tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21045489469993491842024-03-12T20:43:04.930-07:00Snacks, please!Stories about two new babies and their big sister with orange Cheese Doodle hands who says, "C'mon... just a little bit?" But not just tales from the crib, because there's lots of other stuff on my mind. And out of it too.Mary Ellenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10687523141686528935noreply@blogger.comBlogger345125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2104548946999349184.post-37212747407942862382010-06-16T12:42:00.000-07:002010-06-16T12:44:18.821-07:00Hiding the knivesJosephine: I want a shaky peepee like yours.<br />David: oh?<br />Josephine: I used to have one...<br />David: really?<br />Josephine: But somebody cut it off!<br />David: oh no!<br />Josephine: And it blooded everywhere!<br />David: I bet!<br />Josephine: giggle<br />Josphine: JUST KIDDING DADDY!Mary Ellenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10687523141686528935noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2104548946999349184.post-884374869452804792010-06-14T07:43:00.000-07:002010-06-16T12:42:20.613-07:00hey, where did we go, days when the rains came...We went to the hood's potluck and slip n slide extravaganza last night -- and Lucy scored a portrait of herself from the artist around the corner. It was a black-and-white lined drawing, which he happily told her to color. So later, sprawled across our filthy family room rug, she asks me, "Can I color my eyes blue?"<br /><br />Whuh? I quickly judge that this is not a question of artistic freedom, of making the sky green and the grass blue. (After a year with the Unitarians, I say make it blue and eat it too!) Ununnhuh, next thing you know, I'm finding rhinoplasty in our Google cache.<br /><br />"Uhhh, you COULD make your eyes blue. But why would you want to?"<br /><br />"Because I like them better."<br /><br />"Really??? Ha! I think brown eyes are beautiful."<br /><br />Silence.<br /><br />"Can I?"<br /><br />"Fine, if you want to break my heart."<br /><br />"Okay."Mary Ellenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10687523141686528935noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2104548946999349184.post-75522051090836290502010-06-07T04:09:00.001-07:002010-06-07T04:33:35.884-07:00The Mind of the ArtistEarlier in the year, at the first of a series of parent conferences to discuss the academic goals of the 4-year-old... we told Lucy's teacher that we thought Lu could maybe try drawing without stencils. Perfect boat after perfect lion after perfect snowman -- that's all she brought home.<br /><br />But now the artist has been revealed!<br /><br />See here:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgbDI6TMdYDXGtXV9KjjUO0BjXtKeJ17AqlE2S93A64prVFVnGBg9qL6XUwbMQHtrSsCdz7Tpb1-ORYe7qnaOUVQV83wGXAjNnsRNtYbf3IduNdTzJKV3z3i-NW1AZvSzaq8XTtgBt5X0/s1600/going+to+church001.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 201px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgbDI6TMdYDXGtXV9KjjUO0BjXtKeJ17AqlE2S93A64prVFVnGBg9qL6XUwbMQHtrSsCdz7Tpb1-ORYe7qnaOUVQV83wGXAjNnsRNtYbf3IduNdTzJKV3z3i-NW1AZvSzaq8XTtgBt5X0/s320/going+to+church001.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5479987944744213442" /></a><br /><br />Her influences: Fra Filippo Lippi? <br /><br />The artist is loath to explain her work, but she deigned to reveal a few plot points: In the left, you see the Sunday School teacher. To the right, you see the poor little girl dragged to Sunday School by her father. <br /><br />Take two: <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHx2oNN5dd26hcaWdeqRCjS4NzXiRtcIapT4R-YdxinCG4d4u9CT32F6GtMVOF_9h2c8hgcxm3Q7KWbtaAeFkWt70n3KWNF1T3eL4jSicTIJurRnR0kY1xsHb6S0pTcdVk8DxQobZ75sY/s1600/going+to+church002.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 201px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHx2oNN5dd26hcaWdeqRCjS4NzXiRtcIapT4R-YdxinCG4d4u9CT32F6GtMVOF_9h2c8hgcxm3Q7KWbtaAeFkWt70n3KWNF1T3eL4jSicTIJurRnR0kY1xsHb6S0pTcdVk8DxQobZ75sY/s320/going+to+church002.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5479989116752525826" /></a><br /><br />Now the father is yelling! NO! You must go to Sunday School! Girl is still unhappy and teacher is positively limp with misery. Not sure what is falling from the sky -- some sort of bird-baby-Jesus? <br /><br />So, you're thinking, poor Lucy. Forced to go to Sunday School by that mean father who still wishes he had made more of his fleeting Sunday School encounters with the young Mariah Carey on Long Island. (Little does he know that Dreamlover was actually about a boy she saw eating Ritz crackers at church. Could it be??? He should try to find her on Facebook!!)<br /><br />Anyway, the interesting part about this series of work is, Lucy has never been to Sunday School in her life! Not once! And I can't imagine what she thinks she knows about it. (I'm so disillusioned by what this tells me of the artistic process. I'm beginning to wonder if Thomas Kinkade isn't even American!) <br /><br />Lucy does have a friend who goes to Sunday School and, on Friday, when we happened to have this little friend in the car, I said to her, "Hey Clara, what do you do at Sunday School?" Clara says: "We sing songs. Have snacks. Then, if it's not raining, we go out on the playground." "Well," I say, "that doesn't sound too bad, what do you think, Lu?"<br /><br />The artist said nothing.<br /><br />Here she is, looking all angelic herself, after pre-K graduation:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfn4LkY_51J5wz4vgeq4xLpSDl70IN0JNvkfsly1mKUUabn3efHc8DzYeQvWJokHgMUU7p965162wminR87PHKotejO5DM2z8jZpFu5w3JbiSrCIgqOLgR3uvIIqfKdW9aR-PM_3lmZqc/s1600/lucy+pre-k+grad-31.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfn4LkY_51J5wz4vgeq4xLpSDl70IN0JNvkfsly1mKUUabn3efHc8DzYeQvWJokHgMUU7p965162wminR87PHKotejO5DM2z8jZpFu5w3JbiSrCIgqOLgR3uvIIqfKdW9aR-PM_3lmZqc/s320/lucy+pre-k+grad-31.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5479990177386715970" /></a>Mary Ellenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10687523141686528935noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2104548946999349184.post-90742605411470863362010-05-13T09:12:00.001-07:002010-05-13T09:15:39.649-07:00Just who is this Mano??Aie! Margaret screams, as she herds ants on our dining room floor. Mano! Mano! Come here, Mano! And then, a few days later, Josephine is talking on my cell phone (not the new one, which Auntie Pamela provided after the last was thrown to the floor in a pique of rage. Why don't people call me back?? Really? No really, it wasn't me.) Anyway, Miss Phinie-Weenie is on the phone chatting with... Mano?? Again, who is this Mano?? They just giggle and run away.<br /><br />Lulu, do you know this Mano? She looks thoughtful. "No, no I don't."<br /><br />"Margaret, who is Mano??" "Mano!" she yells cheerfully.<br /><br />I think it might be their secret baby.Mary Ellenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10687523141686528935noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2104548946999349184.post-184687887924120122010-05-11T09:52:00.000-07:002010-05-11T09:59:18.901-07:00Ear WaxLucy has a friend at school who knows all about big-girl things like Hannah Montana and home heating costs because this friend has a BIG SISTER! And this big sister recently visited Madame Tussaud's Wax Museum and now all the pre-kindergartners have heard about this amazing place where people are made out of WAX!