Some Parents Eat Their Young

August 16, 2010 By 3 Comments

It’s true, you know. They do. Some species engage in filial cannibalism – otherwise known as baby eating (I looked that up). In fact, I once had a rabbit who ate its own babies. It was the male and I can’t attest to what he was thinking, but maybe he was driven over the edge by that year’s 5th litter of fuzzy bunnies. What if he was feeling a lot of pressure from Mrs. Rabbit? The hutch was getting smaller, the family bigger and the paychecks just couldn’t make ends meet anymore. Clearly, I fabricated that part, but it sounded good, no?

Pigs are guilty of occasionally noshing on their young as well. Back on the farm, we had a gargantuan pig named Bertha. Bertha birthed some piglets and had to be separated from her babies lest she feel the sudden urge to inappropriately chow down. (I wonder if pigs can use the post-partum defense?) The problem with mama pigs is, if there is a piglet that seems different or weak, she’ll eat it. Of course, Bertha happened to have a runt in her litter, so before anyone knew what happened, the runt was named ‘CC’, swathed in a pink doll dress with matching bonnet and plopped into the doll stroller. In case you were wondering, that was also the summer that I read Charlotte’s Web. If Fern could pull it off, so could I!
Anyway, CC slept in a cozy little box in the house, was fed with a bottle and snuggled for a period of time that I can no longer recall. As soon as CC was “caught up” with the rest of the piglets, it was right back out to the pig pen. I don’t know what happened to CC, but what I do know is that she never developed a weird friendship with a freakishly intelligent spider. That poor little runt piglet.
We have runt here in our house and her name is Kate. She’s tiny and she’s not like the others. She’s loud, refuses to eat much else than fresh mozzarella and Yo-Baby yogurt…and it better be frozen and strawberry flavored or you’ll be damn sorry! She almost always looks like she hasn’t been brushed or bathed in days. In fact, ten minutes after a bath she has the ability to waltz back into the room looking like a tiny, dirty little woman after a week-long bender. She has the ability to emit a piercing string of babble that oddly resembles a profanity-laced tirade. She can wrestle Stella to the ground in a headlock when the other kids are terrified to go near the teething puppy. She’s one tough cookie and she likes to be heard.

Kate is our third surprise…oops, I meant third baby. Kate came out screaming and hasn’t stopped in 18 months - unless you count some public appearances where she stuns us by morphing into Darling Angel Baby. She smiles at people, shares her treats, dances a little dance to the overhead music and bats her big blue eyes which results in admiring glances and comments on how adorable she is…so well behaved even! I know, I know…several of you have spent time with Darling Angel Baby and you are astonished when I tell you that she’s a screaming, tantrum throwing whack-job. When I say these things to the other mommies, I am alternatively met with, “really? She’s so quiet!” or looks of alarm that say, How could you have such thoughts about your baby?…and actually SAY it out loud?!

Simple. I’m honest. I also share a very sarcastic sense of humor with my husband. So on those evenings/mornings/entire days when Kate is screaming and hanging from a our legs as we try to cook/dress/pee. The days when we have to scream over her screaming to be heard, when my mild-mannered husband starts losing his temper…we go into the pantry together and call her out on her bullshit. Not very nice names either. Don’t worry, she can’t actually hear us because we’re hiding from her.
Our fake confrontations are similar to what you might say to a friend who is being a complete asshole during hour number 14 of a road trip. A secret pantry “confrontation” typically goes something like this:
Me (whispering): “Jeez, Kate… you’re being a real BLEEP.”

Dave (also whispering): “Seriously, man…you’re acting like a huge BLEEEEPITY BLEEP.”
From the other room, we hear Gwen yelp in pain and begin crying as Kate pummels her head with a bottle. Again.

Me (still whispering): “How ’bout I take that bottle and…..” We can’t help but dissolve into laughter at the fact that we are secretly speaking to our toddler like she’s the world’s most annoying adult. We then exit the pantry feeling far less stress than we did when we entered. 
Right about now, you might be questioning our roles as parents. Judge if you must, but our method of stress relief is effective and it sure beats eating the runt!

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Filed Under: Charlotte's Web, filial cannibalism, runt, stress relief, temper tantrums, toddler

My One Special Guy

August 13, 2010 By Leave a Comment

This morning I watered this year’s pitiful excuse for a garden and, as is often the case, I watered in silence as the kids played inside. Silence. It makes me think of Frank Costanza screaming, “SERENITY NOW!”

