Cue elevator music. Cue photo of cute little boy ruling the roost. Shhh…The mama is working (cue sound of fingers tapping computer keyboard at breakneck speed…). La dee da dee da…
Archive for July, 2010
What’s not to like?
Much stimulating fun for the toddler—
and his parents.
Fascinating California history, such as Zane Grey’s Pueblo Hotel (haunted by the author, I was informed—I can see why he wants to stay—he never missed a dawn if he could help it, watched the sea come alive).
Put the toddler to bed? No, no, no. Put him in his pajamas, then put him in his stroller and meander the waterfront to the pavilion, to watch the night divers and the bonfires on Descanso Beach. Once the toddler is lulled to sleep by the stroll, snoozing peacefully, covered by his favorite blankie, stop for ice cream, sit, watch boat lights twinkle, relax, holds hands, be happy.
Return to wonderful Catalina house and drink champagne with good friends (on Catalina, the toddler can be transferred from stroller to bed with no wake-ups whatsoever)—champagne so smooth and Cadillac it doesn’t give you a hangover and you can rent those several golf carts in the morning with your bloody-mary’s-in-plastic-cups-toting-friends and utterly enjoy your last hours on the island.
I’ve been utilizing the Weelicious recipe site of late. I’ve tried the Breakfast Bread Pudding, which my finnicky toddler actually enjoyed and asked for seconds (which he got once mama recovered from her heart attack and picked herself up off the floor). I made the Baked Zucchini Coins, which were delicious, although (grrrrr!) the toddler didn’t think so (luckily his dadda did). I baked the Pizza Muffins, which once again were a hit with the dadda, especially since I substituted tofu cubes for the chicken the recipe called for. The toddler? He licked the tops of two muffins with a suspicious look on his face, took one bite and asked for jello.
Today’s venture is Carrot Snack Sticks, which look beautiful in the picture on the site and which, around here, will be Carrot Dinner Sticks. I was very excited to use a rolling pin that I found in my havoc-of-cooking-implements kitchen cabinet. Can’t remember when or why I bought it, but how nice to have it at my fingertips! The toddler “washed” dishes while I prepared the recipe, adding about 5 times the amount of parmesan cheese due to my experiences with flour’s power to bland, bland, bland. I also added about 3 or 4 more tablespoons of vegetable oil than the recipe calls for. I’m wild, man! I’m crazy!
As I expected, the sticks did not look like the chef’s picture when they came out of the oven.
But T ate 1. Then asked for milk. Then he ate another. And I’m sure he’ll eat the watermelon slice I’m keeping out of sight as he ponders the remaining carrot sticks before him (hopefully he’ll eat more). So tonight’s dinner: Carrot Sticks, watermelon and milk. Not bad. Ha ha ha!
As I’ve mentioned incessantly, my toddler is a finnicky eater. Compared to other toddlers I know, those who only eat dry cheerios, for instance (so sorry for those mothers), he’s great. But for me each meal is a challenge in keeping cool, not worrying, not taking that rolling pin and using it to pound the many pillows on my bed as I silently scream my frustation when he refuses a recipe, any recipe, even the tried and trusted ones. Instead, I take the pin with both hands, bring it behind my head and commit 50 french presses. Right on! Cooking that’s good for the triceps, or whatever that area of arm is that waves like a banner in the wind. Ah, PB—you were born for motherhood! Peace and be well. And remember that the pediatrician told you not to worry—unless T starts losing weight from finnickiness and so far he’s way too chunky for that. Keep on cooking!
A BIG PS. After writing this post I noticed a burning smell. The 2nd batch of Carrot Snack Sticks were destroyed. I didn’t hear the timer. Too bad, because the longer I left the sticks on his tray, the more he eventually ate. Back to the rolling pin!
