Food Again?

What's the first thing that comes to mind when you think of comfort food? I love to hear what people put in this category, because though there are some widely-recognized staples in American culture (such as meatloaf and grilled cheese sandwiches), everybody grew up eating different things and what comforts one person may sound totally off-putting to another.

Right now I'm going to town on a bowl of mashed potatoes and peas. This combo was a cornerstone of my childhood diet, and to this day I can't have those two food items on my plate without mixing them together, they are so perfectly matched and remind me of the zillions of suppers eaten around my Gram and Pup's full table.

One of my all-time favorite foods which I haven't eaten in years is elbow macaroni drenched in butter and cheese from a foil-covered can, you know that crunchy stuff? I've since graduated to the joys of fresh parmesan and say "pasta" instead of "macaroni" as the general term, but I'd take a bowl of the old-school mac-and-shaker-cheese any day. Also: pot roast made with Lipton onion soup, corn chowder with a peanut butter sandwich on the side, tuna casserole with chips or crackers crumbled over the top, buttered white-bread toast to be served with (and dipped in) hot chocolate, and baked beans. From a can or homemade, they're all good.

Why are carbohydrates inordinately comforting? Maybe just for me, but that's definitely the theme running through my choices here. Why is food so awesome? That's the real unanswerable question of the day. It just is. And I'm so lucky to have always had enough of it for me and my family. How privileged that I can look to it as a source of comfort and not necessarily survival. I can honestly say I've never gone hungry a day in my life, and I'll be damned if my child doesn't get to say the same thing. I will very likely never be wealthy, but if I can say that, I'm pretty much doing OK. Right now HR's on a huge cheese kick, but I'm sure he'll have many food adventures ahead. I'm looking forward to finding out what he looks back on with his own nostalgic craving.

In the "comfort food for the (1980s) soul" department:

Goodbye, So Long, Farewell My Friends

So Jason Varitek is retiring, and of course I'm a bit sad as I was when Timmy Wakefield stepped down a couple of weeks back. This has been a magical decade for our beloved Sox, and those two were a huge presence in their own ways. It's fitting that they should retire as they played, each with quiet, powerful dignity. They got the job done--make no mistake--but they did it with class. No ego or grandstanding. And of course they could pull out the big guns when it was called for. Ahem.

Still, I will miss them both dearly. Farewell Wake and Quadzilla, may the 2012 Red Sox do your legacy a solid, for you and for all of us. 

33 days until regular season play begins. Not that I'm counting.

And here, just, everything about this song and video is a gift of life.

That's Three Times One Hundred!

By accident I realized this was my 300th entry. Cue the confetti and junk! I'm not going to take the bait and write a commemorative entry though-- I contemplated making a 300-item list of things I love, which I suppose is just so me I could puke, but I can't be here all day repeating myself. Instead I'll just acknowledge the arbitrary milestone and move on (keeping in mind that even when I think I haven't been writing, there's evidence that I was at least writing something about nothing. Hundreds of times).

Anyway, to prolong my legacy of prolific insubstantiality, here was my takeaway from the weekend.

I always watch the Academy Awards, though I rarely see the films in contention until years after, if ever. I love movies, I just get to them at my own pace. Maybe I make a point to watch the Oscars because I want a toehold on cultural relevance or like to gawk at pretty dresses (my faves of the night being Viola Davis, Penelope Cruz and, so help me, Gwyneth Paltrow), whatever, I just always watch them even though for all the Chris Rock, Emma Stone and Jim Rash moments, they are dumb and disappointing. I don't actually want to talk about the Oscars themselves right now though, just about how they served as the catalyst for the mini parental revelation I made halfway through, which is when I remembered how last year a then-10-month old HR was having a bad night and was up every hour so I missed just about everything. This was when I didn't see how we'd ever get him to go to sleep on his own, and  I had that hopeless feeling like, things would never get any better. And I heard the show totally sucked and I don't even remember or care which films were nominated, but at the time I was seriously disgruntled.

And then there I was last night, watching the show like the queen of the world while I took for granted that he'd sleep, at least through the broadcast. It was a personal high-five mama moment, like, look how far we've come with our lives and what seemed so dang important at one time was not even a consideration now. And then he woke up, inconsolable, just when they got to the big awards and I had to hear about them from Mike.

But I don't feel diminished in our progress and the positive side of time passages. Because though it drove home to me that even when my son is 50--and I hope I'm still around in a non-vegetable way, but even then--I will not have a damn thing truly figured out in regard to parenting. We just do our best, and deal with whatever happens. Can't fight it, just enjoy the good stuff and jettison the rest. Hell, maybe HR was just born with an internal distaste for awards show and is working to steer me away from the parade of self-importance.

The other thing I learned this weekend is that Ronnie James Dio may be dead, but he is alive and well in my wheelhouse in Rock Band. Add "metal singer" to my list of careers to fall back on.