Actually, I do my best thinking when I’m watering the plants. There is something about the trickling water and the morning sun warming my skin that always brings me back to my first special guy. He watered his garden in the morning, letting me spray the tomatoes and play in the water that dripped from the hose. He rarely scolded and often chuckled. He taught me to make homemade pasta, how to fish, and eat an entire bag of cherries in one sitting. He taught me how to say “bicycle” in Italian. He taught me to sit quietly with my own thoughts. From him I learned the fine art of comfortable silence. He taught me how to laugh. He was a once-in-a-lifetime kind of person, who you longed to be around for no real reason except that he was good. He taught me so much about life and I never said thank you.

Uncle Joe, kneeling with baseball bat

All summer, I’ve continued watering the sad, fruitless plants in the gardens, despite the fact that they have yet to produce a single thing. Uncle Joe was with me as I watered the gardens today. As I fell into into my serene, thoughtful chore he entered my thoughts. I miss him.

I moved the hose to the children’s garden that we started earlier in the summer, and began watering the (bean-less) bean plants that are slowly crawling up the tee-pee. I laughed to myself as I recalled one of the rhymes Uncle Joe taught us as children. Beans, beans the magical fruit, the more you eat, the more… And there they were. Beans. Yes, he was there with me. I hope that he heard me say thank you.

Filed Under: beans, Garden, homemade pasta, serenity now

Life Lessons, Child Rearing and Pet Keeping…Hadfield Style.

August 12, 2010 By 4 Comments

Well, the visit from Dad is done. Fantasy Island? Not so much. As usual, my imagination offered up a far juicier scenario than what reality had to provide. Mom and Dad behaved nicely. No knock-down-drag-out fights, no slow-motion running across the lawn, arms outstretched as “Reunited…and it feels so gooooood!” played in the background, no crazy monkey sex. However, as happens after every visit from my father, I was brought back to that question I asked in my first blog…who am I? I have concluded that the more appropriate question is, HOW am I? The utter insanity of my family (sorry family) just makes me wonder exactly how I am able to present myself as a relatively “normal” and functioning member of society.

Two things are clear. 1. I definitely inherited my father’s sick sense of humor, and 2. thank GOD that my parents divorced.

Why am I thankful that they divorced, you ask? Let me put it this way, he’s cigars, scotch and Cadillacs and she’s tennis, (strictly) two beers per night, and Toyota’s. He’s American Legion and she’s Gourmet Club. He’s…well, you get the point. I’m left wondering what these two ever had in common, even at the age of 19. No matter how hard I try, I can’t imagine the two of them spending any more time together than they did last week. A few hours of polite conversation each day and a courtesy lobster was quite enough, thank you very much.

The sick sense of humor is another story. For example, last year my father bought a 1981 Rolls Royce Silver Spirit. Why? Good question. Let me explain what I think. I think he thought it would be funny to have his friend Larry chauffeur him around South Florida to completely normal and mundane places. And that is precisely what they did. Evidently, Larry had no issues with playing “driver” and would even open the back door with a flourish. Mostly, the stories involve forays to the liquor store and Larry carrying Dad’s booze..er, packages to the car. 20 years ago this would have horrified me, but those were the days when anything my father did crippled me with embarrassment.

Don’t get me wrong, there was a time that we were inseparable. Mostly, before we moved to upstate NY and still lived in Mahopac. Lets see…oh, he always let me come to Keen’s with him. Even though it was a bar, it was okay because they had a pinball machine and his bartender lady-friend was always kind enough to hand me a fat roll of quarters. She sure was a nice lady..sending me off to play before she came on to my Dad. Ahhhh…the’70′s. You’d never be able to pull that off today. You know, bringing a 5 year old into the local dive bar. Maybe you couldn’t do it then either, unless you are the local State Trooper/Daddy, that is.

