Just Like Mama Said.

I'm sure that roughly 94 percent of you have seen the- ahem- "Things" That "People" Say memes ad nauseum (a la White People, Girls, New Yorkers, Farm Animals, etc.. etc., etc.). For the uninitiated, it's basically a collection of generally amusing and stereotypical catchphrases perpetuated by a really, really specific group of people- all for the purpose of having that select group chuckle at their own foibles ("Oh, ho- that's me, all right!)

So far, I've identified with two.

And, while I'm sure it's been done- perhaps even better- I've decided to try my hand at my own list. Feel free to comment with your own additions. For there are thousands upon thousands of items to be added. So, without further ado...ahem...

Shiz Moms Say To Other Moms

-Oh, we're entirely BPA-free.
-We also only own wooden toys.
-He doesn't sleep through the night yet?
-She still uses a pacifier?
-A bottle?
-A diaper?
-A booster seat?
-You think you're tired now? Try having two.
-Three.
-Four.
-Multiples.
-School-aged kids.
-Oh, is that organic?
-I'm surprised you let her drink juice.
-Cow's milk.
-Tap water.
-You let them eat meat?
-Sugar?
-Carbs?
-My son eats everything.
-She has never even seen a chicken nugget.
-Enjoy it now. This is the easy age.
-She's strictly breastfed.
-You couldn't pay me to breastfeed.
-Where does she go to school?
-Did she start at two?
-Is it Waldorf?
-How much a semester?
-You are so lucky to stay home all day.
(-You are so lucky to get to leave the house all day.)
-You're pretty lax on the TV thing, aren't you?
-We only listen to NPR.
-This isn't our usual park.
-We're late for Music Together.
-Gymboree.
-Fairytale Ballet.
-Oh, he can count to twenty in German.
-She walked at seven months.
-He's actually pretty advanced for three.
-Our nanny is teaching the kids Mandarin.
-Our nanny is getting her PhD in Early Childhood Education.
-Our nanny is sick again.
-He was named after my favorite French opera.
-A Viennese art critic.
-A bus stop in Madrid.
-What percentile is she?
-Are you concerned about her weight?
-Height?
-Thumb-sucking?
-Well, if your doctor isn't worried, then I wouldn't be either.
(-You'll see.)

Who would SAY that to you?!

Can't Put That In A Trapper-Keeper, Though.

Do the Wonder Pets have
 a Twitter account?

I have finally- finally- figured out what to do with the darned playroom.

I realize that this is of little consequence to anyone not spending nearly ten hours a day in, on, or around this room (a narrow li'l group, to be sure)...but for those of us who are, well, it's just fantastic news.

The baby swing is no longer randomly against a wall, smacking into an exersaucer and/or a train table. (Swing- rattle- swing- choo, choo!, etc., etc. No longer.) It is possible to enter the guest room/P.J.'s office without tripping over an impossibly small set of table and chairs- although I make no promises about the rocking horse on the other side of the wall. (Sorry, Peej.) The couch is now centered with the TV- an issue that was formerly (and apparently) driving one of us to the point of insanity. (Sorry, Peej.) A new focal point is a streamlined corner with neat cabinets and a gigantic pink dollhouse bookcase. (...Sorry, Peej.)

All of this Feng Shui correctness (how do you know when it's "correct?" Easy- your mind will allow you to sit down and stop rearranging the damn room) freed up my time enough to let me ponder the ol' days.

Remember when you actually had to write a fan letter to get a superstar to respond to you? (You're looking at the proud owner of, among other things, a complete set of autographed Mickey Mouse Club cast postcards, circa 1991.)

You'd write the letter, usually posting it to an address that you found in a fanclub section of Teen Beat.

For example.

You'd write the floweriest, wittiest, coolest prose that- you were certain- would rocket you to best friendship with Jonathan Brandis.

For example.

