suburbtopia

Effing Hilarious

2011-10-14T08:06:00.000-05:00

Shopping

2011-10-11T08:09:00.003-05:00

The other night Ranger and I treated ourselves to an evening stroll of window shopping following his birthday dinner at an Austin steakhouse. One of the things I love about this Man is his sense of humor, especially when it comes to clothing stores he judges as "hipster". Below are his takes on Anthropologie's brand:

"No gourds were harmed during the making of this window display"

"Macrame Birdhouse? Fail.."

By My Bedside

2011-10-06T11:54:00.000-05:00

This is what I love about having funny, little kids: the odd treasures that collect by my bedside that have absolutely no commonality between them.

Bicycle Helmet? Check
Beanie Baby? Check
Daily Newspaper? Check
Vogue Magazine? Double Check

I can see my children's personalities in each item...

My Precious

2011-09-27T08:56:00.000-05:00

Hello, my name is Starr and I'm addicted to chocolate chip cookie dough. I'm not talking on the amateur level of grabbing a bit here while making cookies or buying the chocolate chip cookie dough ice-cream. I'm talking hard core.

It all started when I stopped in Papa Murphy's to get a pizza and saw they had a 2 for $5 special on their small tubs of cookie dough. Hawaiian Pizza and cookies? Suuuhweet! I'm not sure what it was about their cookie dough but one small bite before baking that night and I was hooked.

The next thing I know, I'm clipping 2 for $5 Papa Murphy cookie dough coupons and eating the stuff on the way home. I knew I had crossed the line when I started taking the small tubs to work and eating cookie dough for a snack. Well, let's be real, it wasn't just for a snack. I was also trying to prevent Ranger from making actual cookies out of my delicious cookie dough. The cookie dough became my Precious. Talk about doing the happy dance at first bite, I was literally skipping to the community refrigerator at 2pm.

And then I hit a new low. The 2 for $5 Papa Murphy cookie dough coupon deals dried up. There wasn't a coupon to be found. Papa Murphy had cut me off. Now, in order to get my Precious, I was going to have to fork over $4 for each small tub and I'm cheap. Where can I get my crack for less? I was literally thinking this on my way to pick up the girls from school when I spotted a Walgreens. Yes, I pulled into the store with only one mission: to find cookie dough. I had to have my Precious. Deep in the recesses of the dairy aisle, I found it. And even though it was another brand, I had to have it.

It was only a 15 minute drive home after I had picked up the girls. However, by the time I pulled into the driveway I had already eaten the equivalent of 6 cookies worth of dough.

Shortly after, Ranger noticed the half eaten package in the fridge. He sighed heavily and grabbing my shoulders sympathetically said, "Honey, IronMen don't eat cookie dough for training". My shame was instant. I had been doing triathlon training for 3 months at that point with the goal to one day complete an IronMan. He had gone for the jugular.

And so, the picture above was the last piece of my Walgreens Precious.

I am training for IronMan Arizona, 2012 and I do know that cookie dough ain't going to get me there. But without it, it's going to be a very loooong journey.

Beds

2011-09-23T06:53:00.000-05:00

Dearest Baby Crib, you will be missed. Gone are the days of you caging my adorable children and protecting them from harm while allowing me moments of rest. You have survived 3 children and for that, you deserve a medal. After chasing my youngest through her and her brother's room at 10pm at night when she realized she now had free reign from her bed, I realize just how much I will miss you.

Middle L and Baby C officially share a room. Ranger and I rearranged everything for them this weekend. We had been prolonging the move from the crib to a big girl bed for a while and so Baby C was loooong overdue for the move.

Their room is an explosion of pink but not too overly done in it. Sometimes you have to pick your battles. However, the feminist in me did whip up orange, white and light blue banners for them to subdue some of the flamingo accents. And yes, their are Disney Princesses on their bed. A gift from Sister G to Middle L who has now fallen prey to them.

Oh, the places these two sisters will go in this room. It's now common for them to go to bed in their pajamas only for me to find them sleeping in different princess costumes hours later.

Effing Hilarious

2011-09-21T15:28:00.000-05:00

I'm sorry...but I must insist on having a sense of humor (especially a crude one) when it comes to Parenthood. Plus, everything is just even more effing hilarious when Samuel L. Jackson says it:

When It Rains...

2011-09-18T18:12:00.002-05:00

In Texas, when it rains, that's celebratin' time. It's also a perfect excuse to enjoy a cold beer at Noon in the middle of the downpour.

Four

2011-09-15T13:44:00.003-05:00

On September 11^th, Middle L turned Four. I’ve heard countless stories of mothers whodescribe how the happiness of a child’s birth on 9/11 is forever marred by thehorrors of what happened in 2001. When Ientered the Labor and Deliver Room on the eve of September 10^th,2007 the LDR Nurse told me that women practically demanded they be inducedbefore the clock struck midnight simply because they didn’t want a 9/11baby.

Ranger and I were different. The fact that our second child was potentially going to be born on 9/11seemed a karmic gift considering the significant ripple effects 9/11 especiallyhad for us. Ranger and I had both servedback to back deployments to Iraq from 2004 to 2007. Middle L, I like to say, was our R&Rbaby, having been conceived during Andrew’s mid-tour break from Iraq and sowould be born shortly after his homecoming. The fact that our second child would be born never knowing the sting ofher parents deployment, as our eldest already knew too well, and never havingto worry about her parent’s duty to serve in an unpopular war was significantto us. To gain this one instance of Lifewhen so much of it had been lost since 9/11 was a miracle to us. It was like we were starting fresh with her. To parent the way we simply could not whenBig J was an infant. She became a light,for me, for Ranger and even Big J, proving that even on a day of sadness and terrorand uncertainty that there was a way forward.

On September 11^th, I do not forget, but do chooseto celebrate Life. For us, she hasbecome the embodiment of that which we have to be so grateful for.

(The birthday crown I made for Middle L is from a pattern I got from Soule Mama).

Weekends

2011-09-12T08:44:00.006-05:00

Pay $60 to rent a snow cone machine for a birthday party? You crazy! I bought a little dandy one on Amazon for $24. Pay $5 a bottle for flavored Syrup? You crazy! Kids don't know the difference between 25-cents-a-packet Koolaid and syrup! Moohaha! Now we get to have frozen High Fructose Corn Syrup any time we want! Hooray!!

It Just Doesn't Get Any Better...

2011-09-08T13:49:00.000-05:00

"I'm raising my child just as well as any mother does ... I take my kid to church every week ... at least I'm not forcing them into sports and getting my child injured like some parents ... People need to look at their own family and what they're doing. I don't know why people are focusing so much on pageant moms when there's much more harmful things people are letting their children do!"

Excerpt taken from a Pageant Mom featured on TLC's Toddlers and Tiaras. The little girl above is her daughter. You can't make this stuff up. Full story at of Jezebel.

No Winning

2011-09-06T09:18:00.000-05:00

Central Texas is ablaze but somehow the triple degree heat has finally broke. It was 75 degrees outside this morning. Yesterday, it seemed as if the entire central part of this state was catching fire, including San Antonio. Encouraged by the high winds that brought in our cold front and the crippling drought, the fires have proven harder, if not impossible to control. Ranger (an Austin Fire Fighter) will be out there today. As of this moment, the fire in Bastrop (East) is still going while just west of Austin, the fires have been contained. Surprisingly, I don't think I've read of any casualties. We can only hope that it remains that way.

