Longing for Pacifiers in Haiku Form

1.

Pacifier's gone

Zeca will not sleep alone

I am now displaced

2.

Why did we do this?

We threw away salvation

Will we sleep again?

3.

She comes to our room

and cuddles like an old cat

She sleeps on my head

4.

Cuteness saves her else

the nuks would have company

sitting by the curb

5.

She pats my bowed head

And asks if I need a nap

Will she allow? No

Tough Love

The signs had been there for quite some time. She was increasingly agitated when she couldn’t get her fix. She needed to score to take the edge off of difficult emotions. She denied she had a problem and, when using, she would smile the smile of the drugged. It was becoming a problem and, finally, we had to admit it to ourselves before we could help her. That’s always the way it goes for families…they deny and they bargain but, eventually, they have to face the facts. We did this last week and decided that Friday we would stage an intervention. On Friday, we took away Zeca’s pacifiers.

She is not yet 2 so we decided not to tell her and hoped she wouldn’t notice. Why would she notice the absence of that which has comforted her every night for the past 630 or so nights that make up the entirety of her existence? We read her books and sang her songs and then put her into her bed. It was all going well and then, she held up her tiny index finger and said, “Just a minute…I am looking for my pacifier”. We looked at each other, the ceiling, and the floor before we cleared our throats and said, “The pacifiers are gone”. She ignored us and continued her frantic search for her pacifier. We watched helplessly as she became increasingly upset and muttered to herself, “I can’t see it…I can’t see it…I can’t see my pacifier”. It was time for tough love. We repeated with a conviction we didn’t feel, “Honey, the pacifiers are gone. They went bye bye.” She began to sob, not the sob of despair. No, our little girl sobbed the sob of anger, the sob of injustice, the sob that says “You better give me back my pacifiers before I smother you both in your sleep with my Whoozit!” Young children can be so unreasonable. There we were…acting in her best interests, being all calm and loving, and she would have traded both of us for one more hit of the baby crack. I could imagine her skulking outside of day care centers offering our jewelry to children with Avent plugs. We had no choice. Luisa tucked her into her bed and we went downstairs to call Pacifiers Anonymous. She cried for an hour and each time we went to comfort her, she begged for the pacifier. As we contemplated a long, sleepless night, we considered giving it back. We hadn’t thrown them away because I still remember my father describing the night he and my mother took away my pacifier when I was cough 5. My father spent the wee hours of that night shopping for pacifiers at convenience stores. So, we had them but, somehow, we stayed strong. It was probably the liquor. Anyway, she finally fell asleep and we smiled at each other and said naïve things like, “Oh, the worst is over” and “That wasn’t so bad” and “This really is for the best”. We went to bed feeling that we had won Round 1. We had no way of knowing that Round 2 would begin at 5 a.m. on Saturday morning with the cheerful words, “I can’t find my pacifier. Where’d it go?” She did not go back to sleep that morning. This morning was no better - she woke us at 12:45 a.m., 2:30 a.m., 3:30 a.m. and 5:15 a.m. And what did she say every single time? That’s right. She said, “Pacifiers all gone. Pacifiers went bye bye. I can’t see it. Where’d my pacifier go?” I’m sure it’s for the best that, flush from our success on Friday night, we threw all of the pacifiers in the trash yesterday and took the trash out. It’s for the best. Really, it’s for the best. Really.

Crunchy Comets

I am going to leave Blogger very soon. I've been working on a new blog and hope to have it up and running by February 1, 2007 - my blogging anniversary. Unfortunately, that means I haven't spent much time thinking about posts. This post is no different and will offer nothing to think about whatsoever.

A couple of weeks ago, Miguel got a book about the solar system (his current passion). There is a recipe in the book for Crunchy Comets and he begged us to make them. He has been waiting patiently and tonight, at long last, is Crunchy Comet night at our house. Try them out yourself!