And then, roughly three months later, you'd get a form letter response with a signature (or, at worst, a stamped "signature") which would cement the idea of how fantastic that celeb was. ("Keep on watchin'!" I WILL!)

But now? We've got Twitter. And I imagine that waiting to be re-tweeted by a celeb is akin to waiting by the mailbox for a response, or not making after-school plans in case your letter is read on the air by The Mickey Mouse Club.

For example.

I have never been re-tweeted by a celeb. But I can take the credit for- quite possibly- prompting Rainn Wilson to change his Twitter account's avatar. Early yesterday morning, upon seeing the image of a young Newt Gingrich mashed up against The Office's Dwight Schrute, I was inspired to pen a [witty? flowery?] tweet to Mr. Wilson himself, asking if he'd seen the magical picture.

No response.

However.

Not too long thereafter, his picture was changed to that of a young Newt Gingrich. His fans began tweeting and re-tweeting about the crazy awesome picture that he had selected.

And I realize that the picture itself is old news, as the image in question had already made its rounds from Facebook to The Daily Show.

But I may have been instrumental in inspiring a photo change for one of my favorite actors on one of my favorite shows.

Sure, it's no Thanks for the love! from J.C. Chasez...

...But I'll take it.

Sisterly Love Is So Fleeting.

She loves me!

...She loves me not.

Snow White (As Performed By Professor T.J. Barker's Troupe Of Theatricals).

We all know the story of Snow White And The Seven Dwarfs. But how about the story of Snow White as told by Professor T.J. Barker's Troupe Of Theatricals?

Pre-show craft before every show!

That's right. Betcha didn't know that one.

Nora and I saw Emerald City Theatre's sweet production (written and directed by Producing Artistic Director Ernie Nolan) this past Saturday- and I can honestly say that not only will the kiddos will love it, but the adults will find it a refreshing spin on a story read over and over (...and over...and over...) again.

Every Emerald City show has a Gateway Theme, and this production features problem solving. T.J. Barker and his troupe have arrived from far flung lands (like Iowa) to our fair city of Chicago...only they're missing five dwarfs and the entire orchestra section. But, since his troupe has never cancelled a performance- and they don't intend to start now- they're gonna make it work.

Some of the dwarfs will be played by puppets.
The stage manager gets her moment in the spotlight.
Instruments will be strummed and drummed by the troupe.
Snow White...plays the triangle.

There's some really clever storytelling and play-within-a-play action going on; one of my favorite moments occurred when Queen Malvina paused her horrifying laugh to commend her son, a troupe member who was playing ominous music behind her. (She wondered how he had gotten so good.)

But where's the LAMB?

There was some positively terrific puppetry going on as well; Nora's favorite was the gentle and kindly lamb who helps Snow White. The thing was bigger than most cast members, and Nora was certain she was the star of the show. (She asked if she could get her autograph after the show. Sadly, she could not.)

Other highlights:

-The echo-y and ominous mirror (he of "On The Wall" fame) was a neat bit of light and sound. Nora alternated between demanding that he go away (and lights come back on, please), and immediately missing him and questioning his return once those scenes ended. (The mark of good theatre.)

-The vaudevillian sounds, physicality, and interludes between troupe players and Snow White performers. We both really liked all the music, although my city girl heard a slide whistle and knowingly whispered, "There's a siren here."

-The fact that it's an hour long. Because seriously. I love my daughter. A ton. But if I have to make sure she sits still for longer than that, it better come with meal service and an in-flight movie.

That said, she was riveted.

And honestly? So was I.

***

The Deets:
Snow White As Performed By T.J. Barker's Troupe Of Theatricals
Runs January 21- May 20, 2012
Apollo Theatre, 2540 N. Lincoln Ave, Chicago
Tix starting at $13 for kids and $16 for adults
Rec'd for ages 3 and up (or pretty awesome 2 year-olds)
***

Disclaimer: I've been compensated for my review, but opinions are my own.

Zuzu Wishes To Watch Wonder Pets, Says Nora.

