Chocolate

It was right around the year 1986, and I'm almost certain that such requests wasn't common for a girl like me: I asked my parents for a Cabbage Patch Doll.

But just not any Cabbage Patch doll.

A chocolate one.

And boy, was this doll loved. I think I may have named her Keshia or Rudy, but I can't say for sure.

Be it "The Cosby Show" or the only dark-skinned boy in my first grade class (he was absolutely adorable in every way), it's hard to pinpoint where this 'chocolate' fascination came from. I grew up in diversity-challenged suburbia, so don't reprimand my six-year-old self for not using politically correct language.

Over Christmas, when it came to finding a baby doll for my own daughter, I didn't bat an eyelash when I found and bought Tiny: the Target-manufactured, brown-eyed, dark-skinned miniature baby doll. The other baby dolls in her company were white babies with blue eyes. All ugly. Where was the diversity? The green eyes? Any freckled noses? None whatsoever. And bless their wee little plastic hearts--they were wearing a purple and pink jumpsuit--a color combination cardinal sin.

Except Tiny. Hers was a tasteful baby blue and pink.

For Indy, it was love at first sight. She snuggles that little black baby doll up to her neck wherever she goes. For one who preferred pushing around trains and cars over toting around stuffed animals and dolls, those feminine genes of hers are kicking in at last.

Chocolate, indeed.    

Two Peas in a Pod

One nice thing about not being the preferred parent is being off diaper duty for a full week.

My son is still in diapers, you ask?

His choice. Not mine.

He'll occasionally remind me that he can't have a birthday cake until he uses the toilet like a big boy.

His idea. (Really.) Not mine.

I Think I Get It

"A Fox Books Superstore."
"Quel nightmare."
"It has nothing to do with us. It's big, impersonal, overstocked, and full of ignorant salespeople."
"But they discount."
--dialogue from You've Got Mail.

When I blogged about needing to buy a cow to supply my family's milk drinking needs, I soon discovered a much more practical, and more affordable answer: Walmart.

Uggh. Does anyone really like Walmart? It's the Mother-of-them-all Superstores. The "but they discount" excuse drones into my head every time I step inside. I can get a nice gallon of skim milk for $2.09. Drinking our calcium has never felt so good. Thanks, Walmart.

But that is not the "Vermont Way". I've heard the phrase often, but I would ne'er be so bold to define it. Two years ago, during my first visit to Burlington (VT), a local I met at a chocolate store defined the Vermont Way as "growing your own food, preserving your own jam, and hunting your own venison." From my observations, Vermonters religiously follow the days of yore American motto "Use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without." They are also well known for their passionate boycotts of big box enterprises such as Walmart and Target. You will find thrift stores around here to your heart's content. This same attitude applies to rural New Hampshire. I would dare say that the state's motto "Live Free or Die" speaks volumes about a lifestyle promoting a dependence on self. Here in the Upper Valley, I see a satisfaction and pride behind buying most things local and supporting the family farm just down the road.

And I love it.

What? This city girl transplant is loving it?

Didn't I mention this before?

I fear that I've all too often been one of those shoppers, Fox Books Superstore bags in arm, passing by the window of The Shop Around the Corner, while Kathleen Kelly is hanging up her twinkle lights. For a movie that I've seen hundreds upon hundreds of times, that sad scene tugs at my guilt every time. I wanna leap right into the screen to save Christmas.

So, rescuing The Shop Around the Corner I must! "One, two, three, four! We don't want this Superstore!" While I still frequently enter the previously mentioned evil chain store (the shame!), I'm trying to mend my ways by evaluating how I shop. Some of my favorite products:

Killdeer Farm--my CSA that I support.
Cabot. (The best dairy ever.)
Stoneyfield Farm organic yogurt.
King Arthur Flour.
Vermont Country Store. (It's even Martha Stewart endorsed.)
Garnet Hill (I lied. I haven't made a purchase yet. Everything in their catalog is on my wish list.)
Ben & Jerry's ice cream.
Pure Vermont maple syrup.
Pick Your Own Farms.
Farmers' Markets.
Local diners--for the occasions that we go out to eat.