1. Crush sugar cookies (we'll be using graham crackers)
2. Add one handful of multi-colored sprinkles
3. Add two handfuls of chocolate sprinkles
4. Using an ice scream scoop, make a round ball of chocolate ice cream
5. Roll the ice cream ball in the "comet dust" you have made
6. If the ice cream has softened significantly, put it in the freezer for awhile
7. Place the ball on a sugar cone (or other pointed cone)
8. Enjoy your Crunchy Comet!

Cats and Dogs

There is a small group of girls in Miguel's class that do almost everything together. Miguel refers to them as "The Girls". Last night, he told us that his favorite part of the day was playing with The Girls and his friend, Jack, during recess.

Me: What did you play?
Miguel: We played house.
Me: Oh, what role did you play?
Miguel: I was the dog.
Me: Really? The dog?
Miguel: Yes, I'm always the dog.
Me: What role did Jack play?
Miguel: He was the cat.
Me: So you were the dog and Jack was the cat? What were The Girls?
Miguel: Well, they were the people of course.

Girl Power, indeed.

Look Alikes

On Saturday, Luisa and I took the kids to Noodles and Company for dinner. Miguel chose a table towards the back and, shortly after we sat down, two children and their mother sat at the table nearest us. At one point, I heard the boy ask his mother, "Why does the mom and the dad look alike?" She said something to him but she must have been unconvincing because he persisted loudly, "Those kids' mom and dad look the same! Why do they look alike!" Miguel looked up from his pesto and answered clearly and loudly, "That's because the kids don't have a mom and a dad. They have two moms." His tone implied lots of eye-rolling and maybe, just maybe, the word "stupid".

AARP

Throughout my youth, I had bad hair. Straight, flat, flyaway hair? Yes, I had that. Permed mullet with a tsunami of bangs? Yes, I had that too. It wasn't until I turned 20 and the lesbians took me for a haircut that things began to improve.

Look at my hair - not bad, eh?

At least once a week, a stranger will come up and tell me that they just love my hair. They wish they could wear their hair just like mine. These compliments used to make me walk a little differently, maybe swagger just the tiniest bit. I stood a little straighter, head slyly cocked to one side with a look on my face that said, "I know. You just love my hair. Who wouldn't?!" Then one day I realized with horror that the only people that ever compliment my hair are elderly women. Apparently, I've got great hair for a 70 year old. Old ladies are going to start begging me to go with them to their weekly appointment with their hair dressers so that they can have their hair done just - like - mine.

Yesterday, I bought some ice skates for an ice skating birthday party on Sunday. They are described as a recreational skate, a cross between a hockey skate and a figure skate.

I bought the gray and burgundy ones. The only color they had.

Yes, I bought the orthopedic shoe of skates. When I am out on Powderhorn Lake this weekend, old women are going to hobble over to me and demand to know where I got my beautiful skates. I'll tell them: "You can get them at any major retailer but make sure to tell the salesperson that Vikki sent you so that you'll get the Senior Citizen Discount".

How To

Since I began working at Hennepin County, the county's web site has been my home page. No one told me that it had to be - I just set it up that way and left it. For 8 years. Last week, I made the radical change to a customized Google home page. I don't know how I lived without the "How to of the day" feature. It provides the best advice:

How to make a Starship Enterprise out of a floppy disk

How to safely swim with piranhas

Without these instructions, I would have never known that I should not make a Starship Enterprise out of a floppy disk (which involves sacrificing your own flesh) and then immediately swim with piranhas because those weird little fish are, in fact, a little bloodthirsty in the lean season.

Limericks

I've written a haiku or two on this blog in the past but I have never indulged in my secret passion for limericks. Looky, Daddy! is having a parenting limerick contest which has sparked my creativity. I thought I would share my work here before getting back to the work for which I am paid by Hennepin County.

Breakfast of Champions

Before my babies were born
Sweets I often did scorn
Now I’m so tired
I need to be wired
So chocolate it is in the morn’

To Dream

I used to sleep through the night
Alone in my room without light
And then came the spawn
And all that is gone
Still, I’m happy. I am. Right?