I have to say that one of my fondest childhood memories is of my bull, Emile. My dad bought me my very own “cow” at an auction. Oh, the excitement! I couldn’t wait to get that cute, tiny baby cow home and feed him and love him. My father lovingly named him “Emile”. I vividly recall the smile on his face as he bestowed the very noble name of “Emil” on my new pet. Emile…he was a nice guy. Impeccable manners, followed me around like a dog even though he was HUGE. I taught him to eat the equivalent of cow “formula” since he wasn’t weaned from his mommy when he arrived at our big red barn. Oh, how I loved my Emile.
Fast forward. I’m not sure how long it took. Frankly, I’ve blocked the horror from my mind, but at some point we loaded Emile up and drove him over to the local COW KILLER. Said COW KILLER killed my friend. It was then that I learned Emile was actually “A Meal”. The horror…the HORROR! My sicko father thought this was hilarious. It is this incident, and many others that shall remain unspoken, that shaped my weird, sick and twisted sense of humor.
I might still wonder how I function properly as a human being, but I did come away with the following life lessons:  1. Do NOT under any circumstances murder your child’s pet and serve it for dinner. This is highly confusing and slightly reeks of Hannibal Lechtor’s early years. 2. Try to show some compassion if your adult daughter continues to display a photo of herself and the eaten pet 30 years after the meal. Oh, and I’m also not above handing off my typically screaming 18 month old as revenge..its not like he can eat her or anything!
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Filed Under: child, Emile, life lessons, pet

Mommie Dearest and the Summer Boredom Blues

July 29, 2010 By 2 Comments

I’m having a day. I’ll be completely honest here and will probably offend someone in the process (or at least make you wonder if I should really be mothering three small children). But really, who hasn’t had one of those days where, by 3:00 p.m. every sound emanating from the general vicinity of your children makes you want to hop in the mini-van with a suitcase full of your favorite shoes, a pack of smokes and a copy of On The Road? Come on. Tell the truth. You’ve fantasized about a covert nap time escape, haven’t you? I have.


On many occasion, I’ve wondered exactly how stay-at-home moms can homeschool. You mean, you’re always with your kids? 365 days a year????!!!! 24 hours a day..7 days a week????!!! (What I’m saying in my head is, “Lady, you’re looney toons.”)


Can you tell that we’re on the downward swing of summer vacation and all of the fun “stuff” has started to lose it’s appeal? We’re almost at the new school year (28 days, 13 hours and 54 minutes to be exact). If that yellow bus doesn’t pull up soon I might just loose my mind. The most alarming part of this situation is the fact that the kids are only entering 1st grade and pre-school.


They’re bored. Boredom = problem behavior = mommy needs prescription meds.


Oh, the poor little things. They’re bored. Let’s bring them to Funtown/Splashtown, the beach, buy them a pool, go to Toys-R-Us, library, buy them a stinkin’ puppy, get them ice cream, go to the park, blah, blah, blahblahblaaaaaah.


What does a Mommy do when faced with such a challenge? Hmmmm..let me look for some ideas on the Internet! Oh look, here’s a blog entry titled “Bust Summertime Boredom”, I’m sure this nice lady will have some excellent pointers. Plus, it says that the ideas are also wallet friendly. Excellent!

 1. Family Dance Party.
Okay. I can do that..I’ll just turn up the stereo and get everyone to dance. “Look! Guys…look at Mommy. Hey! Let’s dance..guys…guys?”
Joe: ”Mom, you look crazy. Can I have a treat?”
Gwen: “Can we go to the beach?”
At least Kate humored me with a wiggle.

2. Fort Building.
“Hey guys, wanna build a fort?
Joe: “YEAH! Hey Gwen, we’re going to build a fort!”
Gwen: unintelligible words followed by a delighted shriek.
Me: ”BE QUIET THE BABY IS SLEEPING!!”  deep breath… ”okay, now just go into the living room and use whatever cushions you need. Blankets too. Have fun!” Fast forward 2.5 minutes. A piercing scream comes from the family room. I enter to find that Joe has built a fort, turned on Transformers and banned Gwen from entry. The baby is crying because I yelled.



3. Family Cookbook.
Susan, the Blogging Wonder-Mommy, says that this is a great way to share your favorite cookbook with the children. Plus, all that measuring keeps their math skills fresh. She goes on to say that I should let my children pick the recipe they would like to try. Um, Susan? Won’t will also entail a trip to the grocery store? My favorite cookbook is Gourmet and the kid not glued to Transformers can barely count. I’d like to throw Gourmet at Susan.

4. Listening Game.
Susan, who is clearly doing a much better job at child rearing than I am, suggests lying down in the backyard to “listen”. What do we hear? Can you make that sound? This is what I heard:  “I hear a poo.” giggle. “Gwen, pull my finger.” Kate picked that moment to back up and plop her smelly bum on my head and Joe followed with, “Can we go to Funtown /Splashtown?”

