Fixin' Supper

• I am not a neat person — ask anyone who knows me. But I am apparently the only person in my whole house capable of seeing, and reacting appropriately, to dirt. I promise you the other 3 inhabitants of this house could happily live in one of those crazy-people houses piled to the ceiling with newspapers and decades-old dust bunnies. At least I don’t like dirt and clutter and fix them when I see them.
• My until-now precious, compliant and obedient 3yo has turned into a holy terror in the past 2 weeks. He’s been punished [severely] twice for hitting the dog. [The dog, bless her heart, just stands there and looks balefully at him when he does this. My screaming at him how any other dog on the face of the earth would have bitten his face to shreds seems to be making little impact.] He’s gotten a sassy mouth [including calling his father a "stupid dumb-o" last night at dinner] and he willfully ignores all instructions [including important ones like "Stop that right now!"] At this point, I’ve decided that there must be some really poorly behaved kids in his new class at school, because the only other change in his life recently has been to spend more time with me. Let’s just leave that where it lies, mmk? We’re all hoping this is a very short stage.
• Bizarrest pregnancy symptom: My arms fall asleep all the time. While it was bad enough that this happened every single night [have to sleep on my side now, and both top and bottom arms are prone to falling asleep], I am now able to trigger this reaction just by moving my arm in a certain way. It basically feels like I’m hitting my funny bone 25 times a day, and my funny bone runs the entire length of my arm and hand. Good times.
• Metro advertises that the recycling truck runs in our neighborhood on the 1st Tuesday of every month, beginning at 7 a.m. I don’t live anywhere near the recycling operation center. And in 4 years of living in this house, the recycling truck has never reached my house after 6:50 a.m.

Last night, I got out of a meeting around 7:15 p.m. and thought immediately, “Super. I’ll make sure the English-only amendment failed.” It was almost 2 agonizing hours later when we finally got the word that this narrow-minded amendment had been defeated by Davidson County voters.

I spent a long post writing about my reasons for opposing the English-only amendment in December. But those of you who know me in real life know that I also have a very personal reason for wanting to live in a tolerant, inclusive place. I’ve been writing about English-only for a long time here at Fixin’ Supper, and my feelings about the issue have only gotten stronger over time.

My 3yo son was born in Guatemala. I adopted him as an infant. He is a U.S. citizen, though, just like Ahhnold, unqualified to be president. He’s the sweetest person I know and such a joy to our family. The most vivid imagination. The list goes on.

But in 10 or 12 years, he’s going to be a Latino teenager in a hoodie. Or whatever the prevailing teenage apparel of the day happens to be then. And it’s in his best interest, and mine, that he live in a community that does not judge him by the color of his skin.

Ideas like the English-only amendment may purport to be about saving the government money, or ensuring assimilation. As much as I would like to believe in the good inside English-only proponents, I have seen first-hand the kinds of reactions many people have to the proposal. English-only brings out our base instincts. It encourages us vs. them. It stokes racism.

You tell me. When we start dividing into us vs. them, I know which group my son will be in. He’ll always be an “us” to me. But which group will English-only partisans put my son in? How will they judge him? Will he be forced to carry his passport around with him to prove he’s a citizen? Will some racist jerks stop to check it before they beat him up because he and his friends walked down the wrong street?

Just as I believe that proposals that divide us are wrong, I believe we can create a welcoming, tolerant community that prevents my nightmare scenario above. I am so pleased to be a part of those who said “No” to intolerance yesterday. I hope we can calm the fears of those who supported it, to show them that intolerance is not a necessary response to change and difference.

….I decided that maintaining a blog for my company and just for y’all wasn’t quite enough. I needed another outlet. So I’m now blogging over at Blissfully Domestic on their new Blissfully Blended channel. My first post there explains why I’m so darn qualified to talk about blended families. I’ve only done that occasionally here, since this blog is ostensibly about food. And also some local Nashville politics. And Tomato Festivals. And stuff.

I’ve also shared my brilliant advice on handling family conflicts and using web tools to keep everyone on schedule.

The daily nap, that is. The 3yo has grown more and more obstinate about his daily nap. Truth be told, he’s been obstinate about it for months, but I’m only now moving toward acceptance of his changing routine. The 3yo still often naps at school, where the day is more rigid [and often more active] than it is here at home. But I’m pretty strict about routine myself. On days when the 3yo is here, we eat lunch about the same time he does at school, then head right for naptime. Dinner is about the same time every night. He goes to bed religiously at 7:30 each night.

But for at least two months, he’s fought that afternoon nap tooth and nail. I really can’t judge his timing based on his sister’s history–never mind that they’re not biological siblings. Her napping was always more erratic, from infancy onward. When she gave up her nap, she hadn’t been napping regularly for months, even at school. Then once every couple of weeks, she’d sleep for 4 hours on a weekend afternoon — always on a day you had something planned, of course. The 3yo isn’t ever erratic, about anything. He just doesn’t need the nap every day anymore.

Of course, I’m just being selfish about this. I’m now working out of my home, and in January, the 3yo will only be in nursery school 2 days a week. That’s on purpose — I’m looking forward to spending more time with him. But I was really hoping for a little time to myself on the weekdays we’d be mostly home together. Silly me, I even had illusions I’d still have him napping when the baby is due in May. I know; I’m just delirious.

So today is the 3yo’s first official day without a nap. He really did pretty well, considering. One small meltdown, one 5-minute batch of crankiness. You could get both of those on a day with a good nap. And I know he’ll still be napping some in the future. I’m just no longer kidding myself that I can count on 2 quiet hours mid-day any longer.