This past Christmas was the first year that I was able to kick Fox Books and Tom Hanks to the curb. Not perfectly and completely, but a couple of locally made purchases created some New England flavor to our Christmas magic.

These toys will be treasured forever. I dread the day when expensive electronics will take its place. In a few years when a job may take us away from New England forever, I'll be extra glad that we have these as reminder of this time. But, as I've timidly confessed to my mother who lives over 2,000 miles away, I love this place and would stay if I could.

Even if Target and Costco are over an hour's drive.

P.S. As much as I hate to see The Shop Around the Corner going out of business, I support American capitalism.
P.P.S. Kathleen Kelly still had a happy ending. Happy endings come with time though.
P.P.P.S. It may sound like I have a hidden agenda, but I do not.
P.P.P.P.S. Vermont has the best cheese on earth. They need to do a better job at capitalizing on that. I've spent my entire life wasting my cheese experience on less worthy cheese.
P.P.P.P.P.S. I prefer drinking the delicious milk from the local dairies, but quite honestly, I can't spend that kind of money to feed my family. Walmart wins.
P.P.P.P.P.P.S. I really don't have a hidden agenda. This is a family-friendly, politics free, and self-indulgent blog. Pinky swear.

And another thing...wanna take a guess what my favorite movie is? Nora Ephron is kind of a big deal to me.

Us and the Ocean

Out of clutter

 find SIMPLICITY. 

From discord 

find HARMONY.

In the middle of difficulty 

finds OPPORTUNITY. 

Albert Einstein

Nobody ever said raising children was an easy vocation.

It's anything but simple. Or harmonious.

But, it's my opportunity to make a difference in the world.

They are my world.

So I will make a difference for them.

Carpets du jour

The past few days, we've been hiding inside from the single digit bone-chilling weather. I would surmise that the weather lately has felt like a Nor'easter--but without all the snow. In fact, there is not an inch of snow here. We have only a dusting of what looks like powder sugar on our lawn.

So, Christmas this year came just in time to insulate and cheer up our bare floors. I now look forward to early mornings when I can swing my legs out of the bed and touch down onto warm wool with my toes. I'm a little late to join Club Chevron, but it'll be the first and the last time I do. (I plan not to go overboard with the latest trend in home decor.)

As we wait for the fun white stuff to cover our sledding hill behind our home, we try to get clever indoors. Hint: lots of Play Dough. To my advantage, my home has also been much more clean and I seem to be on top of folding laundry. Rock on.

So, here we are in January. Blah. And then on to Feb-Brrrrrr-uary. As New Englanders call it, winters here are 'wicked cold.' I think they're on to something. BUT--one thing I'm not missing this season are the bitter gusts of wind that have made the Midwest winters infamous.

I'm counting my blessings.

Hello, New Year

In 2011, I nibbled on too many fresh-outta-the-oven sugar cookies and didn't have enough white grape bubbly to wash it all down.

In 2011, I let my eldest child watch too much TV. (Disclaimer: Cut me some slack for my adjustment to mothering two in a brand new city, and for a husband who practically lived at the hospital.) 

In 2011, even I watched too much TV. (See disclaimer above.) It's dangerous for a married woman to watch entire seasons of Psych alone. The Boy has admitted how ridiculous it is having to compete with Gus and Shawn. Consider myself charmed.

[source]

In 2011, I had my worst airplane experience to date. Then, when I didn't think that air travel couldn't get beyond the conditions of Outer Darkness, on my return flight, I simply made up my mind to never fly Southwest ever, ever, ever again. Not even their free bags fare will win me back.

In 2011, I made a really crappy butt-ugly birthday cake. Instead of admitting my failure at one of my most important duties as a mother, I instead tell myself that no bakery would ever hire my services.

In 2011, in a car with peeling paint that always made me feel safe when I drove through some parts of 'da hood', I drove over a pot hole that further improved its appearance.

