tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5044286442062652002024-03-13T09:14:30.370-07:00Peace is UpstreamSwimming along since 1985...Hollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16465809546648919967noreply@blogger.comBlogger222125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-504428644206265200.post-48550103870807742872014-12-05T23:43:00.002-08:002014-12-05T23:43:26.737-08:00We've Moved!Just a belated note in case there are still some lost blog followers out there... We moved. To Hong Kong. And the blog is a new thing too: <a href="http://literallyhollywood.com/">literallyhollywood.com</a>.<br />
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MAYBE someday I'll figure out how to transfer these archives over (to WordPress, what a fright!), but for now, come on over.<br />
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Hollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16465809546648919967noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-504428644206265200.post-88211298217873090422013-01-06T21:29:00.003-08:002015-01-12T17:59:18.413-08:00What We've Established Thus Far<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Our tiny tot turned one on Friday, and sadly, I did not present him with a handwritten letter filled with all the precious memories of his first 365 days on this earth. No, at 6:30 a.m. I handed him to his daddy, who had the day off, showered, then scrambled to find my hair dryer, and sped off to work after I gave both gents a goodbye kiss and a cornbread muffin, one for each of the them.<br />
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I came home at lunch (since, as you well know, mothers who work on their children's birthdays may as well take parenting classes from Putin--cold, heartless, anti-American weasel!), and we took our one-year-old to buy a real pair of shoes. We also bought cupcakes, most of which were eaten by his two adoring parents.<br />
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Anyway, it was a fun day, but it was also kind of anti-climactic. I had to go back to work for a few hours after twelve glorious days away. He didn't even know <i>why</i> we were eating cupcakes, or <i>why</i> we kept asking him if he was having a good day. He protested and refused to take his second nap, which led to the longest witching hour of all time.<br />
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The whole thing made me realize: This might not actually get easier. He's not sleeping from 6 p.m. to 8 a.m. as I once prayed he would. He tends to fling food. But I have not wasted all this reflective holiday thinking time, either. I've realized a lot of good, and I am writing it here in lieu of a handwritten birthday letter. I'm only two days late.<br />
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Little D's Best Features, Age 1, According to Mom<br />
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<li><b>Dancing feet.</b> They start kicking at the slightest jingle, and he has started to do this funky wave with his right hand when he's really grooving. I think maybe he'll be friends with Justin Timberlake and Jessica Biel's firstborn child, which would give him the chance to cultivate both his moves and his popularity.</li>
<li><b>Greetings. </b>Do you know someone who is just GREAT at saying hello? I do. My baby, he's the best. When you walk in the room, even if it's only been five minutes, he turns and looks you in the eye, and waves both hands and says, Heyyyy! Everyone should be greeted so warmly. It makes you feel like a million dollars.</li>
<li><b>Night-snuggling. </b>It's true that he still wakes up nearly every night at 4 a.m., but when someone that squishy, who smells that good, wants to snuggle in the night, you don't turn him away. You keep him in your bed until the alarm goes off, and you give up approximately 1.5 million hours of deep sleep for dozing next to him. </li>
<li><b>Eating.</b> We had a rough start when it came to eating, didn't we? But despite the naysayers, my baby 1) can identify me as his own mama (bonded!), 2) has yet to get an ear infection or need antibiotics...at all, and 3) is not obese. So I'd say the bottles turned out just fine, despite the lactation lady who leaned toward the can of formula on our counter that February morning and whispered, "You don't know what's in that stuff." Now this little guy chows on avocados, minestrone, fish tacos (how he loves the fish!), and the occasional stray Cheerio. He loves to eat at restaurants, where he can fling his food and make new friends at the same time. </li>
<li><b>Zip/Pep. </b>His gaze can be quite steely when he's thinking hard, but on the whole, our little man is a lightning bolt. He is ZIP and he is PEP, and sometimes he's both at the same time. BOOM goes the lamp, over. WHIZZ goes the barstool as he pushes it across the room. CRASH goes the empty bottle, launched across the room once no longer useful to him. We know he's awake in the morning when we hear pacifiers hitting our shared wall. He takes his collection and throws each "baba" as hard as he can--let's GO, people! </li>
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So we go! We are off and running, still sleepy, still not entirely sure what we are doing, into the second year of life as a mighty trio. But because he smells so good, and says hello so sweetly, and since I find him remarkably likeable even when the beans land in my hair, I know we are going to be just fine.<br />
<br />Hollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16465809546648919967noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-504428644206265200.post-9484770820317973522012-10-23T21:23:00.000-07:002015-01-12T18:01:38.917-08:00Making Mental Illness Old News<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHDy67L-zyeXrD92rl-wWTpbT-eJSE_ov-o714BOZP4Lni-2jwCLbZpEKA-4WJdfCvLvs4rVP4E1JxdHas8UVQTY5V_2H5FZQejgocxOR6JbP-4h22NPc4_H04DK6EsLWvEppvmuhteX_p/s1600/twinsies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHDy67L-zyeXrD92rl-wWTpbT-eJSE_ov-o714BOZP4Lni-2jwCLbZpEKA-4WJdfCvLvs4rVP4E1JxdHas8UVQTY5V_2H5FZQejgocxOR6JbP-4h22NPc4_H04DK6EsLWvEppvmuhteX_p/s320/twinsies.jpg" height="320" width="208" /></a>Two and a half years ago I <a href="http://peaceisupstream.blogspot.com/2010/04/soapbox-alert-my-fundraising-letter.html" target="_blank">wrote a post</a> in honor of my brother, who lives every day with schizophrenia. I am so proud, so thankful, to tell you that he is still doing well and living a full and productive life. His symptoms are not gone, but he manages them with incredible maturity and gentleness, even in moments when they nearly knock him flat.<br />
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This Saturday, I will join my friends from the National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI), to walk along the shores of Lake Washington in celebration of stories like my brother's. In celebration of recovery, of small victories that come in a finally-perfectly-dosed medication, a therapist who answered the phone at just the right moment, of a community that believes that people can not just survive mental illness, but miraculously, thrive in its midst, and in celebration of progress toward the day when mental illness will be old news. And we will walk in face of the suffering, too. The relentless paranoia, the bone-crushing depression, the whirling, swirling thoughts that threaten to steal all the good days away.<br />
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About a year ago, we had a big ultrasound visit during my sixth month of pregnancy, and I burst into tears when our baby's tiny brain flickered across the grainy screen, all the little blotches adding up to a new life. I remember praying fierce prayers, "God, keep this baby's brain healthy!" It was the first moment I felt like a mom--longing so much to be able to protect my kid from sucker punches like mental illness. That ultrasound reminded me that mental illness is a part of my family's story, which means it will be part of my son's story too. It made me want to stand up and fight.<br />
