Tuesday, September 28, 2010

Time Out!

Has Two Can Anne been on a time out or what? What did we do wrong? Paint the white sofa with our own feces? Come on! One month is far too long to go without posting! And for that I am very sorry. Mommyhood plus a brand new intolerant firewall at XYZ Company has made it nearly impossible for me to update you daily let alone weekly. Toss in an arthritic right thumb (Blackberry Thumb) and it's game over. That delightful side-effect of old ladyhood cropped up this summer and man, I'm in so much pain I can hardly type (spacebar? ouch!) let alone change John's diaper. We all know which activity wins in the end. Have you met my new best friend, Ibuprofen? We've been dating on and off for awhile, but here's a secret: we're about to get very serious with each other.  Seriously! Right after my visit to CVS in the morning. Heh. And you thought I was single.

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

Shades of Boog

John's been in day care for approximately three weeks now, and I can honestly say that he's thriving.

Incidentally, so is his mucous production.

It's no surprise he's sick, really. All the babies sit in their exersaucers and chew on the toys, and then they're rotated around the room and inevitably chew on the toy that the last baby chewed on. So basically, John ate a bunch of "Adam's" boogers last week and now they've set up shop in John's nose. I wondered why the teachers neglected to wipe Adam's mucous off of his face until John got a case of them; the sludge is nearly impossible to keep up with. That's where the Booger Bulb comes in. John hates it. He struggles to get away from the Booger Bulb by thrashing his head from side to side, and before you know it, he's got snot all over his grill. Ah, well. We're building up that immune system, with rounds of shots at the pediatrician and 5 days a week in a room with other kids.

Speaking of other kids, RW was promoted to the 1-2 year old room, so he's not disrupting the baby room anymore with his crying jags. One of the teachers told me that they know it's time to "promote" an 11 month old child when he starts acting like a "baby;" they regress when they're bored and need more stimulation from older peers. He must be doing okay; I can't seem to hear him through the wall.

Maybe the walls are thick.

Like John's nose sludge. He remains adorable despite the runny nose, just in case you were wondering. I can't say the same for myself or JD when we catch whatever John has, which is a given. Booger Bulbs all around, folks; what a great gift idea! Stick one in a loved one's stocking this Christmas. They'll love you for it, I'm sure.

Fall Farts Review

Friday, September 17, 2010

Everybody's Doing It

Keep Fit: A Series of 50 Exercises for Men

-Cigarette Cards, circa 1919-


Body by TV

This morning I completed the 15 minute on-demand video

6 Pack Ab Burn

Needless to say, I was bummed to see that this was the edition du jour. Anything with "Ab" or "Burn" is bound to suck. Which, it did, pretty much.

Pros: I suppose if you just had a baby, you'd want to concentrate on where baby took up the most real estate, no matter how much it blows.

Cons: The woman was annoying. I also disliked her orange spray tan, which was distracting. Yet it did have the benefit of also distracting me from the fatigue of the exercises, as I wondered when this orange trend will go out of style. Not soon enough.

Thursday, September 16, 2010

Body by TV

Baby John is officially six months old! He's a robust little guy, and hauling him around is no easy feat for someone with chicken arms like mine. Over these six short/long months, I've tossed 90% of the maternity clothing out of my closet, and just managed to shimmy into a pair of non-maternity jeans. They are not my skinniest jeans, mind you, but I repeat, THEY ARE NOT MATERNITY JEANS. Man. No matter what your size, are jeans are loaded with angst for a broad, or what? They might be comfortable but they might make your can look really big. Or, they make your can look really small but they ride up your crack. Whatever. It's annoying.

Anyway, I digress. Having a baby does really wreak havoc on your body; I was surprised just how much. But then again, I'm surprised how much I was surprised. Hello, I made a person, he lived in me for the better part of a year, and that process is going to alter my physique. Now that I've come to terms with that, I've officially decided that I am physically-- and more important-- mentally ready to wean myself off of Spanx and get into shape. The issue? Time. Money. The Usual. Thus, my latest challenge and promise to myself:

The videos are all somewhere between 7-30 minutes long, and they run the gamut: meditation to kick boxing and everything in between. Since I'm just starting out, and I don't really care what I'm doing as long as I'm doing something, I've decided to choose the exercises in the same way a professional, calculating fitness trainer would: Alphabetically. That should keep it interesting.

This morning, I completed "10 Minute Buns and Thighs." It was fine. One could argue that a title with "buns and thighs" in it could make someone hungry for lunch and/or sexy time rather than exercise, but I had a cup of coffee beforehand and craved neither.