Effing Hilarious

2011-09-01T08:52:00.002-05:00

So I get an alert from Facebook that my sweet Sister has posted a few photos of me. I usually cringe when she posts pictures of me or Ranger. Not because I'm all about privacy....obviously. But because they tend to NOT be the most flattering of pictures. Naturally, she looks as lovely as ever but there's Ranger and I with either a triple chin, muffin top, or awkward pose that makes me look like Olive Oil from Popeye. (I'm tall and lanky so trust me the metaphor fits). Recently, Ranger had a fit when he was tagged in a rear shot of him on the beach, wrapped in Middle L's Tinkerbell towel. It wasn't the Tinkerbell towel part that annoyed him. It was the unflattering-bent over-hairy-belly-exposed part that threw him over the edge. "Why the hell would someone post that?!", he incredulously asked. I'll admit...it was not flattering in any way.

It is Facebook you know. I must insist on presenting myself as perfect, flawless and successful to all 123 of my high school classmates!

But this picture...good gawd. What the frack was my Sister thinking posting this on Facebook? Well, I know what she was thinking. She was showing to her high school classmates how freakin cute she was as a child and how abhorrently 80's I was as a teenager. Seriously...did I really have a Farrah Fawcett Mullet in 1989?? Here's proof that I did. Compared to me, Sister looks like the next Jon Benet Ramsey. However, that's not what is really striking about this picture. What's striking is the doll I'm holding. What the frack is up with the doll?! I recall it was my Sister's and that she loved it but don't think she was intolerant without it. So QoG and Angry-White-Man-Step-Dad...WTF?

I think I'm going to have to submit this one to awkwardfamilyphotos.com

Getting Rid of Ugly

2011-08-31T10:26:00.000-05:00

For the past several months, Ranger and I have been remodeling our kitchen. I'm talking about a full do-yourself-fit-for-Reality-TV renovation. We've been saving for a few years to do this and so when Uncle Sam opted to give us back some of our taxes, we realized we had enough money to rip out our forest green 1995 kitchen and replace it with something new.

And so we've done things piece by piece. We had initially sought out a contractor who made the mistake of trivializing our kitchen remodel. When Ranger heard her and the subcontractor say, "Oh, that's easy. All you have to do to rebuild that wall is this and that", he decided to take on the remodel himself. Or shall I say..."we-self"?

I'll have to show case the walls, flooring and cabinets we ripped out. It's hilarious and cuhraazy at the same time. Looking back, I can't believe Ranger did most of the remodel after watching You Tube videos. I heart the Internet.

One part that is still not complete is our backsplash. We still have the painted over wallpaper up. As you can see, when our house was built in 1994, picnic-table-green wallpaper was the "thing"! I've been looking at that ugliness for 4 months now. We have plans to put up a backsplash, but only after we save more $$ for it. Most of our kitchen savings went to countertops, appliances and flooring. We're still saving for aesthetic pieces: backspash, cabinet fixtures etc.

I've been howling to Ranger that we needed to paint over the backsplash, just for the time being. "It's no so bad, he'd replied". But when you have a brand new kitchen, all ugly just stands out. I'd find myself scowling at the backsplash when making coffee or cooking dinner. "I HATE you tan and forest green combo!"

So when Ranger left Sunday afternoon for work (the usual time I wait to do most of what he'll object to), I ran, yes ran, into the garage, grabbed the bright white ceiling paint we had leftover, and went to town on the backsplash. I'm cheap and so yes, I used some previously bought egg-shell bright white ceiling paint for my backsplash rather than packing up my rowdy bunch of kids to go to Home Depot in order stare at the unlimited supply of Martha Stewart glossy white options while Things 1, 2, and 3 fight over 3 square feet of shopping cart space. When you're on a budget, you make due, especially when it's a temporary makeover.

I am more than please with the results. It's lovely, it's clean and just waiting for the yet-to-be-found perfect back splash. Ranger was pleased too.

Quote of the Day

2011-08-30T04:52:00.000-05:00

"Two men in the bed with Mommy is just one too many" --Ranger's explanation to Big J on why he could not sleep with us tonight.

Lunch Box

2011-08-26T22:36:00.001-05:00

I remember the school lunches of my youth very well: greasy, grilled cheese sandwiches accompanied by an orange and a Capri Sun, all compartmentalized within a metal Strawberry Shortcake lunchbox. I'm sure QoG prepared many other combinations of this mid-day meal, but this combination is the one I remember the most. If she was feeling cuhraazy, she'd add a bottle of V8. Every 6 year old's dream lunch. By noon, the warm grilled cheese sandwich had a consistency of a 6 hour old pancake and the cheese was no longer gooey. The V8 would go untouched. I survived kindergarten and first grade afternoons charged up on oranges and Capri Suns.

I can't blame QoG. It's my fault really because I never complained. And because I never complained she wrongly assumed I loved sweaty grilled cheese for lunch.

Time permitting, sometimes I make Big J's lunch and sometimes he gets lunch at the cafeteria. I'm using his new lunch box to experiment with my bento making skills. I heart bento. Not just for the nutrition but for all the cute tools you can use to make the lunches. What can I say? I did grow up in South Korea, land of Hello Kitty and adorable stationary. Bento for me is art, it's craft! What's even better is that I have a boy who appreciates his eggs being molded into the shapes of stars. Big J will eat almost anything if it's presented in an amusing way.

However, in the Bento world, Big J's lunch box is HUGE by comparison. So a true Bento enthusiast would claim I'm doing no such thing. Bah! But one day I will achieve such zen and greatness in bento making.

Next on the list: Domokon Sandwich Bento!

Caprese Salad. Big J's favorite and only way he'll eat tomatoes.

Niceness Begets Niceness

2011-08-23T15:44:00.002-05:00

Mysoon-to-be 8 year old still can’t tie his shoes. My two-year oldlazily refuses to use a spoon. You would think that a future withoutdiaper expenses would be so enticing that I would have potty trainedsaid lazy two year-old by the time she was 18 months. No. She stillruns to a corner to do her biznass while Ranger and I negotiategrandiose bribes in order to convince the other to change that nastydiaper. My failure as a parent to have my children master thesemilestones by a certain age is not overlooked by family members. “All ofmy children could eat with a spoon by the time they were 2”, was thelatest. Upon which I replied, “Sorry, not all of us can raise suchperfection”.

Andso it goes. I used to agonize over such tedious battles, especiallywith Things 1 and 2. It wasn’t until Baby C. came along did I realizehow ridiculous certain milestones were. A milestone whose road tosuccess was paved with tears, screaming and stress is a hard milestoneto celebrate. Because the truth is that not every child is the same. Iknow, it’s sooo cliche but in this hectic world of Helicopter and TigerMoms, do we really take the time to dissect and live with thatstatement?

That’snot to say that I don’t agonize over whether Big J will ever learn tocount correct change. But gone are the nights filled with tears overhow much 5 dimes, 1 penny and 1 quarter equal. Instead, I figure outways to get him to “want” to learn that don’t involve me spending 5hours crafting this new way of learning it. For example, Big J askedme for ice cream money to buy a cone at the cafeteria this morning. Itold him to pick out 50 cents from the change jar using either dimes ornickels and at least one quarter.

Andthe potty training thing...trust me, they’ll get it. Big J was 3.5,yes 3.5, by the time he learned to do ALL of his biznass in the potty. No amount a cheerios and candy made him do it. I simply gave up theall the proposed methods by family and friends, stopped hollering aboutit and two weeks later he simply stopped using the diaper.