All Domesticity and Hip-Hop

Baked sweet potatoes, that is the thing. We had them with dinner last night and I'm having another for lunch today (yes I'm the guy who eats lunch before noon) and it's like, why don't I eat these every single day? I could, you know. With a dab of butter and a dot of sour cream and some salt and pepper - food heaven. Also, cut up and roasted with a dash of cayenne. Or mashed. All bow to the humble mis-named root veggie that is as good for you as it is delicious. Note: this post is not sponsored by the sweet potato council of America, but if you are looking to pay for endorsements, call me. Sell-out, schmell-out.

I'm pretty thrilled that today is Thursday because even though I do work on Friday, it's not in the office, so Thursday night always feels like a bit of a party. Granted my party is me and a glass of wine and NBC's line-up, but the idea of being able to make my own hours come morning gives it a celebratory vibe. Like, anything can happen, pals, it's Thursday! Though in retrospect, from the number of hungover Fridays I spent at my job, I guess I always felt this way.

From the very important things of life department: it's haircut time. I'm obsessed with the idea of a stacked bob. I know I had one before, once, but I don't remember if I didn't get it again because it was too much work, or some other reason. So do I get one? I probably will. And this time I'll be sure to record the results.

Thursday-friendly music corner: I hope you haven't forgotten this rap classic, but in case you did, let me refresh your memory with fly-ness. (As an aside, I think it's a good idea not to year-check in song because it dates an otherwise timeless piece of work and makes listeners who-shall-not-be-named feel as old as dirt's grandfather.)

There

I never wrote an entry yesterday because I wasn't in a writing mood, and to tell the truth I feel even less writerly today, but I'm going to force it because that's what I do.

I'm at the point right now where I'm aware every second of every day that my boy is not a baby any more. I know that technically he hasn't been a baby since his first birthday, but come on. As we go through the final months of his second year, I'm constantly smacked in the face with ways he's changed. His legs, his formerly roll-y chubby stumps, are sturdy and strong. Perfect legs, but not baby legs. He's not quite fluent in the english language, but words are added every day. Now he calls my dad by his first name in lieu of calling him a grandfatherly title, but it's quite fitting, really. He can eat everything with a fork. He's strong in his opinions. He follows directions and participates in things like music class. He knows his primary colors - granted he identifies them by their corresponding Muppets (red is "Elmo," yellow, "Bert" etc.) He points to other kids and calls them "baby." He could use a proper haircut, I guess, but I'm not ready for that yet. He still has a bottle at night and in the morning, he's still in diapers, he still snuggles up to me like my own special cub. But for all intents and purposes, he's a toddler, and even almost not that any longer.

As I went through all his infant things this weekend and gave most of them away to family members who are expecting this spring, it all came home to me. HR can't really be called my baby, even though he always will be, in my mind. It's true what they say, how fast it all goes, but there's so much to look forward to. Bring on preschooler HR, big boy HR, all the boys and men he'll be. 

This is the point where other people decide to have another one. And this is the point where I am saying for sure we're just not going to do that and that is our decision and that is that. All the more reason to embrace and enjoy the hell out of every stage.

Apropos of nothing, I sort of love this song right now.

Sybilitic

Today I heard Nirvana on my ride in to work, and it transported me back to being a teenager like hearing their music hasn't in so long. When you think about being a teenager, what comes to mind? I think, like most people, I was so many teenagers. I was the goody-goody, studious, confirmation-making teenager who swore she would save sex until marriage. I was the budding liberal progressive teenager, making impassioned speeches about racism and homophobia. I was the hormonal boycrazypants teenager who passed endless notes about crush sightings with her bff and thought if she didn't get to kiss this one dude in her algebra class that she would die (incidentally I didn't ever get to kiss him, and I'm still here). I was the sassypants cheerleader teenager who thought she had the best dance moves, who listened to hip-hop with her bestest girlfriends and lived for teen night at the Bahama Beach Club and honed her sarcasm over many, many lunch table conversations and nighttime drives. I was the mean and selfish teenager who excluded and bullied by staying passive when others were being active. I was the silly teenager who didn't give an eff and went to the school dance in her pjs because it was fun. I was the basket case teenager, shy and quiet, who thought she'd never make any friends and who didn't know how to mentally process a D grade on her report card and thought there could be nothing worse in the whole world that time she gained a bunch of weight. I was the home-y, nerdy teenager who loved nothing more than her quiet time, holed up in her room with books and music, who spent a lot of time with her family and never thought that was uncool. I was the restless, independent teenager who couldn't wait to be on her own, who longed to go to parties like everyone else and drink and make out, and was only successful at half of these things half the time.