10 Minute Buns and Thighs
Pros: It's only 10 minutes and there's a visible counter that runs in the corner beginning at 10 minutes
Cons: She busts a move right out of the gate, and I wasn't sure I was ready to move that fast that early, but I caught up. See Pros.

Poverty Loves Company

The Census Bureau reported today that the poverty rate in the United States climbed to 14.3% in 2009 (the highest it's been since 1994) and that women continue to earn significantly less than men.

"NO SHIT!" replied the woman eating a bowl of radishes for lunch at her desk.

Mmmm. Radishes! They taste like broke. Spicy broke.

Monday, September 13, 2010

Top Ten Reasons Why My Retainer is in My Junk Drawer

10). It might fit one day

9). It's in such an adorable round bright baby blue vintage case

8). Mom said never to lose it because it was expensive, and one time after we had our ritual post-shopping lunch at Jordan Marsh I lost it (having taken it out and put it in a napkin so that I could eat; not wise, in retrospect), full-on panicked, FREAKED OUT, got it back, and swore to Mom, Dad, God, Santa and myself that I'd never lose it again

7). It's there to scare away other retainers from coming into the junk drawer

6). It has my name on it

5). It was expensive, remember?

4). It's a great conversation piece

3). It's a roof-of-my mouth-shaped metaphor for my fear of growing up

2). I like to take it out and touch it sometimes (not true)

1). Helloooo, I'm a HOARDER

I wrote this piece on Saturday, September 11, the day I cleaned out the junk drawer. 9/11 is always generally sad for New Yorkers, but this year, 9 years later, it was especially sad for me. I'm not sure why. I see Ground Zero out my office building window and am reminded of it 5 days a week, you'd think I'd be a little impervious to it now. But the weather was almost exactly the same; a sunny day and not one cloud in the blue sky. Anyhow, I think it's time to memorialize the retainer with a photo and a proper burial (most likely in a garbage can). It's either that or I make it into an intriguing piece of jewelry that grosses everyone out who gets a closer look. Still undecided. Either way, it's being evicted from the junk drawer. It hasn't paid rent since 1981.

Vintage Sticker of the Day

From my early 1980's sticker collection. It's worth hundreds*.

*of pennies.

Thursday, September 09, 2010

It's Over, Bowl

Dear Bowl,

You were vintage and cool. I got you for a quarter at a yard sale in Olean, New York, in the 1980's and we had a very long thing together, travelling from place to place until we got here. But recently, seemingly out of nowhere, you developed a crack in your side. Or maybe it was always there, it just got more pronounced with time. And I didn't want to toss you out because you still held water, you were beautiful, and I am cheap. But tonight, after making roasted root vegetables with the produce I got at the Union Square Greenmarket, I washed you/dried you /stacked you between two dishes that you couldn't handle, and you crapped yourself for good, and a large piece of you fractured off and fell onto the floor. I'm sad, but I realize that you needed to break up with me. What's wrong with me, keeping a broken bowl around? For some reason, I just couldn't break up with you. I guess I loved you too much, damage and all. It's fine, just a part of life. No bigs. We'll be facebook friends! One day. Promise.

Goodbye, bowl! Enjoy the landfill. Make it nice!



Wednesday, September 08, 2010

I Am This Many Fingers Old

I just Googled "idk" because "idk" what it meant.

How Norwegian Are These Cookies?

Norwegian Kringle

2 Cups sour cream (use think cream which has been soured, not commercial sour cream)

1 Cup sour milk

2 Cups sugar

1 teaspoon salt

4 to 5 Cups of flour to make a soft dough

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Mix first 4 ingredients, then add flour, a cup at a time. Take a generous tablespoon in fingers and roll like a rope and shape into figure eights. Bake 400 degrees

Recipe from

"Cookies for youthful appetites"
Unibook Series
Copyright 1982 - G & R Publishing
Printed in USA

Christmas 1991
To: Anne
From: Kyle
Favorite Recipes: (blank)

Thursday, September 02, 2010

Surprise: Neither John Nor I Cried But Someone Else Did!

The last thing I did before we left the house yesterday morning was tuck a tissue in my purse just in case I started sobbing. Oh, and get the baby bottle out of the refrigerator (thankfully JD reminded me in the elevator that we'd need to bring a vessel to feed our child at his daycare center). Can you imagine? First-time parents bringing their baby to his first day of daycare with no food? Embarrassing. I'm sure it's happened before. I'm sure there's not a whole lot they haven't seen before.