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I know I'm bit of a fundraising machine these days--and I know there are a lot of great causes to pick from, which is a good problem to have. Mental illness is not a sexy cause. It can ravage relationships and threaten to destroy a young person's best years...or an old person's final years. It can be very, very ugly. But if you can reach into your pockets, I will reach into mine, and together we can support the work of an organization dedicated to caring for people in their most vulnerable moments. NAMI offered practical tools and emotional support for my family in an overwhelming season of life, and I know NAMI will be at the ready for families like mine for years to come.<br />
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Please <a href="http://namiwalks.nami.org/hollywood" target="_blank">visit my fundraising page </a>if you'd like to contribute, and thanks for believing in the hope that one day mental illness will be old news!<br />
<br />Hollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16465809546648919967noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-504428644206265200.post-32505191103367599942012-09-29T17:17:00.002-07:002012-09-29T17:17:47.282-07:00StinkerOur tiny tot is growing up, and he's getting sassy. Sigh...<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/5FtBKSy5Jl8" width="420"></iframe>Hollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16465809546648919967noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-504428644206265200.post-64168889515298997482012-09-23T15:18:00.000-07:002012-09-23T15:18:07.792-07:00Rock ChalkLabor Day weekend meant a chance to hop on a plane to the land of sunflowers, college basketball, and wide, wide open spaces: Kansas! Baby and I traveled to visit my sweet cousin and her brood of small, deliciously dumpling-esque children (three plus one dumpling on the way) and to see my mom, who trekked over from her own wide open space in Nebraska.<br />
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Let me pause to tell you a fact. There is no more hopping on planes when you have a 22 pound baby in tow. There are legion blogs on "traveling with kids made easy," and "how to travel and ensure the whole world appreciates your parenting style," and my favorite, "traveling with kids on a budget." This is all bogus. It's not easy, it will always be harder than traveling without kids. Period. And the world isn't going to like it when your kids freak out in public, no matter what your parenting style is. And when you have kids, you already spend gobs on money on them at home, so you may as well buy them that bag of goldfish for $6.00 in the airport bookstore.<br />
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But on this "hop" on a plane, redemption came in the form of a very liquored-up businessman across the aisle. The baby had been screaming for a while, a whiiiiile, if you know what I mean, and when he paused to gather himself for the next round of screaming, said liquor-lover looked at him and slurred, "Heyyyy." And from my lips to God's ears, Duncan slurred back, "Heyyyy." And the whole plane erupted, partly in celebration that the screaming had ceased, partly because my baby's first words were clearer than the drunk man's.<br />
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Anyway, we made it to Kansas. We ate and played and played and ate. I picked up a turtle on the side of the country road, using a Target bag as a very clever glove, but then the turtle uncurled his claw-toes around my finger and the turtle went flying. Baby D met his first llama. And his first sheep. And his first pony named Arctic.<br />
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Baby D charmed his Uncle Tim, who will teach him to Eat Beef.</div>
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Cousins practiced taking good care of each other.</div>
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The most precious little girl on the prairie...</div>
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And her feisty, magnetic little sister with Owen Wilson hair. </div>
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The lovefest between Iny and Baby continues.</div>
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Sleep is not for the weak. Sleep is for the giant babies who wear their mothers out.</div>
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Grandma Pam-ma and her little darlings nearly collapsed the porch swing.</div>
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And the grand finale was a hearty lunch at Abuelo's before the long trek home.</div>
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We talked about the hard parts of motherhood, childhood, nitty gritty friendships, how much we miss our Grandpa John, and how we wished we all lived closer. And we laughed at our kids' shenanigans and talked about the next time we could all be together. Because it's never enough!<br />
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<br />Hollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16465809546648919967noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-504428644206265200.post-9878331284295320272012-08-26T16:44:00.002-07:002012-08-27T13:52:43.585-07:00Late Summer Currents<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Current music</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">: I am listening to books on tape these days as a means to suffer through my commute. (Oh, I got a new job. And it's kind of far away.) It's actually become one of the best parts of my day, and my only quandary is whether or not I'll be allowed to say, "I read that!" when I really only listened to it. Does it count?<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Current wishlist</span>: More time in my day with Darling Donut. Maggie Mason posted an article about how we are asking the wrong question when we ask, "Can I have it all?" We should be asking, "Do I have enough?" And I 100% have enough of everything...except time with my kid. I lovelovelove working, quenching bits of my mind and spirit that aren't quenched by motherhood, but working 40 hours is a real drag when it means missing the tot so much. There's nothing to do but to savor my moments with him with more intention.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Current food</span>: Well, if we had had more of a summer, I would be saying GAZPACHO. Except nobody has tomatoes yet! The injustice!!! We are eating lots of hummus, because when I'm gone all day, I'm less excited about cooking for two hours at night than letting the baby blow raspberries on my cheeks. I will say that we did an experiment last week where we refrained from all refined sugar--and we were pretty strict about it, ketchup and everything--and I felt so empowered, disciplined, and energized. And hey, I lost four pounds. I also made a strata because my friend <a href="http://artbybritt.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Britt</a> swears by it, and now I will too. Yum.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Current TV show</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">: We watched the teaser pilot for The Newsroom on YouTube, and now it's all I can think about (when it comes to tv shows, at least). I am tempted to sign up for HBO, except then we'd have to huddle together to keep warm at night and haul water from the drinking fountain at the park. <span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Current location</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">: My new desk. I am spending a lot of time here--full time, they call it. It's a great fit for my skills and will mean tons of learning about nonprofit development work, volunteer management, communication and marketing, AND I get to plan interesting events. As hard as it is to leave <a href="http://www.sidebyside.org/" target="_blank">my old gig</a>, this is my new frontier and I am embracing it.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Current book</span>: <i>The Marriage Plot. </i>Except, I am having the dilemma already! Can I say I read it? I just listened to it. And mercy, it was good. I've never listened to a book before, and there were parts of this one that leaned toward what-is-he-even-talking-about, but since I was a captive audience, so to speak, I just kept going. I wonder if I should try listening to some of the other classics I've never made it through. Would that make it easier for me to digest Henry James? Gulp.