All-(W)righty Ready Roo: Where'd that month go?

Well after the utterly pedestrian obsessions over dishwashing strategies (still a work in progress, but progressing), I promised I'd update the world on the life of Chai (and Wright) in more detail. 

But then life happened! And Andrew's been off (and thus off Chaya-tending duties) a bit more during the times I ordinarily put this pitter-patter palaver to page.

And thus...

Too much has happened to (1) have allowed time to cover it, (2) sum up here.

So a rabid rapid-fire tour of the Wright's last couple of months

Easter

Many moons and several suns ago, there was Easter. We had a party at Claudia's house. Chaya's participation in the egg hunt was limited to ignoring eggs and gallivanting around the play

set.

It was fun. 

We also had dinner with my Dad.

Lunch at the COA

The COA Mexican Eatery is a Mexican restaurant owned by the Skagit Valley Food Co-op. It is well renowned and for good reason. The food is sceumdiddlyumptious by all reports. Andrew and I hadn't been. Jen and her family hadn't been. Claudia had and endorsed it heartily. And thus we decided we'd all like to meet there for lunch. Well, originally dinner, but the COA wasn't open at a time that worked for us for dinner. It gets complicated with the moving pieces of three families and a restaurant. Claudia was fully engaged in her farewell-before-baby-chaos tour. Andrew and I have had quite the booked May. Chaya and Alex and Sebastian all have varying nap and sleep schedules....

 So finally we found a time to schedule all of us for brunch. All ten of us. Needless to say (six parents, three babies and a six year old), we made reservations because you just don't know. The reservations were for Sunday at 11:00 and all was set.

Except the COA isn't open then. It's not listed anywhere at being open on Sunday period.

Except, Andrew was off on some morning ride that ran long.

Except Jen and Joe's car started smoking on their approach to Mount Vernon.

The survivors met up in the parking lot while half the group went to the auto parts store and Andrew busted butt bustling there from Burlington. He met us there and changed into clothes I'd brought him. Eventually the restaurant opened without much ado. A reservation was obviously unnecessary, as we were the only patrons for the entire ninety minutes we were there, except for one takeout order.

But the food was good. And everyone made it home alive and relatively well fed. I endorse the COA, but don't bother making reservations. And it really is open on Sundays. Really. Just maybe not when you've arranged to be there. And maybe not at night either. 

Mother's Day weekend.

Nothing big for me personally other than an express haircut at JC Penny. I know how to splurge for myself, I know. Nearly double my usual hair-cutting budget there. 

Now that my hair is shorter and Chaya's longer, we almost are at the point of having matching mother-daughter 'dos. I'd say she resembles me more and more every day. Especially in my slippers. 

But it was a big weekend. Chaya's Gramma Lisa came to visit us first and then invited us to join her at the culinary adventure known as The Willow's Inn.

Forager chic James Beard Award (and/or James Bond, I never quite remember) winning prixe fixe plus a toddler in a bright pink t-shirt blowing her nose on a buckwheat crepe and spooning scoops of creme freche onto the floor with a dayglo yellow toddler spoon. 

We spent the rest of the morning on the beach with Lisa's friends' dog (and various adults of varying significance relative to the dog) before heading back on the afternoon ferry.

Chaya was so excited by the day she declined to drink or nurse much all morning. And then she took a piddling half hour car nap on the way home.

I knew after such a big day (plus a poor nap and a cold to start) Chaya was due to crash hard. I didn't realize that it would be quite so literal when she did. After being a bit of a momma's girl during the afternoon, Chaya had finally located her daddy. He was changing out laundry and decided a fun way to keep her safe would be to put her in the laundry basket. An old tradition. She loves the laundry. This time, it was on top of the dryer. Back in the day, one could do this while leaving her on a tall surface. As you may predict, that day is long gone.

Lauging laughing laughing... I saw her up on top of the dryer. I even hovered a bit and did that preemptive jumpy thing when it looked like she was near the edge. Then I went back to the kitchen to handle a boiling pot. And... CRASH. First time it was actually just the recycling bin that Andrew tipped over. Second time, however, CRASH WAAAAAAAAAH.

Chaya was shaken: an oozing puddle of shriek in daddy's arms. She leapt to me, occasionally breaking from her howls to comment on the dinner I was still tending (of course this was the day I decided to use the stove instead of the far more independent instant pot, and of course it was just when things were boiling over - a condition Chaya described as warm in a quivering sotto voce). Shudder, shiver, howl, and "waaarm" with a whimper.

 I repeated how brave she had been, and what a clean fall she'd made. I cooed that that must have been very scary and what a big day she'd had. How amazing she'd been. I showed her pictures of the dog she'd met. This helped. We looked at pictures of her friend. She mellowed. She did not want to be released for anything though. And by dinner we were in such full meltdown that she could not eat, and demanded "stories" (beginning of her bedtime routine). She was crashed before I could put her down. And drank a small ocean of liquid the next two days.

She has subsequently fallen off several platforms and surfaces of various degrees. Without similar meltdown or bedtime crashes, so we suspect that exhaustion was the greater motivator in her reaction. Which I'll remember the next time we plan to do something fun and highly stimulating, because I'm lame like that. But I'll also let it happen and won't be surprised at the end.

Car death

In the meantime, Andrew's car has been in and out of various shops with a variety of dead end diagnostics.

Until Monday. Would have been its fourth time at the shop? Something like that. 

Tuesday we pulled the (spark) plug. Andrew spent the day shopping around various dealerships, and doing complicated spreadsheets to find the Subaru Impreza to rule them all. He thought he'd get one from a place in Burlington. They gave him a loaner, which he's been driving the last couple of days. Then they couldn't. But there was another one waiting in the wings in Shoreline. A better, stronger redder Subarooooooorooo. All is well? I think?

