Solstice

It's morning on the shortest day of the year. Overnight, a thick layer of ice fell and stuck on the eight inches of snow that's already on the ground. This has rendered us completely homebound, so it could easily be that the shortest day will seem very long if cabin fever sets in...

It's beginning to look alot like...

Northern Minnesota in January. The kids are loving the snow, and it's a nice change from our usual rain. But, because it's so atypical, we are now in the midst of the long wait that happens every time there is foul winter weather in the snow-plow-deprived Pacific Northwest. Back east - a little road salt and an army of plows would make this weather into merely a pleasant backdrop for Christmas shopping expeditions. Here, the roads get covered and you just WAIT for the day to come when the snow melts and the roads dry up. This could be tomorrow; it could be in mid-March.

Bad Mom alert: Notice neither of my children has boots. Neither do I. What's my problem?

Misery, thy Name is PINEAPPLE

Here is a photo of my last happy pineapple-eating experience. Now, here is my story: I am, for the most part recovered from the food nightmare that was last week, and I will share this information as a Public Service Announcement in the hopes that I will be able to save one other poor soul from the godawful pain that I have experienced in the last week.

Last Sunday, not yesterday, but the week before, I was in Costco shopping around for the usual - a giant box of oatmeal, a few flannel shirts, a 40-pound bag of dog kibble and a case of spendy Italian fizzy water. My eyes wandered, as they are wont to do, and landed upon a display of perky looking whole pineapples direct from Costa Rica. My mind flashed back to happy days spent lolling about the house in Molokai, drinking coffee in the morning and tossing back oversized chunks of juicy pineapple. I thought it would be fun to spend the $3.89 to allow the rest of my family to share in the joy-inducing flashback.

The next morning, Maggie woke up and said, "Mama, I want to watch a show." I said, "How about we have something to eat instead. Would you like some oatmeal??" She said, "No, I want some of THAT" - pointing, of course, to the pineapple on the kitchen counter.

"SURE!!" I said, and whipped out the giant kitchen knife. In no time at all, I had sliced, diced, divvied up pieces... Well, shortly thereafter, my mouth began to feel as if I had either stuck a hot poker between my lips and sucked on it like the wrong end of a mammoth lit cigarette or contracted some rare disease that involved turning my spit into caustic acid and my taste buds into tiny sponges. Eating became something to be dreaded. Suddenly, before putting anything in my mouth, I did a quick mental assessment of it's potential crunchiness (because things like chewed crackers felt like they were cutting into my tongue) and it's approximate acidity. Wine? Too acidic. Tomatoes? No. Spinach? No. Even milk - "Lactic acid? Will that hurt?"

So, as we know, Google is our friend. I searched "tongue pain" - and soon, without prompting, saw the word "pineapple" - Until then, I had not traced the potential cause of the misery - I didn't know if I was contagious. I didn't know if it would ever get better.

Apparently, pineapple - especially unripe pineapple - has something in it called Bromelain, which can be used as a meat tenderizer, and I had tenderized my tongue (well). When I say that I will never eat pineapple again, I am not being overdramatic. I read that I could expect the pain to last from 7-10 days, and it did. I went to Costco this past Saturday. Somewhere between the electronics and the cheese, I saw a kind-looking middle-aged man with a fresh pineapple in his cart. I seriously had to (silently) yell at myself inside my head to keep me from throwing my body into his cart and covering up that pineapple like it was a live grenade. I wanted to save the man, but then I realized that I wouldn't be able to do that if they kicked me out of the store for harassing the other customers. So, I let him go and I said a little prayer for his tongue health.

Bounty of the Pacific Northwest

The other night, I was wandering around Fred Meyer before dinnertime while Jay stayed home with the kids. I was unenthusiastically approaching the seafood counter to see what might tempt me when the seafood lady made a storewide announcement - "Good evening, Fred Meyer shoppers. Tonight in our seafood department, we have some great dungeness crab for $2.99 a pound. Come over and pick some up for dinner!"

I did not grow up a seafood lover nor do I have the innate appreciation for all foods native to this part of the country that those born here often possess. I did not eat any seafood besides canned tuna and fish sticks until college - but I have come around, and as I approached the plump crabbies sitting on ice behind the counter, I started to salivate just a little.

I called Jay, who suggested that we get 3, knowing that the girls would not eat crab but figuring that we might want a spare. I brought them home (all $13 of them or so), steamed them over a little thyme and fresh lemon, grabbed a big bowl and a nutcracker and got to work prying out the huge, tender, tasty chunks of crab meat (no dipping in butter required for these guys).

