Baby Legs!

We had to take Julian in for shots today, and it was a bit nippy. He got some knockoff baby legs from his dear aunt for his birthday, and they're perfect for immunization day! We didn't have to take his pants off and were able to keep him warm without irritating his sore little thighs. Parents of babies, buy some!



Here's a close-up of the freshly poked legs:



We also had him in a summery outfit for Easter, but when it cooled off at night, I was really glad to have a pair of these in the diaper bag to throw on him. I recommend them!

Thalia's Thalias

When we were shopping for bulbs last fall, we came across a type of daffodil called thalia. How could I not buy those? So here they are, finally blooming! I had to photograph them from a strange angle, so the pictures aren't anything special, but how cool that my daughter planted flowers that share her name. A name that people thought I made up.

Once, when she was a tiny, tiny newborn, I was at the store with her and a woman came up and was adoring my precious little babe. She asked me her name, and when I told her, she said, "What? How do you spell it?" I spelled it for her, and her reply? "Poor little baby with a name like that!"

Clearly this woman had a super awesome name that made her such a super awesome person, with such splendid manners.



Well, news flash, it's a real name, with a cool origin, to boot. Thalia was a figure in Greek mythology. The muse of comedy, or one of the three Graces.

Notice the flowers in her hair?

Here's my Thalia:



We also got some more tulips...

Okay, I know that my gardening and photographic skills are nothing to brag about, but I've never planted anything that actually grew before! Did some seeds once...did not go well.

Mini van, mega fun.

My name is Abby, and I drive a minivan.

There. I've said it.

I drive a minivan because it just makes good sense. I have three children, all of whom ride in some form or another of a bulky carseat. Before number three came along, we had two relatively small sedans. Neither would accommodate three young children. Our van fits them and then some, in relative comfort. So why wouldn't we drive one?

Here's why.

Moments ago, I found myself driving behind another minivan (one much newer and nicer than mine). The license plate was something like this: ART CRT. Art cart, I assumed. I immediately started judging the driver of the van, thinking, "Right, you're an artist, driving a minivan like that." By "art" they surely mean stickers and finger paints, which is obviously for children. Art cart, schmart cart.

After allowing this asinine train of thought to chug through my mind, I shrunk down in my seat with the realization that I'M A TOTAL HYPOCRITE. I drive a minivan! And I call myself an artist!

So then I started to think about how others view me as I tool around in my van, lugging my children hither and thither. I know I'm not the only one who judges people for driving minivans or having oodles of children. Yet I somehow think that I'm different. Cooler, you could say.

Why is it taboo for cool people to have more than two children or drive vans that accommodate their offspring? Why does this immediately make those people uncool? Am I really responsible for the world's overpopulation? If I sacrificed having as many children as I wanted, would I really offset those born in India, China, etc? If I have several children and educate them well, aren't I really providing a service to the world, not over-burdening it?

The moral of my story, I suppose, is that if you're cool, you should have babies, lots of them, and that will make the world a cooler place. And if you have lots of babies, you should get over yourself and drive a damn minivan. And be judged like me.

Turn to Face the Strange

I need to change my life.

Maybe the weather is the inspiration behind this feeling...it's been glorious outside. Warm and sunny, not much rain, and that delicious springtime scent drifting peacefully through the windows. Mmmm. It's inspiring. Plus...



How can you not be happy when this is going on? I planted these!! My wonderful mother-in-law and my children helped me dig the holes and plant tulip bulbs last October. The bulbs were promptly dug up by bastard squirrels. I replanted them, bitterly, and gave my family haircuts so that I could mix the hair clippings with soil to keep the squirrels away. I didn't think I was going to get any flowers, but here they are! I'm still awaiting the blooms of other bulbs...they're on their way.



But I digress.

As I was saying, I need to change my life. I am not the person that I want to be. Who is, right? But I have to keep striving. I have to make conscious decisions if I want to like who I am. So I turn myself to face me...

I want to lose 12 pounds. -Ish. More importantly, I want to be HEALTHY. Because I'm simply not. I drink too much soda and Starbucks. I rarely eat fruits or vegetables. I overindulge in chocolates and fast food. I'm lazy as hell. I have to view my body differently. I must think of it as the precious vessel of my soul. That sounds incredibly cheesy, I realize, but it's true! This is my one and only body, and I am going nowhere without it.

I also need to cut reality TV out of my life. So much easier said than done. Watching these terrible shows and these terrible people makes me feel better about myself. But how can that be? Sitting on my ass watching losers on TV makes me somehow superior to them?