<br /><br />Lucy pauses in the telling of the story of this incredible place to ask, briefly: "Is that like ear wax??"<br /><br />Last night, we were out in the garden, watering our baby bean plants. "I'm like a mommy!" shouts Josephine, cheerfully spraying water all over my feet. And then the girls meowed and made nests with their arms to carry their baby kittens (pretend), until they had to do something else, so Josephine carefully laid her kitten under the Rose of Sharon, where Lucy traipsed over with her Clifford on a leash. And Josephine cries, "LUCY! You stepped on my kitty!!" And Lucy yells back, "JOSIE! I can't even SEE YOUR KITTY!"Mary Ellenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10687523141686528935noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2104548946999349184.post-90295965794649739622009-08-26T06:24:00.000-07:002009-08-26T10:55:26.063-07:00Odds and endsJosephine just peed in the potty and announced, "Princess pee!" And then she marched out to the family room, where Princess Margaret had collapsed on the veterinarian surgical table. (This is where we treat the poor little dogs who drink soda and cats who look too long at the sun.) <br /><br />"No touch princess!" Margaret commanded.<br /><br />So big changes in the Royal Castle these days.<br /><br />Our new au pair arrived two weeks ago from a very small village in Austria, replacing Julia who seemed to think such things as "university" would be more rewarding than caring for the Royal Family. Sigh. First Julia, then Supergold, and now Ted Kennedy -- and frankly, I am glad bad news doesn't come in quadruplets.<br /><br />I can not stress enough how much I liked Julia. You know if I didn't you would have heard much more about her...<br /><br />Supergold, by the way, was the little fish that we brought home from the county fair on Sunday night. (That is, 36 hours before we discovered him listless on the bottom of an old flower vase.) Oh, my first book! "Mired: The Short Life and Fast Times of Supergold."<br /><br />Oh! The other things we won at the county fair! Lucy -- a third-place ribbon for her painting. I call it "Square Rainbow"...see here:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeR5WA2mC1xuCvgr99OhS54efJweXx04p7K3Je6-uRoOlzXE5fL4-xMYURcAOhc24NLPUqY8R0wfHR6Ut_sLf3UY7A03jsEBNDVOqi9YA8zSad7mGgzhkaHsjpg1QlTVkAdtqph58RMF8/s1600-h/lucyfair.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeR5WA2mC1xuCvgr99OhS54efJweXx04p7K3Je6-uRoOlzXE5fL4-xMYURcAOhc24NLPUqY8R0wfHR6Ut_sLf3UY7A03jsEBNDVOqi9YA8zSad7mGgzhkaHsjpg1QlTVkAdtqph58RMF8/s320/lucyfair.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374331415642192226" /></a><br />I entered a half-dozen chocolate hazelnut crinkles in the over-hyped drop cookie competition -- and I got honorable mention, but that's really not very good, I don't think. (I blame the chocolate. Or actually, I blame myself for not thinking to buy the semi-sweet chocolate specified in the recipe and instead, hauling over the step stool, scrambling around the top shelf of the pantry, and emerging with a half-eaten bag of old Nestle chocolate chips...)<br /><br />Next year, I might try filled cookies. Less competitive, I hope. Or maybe I'll just transfer my unrealized ambition to my children and force them to raise prize-winning tomato seeds. That makes the most sense, right?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY8wU74AQzOKNI9jtjqDOJgdNPl3fk4H9RJAcsAyEZkym_FTpRbfnBmYd9cukTCkBVa-vA2bLvctRaObM0gcRai2_QRLt0K7FGRUP_8HtEgk3a9_2IGjSrwZAXRhHZg2KynE3pXuCIhHU/s1600-h/mefair.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY8wU74AQzOKNI9jtjqDOJgdNPl3fk4H9RJAcsAyEZkym_FTpRbfnBmYd9cukTCkBVa-vA2bLvctRaObM0gcRai2_QRLt0K7FGRUP_8HtEgk3a9_2IGjSrwZAXRhHZg2KynE3pXuCIhHU/s320/mefair.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374331913167848242" /></a>Mary Ellenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10687523141686528935noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2104548946999349184.post-91736671112052921742009-08-14T12:27:00.001-07:002009-08-20T17:16:54.992-07:00Okay, okay, okayI'm not making any promises!<br /><br />Our trek (no mountains, but an awful lot of SUVs on the NJ Turnpike) to Cape Cod was lovely. The girls peed in the potty, ate lots of gummy worms and candy buttons, caught baby toads -- c'mere, frogggggy! c'mere, c'mere, c'MEEEER! -- and got attacked by a family of teenage ducks in a freshwater kettle pond. No worries there. Adolescent ducks don't have teeth!<br /><br />Most embarrassing moment: Josephine, sweetly licking an ice cream cone at Arnold's Lobster Bar, shouts to a nice-looking couple in the parking lot -- "Go WAY! Go way people, broke your head! Go!" (Crazy gestures!) "Go way, broke your head! Fly away, people!"<br /><br />When I ask Lucy, "What is wrong with these babies?? Why are they so crazy??" she says to me, "You need to ask God. He made them. At least he made their bones. The doctors made their skin, I think."<br /><br />I have no pictures because...the babies broke my camera.<br /><br />Now that we're back we're enjoying the rule-crazy pool that we joined for the month of August. Last Saturday: Twin 1-year-olds spotted in the baby pool wearing matching Lilly Pulitzer bathing suits. They climb out and their skinny bikini-mama wraps them in matching pink Lilly cover-ups, which is to say that those babies were wearing $300 worth of summer wear that will last exactly 58 days...<br /><br />Okay, off to health-care reform rally!Mary Ellenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10687523141686528935noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2104548946999349184.post-42682801331702031882009-06-15T11:58:00.001-07:002009-06-15T18:23:08.860-07:00Fly, mighty pelicans!!So like I said the other day, I try not to talk about work here. But, just for fun and because it's technically not a violation of personal policy, let's discuss what I do not do for a living...<br /><br />I do not nobly defend the inmates of Guantanamo Bay from anti-Muslim imperialism or Death Row inmates from Scripture-quoting Southern prosecutors. I did not just return from Germany where I fixed that climate change thing. I am not forcing companies in Africa to respect the rights of workers (you go, honey!), nor performing life-altering surgeries. On the bright side, I'm also not an experienced Emmy Award-winning television news anchor recently replaced by a 2009 college graduate who made it to the finals of the Miss USA contest...<br /><br />Back from my 15th year high school reunion and, oh fine, back from my 20th year high school reunion, and I'm very much admiring the accomplishments of my smarty-pants pals. You guys rock! (Note to self: Write a book in the next five years.) It was great to see everybody. I'm sorry the bar ran out of gin -- not my fault, I believe... but probably a positive development since, even without that extra fuel, I managed to pull off the classiest introduction ever: "Seth, meet Dan. You guys should know each other! Seth manages money. Dan, you make it. Oh my God, and you're both Jewish too!"