The baby birds have hatched. We ooh and ahhh over the tiny heads and uhinged beaks of 3 (possibly 4, hard to tell) house finches making their presence known with tortured-mice screams the toddler is not sure he enjoys. Fascinating, though, is watching both mama and papa bird sit on the nest at the same time and feed their young. Then they zoom off, presumably to round up more food. I didn’t know papa birds did such a service. It’s lovely. It’s wonderful. It’s teamwork in the wild.
Next chore: rig up a net so that if anyone falls out of the nest, they will not land on the patio slash cat-land and we witness nature’s cruelty. No, no, noooooooo….
The Sixth Appointment
On the sixth appointment (your third) I rat-
tled off the plot of Washington Square,
gleaned from all five of seven cds decked
in our car in the grim subterranean lot
down there, your hand on my knee (your
reach strainedI dont know why
we didnt simply scoot you close), down-
town sun lightening lab-yellow blinds
and when I couldnt look at you I spoke
to the baby squatting naked in a white
porcelain bowl on the wall, all squidge
and a stupid smile and hair sparse
as an old mans (when we were shown
in, we laughed at the sight of him)
and when I couldnt look at the baby
I spoke to the replica of certain a-
natomy (purple plastic for the womb,
barn-door-red for the cervix, pink
for It, etc.), the piece you joked
lonely bachelors might like to display
in their lonely living rooms and when I spoke
to you again the sun had your eyes,
hoarding their godly-green
and the room spun
and I sat back and you rose
as the doctor entered
in high platform sandals,
pleasant skirt beneath
the pale coat and the two
of you shared a laugh before
she whipped open her magic
chart, divined the unseen,
lifted my new blouse,
squirted on the goop,
pressed the thing home
and you heard (for the first time)
the tiny, persistent galloping.
And nobody laughed
then except for me, because Id for-
gotten (even after all these fucking visits):
(honorable mention in some anderbo.com contest or other a few years ago, or whenever…)
Why does having a new cell phone make me feel so content? It’s not an iphone. It’s not even smart, just—the sort of super-basic model that no one would ever want to steal. But there’s no static when I make or receive calls, the kind of ear-wrenching, in-your-canal static that makes people scream and swear they will never speak to me again until I get a new cell phone. My phone does not disconnect every few seconds. My phone has colorful wallpaper depicting a tropical reef that instantly transports me to—I don’t know, let’s frikkin’ say Kauai, every time I look at it. My phone’s ring is a Latin woman singing a lazy bossa nova. I don’t know who the artist is. I don’t know what her words mean. I only know she makes me smile when I hear her voice, which reminds me of margaritas on the rocks. Now, when I call people, I cut them off before they can berate me to get a new phone. I yell: IT’S A NEW PHONE! Their suspicions are put to rest as the conversation continues with me babbling on about how there’s no static. Ha ha! No static! And I won’t cut out on you, either! I add, waiting for cheers, which might or might not come. And someday, I tell everyone, my phone will have a bluetooth piece for company (to which I might receive an oooh or ahhh in reply, but that’s only if it’s my mother, who has no idea what bluetooth is or why it would have a piece). Yes. I heart my phone. Is that wrong? Or just—millenial? Am I a millenial girl? Can I be millenial without a bluetooth piece? What does millenial really mean and why am I writing about it when I have a tiny hour alone at home until the toddler and his dadda return? Why am I writing about my new cell phone and its tropical features instead of—ah. Caught ya! Avoiding my novel editing. Again! Well, you listen up, PB, and listen well (no static here!)—no phone for a week unless you stop blather-blogging this second, pull up your novel and get to work! Yes, Ma’am. And don’t call me Ma’am! Yes, um—Lady Gollum. Well, now! That’s better. Gollum. Gollum. Gollum. (Note to Self: Do not ever show this post to husband or son…)
Hope you had a wonderful 4th of July! I made a berry cobbler that actually wasn’t burned on the bottom. A first! If you run your mouse over the picture, you’ll get the story, in his words. A beautiful day at Baby Beach and good for the Gdad to be out in the sunshine and fresh air (not to mention the toddler!).