In 2011, one of Boy's wildest dreams came true: we drove our Xterra on the Indianapolis Motor Speedway, home of the Indy 500.

In 2011, I started thinking about my only daughter's future. As hard as it is to put off my maternal wishes, I vow not to make her into a child bride.

In 2011, I couldn't have survived my year in Indiana without two very important ladies. They are missed.

In 2011,

• I got my husband back---sort of. Although he still works some long hours, I can now easily remember what his face looks like.
• We left our beloved Midwest and fell in love with New England.
• Irene brought us a flood.
• I was awarded my first speeding ticket in 6 years.
• I felt like my backyard, on occasion, transformed into a scene from Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds. 
• I witnessed the magic of Autumn as I had never seen before.   
• I got pregnant. Then I got unpregnant. And it's okay.
• I became a fan of Adele's raspy voice like everyone else.
• I became a full supporter of real maple syrup.
• I started to recognize that life without Target and Costco at my fingertips isn't the end of the world...but having Target around might prevent those Walmart trips from happening.
• my world ended up getting a little smaller and a lot simpler.

And, in 2011, I was already 'in style' for 2012 without even trying. I knew that bangs were a good decision.

[the washington post 'in/out list]

I am an optimist and I'm getting the hint that 2012 and I are already on the right page. Making zero New Years' resolutions may be a part of that plan.

They know that Santa is on his way...

Christmas music...playing.

Dinner dishes...washing.

Mulberry citrus-scented candles...burning.

Cookies and milk for Santa...waiting.

Two kids...sleeping.

Two parents...cozying by the chestnuts roasting over an open fire (pretending?)

Merry Christmas, everyone!

Everything is Merry

The 'warm fuzzies' as promised...


My Ten Pre-Christmas Faves of 2011:

1.  Even better than homemade sugar cookies is when somebody else makes them and brings them to your house. 
2.  Displaying our Christmas cards over my window makes me smile.
3.  I love our Christmas tree. And Hedwig. Like a nerd, I'm still waiting for my owl post.
4.  I got snagged into participating in a Christmas Boutique with a fine group of ladies. My contributions were homemade mug coasters and baby leg warmers. Hours spent creating this inventory is partly why blogging has been so pathetic lately.   

5.  Date night with Boy couldn't have been more eventful: the men congratulated themselves for their facial hair growing capabilities to honor Movember, I spent more than five minutes doing my hair, we he dared to try out the oysters--I think the shocker of the whole night was that we actually left the house without the children. We were home by 9:30 p.m. We party hard.
6. We've begun a new Christmas tradition with Percy the Elf. In case you were wondering, yes--Finner M'Gee named our new elf. And yes, the name is from one of his beloved trains from Thomas the Tank Engine.
7. Out here, I'm in a Trader Joe's drought. You know you've got a true friend when you get an unexpected package in the mail that contains a box of Peppermint Joe Joe's. Now, that's love. 
8.  She is one of my Christmas joys.
9.  And so is he.
10.  I love spending Christmas with this guy. He has lost his full head of hair, but doggonit, I love him. 

And Christmas isn't Christmas without the swaddled babe in the lowly manger. The King. The Son of God. The Promised Messiah. I especially love bedtime stories this time of year and hearing my two-year-old whisper reverently as he points to the picture, "That's baby Jesus." One day, he will know much more than that.


Merry Christmas.
Happy Hanukkah.
Happy Holidays.
Happy New Year.

It's should be snowing this weekend, which inspires me to find a copy of "White Christmas". Except, all I want to watch is the scene where the four of them are singing about snow and Christmas in Vermont.

"Snow! Snow! Snow! Snow!"

An Anti-Holiday Cheer Post

Christmas is a season of loving, worshipping, giving, singing, and serving. But it is also one of buying and coveting. It's maddening.

I feel that in order to prepare for the holiness of Christmas Eve and the magic of Christmas morning, I need a little holiday catharsis: cough out the old, breathe in the new. I love how blogging can remind me how ridiculous and frivolous my personal vendettas are.

