely a bachelor brother thing.)

But when I waxed enthusiastic about my blog to other mothers - my own mom, sisters-in-law, girlfriends - the response was overwhelmingly supportive.

“Go for it!” was their hue and cry. “It’ll be awesome!”

Some offered blog ideas. Others volunteered to advertise my blog on their Facebook accounts and within their social circles. And, of course, they all promised to read my blog.

So, clearly this blog must cater to moms - hence the title “Mom’s the Word.” It’ll volunteer lessons learned, share parenting tips, offer commentaries on mommy-related issues, and dole out a bit of unsolicited advice (I gotta practice if I want to be a mother-in-law someday).

Thanks, Mommies, for your encouragement and support. For all you do (and it’s a helluva lot, don’t we know), this blog’s for you...!