Who's ready for the theatre?
THIS GIRL.

'Twas a good weekend. A great one, in fact.

I went on three- count 'em, three- dates this weekend.

Date One was with my husband to see the stellar Sky's The Limit, Weather Permitting at Second City's etc stage ('cause we know people in the show)!

Date Two was with Nat n' Rachael n' P.J. to see Underworld: Awakening in IMAX and 3D...at the behest of Nat n' me.

And Date Three was with my darling Nora Jane to see Emerald City Theatre's Snow White at The Apollo.

During Date One, P.J. screamed "Apple!" and "Korean!" at the improvisers, much to their dismay. (They hate "apple.")

During Date Two, Nat and I screamed "Too close, too close!" at the screen while bone fragments and glass flew at our faces.

And during Date Three, Nora screamed "I DO NOT LIKE HIM" at the magic mirror. Also, she requested that the lights come back on, please- I SAID PLEASE.

We also started ramping up for one of my very favorite holidays- Valentine's Day. This year's cards prove to be some of my favorite yet, most likely because I've [started to] let go of my OCD tendencies of card perfection and allowed my miniature Jackson Pollack wannabe to take over as Art Director. The result? Lots of glitter. The surprising and completely non-limiting choice of holiday and calendar stickers. Color pairings  that ought to hurt the eye...but somehow make us really, really happy.

And sure- absolutely- glitter has ended up in the bathtub, on dinner plates, between Susannah's toes, etc., etc., but I think we can all agree it's all worth it in the grand scheme of things. (Sorry, Suzy.)

This Valentine prep has completely derailed such tasks as Completing The Book For An Interested Party, Tweaking A Play So That The Ending Makes Sense/Doesn't Anger The Reader, and Pre-Treating The Baby's Laundry With Stain Stick.

I am just now realizing that in all of these stories, Susannah is getting the short end of the [stain] stick.

We'll make it up to her. In fact, we'll spend the rest of the day doing whatever she likes best.

As translated/decided by her big sister, Nora.

(Blanket tents and warm cocoa for everyone!)

Eaten Alive By Tonka Trucks.

Someone else who liked her
 toys a LOT...

Do you ever have the kind of night where you're dying to make a pan of brownies, eat more than your fair share, and just kinda need everyone to be okay with that? Only- you go to find the mix only to find no mix, and you wonder just what kinda jerk would banish all junk food from the house after New Year's...only to remember that it was, in fact, you?

So you make yourself a mug of hot cocoa...only you make it a questionably large mug, and when faced with the choice of mini marshmallows or whipped cream (I guess we didn't obliterate all of the junk, now did we?), you choose...both. Lots and lots of both.

And you feel no shame over this.

Except for maybe a twinge or two the next morning you begin to post a blog. For example.

I suppose it's my week for inconsequential whining.

After the rush of an absolutely perfectly organized (and clean!) dining room, I decided to tackle the playroom, formerly known as the family room, also formerly a space where one could sit even if one were not a miniature person.

I can admit my mistakes when I make them.

And I made one.

Irrationally enough, I thought it would be a great idea to have all of the kids' large toys and stuff in the room where they, you know, play. Because there was a ball pit in the kitchen (or, as Nora calls it- a pit ball. Which sounds too much like pit bull. Which I also do not want in the kitchen). And there was a multi-room tent in the living room. A trampoline in the unfinished downstairs room. And in the playroom? A kitchen, two bookshelves, a train table, an art table, stacks and stacks of "projects," a stroller, a Lego wagon, a wagon wagon, a ride-on Lion King safari car, and babies. Not even including the real one.

And since Suzy got, well, more mobile, she's brought an exersaucer and a swing into the room.

You know it's bad when your new kid brings two pieces into the mix (as opposed to your toddler's fifteen pieces) and you're all like- THIS BABY IS CHANGING EVERYTHING.

