The Return of Liquids

It's been so long since last I blogged.  There is too much to tell about everything T has been up to since July, so here's what happened before 11am today:

Temple and I went to the playground mall, as we are wont to do on Friday mornings.  We used to have a moms' coffee group that got together, but since all the babies started walking, the band seems to have broken up.  I'm so grateful to that group, though.  They helped me get out of the house in the early months. Anypoo, earlier this morning, I was changing Temple.  She was bare-assed on the table, squirming away, talking trash, and the new box of diapers was just out of reach, and unopened.  As much as I like to see T walking around with no pants on, I wanted to get her panted so we could hit the road, because I was jonesing for my daily 20 ounce McCafe, to which I am addicted.  Seriously, I get nauseous if I don't have one before 10:30am.  It's just like Trainspotting.  I kept my left hand on Temple's squirrel belly, and blindly rooted for a diaper on the shelf of the changing table, and I came up with a swimming diaper.  I figured the differences between the swimmy and a regular one was the swimmy went on like regular panties, was a little more expensive, and had fish on it.  If anything, I thought, it would be more leak proof, since it, allegedly, kept the business in the pants in the pool.  Airtight, I thought.  While I briefly thought I should save the expensive diaper for real swimming, I am extremely lazy, and decided to go the easy route.  

Back to the playground.  We were there for a few minutes, and Temple had gone up the stairs and down the slide about 29 times, and she was headed for the submarine.  She was struggling to get through the port-hole, and I went to shove her butt through when I noticed that she must have sat in a puddle.  Her bottom was soaked, and not just around the edges of her buttcheeks, which is where she usually gets wet if she busts a diaper, but nearly dripping wet.  Upon further examination, it was pee.  I thought, for a second, that I had forgotten to put a diaper on her.  That's what it was like.  I snatched her up, and tried to hold her in such a way as to not get pee on me.  I was unsuccessful.  In the nearby bathroom, I dried her off, wiped her clean, and re-diapered her.  I had no spare plastic bag, so I tossed the shorts she was wearing.  She wasn't going to fit in them for much longer anyway.  Then, we went to a nearby Gymboree to buy a new pair of pants.  

I generally don't put shoes on Temple until after we are done at the playground, because shoes aren't allowed there.  So, we are in Gymboree, and Temple is squirming to get out of my arms, so I put her down to walk around.  She is wearing a tee-shirt and a diaper.  No shoes, no pants.  She looks like a hobo.  I'm scanning the store for a cheap pair of shorts.  Someone who works there asks if she can help me.  I point at pantless T and say, "my daughter obviously needs some pants."  We bought some nice leggings that will last her through the winter.  Done.

Part II - we go back to the playground and mess around for a bit longer, and Temple starts saying "bye-bye" and going for her shoes (and the shoes of others), and as I'm trying to put her socks and shoes on her (which is much like shoeing a horse), another mom starts feeding her kids Cheeze-Its.  Temple reacts like a goat in a petting zoo - she heads for the food.  I try to get her away, but the mom is very nice and offers Temple a Cheeze-It, and asks me if it's ok, and I say sure, and thank you, and Temple starts wolfing down the Cheeze-Its like I don't feed her.  On the one hand, I don't want Temple to hog someone else's snack, but on the other, I'm glad to have found another food she'll eat, and I'm making a mental note to buy some Cheeze-Its when Temple gags and makes a noise like she's coughing up a hairball and barfs.  It wasn't like she spit up the Cheeze-Its, she vomited into my hands. 

I decided we were done with the playground for the day.  

Because my hands were full with a pee-baby, then yack, I took no photos of these events, so I leave you with a recent photo of Temple coming for your soul.

Laissez les bon Temple roullez

Joyeux Mardi Gras!  No one here in Maryland gives a rat's A about Mardi Gras.  Honestly, I don't have a special relationship with Mardi Gras, either, especially since I quit drinkin'.  I had the opportunity to go to the Mardi Gras my senior year in college, but punked at the last minute because I'm an idiot.  I thought it would be more fun to spend spring break alone in my house.  We like to celebrate holidays around these parts, though, just like monkeys do in the zoo.  Holidays break up the year and we get to wear funny hats.  Temple and I wore our matching Fat Tuesday outfits, and people looked at us like we were clowns, probably because we were dressed like clowns.  

We went to Whole Foods to get the makings of a gumbo for my tater.  Matt's got some slave in him, so the bar was high.  For the roux, I used the bacon grease I had been saving for many months.  I saved it instinctively any time Matt went on a bacon kick, but I never knew what I would use it for until today.  Recipe:  Equal parts grease and flour over medium high heat until it smelled toasty, like popcorn.  Add diced yellow onion, celery, and okra.  Sweat the veggies.  Add beef broth and a can of tomato sauce.  Bring to a boil.  Add andouille and chicken.  Heat until meat is done.  Season with Tony Chachere's and Crystal.  Enjoy.

Matt dug it big time.  I took a picture of his satisfied face, but he told me not to put any douchey pictures of him on the internet. 

We also had King Cake today.  My recipe for King Cake: buy a King Cake.  Eat it.

Here we are in our matching outfits.  I look pregnant in this picture, don't I?  I'm not.  I'm full of baby Jesus cake.  By the way, it seems that Whole Foods' King Cake is decorated with beads, but contains no baby Jesus.  Uh, derp?

Lent starts tomorrow.  Lent is really bikini season prep for Catholics, so I'm thinking about going old school and saying farewell to flesh for the 40 days.  The last time I tried to go vegetarian, vegan, actually, I lasted 5 days then ate a whole live pig, so we'll see how this goes.  I'll also be speaking exclusively latin and wearing a hair shirt.