I thought about these things when I was listening to the latest Freakonomics podcastinwhich the Economists conclude that our children become who they arenot so much by what we DO for them as Parents but rather who we ARE asParents. For example, how we treat people in the service industry hasmore of an impact on our children versus shuttling them to karate, artand ballet against their will in a single week. In other words:Niceness breeds Niceness.

Ifanything, one part of this podcast resonated with me and it came fromthe author of “Selfish Reasons to Have More Kids”: “Reading between thelines, it looks like many parents dutifully do ‘whatever’s best for thechildren,’ then periodically explode at them for changing the radiostation.” Whoa.

Don’tget me wrong, I don’t subscribe to every ounce of this podcast. Hearingthat science has “shown” that there’s little I can do to affect mychild’s outcome is a tough pill to swallow. (NOTE: the podcast doesmention that smokers beget smokers and drinkers beget drinkers). Idon’t want to entirely believe I have no control over my kids outcome. But I will resign to buying Big J velcro shoes for the rest of hislife if it means avoiding another “let’s learn out to tie your shoes”showdown complete with tears and frustration. I’m certain that at somepoint, he’ll figure out how to tie a knot. However, I do work withsome brilliant engineers who wear velcro shoes...but I digress.

Parenting,I’m still learning, is about letting some things go and about choosingyour battles. Yes, I plunked down $75 for Big J to enroll in swim camphoping that it just might spark the Michael Phelps within him. Butalas, a love of swimming does not translate into a love of competitiveswimming for Big J. So when he told me he didn’t want to finish hislast week, I took him out, albeit reluctantly. I walked away from thatexperience feeling guilty that I had let him quit but also relievedthat I no longer had to work later to make up for the morning hours Ispent with him at the pool. Ranger, it turned out, was also relievedbecause it no longer meant juggling schedules and wake up times forboth Big J and the girls.

I’mstill learning how to manage it all and still continue to fall short. I know Amy Chua, the highly criticized Tiger Mom whose child-rearingmethods have thus produced a Harvard student, would not approve. I’mjust too selfish I suppose to put that amount of time, stress andeffort into my children. I have to maintain some semblance of life andself too. Instead, I’d rather be in the kitchen with my minionssinging and dancing to Katy Perry’s Fireworks. I’ll take Karaoke over4 hours of Math drills any day.

Sosorry America, I’m just not going to be able to contributemulti-lingual, 100% organic children who are proficient in ballet,swimming and tap. Rather, you will have children who are nice, say yessir and yes maam and who can wear the hell out of some velcro shoes.

The Smallest Things

2011-08-22T08:09:00.001-05:00

As I get older, I'm starting to take joy in some of the smallest things that can add function and are aethestically nice in the home. I've even started scowering estate sales and antique shops for small dishware to server desserts on or something "dainty" to spice up a table setting. Just the other day, I asked Ranger to search for a creamer on his next antique or Good Will venture.

On certain occassions, if I just can't find what I'm looking for, I think of an alternative and try to make my functional item. Enter my coffee spoon holder. Tired of wiping coffee stains from my spoons, I made this small coffee coaster doohickie for my spoon. I simply used two oval pieces of fabric, added some small batting, sewed them together, flipped them inside out and made a spoon aplique to stitch onto it. I then pinched the top and sewed that together as a "garnish" you could say.

I love functionality.

Lunch

2011-08-18T22:05:00.000-05:00

For school, I purchased Big J a new lunch box. I equate it to a Bento style box and thought it was pretty nifty. However, am I the only one who sees the irony of a product that sells itself as "trash free" being wrapped in a #5 plastic oyster shell that is almost impossible to recycle, let alone open without injury? Love it.

This moment...

2011-08-16T13:17:00.000-05:00

To be younger, to be curious, to believe that you really can do anything. Just like the confidence of youth, a child's belief that we are superheroes is too short lived.

Flying

2011-08-14T23:38:00.004-05:00

I swore I'd never fly with my children until Baby C. is at least 5 years old. However, when your in-laws live in another state and you haven't been to visit them in 2 years AND you can't take off for 2 weeks to drive to New York...you fly.

Ranger, however, was able to take off for 2 weeks and so opted to drive Big J and Middle L to NY while I flew with Baby C. since my stay was only for the week. This saved us $$$ on plane tickets and meant not having to lug additional carseats, luggage etc on the flight and also alleviated us from having to rent a car in NY. Even in hindsight...that was the way to go. Ranger packed the car with everything which meant I had no luggage to check in and only a carseat and backpack to bring on board with baby.

Anyhoo, here are a few things I learned along the way:

1. If you choose a 6am flight for you and your two year old that includes a 4am wake up call...don't fool yourself into believing she'll dose off on that 6am flight. She won't.

2. If you fly at 6am with a 2 year old, expect severe bipolar behavior.

3. There are few positives when traveling with children under 2. But one of them is never having to worry about people invading your seating space at the gate. Most see your cranky toddler and choose a seat far far away.

4. When in the airplane, you can pass gas without reservation since passengers will presume it was the baby.

5. Bring your carseat onto the airplane for your child to sit in. Trust me. The flight attendants are right on this one. I've flown with and without one. Let's just say the experience with the carseat was 200 times better than the experience without the carseat. Children are used to being strapped into the carseat and won't fight it. They are NOT used to flying with a lap buckle and will take advantage of the free reign.

6. If you do opt to bring your carseat, invest in THIS. Is it built like it's $80: NO. Is the time you save and the stress you avoid by not having to lug around car seat and baby in one arm through security and airports with multiple terminals worth $80...yes.

7. If you have a video console (DVD player, iPhone, iPad etc) to entertain your kids during the flight, don't bust it out until after your in the air and are allowed to use electronics. I made the mistake of whipping the iPad out the instant we strapped into our seats during our first leg, only to be told that I had to put it away during takeoff by the attendant nazi. Needless to say, Baby C. and I ensued in a tug of war over the iPad. Lucky for me her wales were drowned out by the planes' ascent into the air and would only subside after the attendant announced we were clear for electronics.

We survived and are safely back in drought country. But still...I have NO desire to fly until Baby C. is at least 5.

Effing Hilarious

2011-08-05T22:27:00.004-05:00

This is sooo me...

Courtesy of Pinterest

This Dry Place

2011-08-05T08:27:00.003-05:00

There's almost nothing growing here in Central Texas without extreme intervention. I know, I live in Texas and it's always bloody hot. But even in Texas there are extreme summers and this is one of them.

My Magnolia tree? On life support. But then again, who plants a Magnolia tree in Central Texas?? The previous owners did that's who. So is it really much of a surprise when it starts to die in 105 degree heat?

The succulants are hanging in there though. My only claim to fame considering I have a black thumb. Of course, these are in the shade of the front porch but only require watering once a week. That's my kind of plant.

We've also done some zero-scaping in our front yard path to the drive way using recycled, tumbled glass. Here's some rock art the kids made using Big J's skate board. You know it's dry when the kids start playing with glass...

Seriously...Seriously?

2011-08-03T07:28:00.002-05:00

The Shake Weight. Who comes up with this stuff? However, compared to other late night infomercials, this is up there with the most entertaining.

There's even one for men!

And yes...this has already been featured on SNL.

Even more entertaining are the personal videos on YouTube of ordinary people working out with this thing...

I Can...