<br /><br />Anyway, how did we get this old?? During the white-tent reception in the quad (yes, I went to THAT kind of school...), where alumni from the 5th to 55th reunions mingled, it was easy to pick out the 5th year people. Good god, those are college graduates? They look like they should be home, hunkering down for the AP History exam. And, of course, it also was easy to i.d. the old folks there for their 50th. But when it came to finding my own classmates, I'd stare at name tags and think, "Hmmm, you look sorta familiar, do I know you??" Step closer. Closer. Oh no, I don't know you! You're here for your 10th reunion! Finally I had to tell myself: Look for the middle-aged people.<br /><br />See here:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4vK5Z6_aiG6aYc8QY81VHKP0ftq58Vbs8e4bqiD1c9fgmDO43XGn81coBIs_0SWZo5NVeL6V5-55VKQucqQQnXmLymZRYLwh6W0M2a4WQD9lJFHjsSQIF_t2CEoEXZa1otLm1EZR3o0A/s1600-h/reunion1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4vK5Z6_aiG6aYc8QY81VHKP0ftq58Vbs8e4bqiD1c9fgmDO43XGn81coBIs_0SWZo5NVeL6V5-55VKQucqQQnXmLymZRYLwh6W0M2a4WQD9lJFHjsSQIF_t2CEoEXZa1otLm1EZR3o0A/s320/reunion1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347727200131600674" /></a><br />I did not buy a new dress. Swedish car repairs = $1900 (!!)<br /><br />I did wear the shorts. Not everybody understood it was a joke.<br /><br />I did attend the poetry workshop, but did not write anything of my own. For the best. However could I have competed with the 50th reunion guy who wrote about his beloved wife: "When she cries, inside I dies." Or something like that. (Same guy hit on all the ladies at the bar that night... or at least my sister! who is pretty irresistible, if I do say so myself.)<br /><br />Auntie Pamela and I also took Lucy on a Best of Hartford tour, which included three stops at the Italian bakeries on Franklin Avenue. (I am a huge fan of regional speech and something I love about Hartford is the way every kind of Italian ice is called lemon ice, regardless of flavor. You say, "I'd like a small lemon ice," and the lady says, "What flavor?" And you might say, "Strawberry, plz.") If you're in Hartford, know this: Mozzicato's has the best cannoli, but Modern has the best lemon ice, by far. <br /><br />We took Lulu to my father's old bar, where she and my niece sipped on Shirley Temples and racked them up on the pool table. And we ate pea pizza! And picked strawberries! Then, on the way back to the airport, our final destination: The carousel in Bushnell Park.<br /><br />First here:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgIq9EJRaLe0zozCMQVejwV50FPqKJZ1Jkho6iD_sDR2DsMGAGPb5nXiaL3zNXlMe1jfgWhOlzL0DhR-UmaNODhtVtMhFl6F6w0jyY63Bdn_xVfAZ_tdcrgVP1_TbNAo_NyC9uvgtpN_w/s1600-h/reunion4.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgIq9EJRaLe0zozCMQVejwV50FPqKJZ1Jkho6iD_sDR2DsMGAGPb5nXiaL3zNXlMe1jfgWhOlzL0DhR-UmaNODhtVtMhFl6F6w0jyY63Bdn_xVfAZ_tdcrgVP1_TbNAo_NyC9uvgtpN_w/s320/reunion4.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347727577141963346" /></a><br />Then there:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6j7Eo8s9S1A5UBwUZDv5uG8feiZnMUBH2KBaI0msd0wgbTjmqJzVatAwNKAoiQRwbrmgCBvjITTzAzHSgdYdUwxAtVU8vOblkmm2MmW2ufKkdvGWLh4QSXwK7gkTu82fwwGxGu6ZCsNc/s1600-h/reunion3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6j7Eo8s9S1A5UBwUZDv5uG8feiZnMUBH2KBaI0msd0wgbTjmqJzVatAwNKAoiQRwbrmgCBvjITTzAzHSgdYdUwxAtVU8vOblkmm2MmW2ufKkdvGWLh4QSXwK7gkTu82fwwGxGu6ZCsNc/s320/reunion3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347727417639332194" /></a><br />Ah, the carousel...Back 20 years ago, or 21 or 22, Pamela and I were hanging out in Bushnell Park for an art history project on Evelyn Longman Batchelder, the Windsor, Connecticut, sculptor responsible for the park's "Spirit of Victory," and we met a very nice young man on a bench by the carousel. He asked for my phone number!! Which was pretty big news for me. (Consider that I went to the prom with Pamela...) But, as I recall, I didn't want to give out mine, preferring to get his, which sadly, he was unable to share, because he was living in the local mental hospital, aptly named the Institute for Living.<br /><br />He said: "But I'm not crazy! Just depressed."<br /><br />Poor guy! In retrospect, I think, eh, we could have written a whole lot of terrible poetry together! But back then I thought, "Jesus Christ, I don't think Ma's going to like this..."<br /><br />Anyway, David and the little girls survived. I got home and got lots of good hugs and kisses, not to mention sauteed kale with sundried tomatoes. Other news: Four baby wrens in Lucy's bird house! Lots of green tomatoes on our vines. And more lettuce than I could possibly eat from our new farmer. What else besides salad?? Any ideas would be welcome!Mary Ellenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10687523141686528935noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2104548946999349184.post-64590577265399179892009-06-08T06:31:00.000-07:002009-06-08T07:09:34.708-07:00Armored cars, etc.You don't blog anymore, David says to me. And well, if even he's noticed... it must be so. I've been busy with my labor dispute, I tell him. Blog about it, he says! But, eh, I try not to write about work...<br /><br />Anyhoo, just as I was pinning together a special skirt for striking workers, made out of union-made, in the USA, fluorescent-green bandannas (no you can not make this stuff up), it appears as if we have reached an agreement with Management. (Cue audio effect: Snap of whips, rumble of chains please.) So I'm done picketing, which is sort of too bad -- because it was a nice change of pace and I had bought a whole bunch of generic sunscreen and I really enjoyed the camaraderie of the anti-Kremlin effort. Of course, it'll also be nice to have health care.<br /><br />When I was a kid, my brother and I listened to this one Irish Rovers album over and over again -- or maybe it was the Wolfe Tones? In any case, I believe we are the only graduates of our Connecticut private school who know all the words to The Men Behind the Wire -- not for them no judge no jury, nor indeed a trial at all. being Irish means your guilty, so we're guilty one and all! Which explains an awful lot about how excited I may have been about rattling my Thompson gun.<br /><br />Speaking of high school, reunion is this weekend. To be decided: Now that I have COLA, should I also have new dress? The sirens of Georgetown are calling... Speeeeend, Mary Ellen. Or should I just wear my 22-year-old shorts? They still fit! And, except for a tiny little hole (and complete lack of style), they are fine!!<br /><br />The girls: Margaret is talking up a storm! "Josie, no kicking my juice!" Much of it is directive. Very little reflective. Lately, there has been an awful lot of biting... but since they are not Northern Water Snakes, which eat dead fish and then board kayaks in Northern Virginia to bite people and spread disease (or so I learned on my moonlit paddle last night...) there is really no great injury, except to dignity because, of course, they must apologize and hug, which Margaret really does not like to do. Josephine is a great apologist, on the other hand. Even when she's the victim, she says, "Sorrrrrry."