I got mine for $2.99 a pound, but here's a link I found where you can get four 2-pound crabs delivered right to your door for only $140. This does not include $15 shipping. Yeah, you'd really want to be sure to enjoy those crabs.

I didn't pause to take a photo before we ate - I had to dig in while it was hot! I got a photo online (Photo courtesy PDPhoto.org) that shows the succulence!

I'm feeling quite spry. Thanks for asking!

Mags is just sitting eating a yogurt while I mess around at the laptop. Just to keep my finger on the pulse of the morning, I ask: "How are you doing, Mags?"

Mags: "I'm just eating my yogurt."

Me: "I know. I asked HOW you're doing, not WHAT you're doing."

Polite Mags: "Oh! I'm doing very well, thanks! And you?" (In her most proper and articulate British accent)

Cranky Monday - Bah Humbug.

I am going through a phase where the thought of spending entire days with the girls makes me cranky. I can identify why this is. Let me use today as an example:

6:45 AM - Coffee is brewing. Maggie emerges from the bedroom part of the house. "Hi Mama! I want to watch a show."

Me: "Good morning, Mags. Did you have a good sleep?"

Mags: "Yes. Can I watch the first Princess Diaries?"

Me: "Not right now, Mags. We need to have breakfast. Maybe read a book. And get dressed. We could draw on the chalkboard... or make Christmas cards!."

Mags: "I want a cookie, and I want to watch a movie on the television."

And, so, here you have it. It is still black as a pit outside, and before ingesting ANY coffee, I am faced with a choice: Give my child (and later, of course, her younger sister) over to the television for a big chunk of the day OR say NO to the TV and face not only the wrath of a four-year old (and her surprisingly creative attempts to act out passive aggressively in response to the fact that I have dared to assert my parental will upon the house) but also the challenge of entertaining them both by myself for the entire day.

Today: NO TELEVISION. (Grrrrr!!!) I made the decision in part because I knew I had to teach Jazzercise tonight, and I am pretty sure that once I leave for class, the TV goes on pretty quickly. And really, it's getting a little ridiculous. I have one of those children who can recite more movie lines than I can. Someday, a cute boy may find her ability to quote Shrek after burping appealing... ("Better out than in - that's what I always say!") BUT, wait, who am I kidding - that'll be the geeky boys who think quoting movies is cute - but I digress...

So, without the TV and with Ellie added to the mix, it's just a matter of time before Ellie is screaming like her fingernails have been forceably removed from her little hands because her big sister has (choose one: stolen her stuffed monkey, fed her breakfast to the dog, refused to kiss her on demand, turned her bedroom light off without permission, tried to give her an injection with a ballpoint pen, told her that she needs to go sit in the naughty corner.) While she cries, Maggie will either be standing a foot away from my face with her hands on her hips screaming, "Mama!!! Tell Ellie to BE QUIET!!!" or she will be hiding under a comforter/under the desk in the office/in her room with the door closed with a cough drop/my makeup/a package of Smarties from KinderCare because it was Lauren's birthday and it was in the treat bag her mother supplied to every pre-schooler in the building. Then, certainly, there will be magic markers (often Sharpies) - and probably tape, perhaps glue, and very likely scissors (probably not the kids' kind). Princess dresses will be donned, spilled upon, cried over - and on extra special days - peed or crapped upon. If said dress is soiled, there will be a complete and very emotionally draining (for all involved) breakdown when it is not available to wear at naptime. Lunch will not be cookies and candy canes, so I will again be vilified before naptime. Then, hopefully, we will eat something and Ellie will need a new diaper. The need for a diaper change gets us all into the back of the house, and then it's a relatively easy transition to books, songs, naps and my inner countdown until Jay comes home, we eat dinner, I go out for an hour or so of freedom at Jazzercise and return to a hefty glass of wine.

I do clearly remember days during the summer when I felt like a good mom on non-KinderCare days. On those days I know we had reading time, craft time, outdoor exercise time, nutritious lunches - even morning and afternoon snacks. EVEN, dare I say, field trips - anyone remember posts about blueberry picking or picnic lunches at Lewisville Park? Well, that stuff's in the crapper in December. I must go to bed now: I have just finished my wine in total silence after getting home from class to make sure Mags didn't hear me and call me into her room to tell her a story and snuggle (read: suck me into the great black hole of time and bedtime procrastination) before she goes to sleep. Trust me, I enjoy a snuggle as much as the next girl, but her father is completely capable of providing her with all of the story-reading and affection she needs to get off into Dreamland. Seriously.