We're not spendy, nor are we actual hoarders. We just happen to know some incredible gifters, and we happen to have been on the receiving end of some insane hand-me-down action. And if you think I'm bad about loving my possessions too much...well, you should see Miss N.J. in action.

She loves everything.

She is playing with everything.

Yes, even that thing under that other thing.

But since I was hot off of my dining room victory, I thought I could tame the beast that is childhood play. And I was schooled.

It was like playing a game of Jenga with Escher.

Even after I had stacked and sorted and made piles (to donate- shh...) and hid some larger items in the closet and cleaned and dusted and mopped and lost Susannah under some toys and then found her but lost Doc Bullfrog...it was still too much. There wasn't enough wall space.

I debated getting rid of Zuzu's swing but, as she was still in it, I realized that perhaps she could keep that one item. 

So I lofted. I channeled my first year room at Hampshire and perpendiculared that shiz. I cleared out more stuff and pulled the couch out into the center of the room and shifted furniture and put the wagon in P.J.'s office (sorry) and STILL there wasn't enough room.

It beat me. The playroom won.

The judges might hafta strip me of the Feng Shui Master title [that I've given myself].

In other First World Problem News, The Food I'm Eating Is Too Delicious and My Fifties Are Too Crisp.

I'm still really smarting over the brownie thing, though.

Zuzu has a good time.

...Mostly.

Keely Gets Purty. Kinda.

Thanks to Walgreens for underwriting this post. I was paid as a member of the
Clever Girls Collective, but the content is all mine. Visit http://www.discoverbeautywithin.com/


I kept it simple for 2012.

"Consume more water," I said to myself. "Drink some drinking water," as Nora calls it.

And while this resolution may be easily crossed off of a daily list, perhaps I need to reach a little higher in terms of beauty and wellness goals. (I mean, you all remember my failed attempt at being non-sweatpantsy, right?)

"But beautifying oneself is expensive," you [I] say to yourself [myself]. "And I need to save money for things like food/a fur vest [/patching drywall]."

Thankfully, you [I] live next door to a Walgreens. (And let's be honest, if you live in a decently sized town, you probably do, too.) So let's make a new list for 2012, shall we?

Resolution #1- For The Love Of God, I WILL Do Something With My Hair.

- Whether this means updating my 5th grade hairstyle with sassy new hair clips, using a tourmaline ceramic brush (as opposed to the broken bristles of death that I currently wield), or finally realizing that perhaps to have hair that doesn't look shampooed and air-dried, one needs to put something on one's hair besides shampoo (and air).

Resolution #2- Scrub A Dub Dub, In Or Out Of The Tub.

- If you're anything like me, you're exceedingly dull. But just on the surface. Shallowly dull, that's you. (And me.) I think this is the year to have our skin(s?) reveal our inner sparkliness. (But not in a Twilight kinda way.) I'm talkin' natural facial fruity scrubs, sugar scrubs for all over that smell luscious enough to eat (but don't- neither should you eat lip gloss, no matter how good it smells. You are WELCOME), and all of those fun products that prevent our dry skin from making audible sounds from underneath our corduroy pant legs.

Resolution #3- Show A Little Cleavage. Toe Cleavage.

- Now, unless you can afford weekly pedicures (in which case I either hate you or would like you to become my best friend/sugar Daddy), there's gonna be a time where the heels of your feet could sand unfinished wood. But this is easily amended with those ridonkulously cool PedEgg foot files. Also, a good shea butter can do wonders. (Unless you have to immediately walk on a wood floor. Then- refrain.) And instant gratification can be found in a teensy bottle of bright nail color. Did you know that Pantone declared tangerine to be the color of the year for '12? And it's awfully easy to be both bold and trendy when it's your feet doing the boldy trending.

Let's all resolve to be more lovely in 2012. Within our budgets. Starting with me.

And hey, looks like I've just posted a nice li'l wishlist for easy gifting!

(How lovely is that?)

Now We Can Buy MORE Stuff!

Peej is ashamed. Also, a good cleaner.