House Sale

We are pending! We accepted a conditional offer at the beginning of the month. The buyer just accepted an offer on his house. As I understand it, that means we may actually close on our house someday. But we're still waiting to do some agreed repairs on our condo and waiting on the buyer's home inspection etc. Some day, we may actually not be carrying two mortgages. And very soon, we'll be relocating a ton of furniture and the like that remained there for "staging." 

In the meantime, my dad sold his downtown mansion on what felt like a whim. He's got an apartment in Bellingham and is planning to buy a palace or something in Florida. Surreal to say goodbye to that much of my youth all at once.

Daddy's Birthday

Andrew tipped the scales past mid-thirties into the uncharted lands of 36 years last week. Chaya, hearing about his car troubles, wanted to make sure he had a sweet new ride.

Andrew celebrated by doing some kind of ride in Bellingham (because we're up there every weekend it seems since we moved, har har). Then he got up obscenely early on Sunday in order to volunteer at his team's big stage race in Enumclaw (far far away farmland). He didn't get back home until after bedtime. But I'm told her had fun.


Ski to Sea

That annual tradition is back upon us for the bajillionth time. Andrew's team of Embrace the Dadbod is possibly even competitive. In order to manage the "downhill" (read "slog up a mountain with your skis for a half hour and then ski down for a few minutes") portion of the relay, he'll have to get up at 3 a.m. or so tomorrow "morning." And we probably won't see him until dinner time. Today, we're going to go to the initial stirrings of a team potluck, but probably won't stay for the whole time because we want to be available for...

The looming birth Bonanza.

Claudia is"due" on the 30th. I've offered to watch Sebastian while she's in labor if he's born before her mom comes on the 28th. This has been a fairly likely outcome, but of course you can't predict labor. I've been on double-trouble alert for the last fortunight or so. Andrew was away part of last weekend, but he did stay home from any additional birthday trips just in case, which I appreciate to the moon and back.

It's going to be interesting. We've had Sebastian for many playdates, but for much shorter durations. I haven't ever had him long enough to juggle baby nap and sleep schedules, and sleep is incredibly variable compared with Chaya's routine. I suspect they just won't sleep much. Baby slumber party! And I'll get to play with being a mom of twins! Almost twins! I'm sure I'll learn a lot. Like I'm glad I am not the mom of twins? But, truly, I adore Sebastian and he and Chaya are BFFs. Chaya even speaks his language! He likes to repeat something like DAH DAH DAH as one of his main means of communicating. Chaya imitates him when he's here and when he isn't, she says "'Bastion! BAH BAH! NOISE!" 

At any rate, we have a pack and play for him and a bag of essentials. Chaya is enjoying the pack and play. 

Life, Actually

In the meantime, Miss Thang continues to grow and evolve and become ever more Chayaesque. I continue to chase after as best I can. 

We've got our routines. She knows them down pat and narrates the next step for them as we go along. Before meals we put on a get-ready song. She knows this is time ot run amok and pick out a friend from her Fisher Price farm animals "trackter" set to join us at the table.

After meals, is "wash" and then "brush teeth" and then the optional "bathroom" to brush some more and flush her baby toilet, and then - if it's nap or bed time - "stories!" Sometimes she sings along with Daddy when he sings to her. Other times she leaps out of his arms yelling "MAMA!" when I come in to nurse her before bed. She doesn't fall asleep after I put her down as often these days. But she does have a fun little roll and chant around in her crib while the parents have some pre-bed downtime. She seems to like it. Fingers crossed!

She knows we need shoes and a coat (optional now) to go to the garage, get in the carseat, and go to the store. Or to walk. 

She knows a bajillion words and more every day. She is now pairing them obsessively. 

She knows she is Miss Thang. 

And that about wraps up our magical month of May...

This could be quite the weekend, but we are turning several pages forward regardless. And with the kind of indiscriminate excitement that Miss Bae gets with any several books (all of which have names now for her, which is also convenient).

Enjoy or avoid the summer heat as it alights, y'all! And catch ya in the June Jungle. 

Wrinkly Red Banana Baby, Sacrificial Choco-bunny, and the Pesach Party:

Halfway through the gestational gallivant(!!), Baby Fonzarelli McButternut Banana sprouted cheese and started eavesdropping on her madly moving parents. House deals closed with a clatter of tinkling jade and moving boxes. Mombossas convalesced with aching gums, while the DINKS-to-soon-not-be said goodbye to two blissful years of newlywededness and ascended to old-married right before the baby baccharole. 

In Week 21, the ovens rumble and the heat get high. Moving madness mixes with holidaze happies, as family traditions are swapped and banquests burble. Red-wrinkly skinned banana babies get their first taste of bitter herb and charoset with a heart L'chaim! Bunnies are laid in their peepy supulchres for rebirth to once more yield hearty meals and sadly stunted appetites. Amid the joy and jubilation, little troubles stir. But are they gas, baby kicks, or a bad case of the G(ee)-I(-hate-this-rampager) virus?

New Home Hippety Hop Hurrahs And the inevitably post-move lurgies

We have spent over 24 hours living in our very own (W)right Family Castle/Condo! Two nights! Two breakfasts! One full day and a couple of evenings on either side. I christened the place thoroughly yesterday with a new dish strainer, some shower curtains and a whole lot of vegetables. The new place is now comfortably padded with Adella-aura!

I was pretty excited to be able to stop by Trader Joe's on the way home. Between our new location and the decline of the Canadian dollar, that's actually not a bad option anymore. I got slightly cheaper eggs and kefir (recently tried it for the first time and find it oddly addicting after the initial "what the heck is this?"), and can see buying some of their frozen foods over other brands. It won't be my only go-to store, but finally being able to shop at a Bellingham TJ's was an untold and surprising treat. As was coming home and chop chop chopping all my beautiful fresh produce! 

