What's Your Name, Who's Your Daddy?

This morning as I got dressed for work, Little Dog walked into the bathroom and introduced himself to me.
"My name, Little Dog" he said.
"Hi sweetie, nice to meet you Little Dog," I replied
"You name, mama."
"Yes I am, I'm mama."
"My name, a Dude."
"Your name is 'a Dude?' Really?" I asked.
"My name, a Dude." he said reassuring me with a huge smile, before he walked away.

When I came upstairs I asked NE if she had told Little Dog his name was "a dude". She cracked up. She does call him "dude" and he has just decided that this is also his name. Turns out he also calls himself "Bubs", another of his nicknames.

Happy birthday to ME!

Today is the 36th anniversary of my birth. Wow. I was just getting used to 35, now this. For some reason 36 sounds OLD.

It has been a pretty strange year, good in some ways, hard in others. My job is going great, I've had many new opportunities and a lot of new challenges but seem to be pulling it all off. My family is amazing, I have my boys and the best husband a woman could ever ask for (even if he shuns haircuts and shaving for long stretches), but I lost my Mao and found that I had lost Terry before I ever managed to find him again. I'm getting better at the two kid thing, partly aided by the fact that Little Dog is growing so fast, he is capable of doing so much more and letting me know what he needs, even if he thinks he needs everything, and needs it all right now. And partly aided by the fact that Big Dog is becoming his own boy, still needing us so much at some times, but at other times insisting that he do it all himself.

We've made real strides in getting the house going forward. A foundation wall has been partly poured and a second segment is excavated. We took over the upper unit on the house and finally got some room to stretch out. Our second bathroom, play room and guest room have been welcome additions as is the boys' own bedroom, although Big Dog has yet to take to it fully.

I'm excited about the upcoming year, but it is starting to feel real, that I am a full grown adult. I won't wake up one day feeling like a grown up, I'll most likely keep muddling on feeling like an overgrown kid who is fooling everyone around her into thinking she is a grown up. I'll probably feel that way right until I drop into my grave (hopefully a very old woman with grown children and grandkids of my own) wondering how the hell I pulled it off this long without being found out.

Our Favorite Strange Children's Books

We are not your usual family. I keep reminding myself of this little fact, but it seems there are some authors out there that get it. For no real reason, I've decided to post a list of my favorite, but odd, children's books.

1. He Came With the Couch by David Slonim
An odd little story of a family who finds the perfect sofa, with one catch.
2. When Dinosaurs Came With by Elise Broach and David Small
An afternoon of routine errands with a twist.
3. Click Clack Moo by Doreen Cronin and Betsy Lewin
How labor organizing applies to farm animals.
4. Baby Mix Me A Drink by Lisa Brown
Simple and direct, but they still don't do it.
5. Urban Babies Wear Black by Michelle Sinclair Colman and Nathalie Dion
A handbook for the hippest babies.
6. A Boy and His Bunny by Sean Bryan and Tom Murphy
How your choice of headwear should not keep you from doing much of anything.
7. Fox in Socks by Dr. Seuss
A classic odd book. And a tongue twister workout to boot!
8. Don't Let the Pigeon Stay Up Late
Not sure why the pigeon must go to bed, but it does.
9. Guess How Much I Love You by Sam McBratney and Anita Jeram
Subversively odd, a sweet tale of parent/child oneupmanship.
10. What Do You Say Dear?
Etiquette for many very strange occasions. I loved it as a child, and mine love it now.

And the one I can't find for my kids:
Seals on Wheels by Dean Walley
"Green meanies roasting weenies. Meanies jump in yellow jello. They turn into yellow fellows." Really, how can you go wrong? Why is this one out of print?

Creating the Next Generation

Wednesday nights at the Dog house are ruled by food, drink and bitches.
Our long time friend Auntie S comes over to watch our programs (Project Runway and when it is on, America's Next Top Model- I like to call this one "the bitches" but honestly you can pretty much apply that to Project Runway as well. And if you want to stretch it a bit farther, Auntie S and I could be included for the sheer quantity of jeers and put downs we toss as the program contestants and judges).