5. I’m too bored with Susan to keep reading. I wonder what Susan would think about drawing on each other…
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Filed Under: Boredom, Family, kids, Mommie Dearest, Summer, Summertime

Welcome, To Fantasy Island

July 28, 2010 By 1 Comment

Alright, so I just have to throw this one out there and set it free. Things are about to get absolutely bizarre at my house over the weekend. So bizarre, that it took me about half of a day to process and recognize the weirdness. Is weirdness even a word? If not, it should be. It applies to this situation.

Those of you that know me well know that I’m the product of a broken home. Yeah, yeah, it was the 80’s and, frankly, who isn’t the product of a broken home? (Humor me). Trust me reader-person, this isn’t going to be a tragic recount of the past 30 years and how my parents ruined my life. This is about the comedy that my parents unwittingly subject me to every few years.

Inevitably, some family event happens that requires Mom and Dad, sometimes along with significant others, to gather together and celebrate said event. My sister’s wedding in the early ‘90’s was the tester for behavioral problems. Luckily, we discovered that brief stints of togetherness are tolerable and, if the stars are properly aligned, quite entertaining. Okay, scratch the stars…mostly alcohol and music tend to do the trick.

Let me catch you up a bit. We are all lucky to have my mother staying with us for the summer. It’s been great. The kids love having a Grandma in the house, I love having Mom in the house, Dave loves that Grandma is in the house. Jeez, I think that the dog is even in love. We’re in Grandma Heaven around here.

So, a few months back my father sent a brief e-mail (he keeps it REAL brief) telling me that he’ll be in NY for his 50th class reunion…will be visiting my sister on such and such dates and then up to us in Maine on such and such dates…frankly, I just spaced because, well, I’m a bit spacey sometimes. Also, in my teen years he had a tendency to not show up, but I promised you that I wouldn’t go there.

Fast forward to this morning.

Scene: my kitchen.

My mother enters saying, “Your sister called. Your father will be here on Sunday.”

Pregnant pause while she waits for me to react. Of course, I’m absorbed in some minutia so lamely respond with something to the effect of, “Oh, really? That’s nice.” Awkward pause…“Oh wait, so where are you going to stay?!” Not exactly tactful, am I?

Mom responds, “I have to work, so I’m staying here.”

For some reason, my brain processes this tidbit as A-Okay. My mind says, “Hey, she seems cool with that…let’s go to the beach!” We went to the beach.

Fast forward to mid-afternoon. There I was, bumping around the lawn on the riding mower when, somewhere between the front porch and the playset, it hit me. My mother and father are going to be staying at my house. At the same time. They’ve been divorced for like, 29 years. How stinking funny is that?! Seriously.

This has all the potential to be like a bad Fantasy Island episode. Picture Mr. Roarke standing on the dock with Tattoo, greeting this week’s guests, when the fabulous 30-something woman (me) with baggage is forced into a “fantasy” where her parents reunite and kill/fall in love again/have crazy monkey sex with each other. They go through some kind of hellish/euphoric experience and then they go home (after pushing Tattoo into the lagoon).
The whole scenario is entirely fitting of the chaos that surrounds me and my growing family. Really. We need a film crew around here. And while we’re at it, I’m taking suggestions on how to explain this to the kids. Excuse me while I go look for my happy place.

Filed Under: divorce, kids, parents

Sup-Sup-Suppertime

July 27, 2010 By 2 Comments

Yep. It’s HOT out there and by mid-Summer the absolute last thing I feel like doing is whipping up a meal. However, I have three tiny (and hungry) people depending on me for some good, hearty grub at the end of a long day. Normally, I happily fire up the grill, but somewhere around mid-Summer I get tired of charred  food. To be completely honest, it probably doesn’t help that the ignite button on the grill has literally fallen off from constant use. Let’s hear it for the Home Depot products..Whoop Whoop!!

