i know I should be grateful.....

So, Owen has been sleeping. ALOT. Even more than normal, and everyone knows that kid can sleep.

Monday:
awake at 9:30, nap by 12:20, slept until 5:00, bed at 7:15.

Last night: in bed by 7:30, up for the day at 8:30- and I think only then because he peed through his diaper, wet his pjs, sheets, and quilts. Otherwise- he might have slept till 9:30 like on Monday. By 11:40, he DEMANDED that he get put down for his nap, refusing to even consider lunch. He slept through a giant thunderstorm, and woke up just before 3. Tonight- he was in bed by 7:10.

He has been sleeping like this for... over a week. The strange part is that he looks exhausted, all the time. Big bags under his eyes, red cheeks- the works. Even before this week, if he knows that I won't be babysitting, he's been sleeping like Rip Van Winkle.

Now, please don't get me wrong. This sleep schedule of his is a gift from god, right at the time I need it most. I am practically sleeping right along with him, and I am still exhausted. BUT I am in my third trimester. Rolling over in bed takes an inordinate amount of energy. Owen is a two year old boy who is obviously not pregnant.

Do you think this is simple growth spurt? I am pretty sure it is not straight on two year molar teething. Is it jsut so hard being two that he needs to sleep to escape the stress of it? Because if so, trust me.... I can relate.

memorial day, 10 :39 am

daddy home for holiday
saps my energy
wish i could go back to bed

p.s. is this a haiku? is it 5-7-5 or 7-5-7? the japanese will have to forgive me.

Garden pictures

The garden as a whole (almost)


Cucumbers are the first thing to need harvesting (and also are taking over the garden) :


Green peppers:


eggplant:



This is all Craig. I just take the pictures.

Nauseating Self-Ego Stroking Post

DISCLAIMER:

In the past two days, I have been sooooo impressed with myself. I have been crafting like a last gasp of air, which it very well might be. Please keep in mind, while reading the next few posts, that my kitchen is at a very sub par level of cleanliness (I am in a dishwasher loading stand-of with Craig), my quilting room (where Craig sleeps) looks like a disaster site and I did not get dressed today until 3:00. Plus I have been unbearably bossy and queen like, which makes me miserable to be around. NOTE: Craig sleeps in the quilting room not because of the dishwasher standoff but because I am too restless at night for him to get any rest in bed with me.

So while I look awesome and don't mind talking about it, rest assured knowing that Owen wore the same tee-shirt for over 24 hours straight today.


Scenario one:
When I was four, I remember begging to be picked up from Y We Care during naptime, because another little boy whose parents did this regularly got to play with the toys (specifically: the kitchen) all by himself. I coveted his life. I have been dying to get Owen a kitchen, but my "cottage" (read: very small house) will not allow it. No matter how I try, it is not happening unless I get rid of a major piece of furniture, which will do nothing for my storage problems.

Scenario two:
Friday morning playdate- deluge, four kids, one migraine, one pregnancy, possibly one mild hangover, and not enough coffee in the world. One of the kids (okay, it was mine) has developed a new habit of screaming (piercingly) "MINE!!!!! OWEN HAVE IT!!!!!" while snatching a toy from Frankie and running in a circuit down the hall, through the kitchen, around the dining room table and in a never ending loop through the kitchen-dining room- living room circle. All while I weakly try to focus and threaten a time out like I mean it, which he knows is futile because I can't actually catch him. Frankie has never been a girl to take ANYTHING lying down (one of the things I love about her) and is protesting the theft in an equally high pitched toddler voice. Preschool teachers of twos classes? Next time we meet in a bar, it's on me.

Desperation set in, and I flipped a toy box on its side, covered it with a blanket, and told the kids it was a kitchen. Frankie wasn't sure at first, as she has an awesome kitchen at home, but (god bless her) Bronwyn went to town, and the twos soon followed her lead. Bronwyn (age 3) told the kids it was a stove and they would get burned if they sat on it (this is prompted by Owen's butt sitting right on her counter/ stove area, but she kept her cool), and they were happy until it was time to leave. (At least, pretty much. There was an extended stethoscope/ doctor session, and Owen was more interested in establishing dominance and possesion over his toys than playing with them, but eventually pops were had by all and a relative peace ensued.)