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Current indulgence</span>: Gloating over my child. One friend recently claimed how he hated babies on Facebook long before it was cool to hate babies on Facebook, and it made me realize just how much I don't care if people are sick of my baby on Facebook. Or anywhere. I will never get sick of him, and if somebody wants to unsubscribe? Your loss, buddy. (I would clarify that I do get sick of crying, fatigue, the diaper thing--but I guess I mean I couldn't ever get sick of <i>knowing him</i>.)<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Current worry</span>: What if we mess up our kid? What if it's actually all nurture, no nature?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Current project</span>: Researching <a href="http://pinterest.com/search/?q=stamped+concrete" target="_blank">stamped concrete</a> and all the places it belongs in our yard. I am obsessed. I guess the other half of the stamped concrete obsession is my renewed interested in Pinterest. Part of me is like, "Hey! Let's all compare our houses and our cooking and our children and our bodies and our money and just pretend it's about INSPIRATION!" And part of me loves it so much. And is willing to battle the Jealous Demons that lurk in every Pin.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Current movie</span>: We watched <i>The Hunger Games</i> last night, and even though I am way late to that party, both when I read the books and now reviewing the film (using that term loosely), I was disappointed. Part of the reason readers devoured the book without really being too bothered by the violence and gross twistedness is because the characters were straight up heroes. And the movie just missed the essence of the characters, for me. Wah wah.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><b>Current obsession: </b>Bringing the baby into bed with us when he wakes around 5 a.m. and then sniffing his hair until I have to face the day an hour later. It's like the best dream ever. Also, <a href="http://chihulygardenandglass.com/" target="_blank">Chihuly</a>. Out of control.</span><br />
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Hollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16465809546648919967noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-504428644206265200.post-16127473598376131252012-05-01T20:39:00.001-07:002012-05-01T20:39:38.728-07:00This new Blogger layout is a metaphor for my life.Anyone else in a funk? I am in a funk. The crummy gray Seattle weather that prompts me to search for apartments in San Diego EVERY YEAR has me inside out this time. Between four months of sleep deprivation and just, all of it, I am also searching for vacation rentals in Maui every chance I get. I have no vacation time left, no money, no desire to bring a restless babe on an airplane, but I could sure use a nap in a hammock while intravenously enjoying a Mojito (Get it? I could sleep and also enjoy the mint).<br />
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I know I should buck up and be grateful the tot is sleeping so much (he lasts from 8pm-4am, most nights), but the problem is that all this transition is keeping me awake. So I am going to bed at the junior high hour of 9:45, and once we're awake again at 4am, I stay awake. The men of the house snore for three more hours. It's brutal.<br />
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Lately my favorite bloggers have been the ones who don't seem to worry about whether or not they're writing to impress their audience with much narrative rhythm. Or grammar. Or content beyond the mundane stuff of life. Their lives have rhythm enough, so I'm putting it out there right now: I have not yet found my rhythm, I am writing about it without any standard of editing or high content value, and I'm giving myself credit anyway.<br />
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Keep on trucking, right?Hollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16465809546648919967noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-504428644206265200.post-55643300316972849582012-04-13T09:51:00.002-07:002012-04-13T09:56:47.251-07:00Smart Lady<div>Twenty minutes feels like an eternity when I'm flitting around the internet, but hey, depth over breadth.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>You are imperfect, you are wired for struggle. And you are worthy of love and belonging.</i></div><div><br /></div><iframe width="560" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/X4Qm9cGRub0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe><div><br /></div><div>via <a href="http://www.designmom.com">DesignMom</a></div>Hollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16465809546648919967noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-504428644206265200.post-14736013561836571972012-04-11T20:34:00.006-07:002012-04-11T20:55:49.020-07:00Currents<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;">Is it fair to post Currents when there is no real consistent content in between? Also, remember the catalog called Current? Also, I wish people still spelled it <i>catalogue</i>. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "><b>Current TV show</b>: Finally getting around to watching Parenthood. Why did it end in February? Anybody?</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "><br /><br /><b>Current Food</b>: Still getting meals from people who want to cook for us. Now that I am officially weaned from the pump (no real sense of loss there, let me tell ya), I need to get a grip on the rampage-style eating that has gone on in the last three months. I was trying to describe the hunger that hits when you're nursing/faux-nursing at a machine. It's kind of like the feeling of being at a party that you didn't want</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; ">to go to but you did anyway, but then you walk in the door and you want to leave IMMEDIATELY. It's urgent that way. Only it's way more fun than that, because you get to eat and you lose tons of weight at the same time, and you get a glimpse into life with a great metabolism. So. It's nothing like my party metaphor, it's just an awesome hall pass. It's more like growing up in a super conservative Christian environment and suddenly your youth pastor tells you that premarital sex is like, TOTALLY ALLOWED. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;"><br /><b>Current Movie</b>: <i>The Help.</i> Don't watch it the day before you become a working mom. It will bring up all kinds of uncomfortable feelings and questions and you will just bawl your bloody eyes out.<br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;"><br /><b>Current Wishlist</b>: Rest. Baby sleeps like one, but I can't seem to go all night without tossing, turning, fretting. It's ridiculous, and I know I'm just stressed out with all the transition in life, but how cruel to have a baby sleep 11 hours and only sleep six myself. I need REST.<br /><br /><b>Current Music</b>: The Muppets on Pandora. I am not ashamed.<br /><br /><b>Current Book</b>: <i>Bringing Up Bebe</i> by Pamela Druckerman. Basically, it's the book version of that fabulous movie <i>BABIES</i>. The point? It all pretty much comes out in the cultural, societal wash. Do your best. Give hugs.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;"><br /><b>Current Worry</b>: Oh, you know. Just hoping we fumble through the rest of our lives as parents.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /><b>Current Indulgence</b>: Hopping back into Pinterest. It was sort of uninteresting when I first started because it was so lean, but now you could spend hours and hours and hours looking at all sorts of beauty. Yum.<br /><br /><b>Current Obsession</b>: Same ol', same ol'...</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdBvE8MTs2AiNOkSyUCHsm6Xpdewt27-T-vcTrFV2gSRGh7x_ulvdfw2dbLHT84br-kwXgQFZ_bkde7KXCfCGs4cZ5moKwRmxnly9IrRb3BuonKNZm3TfWHfLYNXVmnPeDTxed2a2KzDsW/s400/IMG_2521.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5730356472783871010" style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px; " /></span><div style="font-family: georgia; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><img width="1" height="1" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18936970-8069263741066956125?l=maryannjoy.blogspot.com" alt="" /></div></span></span></div>Hollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16465809546648919967noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-504428644206265200.post-11299258931580078592012-04-11T20:32:00.000-07:002012-04-11T20:33:23.692-07:00Laughed out loud...