2011-08-01T23:41:00.003-05:00

When I was 5, my father deemed it time that I learn how to swim without his help. I remember this vividly: us walking down to the lake not too far from our house, us standing on the short ledge above the shore, him holding me up in the air as I squealed with delight and then him tossing me into the water...with no vest or arm floaties. I surfaced, arms reaching wildly for my Dad and panicking when he was not within arms reach. I could make out his form, still on the ledge a few feet away, shouting at me to paddle like a dog, just the way he had taught me. He was making fast, paddle motions with his cupped hands when I screeched: I can't!! "Starr!" he shouted forcibly in his Drill Sergeant voice (which he was), "Yes you CAN!". And then it clicked. The weeks of endless doggie paddles in this very spot with my father at my side, holding my stomach seemed to come to fruition in that 5 seconds of fright. In that instant, I learned to swim and made my way, albeit in a sloppy doggie paddle, towards him on the small cliff, much to his relief. That moment of personal, hard earned triumph was the greatest feeling in the world.

Two weeks ago, I returned to the water after a 4 year absence, to train towards my life long goal of making it to IronMan Hawaii: 2.4 mile swim, 112 mile bike ride, 26.2 mile marathon. I've done a short triathlon before, and have ridden 100 miles on an aluminum rod that we're somehow duped into believing is a bicycle seat. I'm returning after 4 years of having babies. Considering Baby C. is now 2, I simply can't use, "I just had a baby" as an excuse to NOT exercise, to NOT train, to NOT full fill one of my dreams. But damn how I loved using that one.

I've been training hard for 3 months and hope...no, not hope, because hope is not a plan. Rather, I will work towards the Austin 1/2 IronMan this October. And from there on...train for how ever long it takes to make it to Hawaii. It's not an easy task. In order to qualify for Hawaii, I have to place in an IronMan qualifier. Yep, I have to compete in an IronMan stateside along with other beef cakes in my age group, and place in that age group, in order to get a seat in Hawaii.

The other night as I dragged my ass out of bed at 5am to go swimming at the Rec Center, Ranger rolled over and asked, "Hon, why? Why are you doing this? Go back to bed". It wasn't a question of doubt, but of genuine concern. I wanted to tell him that I didn't want to age and look back with regrets on what I wish I had done. I wanted to tell him that I didn't want to use the kids as an excuse anymore for why I won't get into shape. I wanted to tell him that I was scared to death of my family's history of diabetes and heart disease. But those are just the partial truths because the reason is really simple.

I patted his hand, and groggily told him, "Because I can".

Storage

2011-07-27T06:38:00.001-05:00

As any parent knows whether you have 1 or 3 kids is that their "stuff" can invade and overwhelm any home. I've tried all sorts of storage solutions that stick for a little while until I find another one that works for the kids latest crafting trends. One thing I hate is clutter gathering on surfaces regardless if it's piled neatly or in a nice looking box. My latest solutions involve using an unused kitchen cabinet and a dining room chest of drawers. They are at the perfect height for the kids which means I'm not having to fetch their precious cargo every time they want it. I like to keep glass jars and cans from sphagetti sauce and coffee in the lower kitchen cabinet because there's always some craft or project that requires these things. All the puzzles and games are in the dining room for play on the table.

My favorite solution by far: puzzle bags. The puzzle boxes were starting to look like an elephant had trampled over them so I cut out the side with the picture on it and placed the puzzle pieces with the cut out picture in a large ziplock bag. No more tape around the boxes and the puzzles can now fit in odd spaces. Some bags have two puzzles mixed which provides a little extra challenge for the kids after they have started to put some of puzzles easily together.

The V

2011-07-26T09:26:00.001-05:00

There are few commercials that really catch my eye, but this was one of them. I find this ad hilarious. Granted, Summer's Eve other "Hail to the V" ad has become controversial for stereotyping women, I do find this one pretty darn amusing. Many feminists are upset that our Lady Town has been degraded as something that's dirty in need of cleaning as well as something needing protecting by all things...a MAN! And then there is the controversy of douching itself...

So let me be clear: I do not douche, it's not my thing. A scrub with soap is just as good. And I do not feel that my Vagina needs a male defender but Hot Damn, I'll cheer any campaign that screems, HAIL TO THE V! on my TV. So I'll support the concept of the ad campaign, not necessarily the product. Indeed, The V is a great and powerful thing and that I can celebrate.

Night Light

2011-07-24T22:53:00.002-05:00

Oh, IKEA. How I love you so with your cheap furniture, 1 hour of childcare and free kids meal specials. However, was it really necessary to design the SPOKA kids night light in such a way so that the plug is inserted into the creature's rear? Even better, just directly underneath its tail? I feel like apologizing to it every time I charge him/her up. Poor thing.

Faking It

2011-07-21T23:35:00.003-05:00

As I've written before, I aspire to be a baker. But sometimes, you have to skip past Steps 2 - 10 to arrival at 11. You could never do this in baking but you can when buying! So I cheated, and bought some frozen bread from our local grocery store. I chose it after a recommendation from a friend and because I could identify all 5 ingredients. But not worry, I didn't sell it as Mama' bread. No, I'll give credit where credit is due. How did the bread taste? Awesome. Awesome enough that I didn't-share-with-anyone...

The Heat

2011-07-19T22:46:00.000-05:00

I came home from work last Friday to an upstairs that was a lovely 96 degrees. I tapped on the thermostat, hoping I programmed something wrong but clearly there was a larger problem. The upstairs A/C was out. The bottom floor A/C was working hard for the money and keeping the living room and kitchen areas a moderate 80 degrees. Thoughts of $8,000 HVAC units plagued my mind as I reached up to one of the upstairs vents only to feel luke warm air. Shit. It's 105 outside.

Anyone who is a home and car owner should have the following trustworthy peeps in your phone book: Mechanic, carpenter, painter, and A/C - Heater guy or gal. We are lucky to have 3 out of the 4 and one of them is the A/C guy. Who was out of town fishing...until Tuesday (today). The malfunctioning A/C was discovered on Friday. I'll swelter in my upstairs sauna so long as I know Kevin is the man coming to fix my A/C. He's just that good. So Tuesday it is.

In the meantime, we moved downstairs. It was baths in the kitchen sink for Middle L and Baby C and camping out in the living room for us all since it was the coolest place in the house. At swim practice yesterday morning Big J, in front of the coaches and parents, asked me, "Mom, is Dad sleeping on the couch again tonight?". I felt desperate to convince them of my solid marriage and A/C problems but just grinned and said, "Yes".

Camping out in the living room seemed fun until I was snapping at all 3 to go the *bleep* to bed. (Note: I really didn't use the F-bomb...but lord knows I wanted to). I had statistics homework to wrap up and I began to feel like I was living in my old college apartment in which I couldn't escape my psycho roommates no matter what corner of the 800 square foot apartment I tried to hide in. Baby C took full advantage of being free from her crib. One minute I'd find her sprawled over her brother and the next creeping up next to me. Seeing a small, crazy-haired child zipping past your peripheral vision at 11pm is just not cool.

But we were spared the 8K nightmare. Kevin, how do I love thee? Turns out the fan motor in the unit outside was out. $147 later and we were sitting happy and cool in our bedroom again. The kids were sad to move back to the beds, especially Baby C. Children obviously know nothing of back problems and still think it's cool to trade memory foam and pillow tops for the so very needs to be vacuumed and mopped laminate floor simply because it's out of the ordinary. They had shirked the air mattresses on night one.

Regardless, we're cool again and I'm happy to return to nights free of crazy-haired Baby C standing over me in my sleep.

Sacrifices

2011-07-18T00:14:00.002-05:00

Throughout my childhood and well into my adult years, QoG (Queen of Guilt, aka, my Mother) made it a point to inform us of her sacrifices for our family. Work, fun, wealth, all in the name of providing for her beloved daughters. And it's true. My sister and I lived a plentiful life, never wanting for anything but certainly well aware of the price of such a luxury.

