comida of errors

I'm back from six days in Albuquerque, and am most proud of what I managed to eat in that time:


- 3 breakfast burritos
- 2 dinners of enchiladas (one homemade, one not)
- pepperoni & green chile pizza
- a pile of green chile brisket
- 1 green chile burger
- 1 frito pie smothered in green chile
- 2 sopapillas
- and one taco party!


We returned with 20 pounds of roasted green chile. Tonight, Ben made a pork and chile stew with it, which has left my mouth burning and the baby, who will be called "Rolo" or "Rolette" until we come up with a real name, doing backflips. This kid better love chile. I know she's going to love Rolos.

Things that comfort me

(or, things that make me feel like maybe the world isn’t going to hell in a handbasket)


- Thing #1: Driving at night past a municipal sports field and seeing a neighborhood softball league game or practice in progress beneath the unearthly glow of stadium lights


-Why: The sight of an otherwise unaffiliated group of grown-ups (so, not a school or pro team) gathered together voluntarily to play a game that will have no bearing on anyone else in the world, combined with the knowledge that the bright, artificial lights illuminating a well-manicured field are kept on at the will and shared commitment of the people (i.e., taxes), are, to me, what living in a society is all about. Even if some of us are lazy slobs on our way home to eat chocolate chips out of the bag as we write a blog, who would be mortified to have to play softball.


- Thing #2: That rare occasion when two cars are approaching each other at an intersection with no traffic signal and simultaneously, in perfect synchrony, both turn left at the same speed. It’s even better when a really cool song is on the radio like “Kyrie Eleison” by Mister Mister or the crescendo of a power ballad that swells just as you both sail off into the night, a smoothly executed maneuver like a Russian figure skating pair doing perfect side-by-side double axels. 


- Why: I don’t know why. It’s the antithesis of road rage, the “every man for himself” nature of a 4-way stop, or some jerk in a BMW (isn’t it always?) who weaves in and out on the freeway and refuses to let you into the right lane even though you just want to get over so he can pass you. It’s like: we don’t need traffic laws or the presence of cops with radar guns to drive safely! We’re civilized people who can negotiate the road using our own grace and common sense. Our turns complement each other as we both glide along down the road that we must travel (through the darkness of the ni-igh-igh-ight).


I realize that I sound like I’m on painkillers, and I’m not, so I’m going to stop now.

my new role model

www.scarymommy.com


Not really, but I did just discover this blog, and it seems pretty awesome! I know what I'll be doing for the next few days. (Reading past entries and hating myself for abandoning Super Fit Mama, then becoming too insecure to write my own blog.)

What I hate about the internet, part I

The internet can be a force for good. For example, today I set myself four goals: do the thirty-minute circuit from “Super Fit Mama” (my latest attempt to avoid becoming a complete sloth), have no more than 50 percent of my diet come from sucrose, decide which child seat(s) to order, and start the process of getting little Julia on a wait list for day care. This last goal was easily accomplished, thanks to the internet: I learned all about the university’s day care centers, how much they cost, and even that there are “lactation rooms” complete with hospital grade breast pumps scattered throughout campus! I guess I’ll be carrying a cooler around along with my laptop. Great.

And, amazingly, I was able to resist the siren song of my backlog of sewing projects and new Parent Trap DVD enough to do the entire circuit. I made sure to close the blinds first, lest the construction crew across the street think that my pelvic thrusts in their direction were some sort of invitation. (If you could see me, I make quite a sight doing this workout, especially since I refuse to buy maternity workout clothes, so there is now a ten-inch protrusion of bare skin between my waistband and sports top.)

But when it came time to make a decision about the carseats, I found myself caught in a vortex that spiraled down from mild indecision, to increasing confusion with dangerous hints of questioning my suitability for parenthood, to utter panic and despair accompanied by heart palpitations. 

That vortex is known as “online reviews” at Amazon.com, which then leads one to the even more terrifying and dangerous world of forums and message boards, from carseatblog.com to a site for Subaru Legacy owners that includes multiple conversations on which carseats work best with the Legacy. And I thought I was a dork. There’s a whole subculture of guys who think the Legacy (granted, the turbo version with a spoiler) is the hottest thing on four alloy tires.