The tradition has roots in our SF home on Walter Street. (once compared to Melrose Place by an annoyed neighbor for all of our late night chatting, drinking and carousing) Back in the day, we would routinely hang out at one of the flats and watch our shows of choice while eating and drinking tons of Trader Joe's finest vintages. Fast forward 10 years and a few of us have settled in Seattle and revived the tradition at our place. The routine is pretty relaxed but involves a cocktail before dinner, dinner and wine (considerably less wine than the Walter Street era, but we still hold our own.)

The addition of the cocktail before dinner is pretty recent. B gave me a great cocktail book for Christmas and I have revived my interest in mixed drinks at home. As you may expect, adults with fancy, pretty drinks inspires a certain level of jealousy in the under 4 foot set. To counteract this, I have been providing them with their own "kiddie cocktails". So far these mostly involve a highly garnished glass of apple juice with a touch of berry puree for color. They love them. And they call them cocktails, just like the grown ups.

As cute as it is, on Thursday morning, when Little Dog was shouting "I wan some gok-tal!" I realized that this might reflect badly on me as a mother if taken out of context. Since he really doesn't understand that the contents of his glass are SIGNIFICANTLY different than the contents of my glass, I see this whole exercise might have been a bad idea. But if you don't get them properly trained to manage a cocktail glass at an early age, they may spend their adult life sloshing their martinis into their laps like, well, like Mr. Dog. I refuse to let that preventable handicap be passed on to my children.

Culinary Adventures with Big Dog

Monday was MLK day, I had to work, our nanny was out sick and our back up care provider didn't show up. Mr. Dog had planned to work, but took the day off since his company had it as a holiday. This left the men of the Dog House alone together at home.

I figured they'd be sitting around in their underwear talking sports and belching a lot. And for all I know, that's how it went down.

What I do know is that late in the afternoon, Mr. Dog called me at work to tell me that Big Dog had made himself a sandwich. Yes, my 4 year-old boy is starting to prep his own food. He'd finished his PB&J and asked for another sandwich (credit this massive appetite to a growth spurt).
Mr Dog asked "The same kind?"
Big Dog thought a moment and said "No. I want cheese. Cheese and jam."
"Cheese and jam? Ok, anything else?" Mr. Dog said mildly amused.
"Broccoli. I want broccoli" he replied.
So he made a cheese, lingonberry jam and broccoli sandwich. And ate it up.

I somehow don't think this one is going to catch on, but maybe some day I'll be watching him compete on Top Chef. He sure is, uh, innovative?

Little Dog givith, and Little Dog taketh away

Most nights after work, Mr Dog and I unwind with a glass of wine. Last night the kids were at play in the playroom, making various play-doh shapes and either bringing them to us, fighting over them or tossing them on the floor.

Little Dog came into the living room and decided to take my "rainbow star" that Big Dog had given me, and replace it with a gray blob he had created. After taking the star, he gave another chunk of "doh" to Mr. Dog.

Joking, Mr Dog said "Hey Little Dog, get me some wine."
Little Dog looked at him, looked at me then reached over took my wine from the table and handed it to Mr. Dog. He then turned and toddled back to the playroom to create more shapes.

I guess we know which parent Little Dog favors. Poor mommy, no more wine.

A Taste of Things to Come

My kids have been waking up hungry. And when they wake up, I wake up. No more, I say and I instituted a pre-bed mini-meal. Bread and cheese and fruit. A hardboiled egg and a banana. A slice of bread with some peanut butter and a slice of apple. You get the idea.

Last night they asked for eggs. Easy, a banana and fried eggs. I fried up a couple of eggs each, split the one banana we had between the two boys and thought I was done. Nope, not enough fruit. So I sliced up an apple. Great! Not done yet, Big Dog asked for more eggs. Really? You still hungry big guy? Sure was. I fried up another egg. And another. Then Mr. Dog wanted in on the act. I fried up two more. As soon as they were on the plate, the vultures descended. Big dog ate another egg, this one off of Mr. Dog's plate. By the time he was finished, he'd eaten 6 eggs. No not quite Cool Hand Luke, but hey, he's only 4!

I can only imagine our grocery bills when they start playing sports.

Why Gun Control Will Never Work

We don't allow toy guns in our house. We generally discourage violence between the kids. Despite this, in response to their latest disagreement, Little Dog took of his pants, chased down his big brother and started using his pants as a whacking device. No guns, but plenty of real violence here.