Yesterday, I began the process of diggin' out the homestead. (I initially entitled it The Big Dig, but I hear that's been taken...)

It's not that we're being bogged down by too much stuff (which, of course, we are- but that's not the problem), it's that we're being dragged down by the wrong stuff. Or, rather, the stuff we weren't even aware we still had.

I've been feeling this project coming for awhile. Mostly in recurring half-thoughts of- If The House Were On Fire , What- Besides The Babies And Cats- Would I Save?

The answer horrified me. For it was "everything." Also, I wasn't entirely certain what that "everything" still resided. Birth certificates, wedding albums, my leather Frye boots- sure. But what about things like my childhood Buppy blanket? I DID NOT WANT BUPPY TO BURN.

And while organizing our excessive thingitude wouldn't necessarily make it easier to save everything, it might just make it easier to file that ol' fire insurance report. (Boy, January makes some of us a little doomy, doesn't it?)

We began with the hall closet. Easy enough, right? Our goal: to actually offer hangers and/or coat space to visitors. (Perhaps we didn't need twelve coats apiece right at our fingertips. One thing about Chicago: the elements- usually- remain the elements for a goodly few months. There's probably time to swap out a lighter coat before the next heat wave.)

Gotta admit, that's a sweet corncob.

Here's what we found:
-Three separate BundleMe blankets for the strollers and car seat. Not including the one BundleMe actually in use by our single infant.
-A hat, gloves, and scarf set which P.J. fully admitted was "for company." (Listen, if someone visits wintertime Chicago without gloves, I'm not sure I want that brain trust working my stove, locks, or toilet.)
-A really nice Bebe coat that has never fit. It was a hand-me-down back around the time of our engagement. And if Twice Weekly Abs Class/South Beach Diet Keely couldn't shove her boobs into the jacket, Post-Baby Keely should kinda live in the now.
-A box of winter hats for Susannah- even though she keeps all of her winter gear in her room's ginormous closet. (I hadn't wanted her to feel under-represented in the hallway. Which looks even worse typed out than it sounded in my head.)

We got it down to a respectable number of coats per person (which I am not disclosing, lest you be judgey) and freed up room for actual people to place their actual outerwear.

Result: One bag for donation, One bag for trash.

We were so jazzed by this result that I promptly attacked the dining room. I knew that I had collected some junk alongside my treasures (and moved with them time and time again), but it was time to streamline the collections. I didn't think it would take more than an hour. But I should never underestimate the ability of back-of-hutch space to hold an improbable amount of stacked objects.

Blow out your candles, Laura.

Some highlights:
-Moldy cake candles. (Now, without pointing any fingers, someone's idea of "taking care of it" means "shoving them in a tupperware and putting a vase on top of them.)
-Wicker baskets. Lots.
-A corncob candlestick- which, admittedly- we LOVE.
-A gigantic crystal bowl heavy enough to snap our dining room table.
-An army of mismatched plastic forks. Hundreds of them. Why? WHY?
-An ugly handmade mug with an inspirational handwritten message. Not even by us. Or for us.
-Candle without wicks. Because, you know, I liked how the jar still smelled.
-Receipts. (I asked Peej how long one should keep a Dominos pizza receipt- he said three years, just to be on the safe side.)
-And the big one- every dried rose from every event and boyfriend, ever. (If you are a past boyfriend reading this, then yes, I have the rose from that formal dance that one time. And if you are my mother and wondering if I still have that flower from my confirmation- yup!) They were in glass jars and positively ugly vases. And I moved with these things. For close to twenty years. And, since my flower-pressing skillz were not what they should have been at age fourteen, some of these non-dried blossoms got a little moldy. That's right, I'VE BEEN PAYING MOVERS TO CART MY MOLD. Still, it was hard to just toss them. But it needed to be done. It was getting all Glass Menagerie up in there.

