Sunday, February 22, 2009

Tally me bananas

Quite a while back, The Hubbin' and I watched a documentary on breastfeeding.  It talked about how the United States has such a ridiculous view on nursing children past infancy.  Since I nursed Cecilia for 26 months, the documentary was something I was interested in.  Throughout the program, they interviewed verbal children who still nurse, or could remember nursing.  One little girl remarked with a pronounced British accent "It tasted better than a thousand melons!"  

That remark, of course, became the running joke in our house anytime nursing was brought up.  Which, when you have a baby in the house, is at least every 45 minutes.  

But alas, the time comes in every baby's life that nursing must be supplemented with other types of foods.

The American Academy of Pediatrics recommends the introduction of solid foods into a baby's diet between 4-6 months.  Not wanting to mess with perfection, we wait until closer to 6 months or even a little later to start with "real" food.  

Lucas is eager to put the banana coated spoon into his mouth:  "Get into my mouth, spoon!"
"Oh God, it's worse than I thought, guys!  Blech!  Remove it!  Remove it!"
"PPBBLLTT!  Get out of my mouth bananas!"
"That didn't taste like a thousand melons at all."
"I mean really - WTF?"
"I, Lucas, do solemnly vow to never eat that again."

Lucas: 1
Bananas: 0

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

A long, long time ago

in a town far, far away. . .

My mother used to rule her roost completely.  She liked things shiny and clean, and she liked things where they belonged, and she really, really liked Christmastime.  As you can imagine, decorating for Christmas was a family affair, and a constant struggle to unpack the decorations, put them where they belonged, and keep the house shiny and clean all at the very same time.   She was kind of a tyrant about it.

One night, Samantha and I stayed up late sewing pleats into 30+ yards of red fabric to skirt around her platform where my mom sets up a little village.  We were miffed that we were the only ones up, because we were the only ones who could sew.  And so, we tied extra pieces of fabric around our heads and made up slave names for ourselves, and continued to wear our head garb throughout the rest of the week, slowly recruiting the rest of the family into our little clique.  Vinnie would come by, and tie his fabric on like tupac, while secretly rearranging the villagers on the platform, or making snowmen out of the fake snow.  

Christmas came and went, as it always does, but from that time on, anytime the sewing machine came out, so did our little do-rags.  

And you'll be pleased to know that i've carried on the tradition:

Word to yo' mutha.

Monday, February 16, 2009

Sewing mends the soul

I brought out the sewing machine, and look at what I did!

Fancypants inside lining:
One side:

Other side:

All modeled by my ever-so-patient husband, who was just so thrilled* to be wearing a girlie colored patchwork bag.

*thrilled = mortified

Thursday, February 12, 2009

Monday, February 09, 2009

All those Mocha Lattes, you gotta do pilates

Dear World Gym,

I was sad to see that you purchased the gym that I have a membership to. While my old gym wasn't much to write home about, it was staffed with friendly people. Friendly, normal people. And it was patronized by friendly, normal people. Mostly moms. Moms who looked like moms and wore yoga pants and t-shirts that advertised their kids' t-ball team, or the local car wash, or their husbands company.

Now that you have usurped my gym, your patrons all wear tight outfits made out of some sort of creepy lycra that wicks perspiration off of the body and leaves it on the machines. Instead of the tranquil sounds of the yoga classes, there is the screams of pain as meatheads lift eighteen times their body weight with one hand, while sucking back a jug of muscle milk with the other.

And, speaking of my beloved, tranquil, yoga class - You took away the yoga mats and replaced them with machines that look as though they are made to torture those believed to be witches. What do you do with a contraption like that? Clearly, you are disturbed.

Also, we need to discuss the attitude of your elliptical machines.  If that miserable piece of metal tells me to "resume workout" one more time, I will lose my mind.  I highly suggest that you have a talk with it.  

Thank you,

Saki with the sore body