I was entranced by how easily imaginative kids accepted "box covered with blue blanket is kitchen" scenario, and having recently been inspired by Cool Spaces for Kids, today I turned this:




into this:


Its coolness belies its simplicity. A spring rod, a wooden box from IKEA clearance, fabric scraps, canvas, and ultra heat n' bond. Done. Kitchen supplies are stored inside, and if Owen plays with it as much as I hope he will, I will satin stitch the edges. Right now it is simply ironed on.

My biggest fear? Lucy will lurk inside and attack unsuspecting toddlers/chihuahuas/ankles. She is already practicing.

just because I make the rules, does that mean I have to follow them?

At this point, the only three things that are even slightly appetizing are popsicles (the tube kind where green tastes like some sort of chemical), iced coffee run through a blender so it is essentially a coffee flavored slushie, and.... you guessed it... ice.

Does this constitute pica?

Mark Bittman, I may be leaving you for a lesbian fling with Donna Klein.

A big fat THANK YOU to Amanda and Marthe- and also an apology to Amanda for not listening months ago when you told me how good this book was. Now, it needs to be known that I have pretty much stopped buying books for myself, and severely cut back on my cookbook acquisitions in particular. I was, alas, overrun with books, and my space is VERY limited. So, hopefully, maybe Craig will get me clorox or something else appalling for a gift sometime within the next year, and I will throw another hissy fit and end up with an electronic book reader. All of that aside, I have been supporting my local library more and buying less books, which brings me in a very roundabout way to the topic of this post.

The Mediterranean Vegan Kitchen by Donna Klein ROCKS. I am not vegan, and though I am very vegetarian friendly, I love me some cheese (and bad grammar, too, apparently.) I could never be vegan, which is why I would never have looked twice at this cookbook if Marthe had not a) insisted I would love it and b) brought her leftovers to my house and let me drool over them while she stored them in my fridge during play time. I think that may have been my undoing. All I want to eat this summer is cold food that requires minimum cooking time- frozen bruschetta popsicles, anyone? (That is NOT a recipe from this book- just a crazy pregnancy craving). So I looked at this book on Amazon, and ordered it immediately after reading the crostini section.

I cooked from it today. OH MY GOD. It was amazing. For dinner we had
-Bruschetta with Cannellini Beans, Bitter Greens, and Tomatoes (Craig's favorite)
- Roasted Red Pepper and Zucchini Salad
-Spaghetti Rigati with Fondue de Tomatoes (supposed to be made with capellini, but I did not have any)

Some of my favorite things about this cookbook? I feel like there are only about 20 ingrediants in the whole book, most of which are pantry staples or the kinds of produce we will have on hand anyway (tomatoes, green beans, arugula, cucumbers...). This means that I don't have to know in advance what I'm going to make for dinner- I am guaranteed to be able to eat something I'm in the mood for without preplannig. (A huge plus in my book!) Plus, at the risk of sounding pretentious, we should have most of the produce available from our garden this summer. (Anyone who was in my organic vegetable gardening class in college will know exactly how much gardening I did- I only cooked what Craig planted, tended and harvested. The garden is still Craig's baby, and I usually try to dissuade him from planting anything but herbs and tomatoes.) This cookbook is essentially delicious Italian food... superb.

Mark, my main man- looks like you have some competition.

Don't Wake Up the Bear!

We have entered the third trimester of my pregnancy, which this time, I am officially dubbing "bear season". I am large. I lumber around my kitchen, foraging for food. Occasionally I will be spotted out of doors, but this will become more and more rare as the weeks pass. I am INCREDIBLY cranky. And hyper-emotional, to boot. If you make me cry, don't worry. If I don't immediately eat you, I will understand that it isn't you, it's me.

I would love to sleep all the time, but sleeping is actually one of the more uncomfortable things I do on a daily basis. Craig left our bed (voluntarily) a week ago, and while the extra space is nice, I feel increasingly ostracized. (Did I mention that socializing, outside of a select few understanding people, is getting more and more difficult? And yet I feel ostracized? Are we seeing a "Meaghan can not be made happy" trend?) My back is killing me. By the end of the day, I am literally hobbling through the house like a grouchy geriatric lunatic. (However, we bought the CMO brace today, and I felt instant relief. I have not yet started feathering my hair, though, and choose to wear the brace UNDER my clothing, for the time being.)