As I'm so many women today, as is every woman and man, I look at all these parts and marvel at how they contributed to this whole, for better or worse. I think kids are multifaceted from always, it's part of being human, but I think it all gets especially splintered when adolescence hits. Maybe that's what fascinates me about teenagers, why I always come back to caring about them and writing about them and for them. When I look at the cliches of teenagers in movies and TV and books, how people get put into compartments because it's easy, it angers me because I know it's not really like that, and I don't like that it's commonplace to accept that it's like that. Everyone knows it, few people acknowledge it. I want to change the concept of the Mean Cheerleader and the Nice Nerd because they are not just nice and mean and smart and haughty. They are so, so many things, layers only just beginning to be revealed. Cliches do everyone a huge disservice, and teenagers, frankly, need all the help they can get. It is so much better for them to know that it's normal to be so many people.

Whoa, all this because I was thinking about being THIS teenager, the one who cruised around with her friends (you know who you are) listening to Nevermind and Freaky Styley and going to punk shows and smoking by the falls (though none of us really turned out to be smokers), quoting from Sassy and fancying ourselves quite clever and intellectual and literate. Of all the teenagers, that was one of my favorites.

Not Much, Really

Flim-flam-flummox, it's 4:30 already! That's awesome.

Last night we observed, uh, Tuesday with homemade meatloaf, kale and double IPA after our wee Valentine was tucked into his crib. Also: watching some Annie Hall. That's got to have wormed its way up to my top 5 movies of all time, it's just perfect. I still cannot fathom Woody Allen as a sex symbol, but despite his personal turmoil, he is brilliant. Maybe if Chris Brown's talent exceeded his hubris I'd feel different about him but... nah, actually he's still the worst. I got a lovely card and some pictures from HR, and I cherish them, but that's about the extent of our Valentine's observation. Nothing against it, we just kind of opt out.

This coming weekend we'll be with a passel of family so all signs point to a big-people night out in my favorite little city up the coast. Yay for grandparents! For so many reasons, but the babysitting reason is major. I'm very much looking forward to it. And I know it's only February but it's like 50 degrees here and this song to me is a song of summer. Of going dancing when it's dark and hot and delirious. Can't you just feel the sweat and exhilaration?

Oh, L'Amour

Valentine's Day! Blah! But love, yay! So in the spirit of love, this year I'm virtual-sending a heart-shaped card to:

-My sweet sweet little monkey boy and his saint-worthy daddy. This doesn't need to be said, as they are my forever loves, but it isn't said enough.

-Chocolate milk. This was one of the only cravings I had when I was pregnant, then I forgot about it. It's recently become my go-to restorative beverage after a run. I am NOT pregnant. Repeat, NOT. Just re-acquainted with the loveliness that is a nice cold glass of milk + chocolate.

-Bruno Mars's performance on the Grammy's - I appreciate his voice, but every song of his ever has put me to sleep so I was just knocked by this kid in his pompadour dancing around in a gilded jacket and blowing the roof off the place. What an entertainer! I'm officially re-thinking my Mars stance.

-Music in general. It exists to make us happy, even when it's sad. Loving especially: The Civil Wars, J. Cole, Goyte, old-time country ladies.

-I am always leery of famous kids--for every Jodie Foster, there are like 10 Lindsay Lohans--but some children are just born to be stars. Sophia Grace and her hype girl Rosie are my IT at the moment.



-This mild, nearly snow-free winter. I'm not a skiier, and finding a place to put snow when living in the city is a huge pain so I'm pretty much in my glory right now.

Ah, so much to love. I could do this all day, alas, I have some gainful employment to get to. Which I love. Love having a job, and a pretty great one at that.

I feel it's fitting to close up shop here with one of the greatest love songs ever written and recorded. And pop songs, while we're at it. Featuring a young Jonah Hill? Enjoy!

Ain't It Shocking?

All right, this day's been preposterous and got away from me, just when I had a million and one things to say about the Grammys. I never even normally watch them but suddenly I'm just bursting with commentary. Consider yourself spared! All right fine, one thing: fuck Chris Brown and Team Breezy. I officially renounce the time I said I grudgingly liked "Look At Me Now." And shame on the Grammy people who treated him like a triumphant redemption story.

The real important points to address are that my moms-in-law is recovering well, got great post-surgery  follow-up news, and HR got to spend some serious quality time with his grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins whom he flat-out adores. He also learned to tell me that I'm "oooold" so I've got that going for me.

Tomorrow should be less crazy and allow me to be more reflective. Maybe not. But I hope so. In any case, I present my favorite Whitney song of all time without irony or commentary.

But To Which Board Should He Be Pinned?

Last night HR had his best sleeping night in months and months, and of course I was walloped with insomnia. Figures! Mama's going to bed early tonight, that's for dang sure.