We are not, of course, fully situated. We've unpacked almost entirely, but there remains to be some serious figuring out of feng shui and fandangos when it comes to some of our rooms. Andrew still has the floor project in the bike dungeon and until that floor is handled, he can't move all the stuff intended for that area from the other basement room where things are staged. By staged I mean "haphazardly piled in a potpourri of furniture and untold objects." There may be an ancient Egyptian tomb down there, we're not positive yet. 

We haven't quite decided on the orientation of the couch in our ground level non-dining-non-kitchen space of the mostly open floor plan. We have a sofa, but it's not how it will ultimately be oriented. And our upstairs library/media room currently has a couch diagonally strewn across its middle with a coffee table and a laptop serving as our multimedia center. Since we don't have internet (story to ensue), we've taken a break from the Angel/Buffy spree and have been watching the commentary on my Firefly DVDs. It's in theme. And very entertaining. 

So, internet... we might. Just might (but probably not) break free of the Comcast tyranny. Fingers crossed. We tried to work with them. For several hours. They were going to charge us fifty dollars to "move" our service. Which is stupid. And they were purportedly - after much conversation - going to keep us on the same plan. But apparently they changed their borg-like-corpo-mind between Andrew's first conversation with them and the confirmation email that we received about the "install" appointment. I guess our "promotional period" was up (uh huh), so they decided to upgrade us for an "internet enhancement" charge or something asinine. 

When Andrew called a second time, they verified that we could change our plan back to a less expensive lower speed one, BUT we had to have the "install"  happen first. Meaning we'd be all set up and committed and out fifty bucks and then we would probably (this being Comcast) be informed that we couldn't actually switch and we were now signed up for the hyperspeed XFINITY PLUSAROOupgrade for $400 a month! Bundled. With phones we have to use every day or we'll be fined. Something like that. 

So we cancelled. 

We might have to open a new account with them*. Apparently this would be the only way to sign up for the cheaper/slower service initially. But we might also have a lead on a service the maybe just maybe would be our NOT-COMCAST shining light. It's equivalent to the slightly slower package from Comcast, with cheaper installation, and not Comcast. 

I told Andrew I'm pretty well ready to give up netflix and streaming radio and whatever else needs actually functioning internet to never deal with those jerks again. I really am happy with a radio, my phone, and my dvds.

Fingers crossed!

*Update from the future: Comcast came crawling back and just like the stereotype goes, we took 'em. Somehow, we now had a $6 install fee and a grossly cheaper "lower speed" package that seems to work just as well as what we had previously except we don't need to keep a comcast tv box in our living room as some kind of token symbol of the amazing DEAL we never wanted but had to take to keep our internet previously. 

In other customer service nightmare sagas, we had a few rematches with the Sears/Sole/Nordictrack/Icon-Fitness hora o' horrors. After about two and a half hours, we established:

(1) the treadmill is not actually one of the ones contracted out to Icon, despite several misleading insistences that they were from all the other phone centers and Icon itself,

 (2) Nordictrack is useless, 

(3) Sole cannot absolutely cannot fix a Sole F-80 if there's a warranty, even if the customer wants to waive that warranty to just get somebody out to look at the damned thing,

 (4) but turns out that actually according to Sears, there is no warranty so they won't be fixing it and... 

(5) Sole will be out today. But they're already running late. 

I'm not 100% optimistic, but it does seem like this might be progress. I've already been looking for replacement treadmills. Just in case.*

* Update from the future - a guy showed up, waved a magic treadmill wand over the whole thing, determined that (1) the treadmill needed both a new motor and a new motor controller, (2) despite his complete skepticism the motor is under warranty, (3) the treadmill will purportedly be fixed on April 16th.  

Anyways, Hubba-hubba and I are both feeling the craziness of the move now. I've just been kind of tired and headachey. Andrew was so off last night that he didn't eat his dinner. This is unprecedented. He had stomach ick, tension headache, achey everything... droopy eyes... just not looking well. When I thought maybe he just didn't like the dinner very much (shockingly and accidentally I had oversalted it, for once), I suggested freezing it for future rehab and reheating some pizza. He turned that down too! This morning, he says he feels slightly better, but still hadn't barely touched his (usually gulped) first cup of coffee or his breakfast when I left. 

We'll see about date night tonight. 

It might be a white rice, eggs, and more Firefly kinda evening!

This weekend should be a little wild, with Andrew's mum and Tom2 (the soon to be "my mother-in-law's husband" relation to myself) flying out tomorrow evening. Saturday will be an experience for me: Andrew and Lisa are going to do the Seder dinner for us. I haven't done Seder since I was a little girl in one of my church enrichment classes. I'd love that to be a tradition for our daughter. And of course Easter is the next day and my father and I are putting together a lateish lunch for us, Andrew & his fam, and some family friends. The day after is actually our second (holy crap) wedding anniversary, but we're not going to celebrate until a bit later somehow. Unless collapsing on our weirdly placed diagonal couch counts as feting! 

I am excited, but I wish we could put the holidaze on hold for about two weeks of just staring at walls. Though really, we still have plenty left to do this weekend beyond the celebrating that we'd probably do instead. 

Nonetheless, the big haul has happened. We are on our way to family home settling and awesomeness! Nesting commences SOON!!

Banana-Beastie and the Red-Wrinkled Carrots

Well, I'm over the hump and into the bump and decidedly onto WEEK 21 (drinks are on me!!! Literally, I probably just spilled them on myself, because I am kind of that clumsy these days, and I've finally started sometimes hitting things with my wee little bump-tummy)!!