Of course, John's first day would take place on one of the hottest, blazing days of the summer, making our walk downtown fun for all, as at 9:30 in the morning it was already close to 90 degrees. At JD's insistence, we stopped into a Banana Republic to break it up with a cool blast of AC in the name of "Just shopping for Fall clothes," which is how JD replied when asked if we needed any help. Yeah. Like we can afford clothes for ourselves let alone togs from Banana Republic. Please. Get a life.

John fell asleep in his stroller on the block of the daycare center, just as we were about to roll into the front door. Once you open the door you're sort of smacked in the face with a light scent of pee pee. Though the center is reputable, tidy, and clean--as clean as a place full of slimy, drooling, sticky children can be--it's tough to erase the smell of dozens of dirty diapers no matter where they're contained. Lord knows that at home, if we've got one too many "dipes" in the Genie you can't escape it. The good news is that once you're inside the joint for a few minutes, you don't smell it anymore. It's human nature's way of helping you cope, I suppose. Visit any nursing home, and you get the drift.

Anyhow, once we unhooked John from his stroller and he woke up, we met with the Director and the teachers, all of whom were very friendly and eager to meet John. He was in a smiley and curious mood as he joined a group of already assembled babies ranging in age from 4-11 months, the majority bouncing in their little colorful saucers as others were crawling around on the play mat amongst the toys and books. Almost all seven babes were grinning and content. Two immediately crawled up to John to make friends once he was settled in his saucer and playing with the doo-dads on the side of it. Since John was handling the transition so well, I didn't feel the need to weep, only beam with pride (mixed with a little trepidation). One baby (a newbie) however, was crying. And another newbie, a big 11 mos old fella just "rescued" from his crib by one of the teachers, was screaming bloody murder as he was being consoled. No luck: completely inconsolable. JD called him later-- affectionately, of course--the Resident Wimp (RW). And not so affectionately, other words which rhyme with "little witch" and "foo-see.

Unfortunately for RW (and everyone else in the baby room and within ear shot of the baby room), he'd been with Mom and Dad soley for his entire life before being flung into the "real world" and was clearly not handling the separation well, which is heartbreaking, for sure. Apparently RW had been wailing non-stop since his first day (the day before) causing one of the teachers, "Barbara," to jest that she almost resigned because of his inability to chill out. As I tried to have a conversation with the teachers, filling them in on John's routine and asking questions about their schedule for the children, I wonder how much Barbara was actually joking. I'm sure constant screaming is detrimental to everyone's demeanor, crying in babies can be contagious, afterall. Barbara also told me that it'd be easy for me to remember her name because she's not named after a flower like the other two teachers, but I think I'll remember it because she's the only one with a beard. B is for beard.

We picked up the baby from "skool" two hours later after killing some time at Dunkin Donuts just as the group's afternoon nap started, because it's suggested we "phase him in" instead of dumping him all day for his first day, which made complete sense and causes me wonder if RW had a proper phase-in. Barbara said John did well as she carried him out to us, but that he had a tough time sleeping because of RW's howling. This isn't surprising, as I have a difficult enough time getting the baby to nap at home in the relative peace and quiet of Midtown. Today John had a longer day and JD didn't collect him until after naptime ended. I don't have all the details yet, but a few words via text message have it that John had another banner time despite the fact there was "no improvement" in RW's disposition.

RW's got to get his act together. He's throwin' off everyone's mojo.

My Parents Were Awesome (Yours Were Too)

The other eve on the NBC Nightly News, Brian Williams mentioned a statistic that old people enjoy reading bad news about young people in the media versus good news because it makes them feel good about themselves and boosts their self-esteem. And young people? It turns out they're not interested in reading any news--good or bad-- about old people. Which sounds about right. Youth sells.

In that vein, my hilarious, precious pal (and Mortified alum) Eliot Glazer came up with a delightful concept and created an amazing website and new book (in stores April 2011; available for pre-order on Amazon now.) called My Parents Were Awesome: "Before the fanny packs and Andrea Bocelli concerts, your parents (and grandparents) were once free-wheeling, fashion-forward, and super awesome."

Hard to believe, but true. Now that I'm a parent, I'm aware more than ever that I'll never look younger than I do today (barring any plastic surgery down the line) and I'll most likely not be any "cooler" (clearly I'm already uncool if I'm watching network television's 6:30 p.m. newscast). If I'm lucky to live until I'm old, I'll end up looking like everyone's Mom eventually does, it's how life works. Here's a pic of Brian and Mary on My Parents Were Awesome , submitted by Katrisse:

Brian and Mary (formerly awesome) submitted by Katrisse

Do you have pictures of your parents when they were awesome? I know I do! Send 'em in to myparentswereawesome@gmail.com with your name and the name of those pictured (or submit directly through Tumblr).

And kudos to you, Eliot! I love it!