So, consider this fair warning. Meaghan has left, and has been replaced by an angry, hungry bear looking for Oreos. I will not be back for many months, because new baby hormones will undoubtedly turn me into a nauseating mush ball. If you ask me how much I weigh, I will cry. If you tell me that I'm "finally starting to show" I will come at you like a spider monkey. And if you look funny at my shoes, as did the gentleman in the waiting room of the OB's office today, I may bash your teeth in with my fist. Just thought you should know.

Do I make an excuse? No, I just publish twice in one night.

Well, I fell off the wagon, but only for a tiny bit. And my excuse? That Craig had the computer all night, stalking people under my facebook account. And then I was up WAY later than I should have been, and got up this morning to babysit S & J again. I have decided that I am officially crazy for this drop off day care business, but I only have (potentially) thirteen days left. Plus, after S and Owen played "hissing snakes and screaming dragons" up and down the hallway, I bundled them up and turned them loose outside, in the (seemingly) frigid drizzliness that was 10:30 this morning. I sat in my favorite chair with J and a bottle, propped up on pillows, and didn't worry about the kiddos in the back. I think there was wet sand thrown, but I had thirthy minutes before two kids with their noses pressed agaisnt my back door were saying "Miss Meaghan! Miss Mommy! Can I have a popsicle (Owen)? Can we have a bath (S)?" How can you say no to that? Blue lips turned into blue tongues in the tub (thank you, Fla-vo-ice) and I got easy mac, hot dogs, and frozen peas and carrots on the table by noon. I am a true earth mother.

Question: why does mixing vegestables into macaroni and cheese provide such delight to children visiting my house? Is it because I am, indeed, an awesome gourmet chef, like this mom? (oh yes I did). Remember, we are talking about this plus this. Is it sheer sodium overload? The veggies are in now way hidden. If I serve them on the side, they are rejected. Mix them in, and I am a culinary goddess. It must be a chemical in the "cheese" that addles brain cells.

Why, might you ask, was I reduced to easy mac? Hold your breath, people, but I have a shocking announcement : I have NO BUTTER in the house. Not a stick, not a pat, in the fridge, in either freezer, on my counter. What's a girl to do? I can honestly say that I have never before been in this predictament. Is someone going to the grocery store? Rescue me. Please. I am not sure I can go on much longer.

Day 2

When Owen was 18 months old, temper tantrums and general toddlerness kicked in. At Target, I saw the book The Happiest Toddler on the Block. I remembered Dr. Karp's technique to soothe a fussy baby from one of our child care classes from the hospital. I rolled my eyes and (literally) guffawed throughout the video, but when Owen was born, we tried it and it worked. So I bought this book, and started instituting techniques right away. And they work. So now that six months have gone by and I have recognized that this system indeed makes a difference, I am ready to teach it to Craig. Craig does not (so he says) have time to read the book, and I do believe him. He is a more thoughtful reader, and takes his time with books. In that spirit, I am providing him mini-lessons written on our chalkboard, which I intend to leave up for a week or two at a time. I am a strong believer in picking things up through osmosis.

Maybe I should just get the video instead.

giving back

I am addicted to my google reader. I get so sad when I log on and no one else has updated their blogs... and my friends are VERY good about updating. In honor of my blog reading, I am going to update my blog.... EVERY DAY FOR... two weeks. Isn't that how long it takes to start a new habit? Modesty disappeared with my waistline, so I am just going to continue to assume that people are overjoyed with my reappearance on the web. But I am not promising anything really worth reading.

Two conversations I had in the car today:

M: Do you want a bottle before bed tonight? (note: he refused one at Mimsie's last night)
O: kinda no

O: Where Mr. Art? (our neighbor across the street)
M: I don't know.
O: Maybe in bathroom. Probably.


As this demonstrates what an awesome mom I am (lucky O), I would like to note that with the third trimester I have reached a new level of zen parenting. It goes like this: if there is no blood, don't bother me. That's what you get. No. (Maria Montessori would be so proud.)