Once I removed the bio-hazard mask, I admitted that it felt good to let them all go. I told P.J. that I was fully ready to throw out ex-boyfriend flowers.

He asked if I was sure I'd given it enough time.

Final dining room tally: One large box (and smallish armload) of stuff to donate, one huge bag o' trash and one medium-sized bag of disintegrating petals (also trash.)

I'm not gonna lie- it feels amazing in that room, now. (Also the hall closet, but I haven't yet had the urge to stand in there.)

Can't wait to show it off with a dinner party where I use actual- and accessible- neatly stacked dishware.

Once the room loses the slightly funereal odor, that is.

Slow It Down, Friend.

Soon I'm gonna be 15.

Time is skipping by.

Actually, no, that's not quite true. Time is racing, speeding, and zipping by- faster than a two year-old can unravel an entire roll of Charmin toilet paper.

Susannah is already three months old. And Nora is edging ever closer to actual big kid-dom.

Zuzu is making sport out of outgrowing newborn clothing...and three months clothing...and certain three to six months clothing of the fancy dress persuasion...

With Little Nora Thumbelina, we had her wearing outfits well past whatever the tag would suggest. 6 month pants on a one year-old. 12 month onesies on a two year-old. Even a pair of [mislabeled?] strawberry bloomers that said 3-6 months but were worn just the other day. Outfits stuck around for so long that they became members of the family. Inside jokes. Part of the furniture.

With Zuzu, I'm lucky to have her wear something once so I can say she did so. Before it gets thrown on the Little Baby Girl pile. It's done a number on my sentimentality and Susannah's patience. (She doesn't care for sleeves.)

Things that were the epitome of cute on Nora sometimes look a little forced on Suzy. And stuff that didn't quite work on Nora are just right on her younger sister. As I shove her little arms and legs into Nora's favored critter oufits, Susannah will give me a look that seems to say- I'm a different person, Mom. Stop trying to shove me into some sorta box. Or panda overalls.

And I promise her- fervently- that I will always [try to] remember that she's her own gal. But she still has to wear socks.

Zuzu appears to be popping at least one tooth. Which is crazy. But she's apparently gotten the memo that she's doing everything on fast forward. And while- sure- it's absolutely zero fun to soothe her through the drooly, achy, gnawy pain, it's even less fun to realize that she's careening through her babyhood.

Soon she's going to be bolting down the hallways, shrieking alongside her sister. And then they'll both be going to school and leaving this [cluttered, noisy, messy] living room startlingly quiet. I imagine they'll go off to college, allowing me to have the pristine and organized home that I so loudly feel I deserve on a daily basis.

And I'll remember back to earlier this week when I refused to let Nora do the glitter all by herself (because of The Floors! Think of THE FLOORS!) and instead held on tightly to each part of the paper and glue, rushing that activity along to get to lunch, to nap, to bath, and on and on and on.

And I'll think of how I looked over impatiently at Susannah's whines while I was attempting (again) to mop the kitchen- only to lock eyes with her in her bouncy seat and elicit the world's happiest coo and smile of recognition. Because- whereas she couldn't give a fig for how full the washing machine was- having me stand still long enough to reassure her that I was still there was the bee's knees.

As I put Nora down for her afternoon nap yesterday, she patted me on the back and told me that I was a good friend. I kissed the top of her wild curls (smelling like a perfectly natural combination of sunshine and maple syrup) and almost decided to forgo the nap.

"Come on, kid," I almost told her. "Let's go throw glitter all over the couch. You can even hold the container."

But I didn't. Because there was writing and cooking and sanitizing and diapering (and more sanitizing) to do. Besides, a Nora without a naptime is not anyone's "good friend."

I wanted to, though. That should count for something.

Today Nora has her first ever honest-to-goodness class. It's a gymnastics class, which speaks volumes as to how I'm letting my kids do their thing without placing my fears directly atop their miniature heads. For I am terrified of heights, being upside down, and having my face broken. And gymnastics embodies the threat of all of those things for me. But seriously- the girl is a wild animal with little to no actual fear of danger (unless she actually has to converse with the danger first). She needs to learn a good tuck n' roll. Monkey bar skills that her Mama could never teach her.