[Skip this part if you are not interested in the details of my carseat dilemma--so, if you’re not a parent. Or if you are NOT suffering from severe insomnia, or are not a masochist. You know, there is absolutely no reason anyone should read this. I’m just writing it for myself.] You see, we get a free carseat from Ben’s employer (which we refer to as “Sabre” when we wish to keep its identity anonymous, as I shall do here since it’s inevitable that I’m going to want to slander it sooner or later), and can choose anything made by Britax, a fairly expensive brand. If we’re going to get a $350 carseat for free, I want to make the most of it, so I want to get a convertible seat that will last until the kid is 70 pounds--so, if she’s anything like me, until senior year. Then, we’ll still need an infant seat, and there's only one seat on the market compatible with the fancy-schmancy stroller that my sister is handing down to us. So you’d think would make this an easy decision: buy the cheap Graco seat for the stroller, and the best Britax seat to use for the years beyond. Easy!

Oh, ho, how foolish you would be to think that. An easy decision? For me? Me, who won’t go out for a scoop of gelato without poring over all the Yelp reviews of all nearby gelaterias? No, I must do my research, in my quest to make the perfect decision that I will never regret. There are 300 Amazon reviews alone for ONE model I am considering, many of them paragraphs long and written by engineers who go into the physics of why the Marathon 70’s headwings are superior to those of the Advocate’s, or whether the side-cushion technology of the latest Boulevard will protect your baby’s head in a crash or wrench it from its socket, even explaining why Consumer Reports can’t be trusted because of how they’ve revamped their testing procedures. Then there are the reviewers like “Braeden’s Mommie!!!” who get on to write a typo-ridden rant about how a piece of the headrest broke off for no reason, and it turned out to be made of styrofoam, or that the chest clip broke and nearly punctured poor Kaighleigh’s lung. Some babies fall asleep instantly in the seat, they love it so; others shriek in pain during every car trip, causing their parents to rue the day they ever chose this despicable seat. Whom do I trust? Even the Graco seat (which isn't really a choice--we have to get it if we don't want to buy a new stroller) has rave reviews and claims that its straps are impossible to adjust. Judging from these reviews, a trip of any distance with a baby needs to be engineered more carefully than a space shuttle launch. Yes, we are going to have our seat installed by the certified carseat technician at our Subaru dealership, but even then, how will we ever move the seat from one car to another? Will I have to personally drive my child everywhere she ever goes until she’s big enough for a booster seat?

Turns out there are a million little sub-decisions that must be made before you can make the big decision of which seat to buy: convertible or not? Will you use it with a stroller? Move it between cars? Take it on a plane? Use it front- or rear-facing? Will the harness be too high for your baby (whose size you can't predict)? Who will be sitting in the passenger seat, since they may not be able to recline? And then which fabric do you want? Dark, to cover stains, or light, so it doesn’t absorb heat and burn your baby in the summer? 

I decided to take a break from this madness and make an easier decision: which baby carrier (like, an Ergo or Baby Bjorn, etc.) to buy. Even THAT led me down the primrose path to review-scouring. There were reviews by women who bought ten different carriers (seriously) before they found one that would work for them. That’s like $1000! How will I ever deciiiiiiiiiiiide?! 

I took a deep breath, and---okay, I ate five squares of Swiss milk chocolate and a bowl of Cocoa Krispies, and went on to surf from Gawker to The Nation to reviews of books I’ve recently read to see if the critics agreed with me (another shameful pasttime of mine). Hours later, I did have a potential epiphany: Somehow, whether in an Ergo or a Pikkolo Catbird wrap or a Moby sling, I will be carrying my baby around in three months. I’ll use my bare arms if I have to! 