Mama Needs a New Pair of Shoes*

*inspired by the post of the same name

I used to have time to peruse
Fashions that gave me no blues
Then children were born
And now I am torn
‘Cause I’ve got no money for shoes

That Damn Montessori School

To the two moms of Miguel
We love your kid – he is swell
But tonight he’ll need scrubbed
From the polish he’s rubbed
On his hair and where else we can’t tell

Ouch!

I buckled my son in his seat
He poked me - it was no treat
The Portuguese flag
Up my nose made me gag
My lobotomy’s nearly complete!

Revelations

I've been back in Minneapolis for almost a week now. While in KC, I had a lot of time for introspection and deep thought and I used my time and intellect to answer the age-old question: what is the purpose of the paper in the Altoids tin? Foolishly, I always thought that the paper was used to keep the mints from touching the bare metal and to keep the mint dust contained. As I sat at my mother's bedside, I removed the paper from my Altoid tin (the paper had become unruly) and then placed the tin in my backpack. As I wandered around the ICU, it made the most horrible racket. People on respirators actually sat up with puzzled looks on their faces. My sister asked, "What is that noise?!" It was the paperless Altoid tin. The paper keeps the mints from rattling around in the tin...in case you ever need to wake the dead, you'll know.

Why I Should Wear Ear Plugs at Work

Talkative Female Co-Worker to Male Passer-By: I have a new belly button!

Male Passer-By (his facial expression reading, "Who me?"): Really?

Talkative Female Co-Worker: Yeah, it's kind of discolored but it's a belly button!

New Year's Day

I managed to have a good New Year's Eve day despite the circumstances. I went to a movie for the first time in ages. We visited with mom for awhile but then she asked us to leave. She set us free which meant we could leave without guilt. My sister, my nephew and I went out for dinner and had a fabulous time talking. Later, my sister and I watched a movie at home. My sister left and I fully intended to go to bed and sleep right through the New Year. The problem was that I couldn't go to sleep.

I watched a sappy movie and did laundry. I talked to Luisa on the phone a few times and wished so much that I was with her, the children, our close friends. They were all together and I was here, folding bras alone. Not that I usually need company to fold bras but, you know, company for bra folding on New Year's wouldn't be so bad. I believe this is the first time in my entire life that I have been completely alone when the clock struck twelve. I lived to tell the tale.

The New Year begins today. If 2007 sucks, I'm gonna be spittin' mad.

Here We Go Again

It seems like only yesterday that I was sitting in my mother's basement writing about the death of my step-father and, now, I am sitting in that same basement writing about my mother. We were in Pittsburgh for Christmas, celebrating with Luisa's family. At 1 a.m. on 12/27/06, my cell phone rang and I learned that my mother had been taken by ambulance to the hospital. She had congestive heart failure. They put her on a vent and I flew here yesterday to make decisions for her. She has improved some but there are so many unanswered questions and complicated emotions.

Tonight, I miss Minneapolis. I miss the comfort of home. I miss my partner and my children. And, more than anything, I am tired. My sister is tired. My mother is tired. I had so hoped for better times in the coming year but, now, I find myself only yearning for peace for my family.

Mama Needs a New Pair of Shoes

I am at work but have nothing to do. I am just biding my time until I can leave. I should be planning for our departure tomorrow but that seems a bit too overwhelming. So, instead, I am shoe shopping online. I find myself yearning for a simpler time, a time when I could buy whatever shoes I wanted without worrying about the cost or the practicality. In that simpler time, I would run out right now and buy these:

Alas, I think that I will have to settle for something else. I need to replace the black shoes that have holes in the bottoms, the black shoes that allowed the snowy slush in and froze my feet yesterday. I can't justify buying the beautiful boots and a pair of black shoes. That would just be craziness!

We are off to Pittsburgh tomorrow night and won't return until next Thursday night. I doubt I'll be blogging until we get back, so, Happy Holidays to all and don't drink too much eggnog!