Adeste Fideles, todos mis amigos...  

Idle Hands, Gratitude

     As you loyal readers know, until Temple was about three and a half months old, I was nursing and barely left the house.  Isolation can make you go batty; ask anyone who has been in the hole in a maximum security prison.*  After my August dental emergency, which finally broke my spirit, I resolved to leave the house everyday and stay busy, as a means of warding off the terrors.  To that end, I now frequent Target and Whole Foods, I go to the baby gym on Tuesdays, Mom's coffee at Starbucks on Fridays, and I enrolled in a continuing education class on Spinoza at St. John's College.  Temple and I finally got into a routine.  We get up around 8am, leave the house for errands at 10am, get back by 2pm, Temple naps from 2:30pm until 4:30pm, then we go for a walk and hang out with the daddy.  During Temple's nap, instead of staring into the abyss and letting the terrors inhabit my feeble brain, I would do my Spinoza reading.  I stopped noticing the dust elephants in the corners, and the cobwebs on the ceiling.  I focused on the reading, and by the time the T-monster awoke, I was refreshed, body, mind, and soul.  

     Well, the class is over.  Actually, it isn't over, I'm just not going anymore, because I am working on Wednesday nights now, so I missed the last two classes (more on the new job below).  I really enjoyed the class, and I was disappointed to miss the last two, but the restaurant wanted me to work, and I chose to make myself available to my new employers rather than finish out an enrichment class.  I think I made the right call, but now I find myself with two idle hours in the afternoons, which, I have learned, is not good for me.  Today, I found myself with a racing heart staring at the collecting dust behind the television.  "The floor is dusty," will lead to "our house is a mess," will be followed by, "I can't clean properly," will beget, "I'm a horrible pig who can't do anything right and doesn't deserve to live," and that's a bad place to be, so I need to find a new nap-time project.  One idea is to blog, but that doesn't accomplish the goal of getting out of my head.  It might actually make it worse.  I may start reading Julia Child's "Mastering the Art of French Cooking" from cover to cover.  When I read about cooking, I tend to go on a spending spree at Whole Foods, but I believe this is a small price to pay for keeping the terrors away.  Plus, I consider the reading job training.

     Here's a picture of Temple with her owlie.

     So, I have a new job.  I am an assistant chef, part time, at a restaurant in Annapolis.  It is actually in Heritage Harbor, a retirement community, and it's private, so I can't invite you, my half dozen readers, to come try, but trust me that it is a very nice establishment.  We serve lots of fish and meats, and everything is from scratch.  The owners are also growing a catering company, and I hope to become an integral part of the business.  I'm actually preparing food for money, and I couldn't be happier.  I'm fulfilling a dream I've had for many years, and I am grateful as all get out.  No sarcasm here, no witty remarks, just happy.  

*New guilty pleasure: Saturday night marathons of Lockup: Raw on MSNBC.  Thank you, hungry-in-the-middle-of-the-night-Temple, for introducing me to this prison documentary show.  

Potent Potables

 

Matt's parents got us the above-pictured tribute to America mug.  As you can see, it features a scary eagle and a painting of veterans of all branches of the military.  The text reads, "If you love your freedom, thank a veteran," and, "It is the VETERAN not the REPORTER who has given us FREEDOM OF THE PRESS.  It is the VETERAN not the CAMPUS ORGANIZER who has given us FREEDOM TO ASSEMBLE," and so on.  My in-laws intended for us to put it on our mantle.
This is my all time favorite mug.  It is even better than my West Wing mug, which features a photo of the cast from Season 4, with Rob Lowe and Joshua Malina.  I love the mug, not for it's message (I think the mug glosses over some Constitutional nuance), but for it's patriotic size.  It holds twice as much volume as my law school mug, and perhaps its message speaks at twice the volume as any legal arguments I shall ever make.  

I use 8 heaping tablespoons of course ground coffee in my 32 ounce french press, add boiling water, and let it steep for for 10 minutes, or as long as Temple the tyrant allows me to be in the kitchen before summoning me.  I add two Splenda.  Yes, the plural of Splenda is Splenda, not Splendae.  Contrary to the theories of many modern etymologists, Splenda's linguistic roots are Germanic, and not Latin.  It's like "a moose" and "many moose."  Co-incidentally, "many moose," is what I would be if I didn't use Splenda.  I also add a splash of almond milk.  I used to use soy milk, but I have been learning about the evils of Monsanto, who own the genetic code for the soy bean, so I have switched choice of pretentious coffee lightener to almond milk.  Thank you, whole Foods.

You may think 32 ounces of coffee in the morning would be enough for me, but if you think that, you are wrong.  I knew my hot cup of almondy sludge was missing something, but I don't have an espresso maker, and crack is illegal and unhealthy.  When I was at Target, I saw it: General Foods International Coffeehouse Beverage Mix.  

Like Proust's madeleines, the sight of this tin of naturally and artificially flavored coffee drink brought back memories of my youth.  I drank the crap out of this stuff in high school.  I kept it, loosely covered, in a private corner of the senior lounge, where it was enjoyed my me and ants.  We had a heating coil, like grannies use, and I would heat the water I got from the bathroom tap in an insulated Georgetown travel mug that was never once washed.  I glugged down my international delight in the morning, and maintained a nice buzz all day.  I would frequently get through seven hours of school and a two hour sports practice on little else.  I now put a heaping scoop of the creamy concentrated coffee in my huge bowl of joe.  The first time I made the concoction, I actually got coffee sick, which hasn't happened in months.  It was glorious.  I've had it every day this week, and it is the second best part of waking up.  The first is, of course, my Temple.