The produce similes ebb and flow, but this week we're down to two intended to describe something about 11 inches long: baaahnaaaaaaaanaaaaaaaaa!!!(presumably, a slightly larger one than last week), and carrot (which is less fun to say, but always fun to eat). 

As I enjoy both of these items of produce on a quotidian basis, I'm happy with either. As - hopefully - shall be my little Fonzarelli. Because apparently she now tastes what I taste. Well, sort of. My amniotic fluid... the stuff she lives, pees, and bathes in? Well, she also eats it and derives some nutrition from it. And now, poor soul, she's got taste buds. Yep, babies eat pee water! Apparently, my amniotic fluid shifts sapor depending on what I've been eating. I guess there's even a correlation between the taste of amniotic fluid and future food preferences for babies. My little one is going to leap from the womb demanding dark chocolate and peanut butter I think! But possibly also some carrots and a banana (mmm and kale and cabbage and onion and... man I had a tasty salad last night, although the banana was not a part of that salad). 

And all that eating will apparently contribute towards some good old fashioned fattening up. She's a bit of the creepy skinny side right now. Particularly creepy, because her skin is red, translucent and all wrinkled to provide space for the fat to fill out. Adorable, huh? 

Me? Same old, same old. Ruddy skin as well! Lower back, veins any day, stomach ripping as it stretches beyond craziness, edema, allergies etc. etc.  Yawn and yeegah!

I have been advised to keep my activity mild and to continue gaining weight with my little wee one. Oh and to elevate my feet whenever I sit. Preferably on the backs of bowing peons while another few fan me!

But life goes on. Rapidly. And madly. This is truly a month of changes. 

Not only am I bursting a new little alien in my brand new condo, but the office is CHANGING! Hugely! Since my mom-bossa is planning to retire in about a year, she gave the green light to seek out other work for our trusty paralegal/office worker. And boy did she! Leslie sailed through an interview process with a job that just sounds about perfect for her. After some haggling, she got the wage offer up to acceptable and will be leaving here two weeks from today. Surreal. 

Hard to imagine. I of course am mixed between excitement, sadness, panic, and some misplaced nesting instincts in which her office will soon become the new nursery and play room for my shriveled rubicund banana baby. Every office needs a trampoline and a swing, right?

I think I'll deal with all the emotional stuff the last week. Denial is a fun thing. But boy is it going to be different without the Number Two who has been at my mom's side since I was a gross and awkward teenager.

And our crazy weekend of family fun begins this evening. Well, I'll be asleep probably by the time the festivities begin. But Andrew will be picking up his mum and not-exactly-step-dad-to-be at the Seattle airport this evening. We are hoping and praying that Andrew's ailment clears up. He keeps claiming to feel better, but I dunno. He didn't eat dinner at all on Wednesday, didn't eat all of his lunch yesterday, ate his intentionally bland mound of couscous and eggs very slowly last night, and was still pecking at his oatmeal this morning before I finally had to leave. Usually he inhales food at a shocking rate. And, well, he just doesn't look quite recovered and has been sleeping very poorly. 

This would be a real bummer of a time to have a stomach bug. Two major holidays completely centered around communal eating. Back to back! 

Fingers crossed. 

As one might see, April is not going to settle down nearly as much as anticipated. But with a boogeying banana baby slurping up my leftovers, I guess I couldn't really anticipate such things. 

At least there will be fun and family and love all in between!

Happy Easter! 

Quite the busy weekend with the mother in law and future semi-step father in law coming out for a whirlwind holiday tour of the new location with bonus gift tons of holiday groceries, a Seder plate and a meal to feed the twelve tribes of Israel. 

these are just the leftovers

Not to mention preparations for my own family tradition of Easter lunch. I snuck off from one kitchen Bacchanalia to another yesterday. Both with more than their share of food processing favorites and the fresh pique of horseradish. So very much tasty food.

We celebrated Seder last night Gelfand style, which was less formal than the one I've been to before easily more fun. I rather prefer the eggplant and hardboiled egg substitute to actual chopped liver (an Ottolenghi recipe, I am told). I've had some time to reflect and I'm realizing that it's like a really tasty version of an egg salad sandwich - a combination of onion, hard boiled eggs and sauteed eggplant chunks. 

And we went with a roasted beet to a bloody lamb shank to still my quivering vegetarian heart.

The whole affair was quite a blast and hopefully the beginning of an ongoing tradition in some form or other. One with familial character and maybe a little less wine and strange meat. We took turns reading from a haggadah that came from the internets. It was entertaining for featuring modern little takes and twists (like a page devoted to twitter tweets about something or a Guinness Book of World Records entry on the largest Matza ever made). 

Today it's Easter time! The ritual bunny sacrifice had been prepared but there are also five other potential desserts from the sound of it.

In horrible timing-land, Andrew the garbage disposal had seemed to be so sick as to have no appetite all week. He rallied last night though and ate as much as maybe normal people eat, which is light for him, but something. Hoping that's an actual rally and not just holiday stubbornness and full denial.  

Easter Monkeys with the Bunnies? An Easter Monday Recovery Recapish

Whew! That was fun. And exhausting. Andrew's still sick, possibly a bit more so for all the revelries (not that he'd ever own to that, Mr. Stoic "I think I'm getting better" every day). I woke up coughing with a dripping nose and throat more thoroughly grated than all that horseradish root we used up this weekend. And I, for one, am simultaneously ready for a really nice normal week at work (one of our last, as Leslie's last day is next Friday) and ready to go Andrew's route and plead "sick day". 

Yeah, he's definitely staying home today. Thank goodness. He left some ambiguity last night, but it was pretty clear this morning. Really actually clear by the middle of another sleepless and suffering night. I left him some eggs and matza (talk about BRAT friendly food), and trudged off to work. The sleep will probably do him well. I could use a little extra myself. I rarely sleep until the alarm starts up, but I slept quite soundly into that lights and chirping bird this morning. 