Citizens of the Village - Beware

We are heading to Pittsburgh to spend Christmas with our in-laws. My in-laws love Christmas and enthusiastically decorate inside and out. The outside of the house is covered in lights and the yard is filled with glowing carolers, angels and candles. They cut their own enormous tree and are terribly disappointed if it doesn't touch the peak of the vaulted ceiling in their living room. Every table and shelf is adorned with a Christmas decoration of some sort. There are candles and about a thousand tiny street scenes like the one below:

As I write this, those innocent villagers are happily strolling past lovely shops and ice skating with joyous smiles, unaware of that which awaits them. Run happy villagers! Run back to your snow capped Victorian mansions! Run for your lives because you are about to incur the wrath of a 21 month old. That's right...she is coming and she is coming for you!

And when she is finished with you gentle villagers, as you lie battered and broken among the ruins of your quaint town, what will she be doing? Well, she'll be laughing and having a snack...

The Elusive Finkemeier Cookie

A long, long time ago, there was a bakery in Kansas City, Kansas called the Finkemeier Bakery. It was just down the street from my father's house and I remember him taking me there on Saturday mornings for fresh donut holes. More than anything, however, I remember their Christmas cookies. These cookies were shaped like wreaths and were so delicate that they would crumble in your hand as you brought them to your mouth. They were only slightly sweet and very buttery. Those little cookies with the multicolored sprinkles are Christmas to me.

In 1997, Luisa and I were going back to Kansas City for Christmas. My sister bought two dozen of these special cookies so that we could all enjoy them when we arrived. We got to her house late at night and I bolted up the stairs and into her kitchen, anxious for my first Finkemeier cookie in a long time. We exchanged greetings and hugs and then I noticed the large box sitting on the counter. I tore the lid open to find only crumbs. While my sister waited for us to arrive, she ate every single one of those cookies. Her excuse? She said she just couldn't help herself -they were SO good. The bakery closed in 1999 and I never had another chance at those cookies.

In the years since, I have searched for a similar cookie. One year, I drove to nearly every bakery in Minneapolis (and two suburban bakeries) searching for a cookie that could pass as a substitute. I tasted many cookies but left each bakery shaking my head. I have tried every recipe for butter cookies that I have come across, each time hoping that I have finally found a way to replicate the cookie of my youth. Each recipe has been a failure. I guess this is the part where I should make some sort of insightful reference to the past and the elusive nature of memory blah blah blah. I won't. My cookie is out there...somewhere. I just have to find it.

If you have a butter cookie recipe that is piped, please share it. It could be the one.

Welcome to My Meltdown

Before I had kids, I had brown hair and good teeth. I had smaller boobs and less flab. I worked out at the gym and did sit-ups at home. I didn’t sweat then either because, well, sweat was for the hurried. Before I had kids, I could spend hours preparing meals, quietly sipping a glass of wine with a subtle smile on my lips. I could sit down for dinner and have a conversation uninterrupted by pleas for candy. Before I had kids, I slept through the night and slept in when I felt I needed just a little bit more rest. I faced the day with energy and zeal, a twinkle in my clear blue eyes. Before I had kids, I wore expensive shoes and replaced them as needed. I had clothes that I liked, clothes that were in good repair. Before I had kids, I had vacation and sick time. I could take a few days off to get out of town or take a day off just to relax at home. I earned frequent flyer miles by traveling rather than paying co-pays at the pediatrician’s office. Before I had kids, my house was immaculate and everything was in its proper place. I cleaned and organized. I repainted and redecorated rooms on a whim. I was the Martha Stewart of lesbians, orderly, tidy and capable of whipping up a stunning cake for a last minute party. Before I had kids, I had time and lots of it.

I know you are expecting some sort of Reader’s Digest conclusion to this. You are expecting an adorable picture and a precious anecdote about how, in my most exhausted hour, I nestled into bed with my children and they told me they loved me and, then, my heart exploded into a rainbow of hearts and light. You are not getting that ending today. No, today, there is fatigue and fever and whining. Today, the leprecaun took his effin' rainbow and went home.