<div style="padding-bottom: 2px; line-height: 0px"><a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/167548048606602366/" target="_blank"><img src="http://media-cache6.pinterest.com/upload/167548048606602366_kSyqJ4xR_c.jpg" border="0" width="442" height="600" /></a></div><div style="float: left; padding-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px;"><p style="font-size: 10px; color: #76838b;">Source: <a style="text-decoration: underline; font-size: 10px; color: #76838b;" href="http://witanddelight.tumblr.com/page/21">witanddelight.tumblr.com</a> via <a style="text-decoration: underline; font-size: 10px; color: #76838b;" href="http://pinterest.com/allie_fraley/" target="_blank">Allie</a> on <a style="text-decoration: underline; color: #76838b;" href="http://pinterest.com" target="_blank">Pinterest</a></p></div>Hollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16465809546648919967noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-504428644206265200.post-332901045078813822012-03-30T19:21:00.002-07:002012-03-30T19:37:13.148-07:00Dear DonutDear Donut,<div><br /></div><div>First of all, let's clear one thing up. We didn't mean to name you after a sugary confection associated with negligent law enforcement officials. But when the insurance company spelled your name as Dunkin, well, some things can't be undone. It seems pretty harmless for now, this nickname, especially since my own actual name is enough to make even the people at TSA chuckle on the job. Please don't struggle with childhood obesity. I'll blame myself. </div><div><br /></div><div>Last night I left you at home to have a visit with Anne Lamott. I can't figure out the chemistry behind it (mostly because chemistry...blech), but after a few hours away my body is physically achy, like I forgot to take some medicine or something. But it's just missing you. I really do put the mother in smother, don't I? Luckily you still don't know the difference. Anyway, Annie and I had a lovely visit, along with five hundred other fans, and she reminded all of us a few things I'd like to think are gospel truth. Listening to her was worth being achy, and that's saying a lot, Donut.</div><div><br /></div><div>If it's not your problem, you probably don't have the solution, she told us. And how do we ever know what's really our problem? Pay attention to what's inside your own hula hoop, she said. I know I'm going to want to keep you in my hula hoop for as long as possible, and if I joined the Y again, we could probably fit inside it even longer. But maybe the most terrifying and important thing I heard last night was that my whole job is to help you want to leave me. ACHE. ACHE. ACHE. That's my job! ACHE! To push you out of my hula hoop and help you see when your own begins and ends. </div><div><br /></div><div>Right now you are chewing on at least eight fingers at once, and it must be pretty delectable because you aren't messing around with it. Your onesie is unsnapped and halfway up your chubby, bottle-fed belly, and you have Don Draper hair. Tonight I'm going to sing you the song about all the donuts in the world (to the tune of <i>Jesus Loves the Little Children</i>), and since we have already established you are a jelly-filled donut, I'll tell you that's my favorite kind of donut.</div><div><br /></div><div>I sure do love you, kid. Have I mentioned I love you?</div><div><br /></div><div>Mom</div><div><br /></div><div>PS- Forgot to tell you that we learned you are genius on Wednesday. Took you in for a hearing study at the U, the first of three hour-long appointments. They kicked us out of the fancy sound booth in fifteen minutes and told me you set a WORLD RECORD (for infant hearing studies at this particular sound booth). You aced that hearing test and they canceled all the other visits, because you literally did a three hour test in fifteen minutes. Keep it up, that's how we'll pay for college.</div>Hollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16465809546648919967noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-504428644206265200.post-10735902299016870362012-03-22T13:25:00.004-07:002012-03-22T14:27:18.180-07:00Eat this! Immediately!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhziVgf3uhOVz5U9DkxUWRQ3IzfibgK1o8_x_T01PfREYRFXQXfzNNWLgv6yAghrHKAR8Fod4yz1FMXigogh5V4r4Kof6RJhFSrCUsbj69LzW0E8_xv6OVa3I0aHpQjiloGf678bO6GD61S/s1600/noodle+town.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhziVgf3uhOVz5U9DkxUWRQ3IzfibgK1o8_x_T01PfREYRFXQXfzNNWLgv6yAghrHKAR8Fod4yz1FMXigogh5V4r4Kof6RJhFSrCUsbj69LzW0E8_xv6OVa3I0aHpQjiloGf678bO6GD61S/s400/noodle+town.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5722824044060690274" /></a><br /><div><br /></div><div>In an effort to shake up our rut of a dinner menu (with the fabulous exception of all the delivered meals people are still sharing), I whipped up these spicy noodles last night...and with great success! Success is defined, in this case, by whether or not you eat the finished product straight out of the bowl. You should try them. Especially if you are desperate for springy food, or spring, in general. They taste sunny.</div><div><br /></div><div>Sunny Noodle Bang Bang</div><div><br /></div><div>Starring...</div><div><br /></div><div>1 box whole wheat angel hair pasta</div><div>1 handful cilantro, chopped a lot or a little</div><div>10 mini sweet peppers, sliced extra thin (these usually come in a bag, Costco carries them)</div><div>1 large lime</div><div>1 English cucumber, chopped or julienned</div><div>2 squirts Sriracha sauce, give or take</div><div>soy sauce</div><div>fish sauce</div><div>honey</div><div>fresh ginger</div><div>fresh garlic</div><div><br /></div><div>Boil your water, boil your noodles. Chop the peppers, cucumber, cilantro, ginger, and garlic, and sauté them in a bit of oil to get to know each other. Save the garlic for a few minutes so you don't burn him up. This would be even better if you work in some green onion and carrot. I was out! (By the way, I am really liking my autocorrect action today. Saute is now sauté!) </div><div><br /></div><div>Whisk the lime's juice, four big glugs of soy sauce, one glug of fish sauce, a tablespoon of honey, and a squirt of Sriracha. Superb addition? Sesame oil or <i>black sesame seeds</i>. Mmm. Taste it and make sure you like what's happening. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z4tn1xKjAS4&feature=fvsr">A much better place to learn about vinaigrette is at Chow.com. </a></div><div><br /></div><div>Now dump your noodles into the sauce, and dump your happy vegetables on top. Toss it all together and add more Sriracha or soy sauce if it seems unfinished. </div><div><br /></div><div>Eat ravenously while your husband/roommate/small child observes your appetite in wonder. </div><div><br /></div><div><i><a href="http://poppytalk.blogspot.com/2012/03/simple-addiction-spicy-garlic-ginger.html">Inspired by Poppytalk</a></i></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Hollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16465809546648919967noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-504428644206265200.post-22517114034018824832012-02-21T20:14:00.004-08:002012-02-21T21:06:42.213-08:00Major BummerSo. I've got some bad news. And it's not bad news that really affects anybody else in the world, but it's a big deal around here. It's something that feels like a secret, like I should be ashamed to tell the world...even though it doesn't affect anybody else. But it's not shameful, it shouldn't be, and I am writing about it so that I can get in the habit of being comfortable with the reality that I'm facing. <div><br /></div><div>I am not breastfeeding my baby anymore. </div><div><br /></div><div>I could tell you about all the lactation consultants who tried to help (there were FOUR), the ENT visits, the email chains with our pediatrician, phone calls to my mom and all my surrogate mothers here in Seattle, and I could tell you about how many tears I've cried over the last seven weeks of trying.trying.trying. </div><div><br /></div><div>But what I need to practice, more than giving my laundry list of defenses, is getting settled into the fact that I am the mom. I am the mom who gets to decide what's best for my baby. I am the mom who gets to set an example for her kid by zooming out to see the big picture, the long-term outlook. In the grand scheme, this baby can't get what he needs to thrive, and my body can't give it to him. In the grand scheme, I'm going to face a lot of scrutiny from other people who question my decisions as a mom. I expect I'll hear from a few axe-grinding breastfeeding advocates in the next year, and that's going to be hard. </div><div><br /></div><div>Here's how I'm gonna respond.