Creativity round-up for the week: unless you count feeding my bourgeoning Pinterest addiction--and I promise I don't--what I have done creatively this week equals a big fat zero. Yes, it's only Wednesday, but I'll be out of commission for the next couple of days so I have no expectation of anything happening. I'm not getting down on myself, I just have to do better. Being zonked following a busy couple of days at work and the aforementioned lack of sleep is no excuse, but it's part of the explanation.

Of course I've found time to stick "pins" in things here and there as the mood hits, and I honestly can't believe it's taken me so long to hop on that bandwagon. It's just another version of the lists I make about things I adore, and the beloved and ever-growing wall collage from my teenage years.

At the heart of it it's about love, baby. And sharing that love. For example, did you know I love Billy Joel? I do, and I don't care who knows it.

By the Grace

Busy times, uneasy times. Mike's mom had some routine, but not un-serious, surgery today. Those reporting from the field say that everything went as well as can be expected. We're going down to stay with her for a couple of days, here's hoping the recovery process is quick and easy so she resume being a busy social lady and doting Grandma.

We're thankful she's come through so well so far, and let that never be taken for granted.

And Back

 Another great weekend behind us, despite HR being a bit under the weather with cold-like-heavy-teething symptoms and an increasing sleep-in-his-own-crib aversion. Back to the drawing board with taking the hard line when he's closer to 100%, I guess. I feel like I may have said this before and more than once. We had a lot of fun as a family overall, doing this and that and going out to dinner at a hibachi joint (HR was not impressed. Maybe next year?). I have to say I'm so grateful that my boy is physically affectionate, and still willingly snuggles with me. If he never outgrows it that would be just fine, but just in case I'm making the most of it while I can. The munchkin's gotten quite masterful at making puzzles lately, I'm sure this is quite normal developmentally, but I get a kick out of observing his process. Where just last week he was constantly frustrated, he's now consistently, calmly putting the wooden animals in their respective spaces. He's also copying our random exclamations (the latest being, "ah, nuts!") so I'm guessing it's time to put real effort into cleaning up my language. Personally I don't have a problem with kids swearing in and of itself, but getting them to understand what's considered "personal language" and "public language" and how there's almost always a better word to use in place of profanity is a lesson that takes a few years to sink in. So until then, it's all, "Holy schnikes" and "Oh, fuuuuuudge."

So the Superbowl, eh? I've never been happier to not care about football. The big game was a good excuse to spend an evening relaxing with Mike and consuming beer and nachos, but even though I would have been happy for Patriots fans if they won, the loss doesn't impact my life at all. As I say every year, I save the "first world problem" pit in my stomach for baseball season.

On another frivolous note, I joined Pinterest. I have no idea what I'm doing really and only stuck in one pin so far, but I like to look at pretty things. So you can follow me if you're into that sort of thing, and I'll follow you right back.  

As I would follow 1980s Adam Ant to the ends of the earth.

Crash Nights

What a satisfying and productive week, both work and creativity-wise. Would that they could all be this way. If they were, I guess I wouldn't appreciate them as much. Still, it's a nice feeling to have gotten so much accomplished. In that light you'd think I'd have more to burble about in the blog, but no. This is the point in the day where having a molar-popping toddler at home starts to take its toll and my thinky-brain starts groping for the "off" switch.

I'm sure Neko Case has her high and low points as well, but damn, what she has to show for the high ones.

Feb-OO-ary (What Book Is That From?)

I'm currently reading Jennifer Egan's A Visit From the Goon Squad and it's so good, so so good it makes me want to cry. Not because it's sad, but because it's so fully realized and she is so talented. Goddamn you, Jennifer Egan. Before that I wrapped up Erin Morganstern's The Night Circus, which I didn't love. I liked it, but didn't love it. Maybe the experience would have been improved had I read it in traditional book format and not on my Kindle but here we are. I can see its potential to be a rather spectacular movie for sure. Next up: John Green's newest, The Fault in Our Stars, which is receiving accolade after accolade. That one I will be purchasing in paper form. My house could easily be made of books, but I make a point to add to my physical library only when it's an author I love. The library and friend-borrowing takes care of the rest of my book needs. The point is though, John Green is beyond brilliant and everyone should support him. Get to it. Now.

In picture book corner, HR is currently favoring Llama Llama Red Pajama by Anna Dewdney, but hasn't taken away the central message which is basically, "stay the hell in bed, kid." But hey, I'm the first to say that didacticism is not the job of a good book. He just loves to yell along with Baby Llama, and that's good enough for me.

OH! And you'll be superpsyched to know that on the heels of last week's creativity diatribe I'm in the throes of my bi-annual re-enchantment with my own little fiction project. I'm a regular John Grisham over here with my prolific-ness and junk. My best intentions are to not let it fizzle out this time. THIS TIME. And yes, I'm aware that's all up to me.

So have a good Wednesday, and enjoy the first day of February because it means we're one step closer to Spring, and more importantly, Spring Training.