No, I must cut that crap out and focus on being a better mother, a better humanitarian, and a better writer. Right now I usually write to fulfill assignments, which is ridiculous if I plan to pursue this activity as a career.

Someone......needs a nap.

So now's the time when I sign off on this post and go do what I said I'm going to do. I'm going to come back often to share ideas and results, and whatever other nonsense that might be floating through my mind.

I will leave you with a recipe for homemade frappuccinos. Delicious, and so much better for you (and much cheaper) than Starbucks:

Monkey's Iced Mochas:
2 tbsp white sugar
2 tbsp chocolate syrup
1 cup skim milk
3/4 cup espresso, frozen into cubes (you can use regular brewed coffee)
light whipped cream

Dissolve sugar into brewed espresso while still hot (sugar won't dissolve well in cold liquids). Freeze coffee into cubes (just pour into ice cube trays). Once frozen, combine espresso, milk, and syrup in blender until smooth. Top with whipped cream and a drizzle of chocolate.

What is real...

Sometimes raising children is a trippy experience.

They tend to say deep things at unexpected moments. They ask philosophical questions that you just can't answer. And that's frustrating, as a parent...because I don't want to answer with, "Just because."

Lately Thalia is obsessed with figuring out what is real and what's not...as far as movies and stories and such. She's a big fan of Labyrinth...if you don't know the movie then I have nothing more to say to you. I rented it once, and the kids both loved it. So I bought them a copy recently, which made Thalia screech with excitement. And the bonus features show the making of the movie, which I thought would be cool. But in a way I wish she'd never seen how the movie was made. I think it took some of the magic out of it for her. She doesn't seem any less enthralled when she watches...but now she has to relay how each puppet was done in each part...how the adorable British worm that talks to Sarah in the beginning is actually just a little finger puppet manipulated by someone behind a wall...how the green hands that make themselves into faces before dropping Sarah into the Oubliette are just gloves...etc. What fun is that? It's cool to know...but when you're 5, isn't it enough to just be fascinated by not knowing? Isn't it enough to believe in magic? To think the world is an astounding place full of mystery?

Not for her.

Not that I can blame her. I think I found less mystery in the world when I was her age than I do now. I didn't believe in God, I didn't believe in ghosts, and I was fascinated by science. The one thing I did believe in was Santa and his posse. Because my parents told me he was real. And I never imagined they'd be lying to me. Parents don't do that, right? Now, Santa didn't make sense, that's for sure. But I was told he existed, and every Christmas there were presents under the tree that no one else took credit for. So I believed. My friends found out the truth and tried to ruin it for me, but I never doubted my faith in Santa. They couldn't shake me. I would make up stories to support my stance. "Well I saw Rudolph's nose glowing last year. So he must be real." Or, "I saw the shadow of a giant bunny on the wall this Easter. What do you say to that?"

Then, when I was much too old, my dad sat me down one day -- I think it was the fourth of July -- and asked me if I believed in magic. I think it was a trick question. He knew that my brain liked logic. But he couldn't fool me. "I don't," I said, "except for Santa and the Easter Bunny and stuff." No, no one was going to get me to say there was no Santa of my own accord. So he finally had to just flat out tell me. And it broke my heart. And it shook my faith in my parents. I was comforted by the idea that some higher being was watching me and rewarding me for my good deeds. They told me there was no God, but I liked having Santa watching out for me. Then they took that away. What else had they lied about?

So I find it really hard to keep the magic for my children. I didn't even plan to do Santa with them. But we do it, because I've been pressured to by everyone around me. But I half-ass it. I use my own handwriting when writing "From Santa." I use the same wrapping paper for the Santa gifts that I use for the gifts from me. When she asks me if Santa is real, I don't EVER say yes. I just ask her if she thinks he's real. When she asks me how he gets in if we don't have a chimney, I just ask her what she thinks. She always comes up with some explanation. I just shrug and say maybe. I'm not on board with lying to my kids.

But maybe I should be. Maybe I really am making their childhood less magical. Maybe I shouldn't explain that Jareth is actually not a Goblin King, but that he's really a great musician named David Bowie, and would they like to listen to his music? That's not his real hair, but a crazy wig. And no, he's not really throwing the baby around -- that's just a doll. No, Sarah and Toby aren't really brother and sister. In fact, there is no Sarah. Her real name is Jennifer Connelly...okay, you get the idea. Thalia LOVES knowing all this stuff. She's constantly asking me questions now about reality. "So this isn't real, Mommy, right? It's just a story!"

Am I wrong for telling the truth?