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>I love my kiddo, and I'm doing everything I can to show him just how much. And God bless Enfamil.</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div>Hollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16465809546648919967noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-504428644206265200.post-85658082120466594342012-02-07T18:42:00.000-08:002012-02-07T19:01:28.833-08:00Currents (AKA Maryann inspires me every month)<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family:arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-weight: bold; ">Current TV Show</span>: The West Wing. We are halfwaythrough season 3, and let me tell</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family:arial, sans-serif;">you, I have never felt so friggin' pat</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family:arial, sans-serif;">riotic. I LOVE PRESIDENT BARTLET. Also, did anyone watch that NBC special a f</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family:arial, sans-serif;">ew years ago on the inner workings of the White House? It was a little like <i>The West Wing</i>,</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family:arial, sans-serif;">and I wish they would do another special because I just remember the part where O</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family:arial, sans-serif;">bama shows up at Five Guys and everyone just set aside politics and agreed that those burgers are phenomenal. I also loved how much that Axelrod guy was really hardcore, and now I see that he is just like the fictional character Leo McGarry, whom I adore.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; ">Current Food</span>: Let me tell you now: there are a lot of reasons that becoming a parent is miraculous and wonderful, but in the top tier is the FOOD. Nothing makes a girl feel more cared for and supported than a fridge full of coq au vin and Ben and Jerry's Schweddy Balls. And the fridge is full up of Schweddy Balls.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; ">Current Movie</span>: Last to the <i>Crazy, Stupid, Love. </i>party and I don't even care. It was darling and cemented (recemented?) my love for Steve Carell. </span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family:arial, sans-serif;font-size:100%;" ><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; ">Current Wishlist</span>: A lactation consultant who appears during midnight nursing crises.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; ">Current Music</span>: Over the Rhine, over and over and over (see: midnight nursing crises).<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; ">Current Book</span>: I can't really read since I need both hands while I'm nursing, and literally the nursing happens 10 hours a day. But have I mentioned <i>The West Wing</i>? I'm also thinking lots about <i>Operating Instructions</i>, which is Anne Lamott's phenomenal story of motherhood and winging the first year of her son's life. I can relate...ohsomuch. Minus the single parent/addiction/cancer parts.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family:arial, sans-serif;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family:arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;">And thanks to Maryann, I'm going to let you take a detour down the road of Anne Lamott-love, from<i> Traveling Mercies</i>:<br /><br /><span><span style="font-style: italic; ">"... I remembered another woman at our church, very old, from the South, tiny and black, who dressed in these ersatz Coco Chanel outfits, polyester sweater sets, dacron pill-box hats...She was always cheerful until she turned 80 and started going blind. She had a great deal of religious faith and everyone assumed that she would adjust and find meaning in her loss, meaning and acceptance and then joy; and we all wanted this because, let's face it, it's so inspiring and such a relief when people bear up to the unbearable. When you can box things up nicely and see that a tiny miracle took place and that love once again turned out to be bigger than fear and death and blindness. But this woman would have none of it. She went into a deep depression, and eventually left the church. People kept taking communion to her, but she wouldn't be in our community anymore. It must have been too annoying for everyone to be secretly trying to manipulate her into being a better sport about being blind than she was capable of being. I always thought that was heroic of her, that it spoke of such integrity to refuse to pretend that you're doing well just to help other people deal with the reality of impossible loss." </span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; ">Current Worry</span>: That my sweet little baby will inherit my family's big fat history of mental illness, and that I'll be holding my breath for the rest of his life. Working on shelving this, because let's be real, stressing about going crazy will make a mama crazy.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; ">Current Indulgence</span>: Eating like a horse. Like my friend Lindsey says, "Eat a cupcake, LOSE A POUND! Eat another cupcake, LOSE TWO POUNDS!" Breastfeeding's upside (besides the mystical bond thing) is calorie burning.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; ">Current Obsession</span>:</span><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family:arial, sans-serif;font-size:13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkktrK2w-MjzoOo9R2NKcGTpOb0uCDdKAHw8vmGnb3NlJLNUxB5NtuT95j_bQGJcfmvALAjA-e8K16Wu8jP9P9_bF-t6rd6-4_fVzrAA0mIo13V6aUFTYtSP5JxLfWx1Yk-_xfCDBHzsL3/s400/IMG_2630.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5706593951032201810" style="cursor: pointer; width: 304px; height: 400px; " /></span></span></div>Hollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16465809546648919967noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-504428644206265200.post-59444543589604447232012-01-12T17:07:00.001-08:002012-01-12T17:11:49.105-08:00Welcome.It felt like he would never get here. <span style="font-style: italic;">Come on already,</span> we told him. For days and days and days we tried to talk him into making his debut, and he waited and waited and waited. Christmas came and went. Then New Year's Eve and New Year's Day. And we heard every joke about missing the tax refund and the prize for being born at 12:01am. And then we waited some more.<br /><br />But he was ready right on time, it turns out. We came to the hospital at midnight, thinking it was the Real Thing. They sent us home again. Three hours later we were back, and I was 8cm dilated and out he came, three hours after that. I tried some morphine but it didn't matter, and then we were whooshing along so fast the epidural didn't happen either. He came in a blaze of glory at 6:18am on his due date. So punctual, he's already teaching me something.<br /><br />Our days have been full of gurgles and burps, squirting (just...squirting), tears and belly laughs, a few meltdowns, and so much good food. Grandma came for the first five days and gave us the gift of experience and cheerleading. Friends have visited almost every day with so much enthusiasm we're inspired to face another sleepless night with bright eyes. Nurses and doctors reassure us that this kid is healthy and on his way to being a very fabulous human.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX-_G3ylLuHiDqKcO8IHxaUQaIYArH0vkcGZvnnH1uj2Q411d1WY1Wrh4dhhr5DrFSSdZ6H_wXaYX3sAnqGKaRSRCmewuqlG1h-kLgfWZ-iHjkk_-iUV-_jqQMVIMdJcJgS7jmyjH4sXfr/s1600/Duncan+and+Daddy"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 298px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX-_G3ylLuHiDqKcO8IHxaUQaIYArH0vkcGZvnnH1uj2Q411d1WY1Wrh4dhhr5DrFSSdZ6H_wXaYX3sAnqGKaRSRCmewuqlG1h-kLgfWZ-iHjkk_-iUV-_jqQMVIMdJcJgS7jmyjH4sXfr/s400/Duncan+and+Daddy" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5696917100078001282" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiqf4VhddrOG2HvkUPYwFkuYdX5fto2x_nHjoEFOlq5NE8mcL9Tpt40wORrpVGa-gC4Y_PYklA6GQ-oMaOVtpZV9HNls-_5KDhUULcF7bBwesUStMjxpJLe2TPK9UGw53NSXJhsa-xge35/s1600/Duncan+and+Mommy"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 298px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiqf4VhddrOG2HvkUPYwFkuYdX5fto2x_nHjoEFOlq5NE8mcL9Tpt40wORrpVGa-gC4Y_PYklA6GQ-oMaOVtpZV9HNls-_5KDhUULcF7bBwesUStMjxpJLe2TPK9UGw53NSXJhsa-xge35/s400/Duncan+and+Mommy" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5696917493870317586" border="0" /></a><br /><br />We think they are right.Hollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16465809546648919967noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-504428644206265200.post-29138349940639826262011-12-12T21:46:00.000-08:002011-12-12T21:55:18.562-08:00In case you were about to ask...