Armed and Happy

What do I like about myself? How much time you got?

I like a lot of things about myself, including the fact  that I can say that statement out loud, without tempering it with a "just kidding" or an "except for..." or any of that self-defeating nonsense.

There's just not enough time in this life for that. There really isn't.

I like my arms. For years, I hid my arms under cardigans or wraps, afraid that they were too doughy, too pasty, too Margaret Thatcher, and  not enough Michelle Obama.

People---I lived in Tucson, AZ and didn't wear sleeveless tops. How messed up is that?

It took until I was thirty-three years old to let my arms out of their fibrous prison. I was pregnant with Joel in July. The humidity was terrible, and I was chasing a two and a half year old around. I was HOT.

"I'm done," I said to myself, and I rolled up my sleeves. 

On that miserable summer day, I stopped playing the perfect arm game, and I  never looked back.

I've learned to love my arms. 

I love the curve of my shoulders and the ping of my elbow.

 I love that my back is strong, from my swim team years. It propelled me out of the water when I did the butterfly. It supports me when I extend into bridge pose. If I had to plow a field, it would work, in a pinch.

I love my teeny-tiny wrists, because I just do.

I love my shoulder blades, because they are strong from yoga and child-wrangling. They support me as I hold my head high.

I love these arms, my source of strength and balance. And I'm so very grateful that I can say that out loud, unashamed and grateful.

What do you love about your body? Link up with The Mommyologist for "Embrace Your Body Week."





Also, check out Think Tank Mommas "Own it, Work it, Love it" Series, which is all about loving yourself!

Sundays in My City: Politicking

'Tis the season for local politicking here in Southern Maryland. Usually, this doesn't mean much more to me than the occasional sign on the roadside, but this year, I have a vested interest.

The owner of my local liquor store is in the running. It's personal now.

When Paul and I first moved into our present home, we didn't have many friends. My parents came to visit, and the only person who knew us by name was Steve, the owner of the liquor store minutes from our home.

Let that sink in for a minute.

We had no church, few friends from either of our respective jobs, and no connections from our high school or college days. We just had Steve and his cooler of Yuengling.

I imagine my parents were thrilled by this development.

We have since made many connections in our little county, but we continue to enjoy chit-chatting with Steve when we pick up our adult beverages.

He asks about our family, calls me "dear," and always gives the kids lollipops.

Yes, I take the kids to the liquor store. Please stop judging me.

Thus, when Steve's name started popping up on lawn signs, bumper stickers, and roadside banners, I knew that he would get my vote.

This, my friends  is exactly what is wrong with American politics. I know nothing about Steve's platform, his political philosophy, or his views on really anything. That is, besides the his thoughts on the best Pinot under $12.00.

And yet, I like him. I like his family. I like the fact that he owns a small business in this era of Wal-Mart. I like that he puts up flags for Memorial Day and a big, ugly Santa sleigh on his roof each Christmas.

I like that there are always fresh flowers in the planters, and that his daughter sells watermelon from her garden on the porch of his store. Shoot, I like that his store has a porch.

Besides, honestly---he couldn't be any worse than our present batch of commissioners. One woman, who has been reelected since the beginning of time, walks around town pulling two humongous pigs on their own  leashes. I once saw her eating a pulled pork sandwich in a local restaurant, her pigs sitting quietly by her heels.

That's just messed up.

But here's the kicker. This woman--I'll call her Pig Lady---has campaign signs all over the county that say, "She knows that a million dollars is still alot of money."

"A lot," Madame Commissioner Pig Lady, is TWO WORDS. Not one. Perhaps when you are busy slashing local school budgets and horrifying your porky pets, you could take the time to proofread your own campaign signs.

Sorry. She may be a perfectly nice lady, but this issue makes me stabby.

Now, if my friend Steve is elected, that will mean that TWO of our five county commissioners will be owners of liquor stores.

It's perfect, really. We will never, ever, become a dry county.

That's something I can get behind.

There are serious elections in my fine state this November---there will be an epic rematch between Bob Ehrlich and Martin O'Malley for the governorship. Somebody will attempt, and fail, to unseat Majority Leader Steny Hoyer. There will be big money, and even bigger consequences to these elections.

But yet, I think I will have a greater thrill when I put a check-mark next to Steve's name this fall. After all, I like him. He's one of us. The politics is indeed personal.

Any politicking going around your parts?

Thanks to Unknown Mami for hosting Sundays in My City.

Like a Black-Eyed Susan

Because there are some amazing writers out there, such as Aging Mommy and The Mother Load contributing to The Red Dress Club's call for poetry, I thought I would give this a whirl.

The poem is meant to be narrative and about a family dynamic. I cheated and used the Pantoum poetic form, because I need structure in my life. Desperately.

Please be kind. I'm very insecure about my poetry.

Like a Black-Eyed Susan, 

Our bright-eyed second born.

Neglected in the garden, 

He defiantly seeks the light.  

Our bright-eyed second born, 

A young, tenacious sprout.