But back to the fun part that got us here. My first family Seder on Saturday. I'm overwhelmed at the energy Lisa and Tom put into it and really enjoyed the communal aspect of reading the haggadah explanations and prayers in turns. I really would like to pass this tradition on to our kiddo just as I want to pass our family traditions down to her. So it may be the first of many. 

But tit-for-tat: the Gelfands share a family holiday tradition with me, I get to share one with them! Easter brunch!! WHOOOOOO! And yes, it's always an event for me and my father, even if just the two of us attend. 

This year, I was very pleased to introduce family friends George and Linda to Lisa and Tom. Lisa and Linda just seemed like they really ought to know each other. And they did get along swimmingly. So well that I think they almost forget to keep watch on the time for getting to the airport. 

My traditional role, of course, was hostess and that meant setting up the table, engineering the centerpiece dessert (we didn't eat the bunny effigy, but soon honors students at WWU definitely will set upon it and its peep attendants), and a lot of cooking. My dad and I are very similar in our kitchen approaches: concoct some novel idea for an element of a dish, build up some conceit around that element, totally eyeball it, improvise erratically several times during the process, and wind up with something we mostly actually really like. Express joy and surprise and a little shock. Eat. Repeat.

Our experiments this year were our oh-so-gentle-gentile nods to traditional Seder foods. Mostly horseradish, in the form of a sauce that ended up much more of a sandwich spread in my opinion, and charoset. The horseradish sauce was vegan, since Andrew and his mom are lactose intolerant and I like that kind of thing anyways. Cashews being the main basis for mixing with the horseradish. We were going to drizzle it over steamed broccoli, but we ended up more like clumping it. It was tasty though.

Our charoset (a symbolic paste of fruits and nuts symbolizing mortar used making bricks when the Israelites were enslaved in Egypt, and to be eaten in a sandwich with unleavened bread and "bitter herb") was apparently a Sephardic version. The night before we had a more genuine Ashkenazi with apples and walnuts and wine. This one was a bunch of dried fruits, pecans, and almonds with ginger, and apple sauce, and cinnamon. It was pretty good. I'd eat that on bread instead of PB&J!

 We did kind of go off script and pair it with sourdough bread from Avenue Bread. Pretty tasty, although it was a lighter sourdough. I'd have prefer really strong sourdough. 

My dad also did something BBQ related with lamb that everyone who eats meat thought was incredible. I could not speak to it, but it was gobbled up! And Linda brought a very tasty asparagus salad that hit the absolute spot for me. And because you can't have easter without plenty of egg dishes, I made a egg cup that consisted of eggs, cottage cheese, mozarella, chives, tarragon, and spinach. I could eat those pretty much any time. 

Dessert ended up being several options: (1) mixed berries (for me, since I don't like added sugars mostly); (2) lactose free vanilla ice cream for the lactose intolerant of our party; (3) regular vanilla, just in case somebody had a problem with delactated ice-cream; (4) a gluten free chocolate something just in case somebody was GF; (5) a gluten free coconut chocolate something just in case somebody was GF and liked coconut?; (6) a gluten heavy, sugary, lactosey yam cake with cream cheese dressing just to balance the rest out. 

The lactose free ice cream actually turned out to be better than the regular. And pretty much all the desserts were a hit. 

Although Andrew was still notably sick, he ate about as much as a normal person's "a lot." That is almost a diet for him, but I'm glad he got to taste everything anyways. Not so sure his body was thrilled with him afterwards, though. If this keeps up, the poor man is going to turn into a skeleton. At least he's not able to do his crazy workouts right now either. 

Anyways, that's what we ate. Because this is the internet. And that's part of the internet mandate right?? 

Lisa and Tom are back home (we hope, they left last evening) after a whirlwind visit. I'm sure they'll be back somewhat soon if Linda has her way!

And Andrew and I are convalescing in our separate ways. Hopefully his way includes getting non-Comcast internet set up, because I've started edging towards maxing out my abstemious cellular data plan this month!

Happy Easter Monday!

Hope your holidays were wonderful and you have some time to recover now!

The Green-Potato Eyeds of March Make the Sweetest Swee'Potatopeppercolaonions

In the Seventeenth week of gestational gallivanting and home-buying hullabaloo, Mombossa nova baby! Trusty Englett-boss dissolved into Grammy Pammy and whisked away to the far reaches of Mountain Lakes. Left bereft and all alone, Associate Adella ducked for cover and hoped the magical packing elves would visit her muddled mess of a moving miasma. Excel spreadsheets were cast into the ocean of investing possibilities to reveal equivocal conclusions. And havoc lingered at all sides as things went far too smoothly... so far... 

At the very cusp of the fifth month(!), the world turns green! Monkeys dance down the streets and families ford their way through rites of passages despite the perils implicit. Belly buttons begin to burst and bumps biggen while mommening panics throw our flame-faced femme into a tizzy. Swee' Potato Fonzarelli sips onion soda and continues kicking as the first pass at gender norms and nonsense loom. All in time for Grammy Pammy to meet on the battle field with Mombossa Englett. 

We Interrupt This Sockage With a Birthday Throwback

My big sis is 37 today. Don't believe the photos, she was an evil child hellbent on punishing me for my incursion into her placid family existence. She would lock me in attics; throw me in showers and empty everything under the bathroom sink over my head; scare me with stories about how our local stores were black markets for child slavery rings; and try to provoke me into any kind of behavior that would get me into trouble. So, typical older sibling. No doubt I became a significantly better (if more alert and sensitive) person for the trial-by-fire entry out of my tender years.