If you see a white-haired woman with a chipped tooth hobbling down the street with frayed pants and a hole in the bottom of her shoe, don’t look away in horror at her frazzled appearance. Smile at her and tell her that she looks tired and weary. Tell her that it is hard work being a mom and, then, offer to buy her a cup of coffee.

Believe me, I need it.

The Gingerbread House

Will Miguel remember that I took the time to make a gingerbread house with him or will he remember that we argued at length over how the frosting should be applied to the roof?

Miguel decorating the roof

Will he remember that I encouraged his wild idea for a gingerbread house bowling alley or will he remember that I shot down his idea to have Santa and his sleigh hanging off of the roof?

Miguel and the Sour Santa bowling pins

Will he remember that I let him stay up two hours past his bedtime to perfect his gingerbread creation or will he remember that I was impatient at times?

Beware the bowling snowman

And what will I remember about this year's gingerbread project? The bowling alley...and the creative genius behind it.

Miguel and the finished gingerbread house

Behold, the sugary goodness of the Sour Santas

The Mary Cheney Post

Lesbian mothers and our families are more visible than ever. We’ve shown up in books, TV shows, movies - even People Magazine. Like it or not, this country is coming to terms with lesbians and lesbian moms. Pregnant, lesbian Republicans, though? Well, this country is just not quite ready for that. That freaks people out.

There is no Sapphic Sorority and there is no Annual Lesbian Conference during which we, the nation’s lesbians, snack on tofu and align our political beliefs. Lesbians are as diverse as any other group and, as shocking as it may seem, lesbians can be Republicans. Personally, I don’t understand how a lesbian could align herself with a party that has targeted the GLBT community with hateful legislation and rhetoric but there are a lot of things I don’t understand. Lesbian Republicans, Quantum Physics, and rhinestone studded jeans – these things boggle the mind. Still, I accept the existence of all three.

Liberals call Mary a hypocrite and want her to mend her ways and fight for gay marriage. Evangelicals want her to repent or burn in hell. Mary Cheney is a hypocrite. Yeah? So are a lot of other people. Life is complicated and messy and people don’t always fit into the neat little boxes we want them to. The mocking and damning will do nothing to change her political views. Maybe her views will change after the baby is born. Maybe her views will change if the legal system and her privilege fail her. Maybe her views won’t change at all. Does it really matter? She and her partner are having a baby. Be happy for them and, more than anything, be happy that Dick Cheney is not your father-in-law.

The Finished Products

I have several dried oranges on my desk (a tale for another day) and I considered using one of those for a container in which to place a little treat. I figured that I would cut one in half, pull out any remaining orange innards and would have a little bowl to show for it.

I borrowed a steak knife from a co-worker (Thanks, Cathy) and cut one of the oranges in half. The orange guts were dry, crisp and crumbly. There did not appear to be a good way to scoop them out and have a smooth interior so I abandoned this idea.

Then, a couple of co-workers suggested that I photocopy my face to be used in the project. Despite fear of blindness, I did the following:

After enduring the laughter of all of my colleagues, I decided that a freaky photocopy of Mom's face was not a good stocking stuffer.

I then turned my attention to the boxes that I had available. I used a first aid box and an Altoids box to create the two finished products. I used the stickers that I had, glue borrowed from the Office Specialist and Microsoft Clip Art. The Altoids Treasure Box is filled with keys from my co-worker's broken keyboard (Thank you Sarah!). The First Aid Kit Treasure Box is filled with a premium hot chocolate packet from another co-worker (Thank you Colleen!). Here are the finished products:

The Altoids Box

The First Aid Kit Box

Now, I need to get to work, my real work - I leave here in an hour!

MacGyver Mom

Last week, Miguel made something for me and put it in my stocking. He asked me to do the same but, yesterday, I forgot. I have to make it today.

I am at work and have the following items in my desk:

1. plastic diskette box
2. Altoids tins (4)
3. tampons
4. post-it notes
5. funky bubble stickers
6. red felt tip marker
7. paper clips and binders

I have a couple of ideas but I am taking suggestions...