The Making of Ratatouille, No Not the Rat

We've watched Ratatouille by my best estimates, a million times. I exaggerate only slightly. It is a cute movie, the story is good, the characters are nice and the animation is fun. I still prefer the Incredibles by far, but the kids like the rats, and I like quiet kids, so we watch it, again and again and again.

A few weeks ago I came up with the brilliant idea to make ratatouille with Big Dog. In my fantasy, we'd prep the veggies together, we'd slowly cook together smelling the simple ingredients merge together and transform into the magical dish responsible for the transformation of Anton Ego himself. Big Dog would know when to help and listen when I told him I had to do some of the more serious knife work. I also imagined that he would get bored just about the time I had to start timing the ingredients browning in the pan, and come back about the time it was ready to be served.

Well today we made our ratatouille. For the most part it went well. Big Dog was a master of salting the eggplant and a real pro at cutting the tomato pulp into strips with his plastic knife. The problem started when I needed to prep the onions and peppers. Big Dog, full of his success with the dull pink Ikea knife against the mushy tomatoes, demanded he be allowed to chop the bell peppers. I managed to divert his attention to drying the salted eggplant and zucchini but then he became obsessed with helping me put them in the pan. A 4 year-old and a pan of hot olive oil are not a great match, but I relented and let him put them in one by one, but from a distance, usually resulting in 2/3 of the slices hitting the stove surface rather than the pan. After about half of the pieces were browned, Big Dog decided we weren't making enough progress, and he started to ask if the next step was "Dump it in?". It went a little something like this:
Big Dog puts one slice of zucchini in the pan. Looks at me. "Dump it in?"
Me, "No, we have to brown each piece."
One more slice is placed in the pan. He waits a beat, "Dump it in?"
Me, "No, one slice at a time"
"Well, when do we dump it all in?"
"We don't, this part has to be cooked one piece at a time."
"Ok," puts one more piece in the pan, "Dump it in?"
Shortly after this, he got bored, and went upstairs with his dad to watch Ratatouille.

When the dinner was finished I dished it up and brought it upstairs. Big Dog was proud. He told Little Dog and Mr. Dog that he had helped make dinner just in case they had missed his participation. As if that wasn't clear enough, while sitting on the sofa he says "Anyone who cooked rapa-too-ee raise your hand," waits a beat, then his hand shoots up with a giant smile.
It was adorable.

Finally it came time to eat. One forkful passed his precious lips. Even though he declared "Mmmm, it tastes like candy!" it did not ring sincere. He ate the buttered bread, but the ratatouille is still sitting on the plate.

Would the Best Candidate Please Step Forward

As a single person I followed politics. I lived for politics. I knew the issues, the facts and the stats to back up my opinion.

I got married. Our political views were similar, but not the same. We debated, discussed and debated some more. I had to be on my toes because I was always trying to convince the most stubborn man alive to switch sides.

Then I had children. At first I still kept up with the news, but as time passed the news was too depressing. The Bush Administration was picking fights internationally that were costing too many families their fathers and mothers, their sons and their daughters. The war in the Middle East was uprooting people on all sides and everyone touched by the war, apart from the war profiteers, was being damaged as a result. The war aside, the idiocy of our government was infuriating. The fact that the voting public allowed the morons in charge to trample our civil rights, violate the foundation of our country and screw over the general public while serving their buddies up perks left and right demoralized me. Add that to my ongoing battle with my general depression and it was not a pretty sight. In an act of self preservation I started to stray from my newshound ways. I skimmed the headlines, and watched the Daily Show, but not much more.

I'm in the position now that I am so separated from the news that I could hardly tell you what differentiates one candidate from another. I don't think I could even name the Republican candidates. Just recently I took an online test that claimed to show you who you were most in line with politically. Turns out I'm most aligned with Kucinich. WTF? So I am most in line with someone who has a less than 0% chance of winning. Great. And while I may like his politics, there is something about him that I find creepy. Can't pinpoint it, but photos of him in yoga poses dressed in a business suit didn't help.

I guess it is time I get back to the news and start figuring out who I should vote for in the elections. At this point, I'd back anyone who could win, sadly I can't even tell you who that would be.

Observations from an Outing

I am entirely too linty to work downtown.