And she was also fun, wise, and sweet in her other moments, of course. By the time she was a teenager, I was less an impediment than a project. And the project was upgraded to tag-a-long, upgraded to honorary clique member from time to time. I could pass for much older than I actually was (not sure if this remains true, although in the soupy mire of "thirties" I'm pretty sure it's indistinguishable), so she'd often sneak me along to dances and let me stay out all night with her and her (mostly very well-behaved) friends. I had a lot of first-hand experience with high school craziness through her. And a lot of previews of normal college life and those various rites of passage. 

No doubt, my personality was molded more by her influence than anyone else's. It took a long to recognize just how much we have in common. So much of my personality evolved to work in complement to hers and many of my life choices were divergences from hers after studied observation. But we are both alike and not alike, as one might expect of siblings. And no matter how vigilantly my father insists that she and I look completely unrelated (similarly he and I apparently don't resemble each other at all, which I try not to take too personally, but he is totally wrong, we do), we definitely are related. 

Rachel travelled the traditional path and hit the rites of passage for adulthood far earlier than me. Four year college, bridge program to an advanced degree as a Nurse Practitioner, marriage to her first college boyfriend at 24ish, they bought their first home together, and had children a bit after that. They now have three boys scattered across the first decade of childhood. They're fairly well off, responsible, and their kids are involved in every childhood activity and fun enrichment program imaginable. Ryan coaches little league. Rachel volunteers at the school. She always immerses herself in a fabulous supportive network of moms in child-heavy neighborhoods of like financial stability and investment in family. 

I, of course, embraced every counter-culture movement for brief periods of time, started college early, stuttered through a bit of a liberal arts enclave, abandoned college (also early), worked blue collar jobs experienced an array of heartbreak from dramatic to self-destructive to just profoundly bittersweet, travelled on a few bucks a day to various continents, worked myself back to finishing college late, obsessed over dance for a few years, and finally resigned myself to that law school and stable relationship thing. I'm still not convinced I'm a grown up in any conceivable form. I'm not great with regular formal activities or commitments. I tend to shy away from groups, even when that leaves me prone to some isolation at times. And well you've seen my sock collection. 

I finished all that law school nonsense about 7 years older than my sis had, married 8 years older, will own my first house at 11 years older and have my first child at something like 5 or 6 (depending on which side of my birthday that labor hits). 

But as always, I've paid attention. When I visit the Falconer household, I see the craziness and am in awe at the maternal superpowers my erst-nemesis has now acquired. I learn and I hope that I can be as loving and patient and utterly fun (and willing to be disliked when it is necessary to love toughly) as she is. With her kids. And generally. Because, the more we visit, the more I realize that life experiences and timelines won't always define whether a certain person just clicks with you. And we really are so alike at the bottom of it all. In good ways. In ways that makes me hopeful about myself!

Anyways, she is always so feverishly running about making life better for her family and friends that I hope today she is able to stop and let down the assumptions that let her take her own efforts and actions for granted. I hope she has an unmitigated blast filled with expressions of the latent love that sometimes gets missed in quotidian flurries that characterize her triage-heavy day. 

Five Month Fonzarelli and the Bell(e) of the Pepper Ball

While my ornery omphalos contemplates breaking itself out of its innie mode (countdown to outie in 5-4-3-2... weeks probably), it's time to fete the onset of my very own fifth month of pregnancy! Has it been that long? Is there that much left to go? Holy crap, I'm gonna get huge soon, and huger later. Break out the crane and the body pillows!

This week - lucky number 18 - my wee little gender-neutral bundle o-myelin may be analogized as the following: 

* A bell pepper, color not specified. Given my general complexion and slight sweetness, I'm going to guess red. And oh my wouldn't that be just an adorable little Halloween costume, a red pepper? Just a red suit and a big huge green stem on the hat. Probably only good for babies that have no intention of lifting their necks away from their proper support. 

* A can of cola. Ok. That complements the yogurt from last week I guess. Cola - sweet, refreshing, and explosive when shaken. Also, should not be frozen. Good advice. What brand though? I'm thinking maybe Moxie, because I like to think my spawn will have a lot of that (a wish I'm likely to regret). But could be one of those local brews as well, I suppose. 

* A sweet potato. Hopefully a garnet yam. Those are my favorite! Nummy. Of course, this one is pretty variable, as the sweet potatoes I buy at the store come in such a vast variety of sizes that my image of the roughly 5.5-6.5 inch baby is mucked with variety ranging from 3 inches to about 12 inches. StillI like the idea. 

* A red onion. Why a red onion? Why not! Goes with the red pepper. No onion yogurt last week. No onion soda this week. Although when I was at St. John's, there was a local Diner (Chick 'n Ruth's) known for selling celery soda. Andrew and I went there to eat last year when I visited, but neither of us looked for the soda on that. A shame. 

* A fetus! Ok, I added that one. I'm kind of surprised that at this point they aren't using more animal analogies. We did have the guinea pig option last week, but now that the baby is kind of a creature verifiably, why not go with it? I'm sure by the third trimester, various lap dogs would be apropos and arguably less variable than produce. 

Anyways, the days of "it-baby" may be fading. There's an ultrasound scheduled for next week, and it's fairly likely that the gender will be determinable at this point. I've kind of enjoyed not knowing, but Andrew's a fed up with calling our precious Fonzie an "it" (he's probably also afraid that the longer "Fonz" sticks around, the more likely I'll insist on that name officially).

My thing is mostly that we put so many expectations on gender. I know the way I read a baby guide changes just by the gender pronoun they use. And I think it's pretty prescriptive. I like that open sense of possibility, and offering that to the little swee'potato. Right now, it could be anything and anyone. And of course yadda yadda yadda, gender identity and biological sex aren't really the same anyways... but mostly just I don't really need to choose between Pink Princesses and Red Racer Dinosaurs for the nursery. Kid's going to be unique and like its own things if I let it. And I think it's harder to let it once you start forming the expectations of what it will be. That's my theory anyways. 