Direct Line to the Big Guy

I am enjoying parenting right now. I don't usually play alot of mindgames with the tots, but I am finding it refreshing to keep my cool and pull another authority figure into the equation this holiday season. I doubt I'm causing permanent damage...

This afternoon, Mags had a shower in our bathroom and then sat on our bed trying to avoid having me comb out her hair before naptime. Rather than fighting her, I was ignoring her antics and doing a sodoku puzzle on a little bench near the floor. All at once, I heard the sound of well, I wasn't sure what - you could tell there was a little friction - and that the noise was of the nefarious variety. It was definitely the sound of naughtiness in action, or, in common terms, blue ballpoint pen on 400-thread count pillowcase.

As I sprang from my bench to see what was the matter... my darling, wrapped in her pink butterfly towel, threw herself into the fetal position among the pillows, knowing that no good was about to come of her actions.

There was only one thing for a mama to do: Call Santa.

"I'm sorry, Mags, but you know that I'm one of Santa's helpers, and it's my sworn duty to report these types of things to him. That's how he knows who to put on the naughty list and who goes on the nice list." I picked up the phone and dialed.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! Don't call Santa!!! I don't want coal for Christmas! I want Santa to bring me TOYS!!!!!"

"Well, I'll see what I can do, but this is a pretty serious offense." Then Santa and I had a little conversation about how surprised we were that Maggie would be so flagrantly disrespectful and naughty so very close to the big day. While we spoke, Mags waited - eyes bulging, tears nestling into the corners of her eyes.

After I got off the phone, Maggie wanted to know if Santa was still coming to our house and if so, was he planning to bring her coal. (I am as certain as I can be that she has no concrete knowledge of what coal might be, but it's working for us.) I told her that I didn't know - it would depend on how she acted between now and Christmas and whether or not there was a big ink stain on the pillowcase when he came to visit.

So, it was a somber and repentant Maggie that let me comb through her gnarled hair. But, she recovered in time to beg to wear one of my nighties for naptime. As she got dressed, I went into the laundry room to douse the pillowcase with Spray and Wash. She came in, whining - "The straps are too long! I need you to fix them!"

"Maggie, for goodness' sake! Can't you see what I'm doing here?! I'm trying to clean the pillowcase and SAVE CHRISTMAS! You'll have to dress yourself."

When we got into her room and I was snuggling her into bed for nap, we heard the sound of Jay's footsteps in the house. Mags grabbed my arm - "DON'T ASK PAPA!!!"

"What?"

"Don't ask Papa that I was naughty!"

"You mean don't TELL Papa that you were naughty?"

"Yes. Don't tell Papa!"

...as if Papa is the one who helps Santa out around this house.

Preschool Question of the Day

First off, let's just say that today is pajama day and Mags asked me to take her picture at KinderCare. Since she usually screams "NO PICTURES!" and hides her face, I obliged, and here she is. Now, the answers to the daily question at KinderCare always amuse me. Maggie's answer almost always comes toward the bottom of the list and is a totally appropriate response. For example, the previous day's question was: "What does a dentist do?" Maggie, being very thoughtful and logical said, "He fixes your teeth."

I very clearly remember when I was younger that I was described as "the girl who never has to ask questions and look stupid because she knows that if she waits long enough, someone will ask the questions that need to be asked, and then she'll find out what she needs to know and it will look like she knew all along." I have to admit that this was 100% true about me - although I think I've lightened up alot with age and now can enjoy the occasional publicly clueless moment.

That is why I was SO VERY EXCITED AND PROUD yesterday when I saw that Maggie answered the question FIRST(!) and (I'm totally sure) with enthusiasm. We've been watching the movie "Elf" ad nauseum lately, and seeing her answer made me think of when Buddy bursts into his dad's office in the middle of the very intense Miles Finch meeting and exclaims "I'm in love! I'm in love! And I don't care who knows it!!!" You see, yesterday Maggie was wearing a new pair of pink fleece pants that she loves, and I'm pretty sure she just wanted to talk about them. So, the answer was PRINCESS PANTS!!! And who cares about what the question was?

(I do think the entire class gave answers great to this one...)