<span style="font-weight: bold;">Do you know if it's a boy or a girl?</span><br />Yes. It's a boy.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Is your husband taking time off work?</span><br />Yes. It's the year 2011 and it's called egalitarianism (and being lucky enough to have jobs that give us time off, granted). We're working on it.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Are you nesting?</span><br />'Tis my middle name.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Will you go back to work?</span><br />Will I win the lottery in the next three months?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Are you swollen/sleeping poorly/uncomfortable?</span><br />(Silence.)<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Can you believe you're about to be parents?</span><br />Hardly. Can't hardly wait. Can't even begin to tell you how much I can hardly wait.Hollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16465809546648919967noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-504428644206265200.post-76242540376469322532011-11-04T09:20:00.000-07:002011-11-04T09:46:23.243-07:00Getting a grip<span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Wednesday was a bad day. The only way I can say it here is... WEDNESDAY WAS A BAD DAY AT WORK. We rushed home in ridiculous traffic to meet the dryer repair guy, who made it to our house before we did. Whoops.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Since I spent the entire car ride home complaining about my HORRIBLE DAY, I walked in the front door and began my other form of decompressing: cooking dinner. I started putzing and chopping onion, whirred up some rosemary bread crumbs in my handy food processor, generally got my inner Ina flowing. Mmm. Meanwhile Dustin started to chat with the repair guy about soccer and this famous player from Repair Guy's home country, Ivory Coast. And that's when I perked up. Have you heard of Didier Drogba?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">From Wikipedia...</span><br /><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" >Drogba is credited with playing a vital role in bringing peace to his country</span><span style="text-decoration: underline; font-style: italic; font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" >.</span><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" > After Côte d'Ivoire qualified for the 2006 World Cup, Drogba made a desperate plea to the combatants, asking them to lay down their arms, a plea which was answered with a cease fire after five years of civil war. Drogba later helped move an </span><span style="font-size:100%;"><a style="font-style: italic; font-family: georgia;" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/African_Cup_of_Nations" title="African Cup of Nations" class="mw-redirect">African Cup of Nations</a></span><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" > qualifier to the rebel stronghold of </span><span style="font-size:100%;"><a style="font-style: italic; font-family: georgia;" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bouake" title="Bouake" class="mw-redirect">Bouake</a></span><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" >; a move that helped confirm the peace process.</span><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" > In September 2011, Drogba joined the Truth, Reconciliation and Dialogue Commission as a representative to help return peace to his home nation</span><span style="text-decoration: underline; font-style: italic; font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" >.</span><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" > His involvement in the peace process lead to Drogba being named as one of the world's 100 most influential people by </span><span style="font-size:100%;"><i style="font-style: italic; font-family: georgia;">Time</i></span><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" > magazine for 2010.</span><sup id="cite_ref-8" class="reference"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I'm sorry, but I generally don't buy the athletes as heroes spiel. But this soccer player literally SAVED LIVES. And he's one of the reasons that I believe in soccer as a global institution. It has value beyond basic entertainment. It's unifying on a level no other sport is. Sorry, hockey fans. Sorry.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Anyway, we chatted about Didier, and then Repair Guy, whose name we learned is Konate, started asking me about Rachael Ray. Hello Konate, let's be best friends. You have built a legitimate business as an immigrant, you speak six languages (French, English, Arabic and three tribal dialects), you like Didier Drogba, AND you want to talk to me about the Food Network?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Konate stayed for two hours, much longer than it took to fix our dryer, telling us all about his tribal initiation into manhood at 13 (running through the jungle while the older men make fake hyena calls trying to scare you), marrying his wife (who was chosen for him by his uncle), and raising his three kids in the United States (he believes that his kids owe their whole futures to their teachers, so they better not screw around in class).</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Then he shook our hands, congratulated us on this upcoming baby, and dashed down our driveway into the pouring rain. I looked at Dustin and giggled, and I realized my world is still cracking open wider than my bad days.</span><br /></span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Didier_Drogba#cite_note-8"><span></span><span></span></a></sup>Hollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16465809546648919967noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-504428644206265200.post-85608609768942789802011-10-02T17:10:00.000-07:002011-10-02T17:16:09.934-07:00Wordle of the Month<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://wordle.net/"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 456px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBjuZnzxxVqsGVsADEx09dyQ-xjejUJ6P9uDOM4jhAbGdhfa0-9bZ3-HMlcvWaQEFk-oHSR2_53pH8fcFniFJpnsPCtiL7sAdLfx2k6vhGwk9PvLplYecHxPc4ou6WTpxerktXuIEJZeg5/s400/wordle.tiff" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5659052761735093858" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://wordle.net/"><br /></a>Hollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16465809546648919967noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-504428644206265200.post-9406321138780343372011-09-30T20:19:00.001-07:002011-09-30T20:28:49.878-07:00What Happens When You Don't Work on FridaysMe: If you come early, you'll see our messy house.<br />Guy from Heating Company who had an appointment: I'll let you know how messy it compares.<br /><br />Surveyor who wanders into yard from Energy Company: You have a gas line here, ma'am.<br />Me: No, I don't. We would have heard about that in our housing inspection a year ago. And, you know, paid a bill or something.<br /><br />Me: Hi, I'm calling because your Surveyor tells me we have a gas line, only it's unmarked and it doesn't exist according to the city's big fancy map. And she says that's a problem because that means nobody ever checks on it, and it could explode like that house did last week.<br />Customer Service Person from Energy Company: Well, ma'am, I AM SO GLAD YOU CALLED. We will send a serviceman out.<br /><br />Me: Hey, you guys are making me nervous, just standing out here in your hard hats and neon vests.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Five</span> Men from Energy Company suddenly in my driveway: No worries, ma'am. We were just in the area and decided to check out this gas line.