As a parent now, I can understand her angst. Because I too have sacrificed. I have sacrificed...Co-Co Puffs. Seriously. I've accepted the child care and clothing expenses and the fact that it's completely unacceptable to bring your baby into a bar (at least in some parts of Texas). But in the 8 years since I've started popping out my trio I am still heartbroken that I can't eat boxes of Co-Co Puffs at will for breakfast, lunch and especially dinner.

Things 1, 2 and 3 wake up in the morning with intense bursts of energy and so I've outlawed the very cereals that I ate as a child in the name of providing calm instead of rabid children to their wonderful teachers at their respective schools. Sugar cereals are like crack to my kids. So instead of my beloved chocolaty Co-Co Puffs, Cinnamon Toast Crunch or Cookie Crisp, we eat cereals such as Kix, Chex and plain Cheerios. If we're gettin' crazy, we might get Honey Nut Cheerios.

When I was pregnant with Baby C I couldn't overcome my cravings for Co-Co Puffs so I bought a few boxes and hid them, like an addict, in the dark recesses of the pantry. I wasn't worried about Ranger's protests, I just didn't want to share my chocolaty treats with him let alone the kids. I'm so Co-Co for Co-Co Puffs that several years ago after having 3 wisdom teeth pulled I ensured I popped my pain pills 30 minutes before breakfast just so I could eat my Co-Co Puffs.

But the sweet memory of my beloved sugar cereals still lingers with every bite of Kix or Chex. I am counting down the years to my retirement (21 according to my 401K plan) and when the kids are grown. Because then I can give Cheerios and Chex the finger and binge on Co-Co Puffs morning, noon and night. I'm looking forward to arguments in which I accuse my adult children of their ungratefulness and scream, "Dammit! I gave up Co-Co Puffs for you!!" One day, my dear sugary treat, we shall meet again...

The Simplest Things

2011-07-15T06:19:00.001-05:00

Sometimes it's the simplest of things that make a dessert great.

And it's also the simplest of gadgets that make cherry pitting easier! I'm really not a kitchen gadget gal. There are just some basics you can't replace with innovation. I read a story recently in The Atlantic that mocked out cultures seemingly love of buying the latest kitchen accessories only to never fire up our stainless steal ovens. The story argues that our high end kitchen purchases are our latest version of "keeping up with the Jones'" It's pretty funny. However, I couldn't resist this gadget that was supposed to take the work out of cherry pitting. I probably wouldn't have purchased the $5 item if it weren't for the clerk demonstrating it. When I saw it did work, I knew it was worth no longer having to pit cherries with my teeth only to then hand the flesh back to the kids... Unfortunately for the cherries, it certainly appears that a fruit massacre occurred or a dental exam gone terribly wrong.

Priorities

2011-07-13T10:07:00.004-05:00

The picture above was taken by Middle L the other day while I was furiously sewing a gift for friends who are new parents. What is not pictured is the knit debris that was flying everywhere as a result of the sewing. I literally had a snow flurry around me when all was said and done. Let me be clear: I hate sewing knits. I'm not accustomed to such stretchy fabric. However, I suffer through the frustration because this particular knit is just so soft and cuddly that the end result is worth it!

The picture above is actually what I would prefer to be doing in my spare time rather than the picture below. You see, I'm returning back to graduate school in the hopes of earning my PhD by the time I'm 40ish. That part is great, the pre-requisite I need to continue on this journey is not so great: Statistics. The last time I took statistics was in 1999 and so UT has deemed my knowledge of Stats as a little out of date. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy math. I work in IT for a living and use math every day. I have an odd appreciation for equations and the logic behind math. There's never any gray, it's either this or that.

What I don't like are mid-terms and finals. I-hate-TESTS. I'm not a test taker. Memorizing a bunch of equations doesn't necessarily mean I've learned the math. Just because I score low on a test or entrance exam doesn't mean I won't be a future success. Case in point: I scored 760 on my SAT (I even fell asleep during my first try) but I still managed to get into college and graduate. I scored even worse on my GRE but still completed graduate school. I believe entry into college or even a grade in a class should be based on the whole picture. Should there be tests? Yes. Should they carry the most weight on whether your a success or failure? No.

Anyhoo...so this is what I'm doing in my spare time: Statistics. I do enjoy Statistics, even might take a few more classes since statistics will play a large part of my research. BUT do I enjoy studying for the final after the kids are in bed? No...I'd rather be sewing.

Lemonade

2011-07-11T22:53:00.000-05:00

Round 2 of baking this weekend. This time I was attempting white pan-bread from bake! I put lots of love into this dough. So much love that if you took a bite, you'd fall in love with me or cry. But alas, it is evident that my yeast is no longer active since the bread did not rise. You might say, well...perhaps you killed the yeast because your water was too hot when you mixed them. But no, this is the second batch of bread I've attempted to make in which the dough did not rise and I used the same jar of active-dry yeast. Perhaps it was also the "refrigerate after opening and use within 6 months" part of the label that gave me a clue as I was pulling the jar out of the pantry where it's been living after every use this past year?

There are tons of options though when your have unleavened bread: flat breads (with hummus, yum!) and pizza crust are but a few. So when I was handed lemons I made...pizza!

As we used to say in the Army: Good intentions, baaaad execution!

I've got great helpers: Half for the pizza and half for her mouth!

Eggplant and tomato

Margarita!

The only faux paux about using this dough was that the middle was a little too chewy for my liking. I didn't want to over bake and burn the top to a crisp but I didn't want a truly doughy center either. Not my first choice for pizza bread, but it was better than throwing out 1.5 lbs of dough.

What Makes Us...Us

2011-07-09T12:42:00.002-05:00

I aspire for tiny, matching pillows complete with themed linens...but my linens? They do not match.

We have a painting of a man, with a rifle...in our living room.

We still have Mona in the laundry room.

I'm 33 and I love to build Lego Robots. I say the sets are for the kids, but really...they're for me.

We have a framed movie poster of Conan the Barbarian in our Master Bath.

Just Before The Sun Arrives...

2011-07-07T06:41:00.000-05:00

...it's cool and gray here in Central Texas.

Mama's Love Bread

2011-07-05T23:37:00.001-05:00

Hello, my name is Starr, and I-am-not-a-baker. BUT, I'm trying to be. Yes, this self-proclaimed Microwave Queen has developed a love for anything dairy, wheat, honey and grain related. Ranger swears I'm trying to seal his death-by-buttah fate, but I can't help myself. It all started when I checked out Artisan Bread in Five Minutes a Day from our local library. "Bread in 5 minutes a day??" I thought, I'll try that, sho nuff! Needless to say, I was not the best steward of that book since I returned it slightly more stained and dusty than I had checked it out in. For Mother's Day, Ranger got me the book and it's been buttah, wheat and dairy every since.

The only thing I've made in this book...ahem, successfully, has been challah bread. Who could resist any recipe that calls for honey?? Savoring the memories of my 7 year old self devouring entire loaves of challah bread (or egg bread as I knew it then) fresh out of a bakery on the outskirts of Panama City (that's another story) makes my mouth water. I would later learn from my Jewish in-laws that this delectable egg-bread is also known as challah bread.