And how to stick a dismount that would make even the Russians proud.

Zuzu will be there, too. In the sling since, after all, she is still a baby. My baby. Watching her big sister- my other baby- learn to do stuff without her Mom's help.

And I'm already proud of her. And incredulous that I have one beastie this grown already. And another hellbent on racing her.

And covered in glitter. For we are all covered in glitter. (Even when it's me holding the container.)

Tidiness is overrated, anyhow.

Not In The Least Bit "Wordless."

But decently cute, nonetheless.

I Wonder Where She Gets It.

I'm sorry, did someone say "decorations?"

We finally took down our tree and Christmas decorations this past weekend. I agree, it is on the later end of the whole Removal Of Holiday Stuff spectrum, but- as Peej pointed out- it was the Epiphany this weekend, the actual end of the Christmas season.

Which is totally why we kept them up this long.

Totally.

Also, last week, a pillar of the community helped him/herself to a few of our gate lights and at least one red bow. Fa la la la la.

So we wrapped and bundled and dragged...and will be living with pine needle remnants until next August. (They should build homes outta the stuff- there is no more stubborn material in the universe.)

And there's nothing like taking down festive decorations to remind you just how inept and unaware you truly are. Like when you believe you're finished with the packing up and then happen to spy a giant red, glittery reindeer right at eye level. (Does that count as Christmas stuff? Yes, Keely decided, I think it does.)

Even though Nora had said goodbye to the tree right before her nap, she still burst into the living room like the Family Guy monkey and pointed accusingly at where the tree had previously resided. And Was. Not. Happy. I finally convinced her that Santa needed our old tree at the North Pole. She grudgingly admitted that this was probably the case.

So what does one do with a newly (kinda) cleaned living room, devoid of all the hulking holiday accouterments? Why, we put up the royal play tent in all of its primary-colored goodness. And, at the time of this posting, it is chock full of items that normally reside in every single other room, excepting this one. (Books, baby cups, stuffed animals, copies of The Economist, and at least one cat. We've got a miniature Hoarders situation going on.)

It's a nice thing to see right by the front door.

Sure, Nora and Zuzu each have their own rooms and a playroom large enough to house Camelot itself...but nope. This proves that a) one can never be too classy, and b) P.J. and I are both eight year-olds if we see nothing amiss in keeping a nylon tent in the front living room.

Come play sometime- you can't miss us. We've got giant snowman gel clings on the front window...

...and a trail of pine needles down the block.

It's Like A Staycation Where You Leave.

Maxin' and relaxin'. Circa 1988.

Last night, I  babysat for our neighbor’s sleeping toddler. Nora does NOT know about my evening’s whereabouts and, since their Emily is her BFFAEEMTMWYNT (Best friend forever and ever ever, Mom, take me with you next time), she will NEVER know. The Coopers and the Schoenys do a childcare swap every now and again. And it’s amazing. Because, for real? I have going-out needs. So do the Coopers. But I imagine that they have the same kinda We Should Prolly Pay These Bills needs, too. It’s a truly great arrangement, except for the one teensy annoying detail of We Can Never Go Out With The Coopers. Who are our only friends in the neighborhood, unless you count the drunken dude on my stoop.

Which I do not.

Back to my evening of babysitting. Susannah stayed home with Peej and Nora since she fell asleep right after dinner. Plus, I didn’t want to deprive P.J. of that all-too-critical 3 month-old and Dad bonding time between the hours of 7 and 11pm.

So I was alone. On a couch, with tons of projects that I didn’t even HAVE to do if I didn’t feel like it, and the knowledge that my arms were free to flail about (at any time!) because I was not laden down with any person, toddler, or baby of my very own…

…And since their kiddo is quite possibly the easiest child ever EVER ever, well, I kinda felt like I hit the luxury jackpot.