My point, you ask? My point is this: I am going to share an easy, yummy and fresh-from-the-garden recipe with you. Yes, it requires a bit of indoor cooking, but it is fast and easy. The best part? It’s both kid and grown-up approved.
Yummo
Gnocchi with Summer Vegetables
1 tbs olive oil
2 zucchini, (approx 2 lbs) – quartered and sliced
2 garlic cloves
course salt and ground pepper to taste
1 pint grape tomatoes, halved
15-16 ounces gnocchi
1/4 cup fresh basil, chopped
2 tbs grated Pecorino Romano cheese
1 tbs butter
2 tsps fresh lemon juice
1. In a large skillet, heat oil over medium-high. Add squash and garlic and season with salt and pepper. Cook, stirring occasionally, until squash is crisp-tender, 4-5 minutes. Add tomatoes and cook, stirring occasionally, until juicy, about 2 minutes.
2. Meanwhile, in a large pot of boiling salted water, cook gnocchi according to instructions. Reserving 1/2 cup cooking liquid, drain gnocchi and transfer to skillet. Toss gnocchi, adding enough liquid to create a sauce. Remove from heat and stir in basil, cheese, butter, and lemon juice.
3. Serve and enjoy! Oh, and thank you Everyday Food, Issue #63.
Filed Under: easy meal, Everyday Food, Gnocchi, Martha Stewart

Reality Bites

July 23, 2010 By Leave a Comment


For the past week, the obsessive-compulsive amateur interior designer in me has been clawing her way out. This is the kitchen at our new house. Its nice, right? It has a nice island, a window seat, butler’s pantry and that fantastic fireplace! Here’s the rub… The colors just aren’t mine. We’ve been here for seven months now and the colors are now SCREAMING at me. The walls were rag painted gold, the wainscotting is Sherwin William’s Thyme Green, the cabinets and all trim is Sherwin Williams Cottage Cream, the island is barn red and the fireplace is black. Now, maybe its just me, but that is a whole lot of color for one kitchen. Besides, I’m more of a “neutral” kind of lady.
My eyes glaze over and I drool just a little bit as I think about my kitchen’s future. What I want to do is paint the cabinets a nice antique white, put some soapstone on the counters, subway tile backsplash, carrera marble on the island with the base glazed a French Gray (a la Farrow and Ball)….insert the sound of a scratching record here as reality sinks in. With three small children and having just finished a kitchen re-do last year in our 150 year old house, my brain can’t handle another foray into plaster dust and painting cabinets. I think I have been able to reign myself in enough to deal with painting the walls, island and wainscotting until I have the drive (and funds) to jump into the carrera marble and soapstone pool. There’s just one small problem… that darn SW Cottage Cream on the cabinets and trim! Its so yellow. Yellow is really killing my vision. This is my ideal kitchen done by Nicola Manganello of Nicola’s Homes. http://www.nicolas-homes.com/

Off to find (obsess over) a nice creamy neutral for the walls that will pair well with my Cottage Cream (yellow) cabinets and wainscoting. The good news is that I’ve determined that either French Gray or Blue Gray will still work on the island. Whew. It’s just paint, right?

Filed Under: Blue Gray, Cottage Cream, Farrow and Ball, French Gray, Kitchen, Nicola Manganello, Sherwin Williams

Who am I?

July 23, 2010 By 1 Comment

Okay, so there was a time that I could clearly define who I was. My career, my clothes, my car, my hobbies and interests were all wrapped up in a tidy little box that said, “30-something, career girl, well-traveled, groomed and funny.” No strings attached. I would have described myself as spontaneous and just a skosh sarcastic. That is, until my husband entered my universe. Of course, after a few years we added a baby to the box, then two and, woops..make that three!

So here I am desperately attempting to define this “new” me. Am I simply a stay-at-home mommy now? I have to admit, it is sometimes painfully clear that old spontaneous, no-string-attached girl hopped on a plane to paradise and isn’t coming back. EVER. She took her plane hopping, sleep-until-10-on-the-weekend-self and ran like the wind. (Someone should tell her that she forgot to take her fabulous shoes.)

Mom…Mommy…Mama…whatever “label” the beasties attach to me, I’m having one heck of a good time. Sure, I miss my daily shower and no, I don’t like these dark circles under my eyes, thank you very much! Yet, there is nothing more beautiful than my 18 month old, sporting her newly acquired pigtails, running on chubby legs and wrapping her tiny arms around my neck. I’ll take that and all the moments these three children provide, over that no-strings-attached girl anytime!

For now, I’m going to sit back and take my time figuring who the real me is. Mom, neat-freak, wife, obsessive-compulsive amateur interior designer, sarcastic, happy, sad, angry, creative…Maybe you can help.

Filed Under: baby, define, mom, self
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