I've made challah bread (or Hallah! bread as I like to call it) a few times and still have a little way to go to get that light texture but my past batches have been pretty good. Except for the most recent one. In a nut shell I think my yeast died because the dough did not rise. However, I plugged on, hoping it was my mind and not the bread...but it was both. This bread did not rise and instead of my beloved challah, I got what Ranger summed up was pretzel bread. "Hon, don't let it go to waste, it's really good with mustard", he told me this evening as I was groaning about how a pound of dough was wasted. "It's made with Honey!" I griped back, "how the hell can you eat it with mustard??".

But I hate stuff going to waste and so, swallowing my pride, I pulled small balls of dough out of the bowl, twisted them into bread sticks and topped them off with an egg wash coating. I think they look more like doughy chrysalises if you ask me. The funny thing is that the resulting bread really does taste great, it's just not challah great but honey pretzel great.

And so I'm left with what I call Mama's Love Bread: something that doesn't always turn out the way you originally planned, but that which we've molded and shaped to make lovely and work.

And on a side note, I recently checked out bake! from the library to try out. I mean, who can resist that cover? I like to check out baking books before I buy just to make sure it's something I can follow without high levels of pain and frustration. I was instantly hooked by all the beautiful pictures of pastries and pies...my poor poor family.

Only In Texas

2011-07-05T06:29:00.002-05:00

I hope you had a wonderful 4th of July. The whole gang and I drove to San Antonio to visit family and beat the heat this year poolside. Due to extreme drought conditions though there were no fireworks in Austin or San Antonio. Bummer.

I took this photo on our way to SA. It was a Furniture and Ammo shop outside of Johnson City. This what makes Texas special. Where else can you buy a love-seat and shot gun shells for your 12 gauge?

Magnetic Poetry

2011-06-30T07:19:00.001-05:00

I love magnetic poetry and how, when given a select choice, one can make the funniest of poems. Can you tell all I'm thinking about is this damn 100 degree heat? I know...I live in Texas, I need to get over it.

Join The Conversation

2011-06-29T08:46:00.000-05:00

As some of you know from previous posts when I started this blog I have an interest in many feminist and parenting issues. Nothing's off topic here: food, family, politics, Planned Parenthood. Just because we have kids doesn't mean our minds become solely focused on baby food, poop and SAT scores. Having children has affected how I view parts of this world and has helped me see points of view through a different lens.

This blog is part everyday life and part informative. I look at it as a community for those living the suburbtopian life but also want to stay informed on all the crazy broohaha going on this world.

So I've started a Facebook page for Suburbtopia because as much as I loved posting articles of the day on this blog, there just wasn't enough time to for me to always write out a well thought out argument or opinion. The Facebook page will serve as my outlet to post more news items relating to a slew of issues that effect us as parents, women and educators.

And so I invite you to join in on the conversation or just peruse the topics of the day. I am a very open minded person and so if you have a different view, please share it. I promise not to be truly one sided as long as you promise to keep with the golden rule and respect others: attack the argument, not the person. :)

Making: Success and Fail

2011-06-28T08:43:00.000-05:00

Another part of the weekend making included making buttah (as us Southernuhs like to call it) and yogurt. I like to make my Buttah with good ol Texas muscle and a Mason jar. I think it's scientifically fascinating how a whole lotta shaking can turn cream into butter. I made one batch of honey butter and one batch of unsalted for future bread making.

Let's just say there was success with the buttah and a big fat FAIL with the yogurt (not pictured).

I'm not sure what happened to my yogurt. I followed all the instructions, made sure the milk was heated and cooled to the appropriate temperatures (with a meat thermometer no less), mixed in my yogurt culture (yogurt from a store bought batch) and incubated appropriately at 115 degrees in the oven. The end result after 6 hours? Warm, soupy, sweet milk. Lovely. I'm not sure I'll push it though. I'll try it one more time to see if I can get it right and if not, will just hang my yogurt making hat for good. I just hated pouring those 4 cups of yogurt/milk down the drain.

Middle L is my ultimate BFF. Her and I are like the Little Red Hen, making and baking while others love to share in the bounty. Big J lasts about 5 minutes in the kitchen before he bounces off to something else and Baby C usually toddles in when it's time to lick the bowl. But Middle L, she's with me through it all.

Weekends: More Making

2011-06-27T10:17:00.001-05:00

I've read about recycling broken and used crayons before and so thought I'd give it a whirl. What you'll hear on the blogosphere is that the hardest part about this task is peeling the paper off the crayons. Armed with my small fruit knife, I made that task easier by carving one small sliver off the side of the crayon to split open the paper wrapping and voila! it peeled right off. I also wanted to NOT use any of Ranger's beloved kitchen pans/pots. I have a history of ruining or maiming them so I opted to melt the crayons in a ceramic coffee cup in the microwave because lord knows we have plenty of coffee cups. The Christmas mugs from years past proved up to the task.

When I say that I've been searching year, yes years, for small muffin or candy tins at garage sales and thrift shops I'm not lying. I really like to reuse/recycle what I can rather than buy new and so do try my hardest. However, the mound of broken crayons reached my breaking point and so I went online and bought two plastic candy mold trays to do the trick. They ranged from $3 to $6 online so it wasn't too bad. I got a rectangle mold and a sea creatures mold and learned that pouring the wax into the molds was trickier than I thought. However, I was happy to have a cup to do this rather than a pot. A glass measuring cup would have been nice, IF you didn't mind never really using it again. The wax dries instantly and is a bear to clean off, hence why I opted for a never-used coffee cup.

The only complaint from Middle L? There were no pink crayons....sigh, you just can't win.

Kids and Money

2011-06-24T00:03:00.002-05:00

We've either heard it from our parents or have said it to our kids: Money does not grow in trees. And so I've been trying different methods to teach Big J (7) and Middle L (3.5) the value and purpose behind the ol might dollar. With Middle L, so far it's as simple as handing over lose change to her and telling her to stash it in her piggy bank for something "later" or even giving her a few coins for helping me sweep the floor or pick up after Baby C. With Big J I've asked him to pull money out of his piggy bank for when he's wanted a small Lego set in the range of $6 or so. For Lego sets between the $10 and $20 range we've made an arrangement in which he pays half with the money from his piggy bank while I pay the other half.

Yet in truth, he's spending money he's been given, not earned. So we've started a new rule for Big J: there are chores he does as a member of our family (feed the dogs, take out the trash, clean his room) and then there are chores to earn money. Above is my list. It's not a list that Big J has to do, but rather must do in order to earn money for another Lego set.

We started this routine just this past weekend...so we'll see. He has already knocked out #7 and then tried to bargain with me to ante up the price.

One monetary incentive that's worked really well for us has actually stopped the age old problem of the kids leaving their clothes on the floor. A MONGO pet peeve of mine. I started charging Big J a quarter for each article of clothing I found on his bedroom floor rather than the in the hamper. Needless to say, the situation has resolved itself and I no longer have a bottomless supply of quarters for the coke machine at work.

What ideas have worked for you to teach little ones the value of money?

Making: Salsa

2011-06-22T23:22:00.003-05:00

As a kid, I was a tinkerer but not so much a "maker". I would tear apart all sorts of gadgetry in the hopes of creating something new, from scratch. However, I wasn't always successful, hence why I claim that I was a tinkerer. As I grew older, the maker in me emerged as I learned just "how" things worked together to make a product. I suppose it's the IT geek in me that sees everything as simply a puzzle that needs to be solved. Several years later, I am happy to say that I believe I've graduated from a tinkerer to bonafide Maker.

The other day, the thing I "made" was Salsa. For the pro cook who can make a 5 star meal out of kraft cheese and ketchup, salsa might be easy. For the woman whose greatest claim to kitchen know-how was as the self-appointed Microwave Queen, Salsa from scratch is a milestone. And so this is the journey I'm on: Making from Scratch. Call it what you will: Homesteading, Home-Farming, and the other myriad of names given to the "movement" of my generation to get back to the basics...I've drunk the koolaid and have climbed aboard.

