spicetart

The things we say and why we say them.

So someone asks, "How are you doing?"  and you say Fine or Good or Alright, Thanks for asking, how are you? and you say this because it would just be weird to say what you are really thinking like

Well I picked up the beautiful and oddly heavy tiny memento urn which hold my dad's ashes yesterday and pretty much lost it for the rest of the day, and then I set up this kind-of altar in our dining room, where I surrounded the little urn with some of his stuff, random stuff really, like his old dice cups and his mothers tiny blue glasses and that broken beer stein that plays a song when you wind it and lift it up, and the music stops when you set it down, the one that I swear I remember him telling me that he got from some girl he dated who was the daughter of his good friend, and those twizzle sticks - drink stirrers, right? - made from that old, sparkly plastic, that have tiny whistles danging from the ends, I mean, it's weird to make that kind of altar right?  And it's even weirder to want to add more stuff to it, right?  Holy hell, I miss him and I have an emptiness in me everyday that I don't talk about, because you really don't want to hear it.

So yeah, I probably shouldn't say that, so I just say, "I'm fine, thanks for asking."

Hard days

I see that I last posted 7 weeks ago.  And I meant to post more often.  But things have been hard.

I have resisted putting this out there, because it seems like such a private thing, but I really need a place to write down my thoughts.

Three weeks ago my sister brought my dad home to live in her house under hospice care.  He was diagnosed with advanced lung cancer back in August, and in January it was determined that he had "days to weeks" left.  So my sister selflessly took him into her home, to spend his last days in a warm, caring home, with a great view.  Both of my sisters and I (and our husbands and kids) have pretty much put our lives on hold caring for my dad.  He has care during the day from a caregiver for the basic stuff, but one of us is always there for whatever else arises.  I'm being vague on purpose.

And it's hard.  Really really hard and it sucks.  He's doing rather well, considering, which is also hard.  It's hard waiting for someone to die.  It's hard watching him die.  It's hard having no normalcy or routine.  It's hard not knowing when "it" is going to happen.  It's hard to not be able to schedule anything in the next month.  Or the next three months.  Or?  It's hard to visit funeral homes to make arrangements for his death when he's still alive.

I miss my kids, and my husband, and my job, and going to the park and out for dinner.  I miss cooking.  I miss training for the Bay to Breakers.  I miss my cat who died in August.

So I'm just cranky and complainy and really looking for the bright side when I basically just want to walk out the door and get on a plane to somewhere.  Since this is my blog, I'm going to complain here.  More.  Feel free to not read on.

It's ONLY been 6 months. So???

Yeah, 6 months later I write a new post.  I think I'm ready to start blogging again.  Turn away, food lovers, it is unlikely that I will go back to blogging about food, as all I eat is the food provided at my kick-ass job and...carrots.  Not fascinating.

However, I've been inspired to be indulge my desire to write again, inspired by many sources (my family, B. Smith, Joss Whedon - don't ask).  2008 was an intense year, and 2009 promises to be more of the same.  Some people even think I should have a 3rd baby.  Crazy people *cough* Chris. 

So yeah, more insanity just ahead.

Tiny Dancer

When a teacher starts any sentence "In 6 years of teaching this class, I've never seen...", you know your kid is either really great, really bad, or, in Ivy's case, really, um, unique. 

What the teacher in her music class actually said was "In 6 years of teaching this class, I've never seen such an interesting combination of dance moves." 

"Yeah," I said.  "She gets that from her dad."

We started taking a great music class 3 weeks ago and Ivy LOVES it.  She doesn't really participate in the songs, she doesn't clap or listen to the words.  She doesn't sit on my lap and rhythmically tap her hands on my knees, or shake the eggs, or drum with the sticks.

What she does is dance.  Even to, as the teacher put it, the "non-dancing songs".  She is on her feet for the entire 45 minute class, dancing, swaying, stomping, moving, just generally getting down.  And this girl can shake it, though her moves have been described as "psychedelic" and "Grateful Dead-esque", I like to think that all that Madonna, Justin Timberlake and Prince will one day sink in, and those hippie moves will transform into something more we-live-in-the-city and less she-was-raised-on-a-commune.

A girl can dream.

So anyway, after this last class, I went to talk to Teacher Sean (who "looks like a daddy"), to ask if she was being disruptive with all the shaking it and falling on the other moms and kids, and the ignoring of the rhythm entirely, and he assured me that she was fine, and that while her moves are unusual, he would never discourage anybody from dancing and enjoying the music.

Guess she's just going to be THAT kid.  I hope she doesn't teach those moves to Scarlett...

 

No blogging.

Yikes, it has been forever since I wrote here.  I blame:

1) Facebook
2) my awesome new iPhone
3) Tivo
4) laundry and dishes
5) lack of motivation/general blah

Occasionally, I actually even have something to write about.  But I don't write.  I think it was more rewarding blogging when I felt like someone was out there reading it, and when I wrote about food, there was a whole foodie community that was into reading all the food blogs on the internets.  Now, the parenting community has so many impressive blogs that it feels a bit like "Oh, I'll just read Amalah, she basically says everything I am thinking but can't put into words anyway..."

Blogging is on my list of things to do when I become the superfantastic wondermom that I want to be, who has so much energy that I never sit down, I run around and get everything on my list done, and I cook, and clean, and read to my kids and clean out the garage and brush the cat everyday and water the plant (yes, only one, I killed all the rest).  I've scheduled that transformation to take place next month.

Someone ought to...

Today while sitting at a park that I stumbled upon while looking for another park, and while I was watching Ivy play in the sand and Scarlett suck her toe in the stroller, I thought "Someone really ought to have a complete list of every park in San Mateo County on a website somewhere.  And this site should list all the parks and have pictures and features (sand, bathrooms, water, etc) and say who would be most entertained by this park or that.  Someone really ought to."  So then I thought, "Hey!!  I have so much extra spare time, I should totally go from park to park and do all this myself!!"  Why?

Because I was so peeved that I couldn't find some little tiny park today, even with the crappy Ford nav system we have, and I really wish somewhere on the internets someone had done exactly this.

I am embracing my momness and comboing it with techmology.  It's well important.

Squishing With Love, Part Deux

I made a good, no, *great* salad.

So what, right?  Well, if I don't write it down somewhere, I'll never remember what I did and won't be able to make it again.

STUFF
romaine
spinach
cucumbers
pinenuts, browned in a little olive oil
a bit of good grated parmesan

DRESSING
seasoned rice wine vinegar (yes, it has to be the seasoned kind)
sherry vinegar
good olive oil
salt and pepper
shallot

Mix all together.  Like any salad, the addition of bacon would not hurt.

Dos and Don'ts...

My friend Alice shared this with me.   It is hilarious!  Unfortunately, I have done a few of the don'ts....oops.

Click HERE for more great parenting tips!!!

A girl and her cats.