<br /><br />Lucy doesn't want to die, she says. "I have a lot of living to do." (Is she listening to country radio when I'm not watching?? Oh! Speaking of country radio, Pamela and I went to the Steve Earle/John Prine show the other night and it was fabulous. The man who rhymes peaches and Jesus is a genius.) Is 4 the death-obsessed year? Or is it 37? Because I've been a little obsessed myself, lately. In any case, the 4-year-old is a funny thing. She plays tricks: Mommy, I saw an alligator in the river! And she works hard to figure out why the world is the way it is: This place is full of stores for Mommys, but not Daddys. Why not?<br /><br />What else? I keep meaning to tell you all about my first professional massage. The lady touched my upper arms, smelled of cigarettes and mint, and dripped sweat on my body. So it might have been my last too.<br /><br />Okay, off to Dublin in the green, in the green!Mary Ellenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10687523141686528935noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2104548946999349184.post-4141758051528102732009-05-28T17:39:00.000-07:002009-05-28T17:40:42.118-07:00"But where do you buy people?""I want a new family," Lucy announces.<br /><br />"Well, mostly it's the babies," she reflects.<br /><br />"They are BAAAAD!"<br /><br />"Remember when they put my undies in the potty and doughnuts in my bed?"Mary Ellenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10687523141686528935noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2104548946999349184.post-12474358619561798472009-05-22T07:35:00.000-07:002009-05-22T07:58:49.278-07:00Personal Challenge #1Months ago, I told David, "This is the summer that I do not buy a bathing suit from Lands End!" This is the summer, I promised, that I would actually go into a store, a real store! And TRY ONE ON.<br /><br />Nothing against Lands End bathing suits. I've been at the hippy pool in Hyattsville with mommy friends who rock those halter tops, baby. But, you know, the virtual model is only so good.<br /><br />Actually, my virtual model is quite good.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFAtxb7zqNUU8vDjQEOhyphenhyphenR7-M64WacmudECoCCBeBbWOSe9k68bu5p0YjHK8M3YoJvEFRHOOhS86hVcvqwlQZPLRvQrRk9CcBpAVFYBZbeSF7DHOX7QkQH6Sp-dTMbLhg3N35Tpt-6w6k/s1600-h/Picture+1.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 293px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFAtxb7zqNUU8vDjQEOhyphenhyphenR7-M64WacmudECoCCBeBbWOSe9k68bu5p0YjHK8M3YoJvEFRHOOhS86hVcvqwlQZPLRvQrRk9CcBpAVFYBZbeSF7DHOX7QkQH6Sp-dTMbLhg3N35Tpt-6w6k/s320/Picture+1.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338660072654181186" /></a><br />But why does she look so... roundish?<br /><br />Anyway, as with most personal challenges where I do the judging, I can cross this one off. Done! Good job! I have not bought a bathing suit from Lands End... <br /><br />I bought one from athleta.com instead! And I swear, it's going to be completely different! In terms of aspirational internet buying, I feel like I've hit the jackpot. (Which will be handy since Athleta's suits are twice as expensive...) These ladies surf! They wear ponytails and yoga prints! They probably don't go to the regional park with a backpack full of mini-Ritz that they try desperately to hide from the teenager lifeguard. <br /><br />See? <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil2qhldZ-dVUIN2tP3nh5gNEnn7gRGjCdvRgPrNHMGJbCcXo7gjxqkp9ZPzpHZzdP1Vgy3Fr5ahK4lLosgUU5VzxFbyWaOuiWfGuTxn4PrryvQpKxQNNi7JKL8RX3mhT-Fi7lrjYNoBAI/s1600-h/Picture+1.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 201px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil2qhldZ-dVUIN2tP3nh5gNEnn7gRGjCdvRgPrNHMGJbCcXo7gjxqkp9ZPzpHZzdP1Vgy3Fr5ahK4lLosgUU5VzxFbyWaOuiWfGuTxn4PrryvQpKxQNNi7JKL8RX3mhT-Fi7lrjYNoBAI/s320/Picture+1.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338660959617939266" /></a><br /><br />A much preferred likeness, I say.Mary Ellenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10687523141686528935noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2104548946999349184.post-20526582741184284962009-05-21T14:13:00.000-07:002009-05-21T14:15:33.220-07:00Back to neurotic analysisCandidate 4.0 asked to reschedule our phone interview yesterday because she had a party to attend. Okay... But then today, at the hour of her choice, she had a "headache" and canceled again.<br /><br />Hmmmm.Mary Ellenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10687523141686528935noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2104548946999349184.post-35596195761316503652009-05-21T07:05:00.000-07:002009-05-21T07:45:55.578-07:004.0 and onwardThe problem with a vegetarian, I realized, as I was running this morning and listening to that song that goes, "Tell your boyfriend, if he's got beef, that I'm a vegetarian and I'm not fucking scared of him," (what a good line!) is that they probably have too many principles to work in our house, where such strongly held opinions -- I don't eat meat, I'm acting the change I want to see in the world, I believe marriage is a Holy Sacrament between a man and woman who, by the way, of course should change her name -- would really just get in the way.<br /><br />In fact, I do not know any vegetarians who oppose gay marriage.<br /><br />Let's see, Candidate 4.0: Austrian. Lives on a farm with ruminants, which she happily eats. Hopes to become a social worker. Plays volleyball. (Aha! I played volleyball 22 years ago!!! And I had a wicked serve!) <br /><br />Lovely! Enough neurotic analysis. Let's just say yes, shall we? and get on with it already. (And that, my friends, is exactly how I approached marriage six years ago. Well, more or less. No, no, not at all, honey!!! You know this blog is full of lies!!)<br /><br />Ruminants, for those of you who know nothing about the creatures that you turn into tacos, are animals with multiple stomachs. Like cows. Or sheep. They could also be defined by their dim wit.<br /><br />What else? The kiddos are good. Josephine is peeing and pooping on the potty quite regularly! Margaret has no NO interest in it, thank you, but noooooo. buhbye. Josephine also likes to look in Margaret's diaper, while I'm changing it -- "Poopy? I wanna see!" Which outrages Margaret's sensibilities -- "Noooo, Joshie!" and she gives an angry one-handed wave around her nether-regions. "Ooooh, daddy poopy! Yucky!" Josephine shouts. "NO!" outraged Margaret shouts back.<br /><br />What? Daddy poopy? I have no idea...<br /><br />Josephine has a new game too -- in the morning, she crawls under our sheets (oh sheets, can you please change yourselves??) and then WOOF WOOF! "Oh no! Is there a doggie in the bed??" Giggle giggle. "WOOF! WOOF!" And then she comes bounding out, looking a little like a Bichon with curls in her eyes, giggling madly. For her part, Margaret has less energy in the early morning. She likes to cuddle in my armpit, blanket pulled up to her chin like a big girl.<br /><br />Margaret really wants to sleep in Lucy's bed. With her. I am toying with the idea of getting a twin over double bunk bed for the babies' room, so that all the girls can sleep together. Trouble?? Hm.