My father finds this quite amusing considering he grew up on a farm but was never paid the high dollars my generation is willing to pay for "organic". He once told me, "I spent my entire adult years building a life away from the farm and you're trying to go back!" as he watched me vigorously shake a jar of cream in my beginner's attempt to make butter.

But my Making movement is not so much a fad thing so that I can claim bragging rights to home made buttah (as we call butter here in Texas). My gradual move to home-made things is really best explained in 3 parts: Economics (the cost of stuff and food), Health (for me and my family), and the Tinkerer in me (or the "I can Make That! voice in my head when stuff is over priced and the sense of accomplishment of solving a puzzle on how stuff is made).

My latest Make: Salsa. I have a deep looove for the Walmart brand corn and bean Salsa but hate making the long trek to our town Walmart for it. So I'm often craving it. In Austin, there is a great Farm to Work program that provides Austinites with fresh, local, organic food for a fraction of the store cost (we're talking $20 a week for a large basket of organic, in-season food. Can't beat that). Anyhoo...I had way to many cucumbers and an abundance of our patio tomatoes when I got the idea to use the remainder of this week's basket to make my Faux Walmart Corn-and-Bean Salsa. It's amazing what Google can do for you:

Starr's Faux Walmart Corn-and-Bean Salsa
NOTE: I sorta winged it, just adding in what I thought would taste good so forgive me if my measurements are estimated. Please feel free to ask any questions you have:

1 Cucumber
2 Ears of Corn
1 Can of Black Beans
Handful of Tomatos (large, small etc)
1white onion
Pepper and Salt
1 small can of tomato paste

You'll notice I have no peppers on my list because I truly don't like hot, spicy salsa so if you do, simply add some spice to the list!

1. Mix your cucumber, onion and tomatos in a food processor OR chop them depending on the thickness you are looking for. I started chopping when I realized it was for the birds and crammed all the veggies in the food processor.

2. Pour your mixed veggies into a bowl and add corn, (you can either boil, microwave etc your ears of corn and then scrape the kernels into the bowl OR use about 1 can of corn), black beans (run the beans through the water until clear so you're not adding "bean goo" but rather just the beans) and tomato paste. Stir.

3. Add Salt and Pepper to your taste. I did find that the tomato paste provided a good enough salt kick and so was able to skip the salt and just add pepper. Eat immediately, Refrigerate (3 to 4 days) or Freeze (8 - 10 months). Done!

So I after I made my Salsa I soon discovered that I had no chips in which to eat with the Salsa: FAIL.

Books

2011-06-22T08:14:00.007-05:00

With Summer here and a little more wiggle room with bedtimes I've been online searching for simple, short projects I can do with Big J, Middle L and Baby C after I come home from work. Often I feel like I come home from work and the routine is dinner, brush teeth, bed time story then bedtime. I try to make the most out of the quality of it but sometimes the need to maintain the night time routine (or else face really cranky kids in the morning and that's not fun) squeezes out the quality I want to be getting with these 3 kids of mine. Such is the reality of work and home.

So I'm trying to incorporate a short craft, nothing too complicated during dinner prep (if Ranger is cooking) or after dinner (If I was cooking). Sure, Middle L loves to help me cook, but she is 3 so "help" is a loose term but Big J's not a budding chef, unless it's for desert. So these little projects, which none of the kids resist, slow down a brief part of the night where we can giggle, glue and enjoy each other's company outside the normal routine of life. Plus, I'm a nutty crafter too, so there's adult fun involved as well. Because a craft in which all parties enjoy is truelly the most fun, wouldn't you agree?

Our project last night was paper books using scrap paper around the house, courtesy of Volume 2 of the online e-mag Alphabet Glue. The kids got little sketch books out of it and I got a small To Do book (not shown). Crafting + Efficiency = Double Fist pump!

Alphabet Glue's version:

Big J and Middle L's version:

Hello Again

2011-06-21T15:50:00.000-05:00

I've missed you and there are just so many things I've wanted to post or say or share and show you. I've returned from my sabbatical so where do we begin? Oh...How are you?

Hide and Seek

Happy Birthday

2010-09-01T13:14:00.001-05:00

Suburbtopia has officially turned 1! I started this blog about a year ago as a place to write, as a place for community and as a place to discuss all the things I never grow tired of talking about: kids, Legos, the crazy ass Texas educational system, feminism...you name it.

I am announcing that Suburbtopia is scaling down though and moving full-time to twitter. It takes a village to raise my family and sometimes a city to also keep up a blog.

In that case, I'm not going far and I do hope you'll join me on twitter to continue the fun and conversations! I'll still post longer rants on suburbtopia but just not frequent. My thoughts post faster on Twitter than say trying to carve the time to remember them after the fact and post them on the website.

Good Day!

Domesticated

2010-08-21T14:32:00.001-05:00

You know you've reached adulthood when your day's happiness is measured by the placement of your furniture.

Legos

2010-07-30T08:27:00.003-05:00

I've mentioned before my ongoing love for Legos. That's one of the perks of having kids (let's call this perk #5): we can reclaim childhood passions and rationalize something like playing with Legos in your 30s as something you do "for the kids". But trust me, my Lego play is just as much for myself as it is fo the kids. Ask any of my friends and they can sum up our most previous conversations as being peppered with Lego nerd talk. Ranger's eyes immediately begin to glaze over when I go into my usual rant about why I can't get my Lego Robots to work. My recent nights have been spent zombie-like on my computer trying to re-program my Lego Mindstorms set. In a nut shell my robot software is old, as in it was built for Windows 98 old and so I'm trying to install a hack software on a more up to date operating system. (God bless the Internet). Without this hack, I can't get Big J's and I's robot to move. As of this minute, my hack is not working and we have motionless robots.

But I digress. As I sat yesterday in Big J's room surrounded by lego pieces big and small I said aloud that we had to do something about this Lego mess. Our current organization scheme consists of ziplock bags large and small to house our assortment of Lego parts. That's not working though. Google brings up all sorts of organization schemes, some expensive and some not so expensive. But whether your a Lego fanatic like myself or are just looking to house even a tiny assortment of Legos here are a few links that offer some good suggestions:

8 Options For Storing Your Child's Legos: The Ikea inspired idea is my personal favorite but it still comes at a higher cost than I really want to pay. I'm sure there's an Ikea hack out there though. ;)

16 Lego Storage Options: A tackle box! It doesn't get any easier than that!

Robotics Learning Store: In-My-Dreams...

How To Sort and Store Lego Toys: See that large pile in the first step...that pile exists in Big J's room.

My New Lego Room: If this is me in the next few years then Houston, we have a problem.

How To Organize Your Lego Bricks for Efficient Building: My favorite and most cost effective solutions. Although initially time consuming it can have its long term benefits. Although, I highly doubt my 6 year old could maintain this.

photo from evilmadscientist

Technology

2010-07-22T15:57:00.001-05:00

It's amazing to me how fast kids pick up on technology. Take for instance the new smart phones. I was pretty amazed when Big J picked up on how to navigate my phone within a day of me purchasing it to place a call to Daddy. Even more impressed when Middle L figured out how to "unlock" it and get to her Sesame Street video podcasts. You can then imagine my astonishment when Baby C snagged my phone away and tried, in earnest, to slide her thumb across the screen to unlock it like her sister. Five minutes later of course she was using it as a teething ring. There are just some things technology can't replace.