And somehow, we will transport this baby to visit her cousins and aunts and uncles and, eventually, her little friends (whose parents' profiles I will meticulously research online beforehand). No! That is not who I want to be! That was the whole point of this post: we have access to too much information. At some point, it stops being useful and becomes a hindrance--to authentic life, to being in the moment, all that mumbo-jumbo. (Namaste.) From a practical standpoint, this glut of opinion steals from us; it steals time, energy, and trust in our own instincts. It makes us see ourselves as nothing more than consumers, and it perpetuates the false belief that we can create our own happiness by choosing the right products. When the truth is, if our carseat turns out to be a pain in the ass, so what? We already live with many pains in our asses, but we're fortunate that they are only figurative, and not, you know, colorectal cancer. My world will not turn on whether I can get the baby into the car in three seconds versus three minutes.

I’ve always had a terrible time making decisions. I tend to think that if I just do enough research, think logically, and seek enough input from others, I can determine precisely the right choice, and thus control the outcome. But maybe there isn’t always a right choice, with baby carriers or the many more important decisions that we’ll have to make in the coming years (when I’ll look back and laugh at myself for giving it this much thought). Maybe Julia/Maeve/Gracie will be better off if I spend hours each day doing something besides learning what 398 people thought of her carseat. Like eating a danged vegetable once in a while.

baby's first manic sugar fit

Today was my glucose challenge test for gestational diabetes. I had to fast overnight and then drink a bottle of icky, dextrose-laden "fruit punch" before getting my blood drawn. When I got home, I flopped down to watch some Good Morning America, and the baby was kicking like she's never kicked before. She was going crazy in there, flipping around every which way, fluttering her feet, doing kick-ball-changes or the Charleston. I could actually see my belly rippling. I then fell asleep for 2 1/2 hours.


Wonder how much sugar was actually in that stuff?!


Anyway, in case I do end up diagnosed with the 'betes, I'm living it up now with some brownies and iced coffee. Probably not the best snack after having more sugar than anyone needs in a day, but what the hell. I'm dutifully avoiding soft cheeses, runny eggs, lunch meat, soft serve, alcohol, sleeping on my back, cleaning products, standing in front of the microwave, drinking from plastic cups, and teeth whitening toothpaste. A girl's gotta have some pleasure in life!

What a maroon!

Sorry for the current ugliness of the blog. I followed Blogger's suggestion to switch to the new template, believing its promise that I could easily switch back to my old design, and now I can't figure out how to! Nor can I figure out how to get rid of the dumb highlighting behind the text of my last entry. Maybe I should type out my blog on my Royal typewriter and make mimeographed copies to send to interested friends using the Pony Express. Geez.

Look what I found!

After years of searching the children's section of countless used bookstores, I've finally gotten a copy of one of my most beloved childhood books! Powell's has a feature where you can sign up to be notified if a used (even out-of-print, like this one is) book ever becomes available. As I've written about before, the image of a sand-colored round cookie has haunted me for the past twenty or so years, and with the help of some faithful readers, I was able to remember the title. With shipping, it cost about $10--so, about a 1000 percent inflation from its original price--but once I opened up the pages, the feelings of nostalgia evoked were well worth it.

Isn't it just. Seeing this round, crumbly-looking cookie goes a long way toward explaining my lifelong obsession with cookies. Sometimes I lie in bed and dream about these butter cookies that my grandma would give us. They came in blue tins decorated with little Dutch girls, which I used to make tin can stilts (the cans, not the girls) inspired by Ramona Quimby. But they were shell-shaped, and too buttery to match up to how I imagined the cookie in the book would taste. I'm also on an eternal quest to find these tiny Japanese cookies that I think were called "hitokuchi", which were the size and shape of Japanese coins, with holes in the middle, and tasted like coconut.

Gah, this image kills me! I can feel the lazy afternoon, the boredom mixed with mild contentment of lying curled in a laundry basket (we didn't have any metal tubes like this in our neighborhood, sadly, and if we did, they would've been rusted and scrawled with "Honeygirl wuz hea") while Neil Diamond's "Song Sung Blue" plays on the record player, eating some sweet or other and contemplating whether to play with my Little People or make a miniature golf course out of toilet paper tubes.


And finally, here's one for my friend and soul sister in book lust (you know who you are):

Off I go to craft a papoose board and bunting so I can recreate this image in a few months! Just kidding.