<br /><br />Cell phone: Missing, but back!<br /><br />Running: Not bad. Twentieth-year high school reunion providing some incentive. Plus new Sean Kingston song.<br /><br />Rats: Holes filled! Undisturbed! Could it be?? <br /><br />Naughty children alert: Held my tongue at the playground last weekend when a little ninja boy started waving his arms and jumping around the sand pit. (Oh no! Sand pits! New study by alarmist researchers shows they have 5,400 germs per square inch!!) "Those are mine! All mine!" he says, pointing frantically to the SEVEN bulldozers within reach. And then: "I am a mean guy!" he shouts. <br /><br />Weekend trips: Photos to come!!Mary Ellenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10687523141686528935noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2104548946999349184.post-56858241926334122872009-05-14T11:50:00.000-07:002009-05-14T15:36:36.981-07:001, 2, 3...Candidate 2.0: A vegetarian.<br /><br />Candidate 3.0: A dental hygienist.<br /><br />And seriously, which is worse? We summarily (well, not that summarily) dismissed the veggie, even though she sang! Jogged! Did crafts! Because we do like our meat. At least a few times a week anyway. BACON! We eat bacon every week! The smell fills the house and rousts our current au pair from bed. <br /><br />And yes, of course, she could have cooked her own food...but it hurts my feelings when people don't eat MY food. And I like it when everybody eats dinner together. Then I can keep my eyes on everything... [We're not CRAZY about meat, okay? This week we will eat salmon, white clam sauce, two-bean pie and pot roast. Technically, because seriously, clams have no rights, people, and salmon only slightly more, that's only one meat dish. But it was pretty meaty. Says Lucy: "I like everything on this plate tonight!"]<br /><br />But a dental hygienist? David thinks this is not a real reason to reject somebody, but it just screams BOOOORING to me. What kind of 19-year-old aspires to clean people's teeth? I'm probably a big old meat-eating snot (not that big!!), but I like people who are curious about the world. I guess the mouth is like it's own little world, but it's a rather small one. But then again, here she is, wanting to be an au pair in America -- that's inquisitive, isn't it? Ugh. I don't know.<br /><br />Candidate 3.0: Swiss. Chocolate!<br /><br />I'm not feeling her. Is that reason enough to move on?<br /><br />In other news, the twins of mischief stormed into the basement this past weekend and filled Julia's toilet with paper, flushed it, flushed it! flush! flush! flush!! FLUSH! until the water spilled down the hallway, where they retreated, laughing hysterically, until David squished them with the wet-vac. <br /><br />No, he didn't squish them. What self-restraint.<br /><br />"Josephine! Do you want a time-out?"<br /><br />"YESH!"<br /><br />Says Lucy: "Children are SUPPOSED to be naughty!"Mary Ellenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10687523141686528935noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2104548946999349184.post-90549978782690480882009-05-07T18:25:00.000-07:002009-05-07T18:43:39.947-07:00Behind Door #1We got our first application for next year's au pair today. How exciting! <br /><br />Let's see...<br /><br />She is Finnish. Fjords! Reindeer! +15<br />She has hair extensions. Hm. High maintenance?? -10<br />She does gymnastics. Oooh, Lulu loves gymnastics! +20<br />She is neat. Nice! We could use a little neat! +15<br /><br />Ohhhh...weeell... Neat is one thing. But Candidate 1.0 writes that she super-cleaned her bedroom at Christmas. And now, because it's so lovely and tidy, she can't bear to sleep in it. Seriously. (Seriously???) She makes it clear: She has not slept in her room -- since Christmas! -- because she doesn't want to MESS IT UP.<br /><br />Crazy?? -1,000Mary Ellenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10687523141686528935noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2104548946999349184.post-32579773764175949602009-05-06T18:10:00.001-07:002009-05-06T18:21:29.333-07:00The developing world.My favorite line from today's appointment with the development specialist: <br /><br />"Margaret does well on tasks of her own choosing."<br /><br />Ha! Does one usually hear terms of economics in these appointments? I'm speaking, of course, of "laissez-faire," the doctrine that opposes government interference beyond a minimum. It also describes Margaret's response to developmental assessments. My baby, the Libertarian...<br /><br />Josephine, of course, did beautifully on all sorts of tasks: solving puzzles, block-stacking, identifying objects, drawing shapes. First she listens, then she studies the tasks at hand, and then she does it. And if she doesn't get it right, she persists. Go Feeny-weeny! It did not escape notice however that she has nervous habits. <br /><br />Nervous habits! At age 2!Mary Ellenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10687523141686528935noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2104548946999349184.post-85512930643959249182009-04-30T16:36:00.000-07:002009-04-30T16:54:50.489-07:00The Preschool DilemmaAnybody remember what I said at the beginning of this <STRIKE>scavenger</STRIKE> treasure hunt? When it comes to preschool next year, I said, with lots of emphasis and meaningful looks, the most important thing is that all three girls go to school in one place. You know, to make it easier on moi.<br /><br />And what have we achieved???<br /><br />Hm. Not that.<br /><br />We've committed our youngest to the Unitarians. I simply can't resist the lure of the contra dance. Plus, I feel like, with their total disregard for authority and fondness for hummus, they'll fit right in. Plus, in all seriousness, it's a half-day program, twice a week. Our other option -- Lucy's current school -- would be four full days. I think that might be a hard transition for the undisciplined. <br /><br />But what about Lucylu?? So far, there's no spot for her with the godless. I did check out the special ed class at the local elementary school. The teacher? One of those incredible people who perform motorcycle tricks in steel cages at top speeds. But Lucy would be the oldest kid in the class, and the most able, and I'm not sure that'd be so great for her. And, you know, she really does like her current school. Today, ballet. Yesterday, bean seeds and recycling containers. Maybe she should just stay there... there are, after all, naughty boys everywhere.<br /><br />So we'll need to hire another au pair, which is potentially a good thing. (I have U2 tickets for September! We need a babysitter!) Reading the listings of available gals is a little like reading one of those high-end travel magazine. You think, ohhhh, that would be nice... This one is president of her student council! And this other one has a horse! David says we've "gotten good" at picking au pairs, because our current is so lovely, but he is delusional. <br /><br />It's just luck, I think.<br /><br />Speaking of David, I bought his birthday present today!<br /><br />[STOP READING HONEY!!]