I asked the 3yo this morning at breakfast what he’d like Santa to bring him for Christmas. His answers:

• A flashlight
• A jingle bell

Somehow, I think Santa can handle that.

Let this be a lesson to all you aunts, uncles, and grandparents [no one related to me, of course] who are prone to buying the latest, greatest, loudest, most complex toys: Children really do want cardboard boxes.

I actually don’t think I do have a death obsession. But I noticed a couple of years ago that almost all the songs I like to sing to the kids are about death. I hadn’t thought about it in quite some time because the 3yo is your dream child at bedtime. We put him in bed, kiss him goodnight and he freakin’ goes to sleep.

This is still bizarre to me, based on my experience with the 9yo until, well, check back with me in a couple of months, OK? Let’s just say that when she was the age of the 3yo, I had to lie down with her and rub her back for 45 min every night.

Tonight, the 3yo wasn’t feeling well. He’s had a little cough for a couple days and didn’t really feel like eating dinner. Just kinda puny all around. So I rocked him tonight and sang to him.

A couple of old favorites popped up in the rotation — Swing Low Sweet Chariot and I’ll Fly Away. I also love to sing I’ve Never Been This Homesick Before. The Far Side Banks of Jordan. There’s more. Most good gospel songs are about death, really.

My repertoire is a lot more religious than I am, but hey, I go where the good songs are.

Tonight, we were at dinner with  — you’re going to need a flow chart, I promise. We were at dinner with an old friend of Ashby’s and her husband. She also is a Vandy grad, but neither of us knew her in school. However, she was my ex’s last serious girlfriend before he started dating me. And we discovered tonight, apparently she and Ashby had become friends in Knoxville [Vandy grads in a foreign land] and were out drinking the night the ex and I got married. You had to be there, but it was so damn funny telling it now, 15 years later.

A great time was had by all, but the point is this. At dinner, I said, “Now, did Ashby tell you we’re expecting?” [He hadn't.] Then he goes, “I thought we were going to announce it this weekend.”

I died laughing. He looked confused. I said, “Umm, whom will we announce it to? Everyone knows.”

He goes, “I haven’t told anyone.”

Umm, oops. Well, the kids and I have. And you can’t keep secrets in my family. You tell one person and shortly, 60 far-flung, long-lost cousins whom you’ve never met are calling to congratulate you.

And now you know, if you didn’t already. Don’t spoil the surprise, mmk? I may already be in trouble. ;)

You would think I could remember this. But every time, it strikes me anew.

This morning for instance. We have a very strict routine in the morning. MWF, I get up at 5 a.m. and head for the gym. On MW nights, Ashby picks his clothes out the night before, so that when he gets up at 5 a.m. on TR, he doesn’t have to turn on the light and wake me up. On TR, I get up around 6 a.m.

I screwed things up this morning [a Wednesday] by deciding at 4:55 a.m. that I was too darn tired to work out, having stayed up too late last night. So I decided to “sleep in” til 6 a.m. Maybe 10 minutes later, just as I was drifting back off, Ashby says, hey, I need to turn the light on to get my clothes.

I said, No, just turn on the closet light.

Now, in this poor man’s defense, he’s only lived in this house for about 3 months. And I guess he’s never had occasion to turn on the closet light before. I’m just throwing that out there.

But seriously.

I said, the chain for the light is on the left side of the closet, right about level with the shelf. He stands there in the dark, feeling for it, for a good 2 minutes. I said, forget it. Just turn on the light. I hide under the covers.

Three or four minutes pass, and I haven’t heard any coat hangers moving back and forth. I look. He’s just standing there, looking into the closet. Then I realize. He turned on the lamp, in order to look for the light chain in the closet.

The other salient point to this story is that I am really, really cranky in the morning. You could use several really rude words to describe my typical morning attitude, and I couldn’t argue.

So I’m pretty sure I yelled when I said, Just get your damn clothes and turn off the light!

I had forgotten one of the first things you should know about men: They like to fix things.

Later [not that much later -- the 3yo came calling about 10 minutes later. That's a whole 'nother story, which involved me being even ruder.], I got up and went to look in the closet. Yes, the light chain was on the left side, even with the shelf, just like I remembered. But it had gotten hung on the interior door frame of the closet, thus being invisible unless you looked up at the bulb and then followed the chain down. Poor guy.

This is the time of year where I normally have a freakout about everything that’s going on. What? OK, OK, so I have that freakout 3-4 times a year.

• Let’s see…work is breathtakingly busy. Has been for weeks.
• We’ve had something to do every weekend since before the wedding. And we have something fairly big planned every weekend until Aug. 30-31.
• School starts in 6 days.

On the positive front:

• The 3yo is definitively potty-trained.
• Ashby starts teaching at Hunters Lane High School tomorrow, so all adults in the household are once again gainfully employed.
• School supplies are purchased and the 9yo has a closetful of uniforms.

On the more-insanity-to-come front:

• The 9yo is taking dance lessons again this year.
• I’m teaching piano lessons again this year.
• The 3yo starts soccer at the end of the month.
• And Ashby has some yet-to-be-defined evening classes to take for his certification.

You don’t even want to see my Google calendar, because that’s not even all. Don’t mind me; I’ll just be here in the corner hyperventilating.

This is one of my favorites

I hadn’t meant to take such a long blog vacation here after the wedding, but things have just been busy around here lately. We got our pictures tonight from the photographer….see more here.

I’ll be back shortly with some fun food posts. We have still been eating in the interim.