He defiantly seeks the light,

Digging deep, he fights.

A young, tenacious sprout

Amongst older, preening plants

Digging deep, he fights.

He's an eruption of gold life. 

Amongst older, preening plants,

(Now they're neglected in our garden), 

This eruption of gold life!

Is our Black-Eyed Susan.

Share a Spoon: A Recipe from My Own Mad Man

A friend and I are splitting a CSA subscription this summer. A CSA is short for Community Share Agriculture. Basically, subscribers get a box full of fresh, organic, locally-harvested fruits and vegetables from a local farm weekly.

(If you're interested in finding your own CSA, check out localharvest.org.)

Being in a CSA has created all sorts of culinary puzzles. What do you do with five cucumbers, two onions, and two eggplants?

I posted this question to Facebook and got all sorts of answers, but decided to go with the advice of my friend Ryan.

I've known Ryan since I was fifteen. He is my real-life Don Draper from Mad Men because he works in advertising. That is, however, where the similarities end--- he is very nice to his charming wife and I don't think he chain smokes incessantly.

A digression about Ryan. He was watching the World Cup recently and was so into the score that he didn't realize he was watching the match with one Mr. Justin Timberlake. (He was at a commercial shoot). 

Anyway, when I posed my question, Ryan suggested I make Eggplant Curry with Cucumber Raita.

This is why he's the creative genius who meets former members of N'Sync and I wipe butts for a living.

I gave it a whirl last night, and not only is it delicious, it has the required five or less ingredients. Plus, it's Indian, which is automatically awesome. 


You need the following: 

One onion
Two small eggplants (or one big one)
Two jalepanos
One small can of tomatoes
Curry powder

Directions: 

1. Peel and slice the eggplant. Add some salt to the eggplant (both sides) and let it sit for at least a half hour to get the bitter joo-joo out of it. Pat it dry after a half hour.

2. Add a generous amount of peanut oil to a skillet. Dice the onion and cook it in the oil until the onions are nice and soft.

2. Next, dice the jalapenos. Remove the seeds unless you really love heat. Cook the jalapenos for at least two minutes. While you are doing this, dice up the eggplant and cook it. I just popped it in the microwave for about three minutes. 

3. Then, add at least two tablespoons of curry to the skillet. You can add more or less for taste. Open a window unless you love smelling like a call station in Bangalore.

4. Cook the curry and vegetables for about thirty seconds. Add the small can of tomatoes and then add a can full of water. Let it thicken. Add some cornstarch if it's too runny.

5. Add the cooked eggplant. Cook until flavors combine.

Serve with rice. (You can also use this sauce with chicken, lamb, etc.)

To make a full meal, add this Cooling Cucumber Raita.

1. Dice some cucumbers.
2. Add a bunch of dill.
3. Mix it with plain yogurt (I prefer Greek style).

And there you go!  Dinner, courtesy of the coolest friend I have, (besides all of my other friends).

For other five-ingredient-or-less meals, hook up with Brandee at Share a Spoon.



PS--Click here for the funniest thing Justin Timberlake has ever done on Saturday Night Live. It's juvenile, yes, but it slays me every time.

Missing the Sisterhood

Sometimes, an emotion follows you around, like a stray cat. You try to close the door, but you still hear the persistent mewing. You turn on the radio, you walk away and say, "I'm not listening," but you know it's there. Finally, with a sigh, you say, "Fine. Come in," and you open the door.

Consider this my stray cat.

When Owen was around eighteen months old, I fell into a group of friends. We were all first-time mothers. We all stayed at home at least part of the time, if not full time. We started meeting for weekly playgroups, and over time, I  found my very own Sisterhood of the Traveling Diaper Bags.

There's this consistent trope of the radically diverse group of female friends that stay close no matter what. The girls of Sex and the City.  The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. Rachel, Monica, and Phoebe.

There is something so attractive about the idea of girlfriends being your one true family, one that supersedes biological family and romantic relationships. Having experienced it firsthand, it is a gift.

We used to meet every Friday morning at the park. Our kids played while we drank coffee and gabbed. We talked about the normal milestones---language development, potty-training, tantrums. We also talked about the shift from career to home, about the isolation of our days, and about the incredible love we felt for our children. We agreed that Go, Diego, Go was full of evil and that there is nothing like the sacred beauty of a sleeping child.

Over time, things changed. Personalities clashed. Feelings were hurt. Some people left the group. Others joined in.

Then, things changed even more. Some of us had second children. Our kids entered different preschools. Some of us moved away. Others returned to work.

Although it happened so gradually that it's hard to say how, our group became little more than updates on Facebook and promises to "get together soon."

I don't think there is any rancor or ill-will between us. I think that life just happens. But still, when I stood in the playground today, by myself, I heard that mewing feeling. It said, as clear as the blue sky above me: "I miss being a part of that group."

I miss the weekly check-in, and the perfect knowledge that we are all in this together.  I miss the confidence in knowing that it was us against the world. I miss that moment in time.


Don't get me wrong. I still have amazing friends--sisters---in my life. Many from that group.