<br /><br />Two David Sedaris tix!Mary Ellenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10687523141686528935noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2104548946999349184.post-13269859051366648722009-04-28T18:16:00.000-07:002009-04-28T18:34:40.574-07:00Playing favoritesThe problem with getting too busy to post is when I actually do have time to sit down and write -- I've got too much to report! Let's see... the past week or so? Gigi and Poppa came to visit, I flew off to Little Rock, we took a mini-vacation to West Virginia...<br /><br />First things first, tonight Lucy and I read one of those old Richard Scarry books about the animal people who do all sorts of gender-typical things -- i.e., the mommy Cat sets her house on fire, ironing the Daddy's shirt, and then all the other guys come to save them. "Save my Huckle!" Mommy screams. (At the end, they show poor Daddy's ruined shirt. Lucy observes it gravely and says, "That is not good.") Anyway, they have to call the fire department with a fire box, which we used to have in our old neighborhood in East Hartford. <br /><br />That's before phones, I explain.<br /><br />"Why?" Lucy says.<br /><br />A long time ago, I explain, people didn't have phones in their houses, so they'd have to run outside to the fire box to call the fire department. She thinks about this and then says, "How did they play with each other?" Ah, the play dates! "They'd go over to their friend's house and knock on the door and say, 'Can you come out and play?'" She thinks more about this...and frankly, it's just beyond comprehension. "What would you do in you didn't have a phone?" I ask. <br /><br />"Call them on the computer."<br /><br />Then this, "Daddy is my favorite favorite person in the world." That's nice, I say. "Actually..." she pauses. "My favorite person is..." (Me! Me! Pick me!) "Julia," she concludes. Our lovely au pair. "Well, that's nice too." She looks at me and says, "I do like to play with you, Mommy. And help you." Umhm. "I wonder if I'll ever be your favorite person," I say sadly. She nods, "Yes. Maybe if you're more like Julia." "And how is that exactly?" <br /><br />"If you have long fingernails and paint them."<br /><br />In Little Rock, I missed my turn and ended up checking the map in the parking lot of "Live Free" bail bondsmen. I missed the Clinton library too, but did meet a young man who wore red lip gloss on his eyelids with red glitter smooshed into it. "Does that wash off?" I asked. "Noooo!" he said proudly. "Sometimes that would be a good idea," I said. The visitor's center at Little Rock Central is well worth visiting -- the archival video footage, wow!<br /><br />Josephine goes on the potty! Margaret does not!<br /><br />Preschool: Sigh. I'm visiting a special ed preschool classroom for Lucy tomorrow. No, she's not special ed. (Although there's nothing wrong with that!) In our district, the elementary schools offer preschool to special ed students, but the classrooms also have a handful of slots for "peer pals" who can model appropriate behavior... A good idea?? I'd like to see how it works.<br /><br />The Unitarians remain elusive. This is because they don't have Hell, I guess.<br /><br />West Virginia! I need to get pictures from my friend Stephanie, who joined us with her two kiddos. The highlights: Toads! Deer! Dirt! The lowlights: Long beef ribs? Eh. Not as good as the pig, in my opinion.<br /><br />So, in case anybody is counting, and I certainly am, that's two new states that I've slept in! That leaves 15. Or 16, if you count Kansas. (haha! always making fun of the poor people without coasts, I know...) David claims I've picked off the low-hanging fruit, but that's not true as Delaware is extremely low and I still haven't slept there. I did spend the day at Rehoboth Beach in 1992, but it has to be an overnight visit to count. Them's are the rules and I didn't make them up. Actually, I did, but you have to have some kind of standard.<br /><br />Okay, look forward to more cogency in the future!<br /><br />Your favorite, ME.Mary Ellenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10687523141686528935noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2104548946999349184.post-72432902628992605552009-04-16T10:33:00.000-07:002009-04-16T10:50:58.394-07:00Isn't that my line??I have become a great admirer of Margaret's conversational style. It seems designed to make her companions feel acknowledged, listened to. At the same time, she gets a whole lot of information with just a few key questions, and the tone! It's perfect. You might walk away thinking, "Wait a second, did she just say no??" but, at the time, it seemed that everything was so agreeable.<br /><br />Let's see...<br /><br />Birds fly outside the dining room window, carrying twigs to a little nest on our roof where they will train their young to poop on our children. (I had a wee bit of enchilada sauce on my shirt yesterday and Margaret pointed to it and said, "Birdie." "Birdie?" "Birdie poop," she explained.)<br /><br />"Look Margaret! It's a bird!"<br /><br />"A birdie?"<br /><br />"Yes, and it has a stick!"<br /><br />"A stick?"<br /><br />"I think it's building a nest."<br /><br />"A nest."<br /><br />"Shall we go look?"<br /><br />"Yesh."<br /><br />Or this:<br /><br />"Margaret, can you help me clean up?"<br /><br />"Clean up?"<br /><br />"Yes, Margaret, can you help me clean up?"<br /><br />"Me?"<br /><br />"Yes, Margaret, can you help me clean up??"<br /><br />"Noooo."<br /><br />Anyway, I am pretty sure that Margaret has secretly enrolled in some kind of middle management training seminar. But when?? Where?? The only class that I endorsed was Artsydoodles, which as described in the county's parks and rec catalog, seemed to have little to do with the art of evasion. Where are my framed tissue-paper collages that she can rip off the walls in a fit of artistic dissatisfaction?? (Oh yes, she did, and I'm going to keep it and put it back up there with a little title/artist card that says, "The Artist's Naughty Period.")<br /><br />"Margaret, will you come to staff meetings with me?"<br /><br />"Margaret??"Mary Ellenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10687523141686528935noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2104548946999349184.post-72559207921517883912009-04-15T06:45:00.001-07:002009-04-15T12:17:23.967-07:00See?!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9unElprieuWJ5gY_1uJ8DEfYX7u4ATwuGJ6CfnzkEBXO0MkHytHsd_R5fOHeGfu9w8dm2zFduZkRf86UpW1f4oD5_N-02qjvNJNajB3dU-IwuEbxMmTcEZwnsAAvnD-mT6FprfTMgHeE/s1600-h/IMG_1419.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9unElprieuWJ5gY_1uJ8DEfYX7u4ATwuGJ6CfnzkEBXO0MkHytHsd_R5fOHeGfu9w8dm2zFduZkRf86UpW1f4oD5_N-02qjvNJNajB3dU-IwuEbxMmTcEZwnsAAvnD-mT6FprfTMgHeE/s320/IMG_1419.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324990096361745714" /></a><br /><br />The evidence mounts.