Making Me Mad--Dec. 2011 edition

Misleading Marketing Ploys:
I bought a bag of Popcorn, Indiana. It was identified with a picture of the state of Indiana and a tractor on the front, making me yearn for a little taste of our former home. Several fistfuls of popcorn later, I read the back label saying that our delicious cheddar popcorn was distributed in New Jersey--not Indiana. Almost instantaneously, my popcorn started tasting like the Jersey Shore.

Two Years without the Christmas Fizz:
Last year, I went to every single grocery store within the Indianapolis city limits and didn't find any evidence of Pomegranate 7Up. For me and my family, the lack of Pomegranate 7Up was a total Christmas ripoff--and the concoction I made with with regular 7Up and fresh pomegranate seeds was lackluster. I wasn't at all surprised that I couldn't find my favorite holiday drink here in rural New Hampshire. Word on the street is it's DISCONTINUED.  I had a little tear in my eye just typing that.


The Ever-Popular PJJ's:
We all know that my life was forever changed by Trader Joe's. It has some kind of mystical power over me; I can't put my finger on it. I get so irked reading about the latest blog post from some blogger out there who just posted an Instagram photo of themselves with their grocery cart loaded with boxes of Peppermint Joe Joe's. I hate that feeling of jealousy. Make it stop.

Daylight Savings:
Out here, the sun is setting after the 3 o'clock hour and it's completely dark by 4 p.m. I'm not used to this freak of nature. Enough said.


More Freaky Nature:
There's sunshine outside. Not a skiff of snow on the ground? This weather is really tripping me out.

Someone Out There Looks Good in My Jeans:
The first and only time I ever got anything for free was last year on November 5, 2010 when I walked into the Gap and was awarded a free pair of jeans. I called Boy up and squealed my good news into the receiver. I was shaking all over with excitement. After two hours in the dressing room, I took home a pair that fit and looked perfectly--and that's seriously saying something considering I had birthed a baby two months prior. Somewhere between Indiana and New England, they disappeared. They didn't surface out of my box of winter clothing. Devastation. Did I mistakenly put them in a pile for Goodwill? The thought makes me itch with madness.

And What Happened to My Second Favorite Pair of Jeans?:
Let it be known that when you've machine laundered and dried your jeans, they gradually wear down in the most inconspicuous places. You'll never know when that moment will come when you will lean down in public and feel a long tearing rip down your rear end. As you sit there, still crouched, your eyes bug out in horror, wondering how to escape. Miraculously, you'd be mighty glad that you were wearing a long sweater jacket, but as you walk outside with your two kids who yank your arms in opposite directions, you're doing the best you can to keep your heinie unexposed as gusts of freezing cold wind whip your sweater around in circles.
The famous bum pocket photo of 2007 can now preserve the memory of these great pair of jeans. They were a JC Penney purchase--the Bongo brand. (I hate JC Penney.) Surprised? Me too.

There's more....oh, there is so much more. Don't get me excited about it because I'm fighting the urge to continue. The Christmas spirit needs to take over now.

Tomorrow, I'll bring out the warm fuzzies.

Oh, and Mom? Don't be offended that after all these years, I hate JC Penney. Do you still love me? I do like their White Sales though.

Strut Your Stuff

Today's word of the day...


Galumph /guh LUMPH/, intransitive verb: 
to move in a clumsy manner or with a heavy tread
Anomaly /uh NOM uh lee/, noun:
a deviation from the common rule, type, arangement, or form.
someone or something anomalous: with his quiet nature, he was an anomaly in his exuberant family.
an odd, peculiar, or stranage condition, situation, quality, etc.

Both used in a sentence: 
Galumphing around the house in women's high heels is no easy feat for a man child, but I'm positively assured that one afternoon's anomaly is only a phase.

***

When he has outgrown Santa and elves, incentives for good behavior will never end in my household. This one's going into the blackmail photo file.