But hey, it'll be fun to know too, so not horribly strong on the ignorance. 

In Adella-land, the mommening is manifesting in a cantaloupe uterus, a popping belly button, and faltering posture. Between the center of gravity shifts and all that relaxin, it's taking a lot of concentration to keep that tail-tuck ingrained in me from all those dance classes. It too shall fade into a sway-backed waddle!

My cardiovascular system will continue to get crazy, meaning more headaches, more flaming faces, and possibly even lower blood pressure! If that's even conceivable since I'm virtually dead normally anyways. I have been eating more sodium recently, even adding in some NUN electrolyte tabs to my ocean of daily liquids. Maybe that helps?

I'm told for the headaches, I should apply an ice pack to my forehead the second that I feel one coming on. Hey, I do that! When I'm home and not lazy. And I seem to get more benefit from an ice-pack to my neck, but same idea. At work, I mostly just have a few cans of sparkling water that I won't drink (for fear of heartburn) that come out on a regular cooling rotation. 

And then there's my skin! Oh boy is there! The mild eczema is enjoying the raging hormonal shifts to go full throttle AGGGGGH on me recently. Apparently supposed to exercise restraint with steroid creams like cortisol (and it wasn't that great anyways), so I'm using some baby eczema cream with colloidal oatmeal. 

And then there's the general dryness. Oh, and I'm a mom-to-be, so the ongoing paranoia and panic. This week's theme: parabins and phtalates and plastic goblins, oh my. Had the misfortune of running across some recent study about how these cost the European health system Bajillizillions of dollars a year in horrible adverse developmental effects. Being contrary, I spent several hours researching the study to prove it wrong or clarify its limits. But I have to admit there's a decent amount of evidence out there to at least question whether it's such a great idea letting these particular chemicals absorb into your skin and bloodstream on a regular basis. And even the FDA acknowledges there's a heckuvalota exposure right now between food, cosmetics, consumer goods, toys, packaging, furniture, air, medical anything, and most personal care products. 

 So, sure, bajillions of babies are born every year from mothers who marinate in the stuff, heat their meals in plastic, sleep on fire retardants, and have vinyl everything. But you know... mommening and all... Why wouldn't I strive to make my life worse and more anxious now?

My skin is so dry I require a creaming at least twice a day. Probably more. I actually am sensitive enough to fragrance that I gravitate towards simpler creams anyways, but you know... I was between creams anyways and still trying to find my perfect cream, so I was relieved to find that the Palmer's Cocoa Butter Stretch Mark Massage Cream that bestie-Molly bought me way back in December was parabin and phthalate-free. No doubt, it still contains a million carcinogens because what doesn't, but really there's a line. I'm placated for now... 

For a few more minutes. Before the next thing to panic over emerges. Because, as I've noted before, life will kill you. And living past the age of 35-40 is the primary cause of all major killers of our population. Food for thought there. That's why I wanted to have this baby before 35 and all, of course!

Anyways, last day of mom-bossless office existence. It's going to be nuts when she gets back. The week is stacked with work and personal appointments. But I'm glad to have her back even if she brings the chaos. 

Grand-Sock-Marshal And Return of the Mom-boss

For those of us on the Pacific side of the world, happy almost-St. Patrick's Day. We hereabouts are Euro-mutts by heritage for the most part. Aside from a strong Dutch contingent up in Lynden, I think most people can count several points of origin, and at least enough to feel properly Irish for the Irish-American holiday (long tradition going back to times when the Irish were the ethnicity du contempt) that we have made of St. Patrick's Day. Sure, it involves plenty of green beer and whiskey and a dollop of carousing, but of course it also involves green-everything else, parades and a little whimsy. 

And to the Atlantic folks, Happy Mother's Day! I do believe I'll celebrate a little myself. 

Mom-boss has returned! Or at least her vehicle, the mighty +Pamela Englett  appears to have survived toddler and turbulence to arrive on our coast sometime late last evening! Phew! Realty realigns... gradually. 

It's strange when a constant presence in your life vanishes.It's sometimes equally strange when they are merely pulled out of your familiar context but still semi-present.

I joke that Mom-boss has turned into Gramma Pam, but there's some verity to that. We change facets of our identity, focus, and personality in the face of context. Those around us define and reinforce our experience. In the absence of the mill of work and home routines - and in the middle of an entirely new but familiar set of routines and relationships - the confirmed experience shifts. 

Or something. I know I feel like I'm in "kid-world" when I'm visiting. It's harder for me to connect or feel connected to those outside of that bubble, even when it's a subtle "away for the day during a visit" experience. I can even tell that it's harder for me and Andrew to find our common argot at the end of the day when my context is different than our familiar rote of inside references and mutually built habits. We may not experience the same day (largely not), but I am so versed in his life and he (mostly) in mine that there's this common language and vicarious experience about both. That can falter a bit when context is wrenched and habits upended even somewhat. 

All this in turn makes my day to day life here quite peculiar. I'm used to a constant stream of confirmation of quotidian experience that has just been yanked. I hear a song on King FM that moves me, and I can almost guarantee that if I remark on it, mom-boss will respond accordingly (we listen to the same station all day). The ongoing quirks and personalities of our colleagues and clients spark a certain reaction in me, just as legal questions, interesting news, or my interactions with our mutual acquaintances... and I know there's a complementary reaction (not always the same, but part of my natural rhythm) to counterpoint it. 

I am interested in the day to day fracas of the Falconer household, but it hardly consumes me the way it would somebody in the middle (unless I'm there and then I am obsessed of course). And with the fickle memory of children, they barely recall I exist beyond a convenient name for make believe, so it's a fair trade that I lack the obsession and attention of one present.