<br /><br />These children really really are naughty! And I hear you sighing, you know who you are, saying, oh no, Mary Ellen, they're just a little mischievous! Ha. Sometimes, yes. High spirits! Other times, like when they look me right in the eye, with pineapple rice clutched in their little fists and I say (firmly!), "Do not throw that on the floor, Margaret!" and then she laughs LAUGHS AT ME and throws it gleefully on the hard wood, which used to look so shiny, but let me tell you ranch dressing is no Murphy's Oil, and well, that's a little beyond King of the Leprechauns, isn't it? <br /><br />Above? Purple princess lip gloss on yellow hallway wall!<br /><br />And the remorselessness... My God, they have no conscience.<br /><br />To wit, please see resemblance:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg16UcNKJT0C-F0_Cfuc4M9JOwdOr8TeUO6aRgv2RfDs1-ayRqePsmxQrDlQY20iXUI9H_MrotmwpTra7VxI9jtTteBPTzaqxKX3dia1-jnBzm0Vz5ExeFhd85HNlOjTwz1YrKUaTx3qlA/s1600-h/thelma"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 278px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg16UcNKJT0C-F0_Cfuc4M9JOwdOr8TeUO6aRgv2RfDs1-ayRqePsmxQrDlQY20iXUI9H_MrotmwpTra7VxI9jtTteBPTzaqxKX3dia1-jnBzm0Vz5ExeFhd85HNlOjTwz1YrKUaTx3qlA/s320/thelma" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324983915899596162" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh19LKpp2apKBMSBhWX5einTm-RvsaMHszKSywnc_VtE6n9KLXprWLcgC052glCdjWNKhBiwpaagFUvX7PW6dk4qoSyNnyl0STnqUUMCgpvvrmO2FbSUMZ0jRk5B7G__lKpdqaEsUX2BCM/s1600-h/IMG_1316.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 242px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh19LKpp2apKBMSBhWX5einTm-RvsaMHszKSywnc_VtE6n9KLXprWLcgC052glCdjWNKhBiwpaagFUvX7PW6dk4qoSyNnyl0STnqUUMCgpvvrmO2FbSUMZ0jRk5B7G__lKpdqaEsUX2BCM/s320/IMG_1316.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324984943910750034" /></a><br /><br />Same hair!!Mary Ellenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10687523141686528935noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2104548946999349184.post-4043732197921344492009-04-10T12:20:00.000-07:002009-04-10T13:40:32.452-07:00Smile!Been a little stingy with the pictures lately.<br />Here's a few to make up:<br /><br />Birthday party, birthday party!! I should have put this one up a while ago...but I've been sort of pretending that the girls were still 1 so that I didn't have to pay for their tix to the circus this week. Technically, if the girls had been delivered when originally promised by the manufacturer, they would be just 2 this week. So it's not really cheating. And it's not really bad for the animals either. Really!! They love their life of captivity. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiomH8_m79CqyEfLaT1Jnq5eIblvtq6fPmN2ILYSP34uEW_E6dvrbp7qFHOn886oZO_hRftQ9dyIf1UoERWSVWF4xwS9zuge1MApgg0fIBOsaudLg2tXrht4CwES2oMnW2WV6j2ldl4nJ4/s1600-h/IMG_2904.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 282px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiomH8_m79CqyEfLaT1Jnq5eIblvtq6fPmN2ILYSP34uEW_E6dvrbp7qFHOn886oZO_hRftQ9dyIf1UoERWSVWF4xwS9zuge1MApgg0fIBOsaudLg2tXrht4CwES2oMnW2WV6j2ldl4nJ4/s320/IMG_2904.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323147607101675298" /></a><br />We've been reading a lot about the gnomes and fairies, like I've said before. But here she is! Queen of the Fairies!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE-eLiz7Rm5eXP2Ojj7nZneyKMPmIp6-BKW8dQmvGVZ0bNHGRXMU6EWT1LQQIKIF5YAjFNkW1mMFTaclqvp6gPds22sZAJ8C2X4QwFdpHOayg0WwE74Fk8GAQ_KynMMsTpt0oZG7M2Opg/s1600-h/IMG_2915.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 277px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE-eLiz7Rm5eXP2Ojj7nZneyKMPmIp6-BKW8dQmvGVZ0bNHGRXMU6EWT1LQQIKIF5YAjFNkW1mMFTaclqvp6gPds22sZAJ8C2X4QwFdpHOayg0WwE74Fk8GAQ_KynMMsTpt0oZG7M2Opg/s320/IMG_2915.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323148098262471618" /></a><br />I think our snowy days are over...Which is fine with the Popsicle Twins.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj52LLrYlThX-mGdrK4C9_8QjeTsLwnm6FdyAR6eAvcoU2ic8Gile0Y1u9ZiR1FMl9pJw77vUjEydLA4EBPFnd0s0J__au5gOb7lKJN7NpVMrZ-tKTu9m1WJeCKqtUb3AF-So57L3CLQDo/s1600-h/IMG_2932.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj52LLrYlThX-mGdrK4C9_8QjeTsLwnm6FdyAR6eAvcoU2ic8Gile0Y1u9ZiR1FMl9pJw77vUjEydLA4EBPFnd0s0J__au5gOb7lKJN7NpVMrZ-tKTu9m1WJeCKqtUb3AF-So57L3CLQDo/s320/IMG_2932.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323148618765124674" /></a><br />Lucy liked the snow tho. Sledding helped.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvGpAvcWyyTX66kUf4nXdvOBJ4cvmfQoEDJWDG1Eg2B1mhru1be9WPYrYPju5bv444rDyGv1OTe7Gtwue9iKeA-T18Q9KiJ0gy8rFcY1rfCjT62452KeZJRKOI2rHQDxKh1-PRU0qcoS8/s1600-h/IMG_2933.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 242px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvGpAvcWyyTX66kUf4nXdvOBJ4cvmfQoEDJWDG1Eg2B1mhru1be9WPYrYPju5bv444rDyGv1OTe7Gtwue9iKeA-T18Q9KiJ0gy8rFcY1rfCjT62452KeZJRKOI2rHQDxKh1-PRU0qcoS8/s320/IMG_2933.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323148783259486386" /></a><br />Okay, this is not a particularly flattering picture of me at story time. But, if you glance quick and squint maybe a little, it's not actually me! It looks very much like somebody else, related to me... I'll give a kiss to whoever gets is. (I'm making it small to help with the illusion.)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwsEcLIFxVwZg5ThBnbiV1hCvxQNGsWFieDHnUGCmBphjnS6IgQkUhgR4wsjZBbv-FgBXUZ3rDUw6hZS9gg_eqZc-G4uCz87kbe1CKzKWuN7vNEHxx6rfTl7MGWMTAZHEgS7m8hwftDI4/s1600-h/IMG_2938.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwsEcLIFxVwZg5ThBnbiV1hCvxQNGsWFieDHnUGCmBphjnS6IgQkUhgR4wsjZBbv-FgBXUZ3rDUw6hZS9gg_eqZc-G4uCz87kbe1CKzKWuN7vNEHxx6rfTl7MGWMTAZHEgS7m8hwftDI4/s200/IMG_2938.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323149176908682866" /></a><br />So we decided it was time for David to cut the girls' hair. Lucy went first. She is so brave! But David, who can not be trusted, used the nail scissors! (Because he could not find his proper shears, an obstacle that might have led another person (like Lucy's mother) to say, "Let's wait.") Thankfully, after a quick trip to Target for a new pair, everything looked very trim and cute.<br /><br />See here: Before and after!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzdypMTBviSffvAkt6YaD20a73bHhIZtvjoEeC4CinOSaLbEd_L5vD6H8qOdyMOkZGBpcDqWCDH7Rra0gdIYRKZeYYKtAxrA5xknFaxJcF62sIA1gorEs7BuOdL8qJqyUfMwhwCWS-ymg/s1600-h/IMG_2945.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzdypMTBviSffvAkt6YaD20a73bHhIZtvjoEeC4CinOSaLbEd_L5vD6H8qOdyMOkZGBpcDqWCDH7Rra0gdIYRKZeYYKtAxrA5xknFaxJcF62sIA1gorEs7BuOdL8qJqyUfMwhwCWS-ymg/s320/IMG_2945.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323149990867539490" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC_Hbaz7E5odYGCg2Xuj_8y0oHktRBXx5Tzf4mxlVh4G2rYBfYmUtpIUVIEMQsDrJXkQfaEqj2aihgZvztIjJPOPTGGou44gLd3XgwSaZE9UvwOdNwFYyKw4-NL1aLAuFk6pZUyUZGlmc/s1600-h/IMG_2947.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC_Hbaz7E5odYGCg2Xuj_8y0oHktRBXx5Tzf4mxlVh4G2rYBfYmUtpIUVIEMQsDrJXkQfaEqj2aihgZvztIjJPOPTGGou44gLd3XgwSaZE9UvwOdNwFYyKw4-NL1aLAuFk6pZUyUZGlmc/s320/IMG_2947.