I finished my thank you notes. (God, I’m boring MYSELF right now.)

Got a little writing done.

Rendezvoused with Professor Layton and my old pal the DS.

Spent a little more time flailing my arms.

Hydrated. (See? Who SAYS I people can’t follow through on New Year’s Resolutions?)

Leaned back on my arms- which one CANNOT do whilst holding a child of any size.

And then wondered if Suzy was eating okay. And if Nora was feeling better from the previous day’s awful cold. Speculated on whether or not P.J. was watching something on Netflix- and if it was something we were gonna see together. These kind of thoughts can quickly derail the spa-like effect of laying still by oneself.

I overcame and was victorious. It was an incredibly relaxing evening.

Unless you’re P.J., reading this at this very moment. Then, I am exhausted from the trials and tribulations of childcare.

But if you’re Tim and Angie- can you go out again tonight?

Zuzu's Three-Monthiversary!

We love you, Buttercup. Especially when you're wearing bear ears...

...Or leaping through time and space...

...Or just doing your best Winston Churchill.

I Love Me A Good Even-Numbered Year.

The Baby New Year is a girl?!

Happy New Year!

Aaand, the posting of today's blog is about three-ish hours late today. Nice start to 2012, yes?

The delay was well worth it (at least for me), because our darling friend Natalie came over to smooch Zuzu and play magnetic dolls with Nora. (She also chatted with us, but I'm fairly certain we're no longer the main draws.)

So. Yes. A new year.

2011 was a pretty good time, overall. It started off on a rather sad note, but steadily increased in its sheer awesomesaucitude.

We did a fair bit of traveling. Fixed up the house some more. Wrote more than during all four years of college combined. And met Susannah, one of the nicest people I'll ever have the pleasure of knowing.

But there's still something exciting about beginning a new year- it's like a clean slate, even though there's very little that changes from December 31st to January 1st. But hey, there's very little that changes each time I rearrange a room (except for the furniture), and that always has a bizarrely inspired effect on me.

We all need our rituals.

Our festivities this year were slightly more subdued than, say, ten years prior. (Thank God.) But the crowd was just as terrific; one really fun guy, two smallish chicks prone to dancing, and me. (Also prone to dancing.) Depending on who you were, sushi was consumed. Or a grilled cheese with pesto. Bacon-wrapped appetizers that didn't even need to be removed from the baking sheet. (Yay, formality and politesse!) A potentially unwise amount of baked brie was consumed well into the morning hours. The growns split a bottle of champagne. The Sound Of Music was started. (That flick is loooong.) There was music, dancing, and multiple episodes of Clean House on Netflix.

It was kinda my favorite celebration ever.

And you know how they say to do on New Year's Day what you'd like to do all year long? Apparently 2012 will include naps, movies, Skype calls with family, nonstop food, Wii Fit, and a brief interlude with Professor Layton on the DS. (I specifically put that one on the docket for the express purpose of getting to do it all year.)

This year will bring some pretty neat-o things. But I've gotta say, I'm already a ridiculously happy camper at this, the start to my new clean slate of a year.

I think back to my resolutions ten, fifteen years ago, and I'm stupidly pleased at the fulfillment of close to all of them. I have the two jobs I've wanted for my entire life. I'm married to P.J., whom at this very moment is picking up an order of beef broccoli, veggie rice, and an egg roll for me (the latter of which was not a resolution whilst in college- but which would've been, had I really been a planner), and he's really indulgent in the whole "not earning a ton of money" thing while pursuing my two dream jobs.

So in light of the fact that, wish-wise, I'm doing pretty nicely, I'm only adding two new things to my resolutions:

-Patience. For Nora, for Suzy, for P.J., for all interactions with family and customer service and transit.

-And hydration. 'Cause seriously.

Happiest of 2012, everyone.

Now please excuse me while I go patiently drink a glass of water.