<br /><br />...two hours later, back at my front door...<br /><br />Five Men from Energy Company: Ma'am, we're not equipped to do the work that needs to be done underneath your house, but we have a specialist who will be able to remove this illegal equipment from your crawlspace. We are SO GLAD YOU CALLED.Hollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16465809546648919967noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-504428644206265200.post-54745092147574578212011-09-28T19:50:00.001-07:002011-09-28T20:16:18.828-07:00Maryann's Inspired this Fun List<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 13px; font-family: arial, sans-serif; "><span style="font-weight: bold; ">Current music</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 13px; font-family: arial, sans-serif; ">: NPR. How sad it that? I have completely given up listening to anything current, and somehow there's just enough noise during my day that I'm craving silence at night. And now that my life's greatest work is complete by making it on air, NPR has my full affection. I'm so boring but I can't help myself.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold; "><br /></span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 13px; font-family: arial, sans-serif; "><span style="font-weight: bold; ">Current wishlist</span>: Sleep. A solid night of it without strange body parts falling asleep. For example, top of scalp, one butt cheek at a time, heel of foot, elbow. Don't tell me how sleep deprived I'll be later. I GET IT. It's not like I can stockpile it, so bug off. I also wish that people would stop telling me their episiotomy stories. ENOUGH.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; ">Current food</span>: Blueberry pancakes from The Silver Palate with Orange Butter (plus lots of agave nectar since we were out of honey). Baked goods from scratch--booyah! I am a kitchen wonder.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; ">Current TV show</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 13px; font-family: arial, sans-serif; ">: <i>Felicity</i> on Netflix, because our computer is now officially too slow to watch Hulu, which rules out <i>Parenthood, Glee</i> and <i>Top Chef.</i> What a shame. Or is it? Now I can stare at Ben Covington and covet Keri Russell's hair and cheekbones and everything on demand.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold; "><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 13px; font-family: arial, sans-serif; "><span style="font-weight: bold; ">Current location</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 13px; font-family: arial, sans-serif; ">: Spare bedroom turning into baby's room. We fold laundry there, pile up the hand-me-downs, sit and stare at the crib mattress that is currently cribless. It's a nice place to be gobsmacked about our impending future.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold; "><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 13px; font-family: arial, sans-serif; "><span style="font-weight: bold; ">Current book</span>: <i>The Bean Trees </i>by Barbara Kingsolver just knocked me off my feet. It reminds me of that book from childhood called <i>Walk Two Moons</i>. Stories about brave young women never get old. Now I'm on to <i>The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks</i>, and I am stunned that Rebecca Skloot just made up her mind to be a science writer, nevermind the story, albeit fascinating. The woman literally studied science and THEN got her MFA in Creative Nonfiction. Seriously? You can do that and then find tremendous success? What the hell. Write a book about that, lady.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; ">Current indulgence</span>: Drinking <a href="http://en.wikibooks.org/wiki/Cookbook:London_Fog">London Fogs</a> early and often. I also love being able to order Shirley Temples in a bar without feeling sheepish and/or cheap. I like the cherry syrup, damnit, and this baby bump has given me full license to drink that concoction with reckless abandon.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; ">Current worry</span>: That my reckless abandon will lead me to fail my test for gestational diabetes in two weeks. Also that I will not be able to figure out my vocational future in a way that will complement motherhood. Seriously. We need to 1) pay our bills, 2) be parents who love our kid abundantly, 3) not let our lives be defined exclusively by parenthood, 4) not be afraid to embrace parenthood just because we are paranoid about losing ourselves.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; ">Current project</span>: Researching graphic design classes and reading my new book for wannabe designers. Forwarding my Photoshop and InDesign skills on posters that end in ugliness, 98% of the time. Craving design success.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; ">Current movie</span>: Father of the Bride, Part II</span></div><div></div><div></div><div><div><div></div></div></div>Hollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16465809546648919967noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-504428644206265200.post-20741709157864853342011-09-06T20:41:00.000-07:002011-09-06T20:48:36.311-07:00I'm basically the new NPR correspondentToday I achieved a lifetime goal. Whilst gobbling down my Happy Meal and Diet Coke in the privacy of my car (sounds like the beginning of an episode of Intervention), I listened to Ross Reynolds on The Conversation as he invited listeners to share stories of their most beloved teachers. <div><br /></div><div>So I called! And the screener person liked me story, so they put me on! And I told Ross all about my first grade teacher Mrs. Kloster, and I told him how her creativity has sparked all kinds of appreciation for creativity for me in the 20 years since I walked in her door. </div><div><br /></div><div>Then I told the listeners that we panned for gold in the pool at Camp Side-by-Side this summer, which we actually did NOT do, since we decided that would be a major safety hazard. But we had talked about it and I was under major pressure to be clever on live radio. IT WAS LIVE, folks. But it sounded so great on the air. At least that's what my mom said. </div><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://kuow.org/program.php?id=24470">http://kuow.org/program.php?id=24470</a></div>Hollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16465809546648919967noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-504428644206265200.post-67434312877783960492011-08-27T10:22:00.000-07:002011-08-27T10:41:09.252-07:00In Praise of Hush Puppies<a href="http://katherinelucie.files.wordpress.com/2010/10/help1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 510px; height: 680px;" src="http://katherinelucie.files.wordpress.com/2010/10/help1.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>
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<br /></div><div>Everyone I know is talking about<i> The Help</i>. The book, the movie, what you loved about them, whether they are a fair account of the way things were, on and ON. I read the book in three days and won't go another weekend without seeing the film.</div><div><div>
<br /></div><div>But what I can't stop thinking about is how much that story aligns with my own family history. We never lived in the South, but my dad was raised in Mississippi in the 1960s: you do the math. It's fascinating to hear people talk about the movie and the book as if they were alien tales, because they really aren't. You want to know the Skeeters <i>and</i> the Hillys? You head to my dad's front porch in Red Banks and it will come to life. Ten minutes there and you will learn about the African American staff that raised up and supported the Harris family--Mama Lillian, Toad Frog, Doodle and Chubby. Toad Frog might even stop by. No kidding. <div>
<br /></div><div>So as I untangle what it means to be part of this very complicated and...complicated...piece of American history (one that extends much farther back than the 1960s), I'm really enjoying the element of at least *knowing* my history. Very few people can trace their family roots the way I'm able to--back to Reverend William Harris of Bedford, Virginia, born in 1780. <a href="http://members.cox.net/cherylc470/">This website</a> has all the juicy details from then until now, including some fascinating information on Harris soldiers in the Confederate army. Wowza.