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323150116405533538" /></a>Mary Ellenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10687523141686528935noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2104548946999349184.post-40853731799257481672009-04-08T10:56:00.000-07:002009-04-08T11:28:17.727-07:00promises, promisesI am preparing a contract for Lucy's signature. It says, "I, Lucy, promise to go on an African safari with my mother when I am 16. I do not want a car." Seriously. I'm going to put it in a box somewhere and then wave it around when she's 16. Maybe I will write an addendum, "Also, I promise, of my own free will and consent, to listen to my mother when I am a teenager."<br /><br />Seriously, I told her last night that we should go to Africa and she said, "OF COURSE!" she wants to come too. She wants to go when she is 9 and the babies are 7, but that's crazy talk. I think 16 and 14 will give me much more time to save my coupon money, plus maybe they won't cry hysterically at the immunizations. I said, "You won't decide you want a car instead?"<br /><br />She paused.<br /><br />"No, I will want an airplane," she decided.<br /><br />Meanwhile, the twins of mischief went into the kitchen and filled my mini-muffin pan with tasty mounds of Morton's salt. And then they pulled all of Lucy's undies out of her drawer. And then they dragged the hallway runners into the bathroom. And then... wait a second, I do watch them! Yes I do!! And I resent your accusations. You try keeping track of small children with the apparent ability to invisibilate. (I just made that word up, but feel free to disseminate at will. No contracts are binding.) <br /><br />Status updates:<br /><br />Cell phone: Still working!!<br />Cakes: Country pear was too dry.<br />Work: Seriously?<br />Books: Eh. The new Wally Lamb was too-too.Mary Ellenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10687523141686528935noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2104548946999349184.post-72908993164209572012009-04-02T18:06:00.001-07:002009-04-02T18:10:15.324-07:00Tell me about it, kidTonight Lucy and I were reading the Gnomes book (much friendlier than the Faeries) and learning about Gnome marriage customs. First they get married under the trees, sometimes a bunny comes to watch, and then they have a party back at the house.<br /><br />"Not everybody can go to that!" Lucy says indignantly. "Some people have children! They need to go home and take care of them."<br /><br />Ain't that the truth, kiddo.<br /><br />PS -- Last night, it was pink Dora toothpaste, spread across the bathroom by the twins of mischief. Tonight? Sour cream!! Argh.Mary Ellenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10687523141686528935noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2104548946999349184.post-10361373697331488042009-04-01T07:56:00.001-07:002009-04-01T18:04:59.483-07:00Odds and ends (again)Really I admire those of you who still read this blog... I know it stinks! I have excuses aplenty, trust me. But eh, those aren't any more interesting than my recipe for stout-braised short ribs.<br /><br />What? You want to <a href="http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/Stout-Braised-Short-Ribs-231653">see it</a>?? Trust me, it was a big hit at a wee dinner party we threw in March for a friend moving awaaaaay (and the gay neighbor who never invites us to his pool parties, but taunts us with airborne shouts of water glee. Now I've fed him Italian cookies and short ribs, and expect an invite pronto.) My advice: Serve with colcannon and Guinness, and do it before summer arrives.<br /><br />Another hit, another night: <a href="http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/Carrot-Raisin-Cake-with-Irish-Cream-Frosting-10323">Carrot cake with Bailey's icing</a>. <br /><br />Enough of that, you say. What's new with the kiddos?<br /><br />Josephine is so skinny that she's taken to wearing her stretchy headbands around her waist as belts. I am unconcerned. She also ends every sentence with the word ME, as in, "Mommy, puzzle me!" Margaret is returning to the cardiologist on Friday. No worries!! Earlier tonight, she and Josephine spread pink Dora toothpaste across the bathroom door... I'm not sure whose idea it was, but Margaret was very upset when David yelled at her. Josephine was unruffled. <br /><br />Speaking of David, his recurring Mafia nightmare has returned -- the one where he's driving around with Christopher Moltisanti, explaining how he really really would like get out of the business, no offense, okay? and Christopher says, "You can <span style="font-style:italic;">never</span> get out." (Fairly certain this must be related to some kind of work anxiety -- and not our marriage. Mwahahaha!)<br /><br />And speaking of work, I was reading the Faeries book to Lucy last night. Some of it I've quite familiar with, of course -- like the never eat at a Fairy party, no matter how good it looks!!, or you'll be trapped forever and ever and ever in the Fairy Kingdom. (Lucy says: "You should just say, 'No, thank you.' And then you can go home and eat later.") But I wasn't familiar with the Fairy rings, where they do their crazy dances. Very dangerous! If you accidentally fall in, you'll start dancing and dancing and dancing, and you might think you're dancing for just a few minutes, but actually years of your life are passing by!!!<br /><br />What I'm saying is, this better not be me.<br /><br />Lucy is putting a sock under her bed to keep away the naughty fairies.<br /><br />Hmm. So what else? <br /><br />Oh my God!! I got U2 tickets!! Thanks to my friend Kathryn, who, it must be said, is actually a bigger fan than me and belongs to some Secret Wives of Bono Club where you get access to pre-sale tickets.. I've got two to the show in September. Aiee!!! I wonder if I can find an old Joshua Tree tour t-shirt and wear it... You know, to make sure everybody knows how old I am. Aieee! Bono!!<br /><br />(I did one of those Facebook quizzes a while back -- which U2 member are you? And I got Larry Mullins, Jr. Ugh. Proof that these quizzes actually can't see into your soul, where I can assure you, I am totally the Edge, thankyouverymuch. Although that Larry Mullins is a cutie, isn't he??)<br /><br />Other updates:<br />Preschool: Two in, one still waiting.<br />Cell phone: Recently replaced.<br />Rats: Don't ask.<br />Running: So-so.<br />Reading: Excellent! Must tell more later.Mary Ellenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10687523141686528935noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2104548946999349184.post-38109448599277217522009-03-25T12:30:00.000-07:002009-03-25T12:34:53.553-07:00More on dinnerDid I give you the idea that dinner here is an uncivilized affair?<br /><br />Not so!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6ldoMOqYOEMkQ_6QLXHRXHlqE5CiTDMSsp4dJN7aJ_Rv4dECei1p8xYK4J6qp9voHo5xE50291v_5F-Sz6aJO6aq8L4MZlUTGfZJy6txFGReomvw8Ri2J4cosDaQ6NnwiihKsSkJo-vI/s1600-h/IMG_2955.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6ldoMOqYOEMkQ_6QLXHRXHlqE5CiTDMSsp4dJN7aJ_Rv4dECei1p8xYK4J6qp9voHo5xE50291v_5F-Sz6aJO6aq8L4MZlUTGfZJy6txFGReomvw8Ri2J4cosDaQ6NnwiihKsSkJo-vI/s320/IMG_2955.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317210491086708594" /></a><br /><br />Yes, those are Brussels sprouts on her Easter bunny melamine tray. And no, she did not eat them. Note the strawberry milk, close to hand always.Mary Ellenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10687523141686528935noreply@blogger.com1