But yet, that feeling of that group at that time? It has changed.

Even if we met up again, it will be different. I understand that.

I also understand that I need to be the change in my world. And so, I am going to start going to the playground every Friday morning, once the weather cools. If you are reading this, dear friends, I invite you to join me.

It may not be the same, but it can still be very, very good.


I'm joining Shell at Pour Your Heart Out Today. Check it out!

These Words

Yesterday, I recieved this text message from my husband:

"Leaving Suitland Now."

Wait. Sorry. That's not the one I was looking for.

I meant this one: "Nice blog today. You're such a good writer. Don't ever stop."

I tell you, I floated all afternoon. Little puffy clouds of consonants and verbs, his words.

***
My friend sent me a text the other day. It said,  "One month after being told she needed a hysterectomy...my sister is PREGNANT!!!!"

Right there, in the middle of the Baltimore Train Museum, I cried happy tears. These words were a electronic current of hope, and having found its connection, there is now light.

***
A friend texted, "Is it bad when your kids are in the backseat pretending to drink beer out of their sippy cups?"

And just like that, I'm not alone.

***
I texted my brother, telling him that Dune was the stupidest movie ever.  I said, "Presently, they are milking a cat."

He replied, "Well of course. How else can Thufur Hawat become a Harkonnen?"

These words were a time machine. We were once again in our living room, resplendent in our nerdy self-confidence. Just like that, I was home.

***
People argue that we are becoming less connected because of technology. I disagree.

These words are electronic gifts. I celebrate, laugh, commiserate, and love---one text at a time.

So tell me...got any good texts lately?

Playing Greener

In a possibly-reoccurring series, I will attempt to share some of my green tips without coming across like a sanctimonious prig.

Knowing myself as I do, this could be a challenge. After all, I'm the kid that announced to her kindergarten class that Mr. Bubbles, the class puppet, was not magic.  

"The teacher was just using food coloring," I spat contemptuously during recess.

As you can imagine, I was invited to all the parties.

Anyway, most of my green efforts stem from my general laziness and my natural tendency to nurture the cobwebs growing in my wallet. I'm sharing these because they have worked for me, and I hope that they might work for you as well.

I'll start today with green toys. I'm not talking about hand-crafted toys made by ancient Baviarian wood-sculptors, although those are very nice indeed. Rather, I'm talking about how to make toys out of common objects.

Before you liken me to Miss Hannigan from Annie or compare my sons to characters from Oliver Twist, let me assure you that the boys have toys. Lots of 'em. In fact, I'm not sure where my living room went, because it looks like Hoarders: Toddler Edition on most days.

But yet, their absolute favorite toys aren't really toys at all.  These three objects are cheap, fun, and easy. As a bonus, they aren't packaged with twenty bazillion pounds of cardboard, nor are they (hopefully!) made in a third-world sweatshop.

Green Toy #1: PVC Pipes

For about six dollars, we bought some PVC pipe, stoppers, and connectors at our local hardware store. Owen's world has never been the same.

He makes sculptures out of them.

He runs sand through the pipes. He uses them as tunnels for his toy cars. On hot days, he runs water through them using a kiddie pool full of water. They have worked as makeshift baseball bats, swords, batons, and trumpets.

And yes, they work as showers as well.

(This wastes a lot of water, thus, isn't all that green. In my defense, this happened while I was inside making lunch. Since I wasn't watching them, I'm totally off the hook, right?)

Green Toy #2: Spray Bottles

I have bought many a cheap, one-dollar squirt gun at the grocery store. I am happy to bribe my children for a dollar's worth of peace. Unfortunately, most of them break before they are even buckled into their car seats for the ride home. 

For the same dollar, I purchased a bunch of squirt bottles at the Dollar Store. I fill 'em up with water, and let the kids squirt away. They work in the tub, provide a nice mist to dry sandbox sand, and cool off the kids in the pinch. I've seen Joel pretend to wash my sliding glass door with his bottle, and Owen has used it as a "spray painter" on our deck.

This makes me very happy. Since I envision a long future of sitting on my ass, watching them work, they best start developing their skills now. 

Green Toy #3: Water Spicket

We bought this two-gallon water-spicket so that Owen could serve water to guests at Joel's birthday party, thus forgetting he wasn't center of the universe for an hour or two.

We have since discovered that, in this age of water restriction, this bucket is a nice way to do water play with less guilt. I fill the thing up once, and tell the boys, "Once the water is gone, it's gone."

It becomes a game to see how long they can be water savers by reusing the water several times over the course of the day.

They play kitchen, car-wash, restaurant, and lemonade stand, while I sit back and try to stay out of the way.

Now, I recognize that all of these green toys involve water. That's my kids. They're obsessed. I'm hoping for future careers in hydro-engineering.

It works for us. It may, or may not work for you.

I would encourage you, though, to think creatively. Playing greener may be easier than you think.

What are your kids' favorite "non-toy toys"? What green toys have worked for you? Recommendations? Insights?