 And there's just an inevitable dearth of familiar reinforcing ritual when you talk to somebody who usually does, but didn't experience the fugal patterns of the personalities at the Collaborative Law Board meeting. Who won't get all the in-jokes in the minutes or find them oh-so-painfully truly funny because of witnessing the same key moments presented in parody. 

Of course we build new contexts and patterns rapidly, but shorter trips happen before such things occur. And they make us rather nostalgic for the ones that have been suspended. 

So break out the parade, there will be some mental deprogramming (brain washing? Naw, just decompression and scouring of the "going potty" vocab for at least a few more months), but we'll get there in a way that bends to my selfish needs!

E Tu Monday? The (Ey)des of March have Winked and Twinkled at Me 
Ok, when did March march straight into "half over"? When did our prospective closing date tiptoe straight into less than a fortnight from now? Oh my lord, we have to move? Boxes, STAT!! Pitchforks! Shovels! Kindling for the bonfire! Not kindle, kindling!! Give me my book back!!

Ahem, ok, well, we survived Pi day and the Ides and Transcontinental Mother's Day ok. Let's keep on jigging to St. Patty's day and finally panic day/Passover/Easter/my-god-we'd-better-be-moved-somewhere-before-the-MIL-visits-or-we-might-be-joining-her-at-her-hotel Day 

I celebrated transcontinental mother's day by seeing my mother, so that worked quite nicely! I did not eat pie or Pi this weekend. Nor did I stab Caesar or his great ghost. Ah well - next year maybe. 

I'm oddly excited to be back in the office and ready for a real Monday. And nervous. My treadmill stopped moving last week. I thought it just needed a relube, but then it stopped again after that. It's currently moving, but it's only been 15 minutes and last time, it took 18 to stop. It feels a little lurchy, but that could be my oversensitivity now that I suspect something's awry.  If that doesn't work, I may have to take the week off work. I don't do stationery desk work well!

But whatever else, we've got mom-boss back! I should be panicked, because I've seen our schedule and know the mad dash coming up. But so far I'm just excited to get things addressed and handled! And to sink back into my office day routine. As well as I might with a potentially busted treadmill. But I'll make do. Somehow. Maybe. 

Yesterday was a lovely indoor day for me and a wretched mud-fest for the husband. Hey, he wanted to go out racing at a course he didn't particularly care for several hours away and he didn't care that it was typhooning outside! But I guess there are some things a man has just gotta do. I guess. I'm glad he came home in one slightly demotivated and surly piece, and that a ridiculously large slab of oven baked cheesy sausage ravioli seemed to lift his spirits right-high enough for a nice coma. 

And with a wee tarantella of further ado, I take a leap into our third week of March. Toes first to test the waters... 

The luck o' the Tuesday! This mad breakfast rush was brought to you by... some serpents, Irish Americans, and a very long pair of socks

Happy St. Patrick's Day everyone! Naturally, I couldn't go straight green-green-green today. That would certain forsake my Irish Protestant heritage. Yes my mother would sometimes joke about wearing all orange for this particular holiday just in honor. But... well... I like green... so a lot of green. 



And I can't really manage to eek out a creative breakfast every morning, but sometimes a gal has too good of an excuse not to shake up the morning ritual with some flailing and experimentation and plenty of melted butter all over the stove (whoops, just meant to leave it atop the oven for a spell to soften it... more like liquidate apparently). 

Today's experiment was oven baked egg in avocado cups. Or some such title. Found the recipe off of a Wellness mama blog while searching some inspired terms like "egg Irish easy green." You never know what hits you're going to get. I will say that her recipe promising you can easily fold an egg into an avocado with just a little scooping first is fairly optimistic. Also her estimated bake time of "15-20 minutes at 350"... she must have a magic oven. I baked mine for 35 minutes before finishing it off in the microwave. But it did work! With those variations of "hastily mop the remaining egg overspill with a paper towel and let the rest just kind of bake into a nice white plastic layer on the baking pan" and "nuke it!!". It worked and was pretty tasty. 

Particularly with some cilantro pesto on top. Because I needed more green and I happen to have cilantro. And oh do I love cilantro pesto. Walnut oil, parmesan cheese, cilantro, lime (usually lemon, but in honor of green...), garlic and onion. Nummy. The rest of it made it to lunch of course. 

And yes, that's Irish soda bread. No, nothing green on it. I just didn't have time to make green butter. 

Dinner of course will also be green. Bamboo/jade rice - naturally infused with bamboo to have a naturally creepy green hue. Some cilantro, some mustard greens, and potatoes of course! Black eyed peas maybe don't really fit the theme, but they're tasty anyways. 

Needless to say the kitchen is a battered veridian miasma of various verdurous hues and smeared fixings. Needless to say, breakfast bell was more of a hastily shouted "breakfast is ready!" at several minutes past usual instead of the normal amble upstairs and grand proclamation to a half-dressed hubby. Needless to say, it was totally worth it. Because green food! And while I just cannot sustain the energy to be culinarily creative on a regular basis, I enjoy the occasionally sanctioned opportunity to channel my inner Manic Martha S. 

Today, my chore - aside from casting out snakes - is to survive a full workday without a functioning treadmill desk. I'm currently standing at it and pumping my legs in an alternating stairmaster sort of style. Keeps the blood from pooling with too much standing and we shan't even discuss what horrors of actually sitting this forstals. But it is now making the treadmill deck creak and cavil, so that might not be advised either. Oh how I hope we can find a magical voodoo doctor to help the poor misused thing! And sooner than later... this gal was not formed for sedentary anything. 

But with the luck o'green non-alcoholic gluten-free beer (Bellingham Irish!), peradventure the day shall surely turn super fantasticadaisical for me and all y'all out there in cyberworld.