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<br /></div></div></div></div>Hollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16465809546648919967noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-504428644206265200.post-58219379316099680982011-08-18T12:54:00.001-07:002011-08-18T13:08:07.015-07:00Emotional Eating: Not Just for Rainy Days!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtFmKY93hV7BJ3acg60cwDEL6RqJ2mhcXJPvejMvS09vX-HaEB30IUcAk27JcPyyxv9byF7cdlnxJ-ApjOFiD5Z4tFzTXS4R9cZrcig84BZmw9pkQ6mCHRVs9BF4suhgJ5AoZHEb8M-85M/s1600/summer+corn.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtFmKY93hV7BJ3acg60cwDEL6RqJ2mhcXJPvejMvS09vX-HaEB30IUcAk27JcPyyxv9byF7cdlnxJ-ApjOFiD5Z4tFzTXS4R9cZrcig84BZmw9pkQ6mCHRVs9BF4suhgJ5AoZHEb8M-85M/s400/summer+corn.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5642287551428864226" /></a>
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<br /></div><div>My Grandpa John is 92, and he's not feeling so hot this week. Since I'm here on the west coast with nothing to do but call my mom to check in, I decided to eat sweet corn in celebration of my favorite Nebraska farmer. <div>
<br /></div><div>I was hoping to make a chilled corn soup, but since I *still* don't have a fine-meshed sieve (first world problem!), I bagged that and went for sauteed instant gratification. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>Grandpa John's Creamy Sweet Corn</div><div>
<br /></div><div>6 ears sweet corn, cut from cob</div><div>2 Tbs. butter</div><div>1 spoonful low-fat cream cheese</div><div>1 glug skim milk</div><div>cilantro</div><div>paprika (smoked if you've got it)</div><div>sea salt and cracked pepper</div><div>
<br /></div><div>Heat up a skillet, melt half the butter and throw in your corn until it's turning a happy sunshine color. I could eat sweet corn raw, so I don't cook it more than about four minutes. Add the S&P, paprika, and cilantro. Then toss in the cream cheese, help it get melty in the pan, turn down your heat and finish with the butter and milk. Add more S&P if you like. </div><div>
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<br /></div></div>Hollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16465809546648919967noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-504428644206265200.post-33698301413626004602011-08-17T17:46:00.001-07:002011-08-17T18:04:10.722-07:00What I'd be saying on Facebook...1. I think <i>The Help</i> is about to land itself on <i>Stuff White People Like</i>. <div>2. Heartburn is like having little gremlins climb up your esophagus and yell, "BITE ME, you sonuva gun!" And I just whimper in reply.</div><div>3. The week after Camp Side-by-Side is also the week when I remember everything else that's still happening in the world: riots, bills to be paid, flower beds to stare at helplessly.</div><div>4. It's a hard to take care of oneself around people who don't know how to do that for themselves. Or who do it so differently than I do. </div><div>5. I miss Oprah.</div><div>6. Grocery shopping at Target is literally the opposite of watching Food, Inc. </div><div>7. Chicken: You are so disgusting when you are raw, and sometimes when you are not raw. </div><div>8. Marital satisfaction rises when all parties are doing their chores. </div><div>9. Most pregnancy trends have turned out not to be true.</div><div>10. I'm hoping most parenting trends will turn out to be unimportant: I'm not paying much attention to them because it's too easy to get freaked out. </div><div>11. I still love making new friends.</div><div>12. We are having a BOY!!!</div>Hollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16465809546648919967noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-504428644206265200.post-54699548703067358632011-08-04T07:36:00.000-07:002011-08-04T08:03:41.919-07:00Like asking her to swallow the sunI'm trying to form a new habit these days, and part of the new habit is breaking the old habit--spending too much time on Facebook. Ugh. Anyway the point is that I want to redirect some of those gossipy pitstops to more interesting and authentic ones. So far I'm reading EVERY article in the paper and wondering how many cute baby picture posts I'm missing. <div><br /></div><div>But this morning I woke up to read a blurb by a local food-writing hero, Molly Wizenberg, and she pointed me in the direction of a TED talk by Elizabeth Gilbert. I admit that I'd heard of TED and knew that all important techy, savvy people liked it, but until two weeks ago when my friend Lacey practically DEMANDED (on Facebook, oh sweet irony!) that we pay more attention, I hadn't even been to the website. I'll go ahead and embed Ms. Gilbert's talk because you know I love to embed videos, but more importantly, I just have to say out loud: I'm so glad to know other creative people get stuck too. And I'm so glad creative people can look at each other and say, We got to stick together. Because the injustice of creative people literally losing their minds? No thanks.</div><div><br /></div><div>I might be giving myself too much credit here, I don't have an <i>Eat, Pray, Love</i> under my belt, but I do understand the shitty state of depression, so I resonated in about 1,000 ways with the way she describes that tipping point in a creative process where you think you have NO talent and NO potential and, as my mom would say, you're going to end up in the GUTTER. And then the other side of the mountain is where God's spirit (that's how I see it, at least) bubbles up through you and all that magic and creativity gushes on through. That's quite a tightrope.</div><div><br /></div><div>This is all pretty woo-woo. But you know what? Without the woo, we'd all be engineers.</div><div><br /></div><div><!--copy and paste--><object width="526" height="374"> <param name="movie" value="http://video.ted.com/assets/player/swf/EmbedPlayer.swf"> <param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"> <param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"> <param name="wmode" value="transparent"> <param name="bgColor" value="#ffffff"> <param name="flashvars" value="vu=http://video.ted.com/talk/stream/2009/Blank/ElizabethGilbert_2009-320k.mp4&su=http://images.ted.com/images/ted/tedindex/embed-posters/ElizabethGilbert_2009.embed_thumbnail.jpg&vw=512&vh=288&ap=0&ti=453&lang=eng&introDuration=15330&adDuration=4000&postAdDuration=830&adKeys=talk=elizabeth_gilbert_on_genius;year=2009;theme=speaking_at_ted2009;theme=women_reshaping_the_world;theme=words_about_words;theme=the_creative_spark;event=TED2009;tag=Arts;tag=Culture;tag=Entertainment;tag=TED2009;tag=creativity;tag=poetry;tag=work;tag=writing;&preAdTag=tconf.ted/embed;tile=1;sz=512x288;"> <embed src="http://video.ted.com/assets/player/swf/EmbedPlayer.swf" pluginspace="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" bgcolor="#ffffff" width="526" height="374" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" flashvars="vu=http://video.ted.com/talk/stream/2009/Blank/ElizabethGilbert_2009-320k.mp4&su=http://images.ted.com/images/ted/tedindex/embed-posters/ElizabethGilbert_2009.embed_thumbnail.jpg&vw=512&vh=288&ap=0&ti=453&lang=eng&introDuration=15330&adDuration=4000&postAdDuration=830&adKeys=talk=elizabeth_gilbert_on_genius;year=2009;theme=speaking_at_ted2009;theme=women_reshaping_the_world;theme=words_about_words;theme=the_creative_spark;event=TED2009;tag=Arts;tag=Culture;tag=Entertainment;tag=TED2009;tag=creativity;tag=poetry;tag=work;tag=writing;&preAdTag=tconf.ted/embed;tile=1;sz=512x288;"></embed> </object> </div><div><br /></div>Hollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16465809546648919967noreply@blogger.com3