Mini-Van Musings

2010-05-21T10:26:00.003-05:00

Hmmmm....something tells me I should encourage Middle L to read more age-appropriate reading material?

My Swagger Wagon

2010-05-17T21:33:00.001-05:00

While I don't own a Toyota Sienna, I do own a mini-van...sho nuff.

Mona and Me

2010-05-12T21:55:00.019-05:00

I’d like to introduce you to Mona, Mona Lisa that is.

So there I was…March 14^th, 2005. I had just returned home from a one year deployment in Iraq and the first face I saw when I walked through the door of my house was that of the very Mona Lisa. In-tha-painted-flesh! She was perched above my fire place in all her glory. Ranger had "acquired" her from our ever so generous Uncle who "found" her at an estate sale. Now...one of the things the Chaplain told us prior to returning home after being deployed for a year was to expect and accept change in our households. Your spouse has lived without you for the last year and has had to maintain the household in your absence. This includes making decisions that you might have otherwise not made...but don't tell her/him that. Some Army spouses brought home new pets, new cars or in some cases...new spouses. Ranger? He brought home the Mona Lisa.

It's different! I managed to say with the most widest, fake smile you can imagine. You hate it! He replied back. Oh no, honey! I've always wanted the Mona Lisa in my home. You brought the Louvre to me! He eyed me with doubt and asked me, in a tone and look that meant he only wanted one answer, Are you sure? I could only manage a persistent nod in return.

Ranger was so proud of his "gift" that he emailed me a picture of Mona while I was deployed. I thought it was a funny joke. That is until I returned home.

Remember the movie, "The Christmas Story" when Ralfie's Dad wins the "Leg Lamp" and happily displays it, to the Mom's horror, in their home window? This picture of the Mona Lisa is Ranger's Leg Lamp. This was the first thing guests saw when they crossed the threshold of our home and he was damn proud of it. It's a great conversation piece! Look at the detail, man what a great artist!, Ranger would exclaim. Over time, I grew to hate it...to hate her. First of all, she wasn't tiny like the real one in the Louvre...she was ginormous at 3 feet tall and 2 feet wide.

When we moved I was relieved that there was no mantel to place her above since we did not have a fire place in the new home. On day two of unpacking, Big J (who was 2) pointed to the large wrapped package in the corner of our room and asked, Was dat? My groan of Mooona only added to his curiosity and he begged me to unwrap it. And like any mother with slight lapses in judgment...I did. As soon as he saw Mona's eyes he jabbed his chubby index finger toward the painting....and right-through-her cheek. Nooooo! I seemed to be saying in slow motion as I flipped the painting toward me and stared at his dirty little fingertip protruding through the other side of the painting. In that split second he ripped his finger back through and we both stared at what now appeared to be Mona Lisa's third eye...on her cheek.

And Ranger's reaction when I told him of the incident? Well...the same as Ralfie's Dad when his Mom "accidentally" breaks the leg lamp. There was finger pointing and a lot of How could you!, ending with speechless disbelief in my innocence. Mona had become more than just a painting. It had become a personified She. I managed to put some tape on the back of the painting and unless you've read this story...you wouldn't know the painting had been torn open (luckily the canvas "held" when Big J's finger went through and caused more of a rip than a hole and I was able to smooth the rip out and cover it with tape on the back side).

After her desecration, Mona sat in the closet the entire 4 years we were in our second home and has spent the past 6 months in the garage of our current home. Ranger had been unable to recover any of the joy he once had for her. According to him, her image was tarnished (literally).

That is...until this past Monday. I walked into the laundry room from the garage and there she was: greeting me again, welcoming me home, not from a deployment but this time from a long day at work. In the small space above and next to my washing machine, her new home seemed...perfect. As if that combination of the wall and washing machine jutting up against each other brought together the harmonic composition of art and laundry room chic. What do you think? Ranger asked after meeting me in the laundry room. He had the same twinkle in his eye that he had had when he first presented her to me. I could see that his joy had been restored and all was forgiven (even though I wasn't really guilty of anything!).

It's perfect, I replied. She's right where she belongs. And for the first time in 6 years since Ranger brought her home, I was able to honestly mean it.

The Escape Artist

2010-04-21T16:59:00.000-05:00

Crap. Dingle has escaped. It was me. I left the cage door open by accident after feeding Dingle and Bingle the other day. Ranger and I have a feeling that Dingle is entrenched behind the dishwasher since a pile of I-don't-know-what has piled up in front of the gap between the dishwasher and the kitchen counter as if Dingle dug it out. So nice of him... Plus, we can hear him scurry.

So Ranger and I have devised two traps to lure him out from behind the dishwasher. Naturally, we're both competitive and have placed bets to see which trap will work best. Let the mouse trap begin!

Trap #1: Mine.

Trap #2: Ranger's.

Who will win?

Reasons to Move to Central Texas

2010-04-16T07:59:00.000-05:00

Don't let the Texas Board of Education deter you from moving to Texas! It's bluebonnet season, my favorite time of year when all the wildflowers of Central Texas parade their colorful glory. But the bluebonnets are my favorite. Ranger thinks so too:

You Can't Stop This Lean and Mean

2010-04-14T22:57:00.008-05:00

So There I Was....at 5 in the morning, running up a hill at a 15 minute mile pace, wheezing like a person with emphysema. I don't have emphysema but rather an aversion to any cardio exercise. That is until I received a double dog dare from a co-worker to get myself back into my before-I-had-children-I-had-a-tight-body kind of shape I now reminisce about. I might be slim but being thin doesn't mean I'm healthy on the inside. I've got a solid upper body from toting around my 6, 2 and 11 month old but I'm almost certain that I can't climb a few flight of stairs without becoming trenched in sweat.

So there I was, answering my double dog dare at 5am..running...in the dark. I knew it was going to be tough to get up out of bed to do the dreadful. I even went to sleep in my running gear knowing that if I didn't wake up to run I'd have stare in the mirror at myself in shame before getting ready for work.

I had my radio and ear buds on, praying for a Lady Gaga song to motivate my slow ass up a hill. The sound of my laborious breathing was only magnified by my ear plugs. And I'm not a pretty runner, fresh or tired. At 5'9 I'm a cross between an octopus and a giraffe when I run, not the gazelle I see other tall people run as. Or better yet, I'm pretty sure I look like Pheobe from Friends when I run:

But I persevered on. A half mile into the run I was greeted by a snarling dog and learned quickly that my body chooses flight over fight. I thought I was going to vomit having used all of my reserves to escape Cujo but was instead distracted by his sudden yelp when his electrical collar put him in check. He apparently strayed past his home's invisible electrical fence much to my relief.

The nice thing about running in the dark is that you can't tell how slow you're going. I can't tell one black blob from the next nor how fast or slow I'm passing it. The scent of the Texas hill country in the morning and the dark trees overhead reminded me of doing PT in Fort Gordon, Georgia when I was a second lieutenant 10 years ago. Back then we would haul ass in perfect formation through the winding roads that cut through the thick forests constantly pushing each other with cadences of hardship or perseverance. The formation was only as fast as its' weakest link and no one wanted to be that link. When I was in Airborne School there was no room in the formation for the weakest link. If you fell behind the set pace you were yanked out of the formation by a mean Drill Sergeant in a black hat and sent home. Rather than enjoy the piney woods around me, I'd stare intently into the back of the soldier in front me, blocking out the pain in my lungs and legs, doing my best to avoid the shame of falling out of formation. If anyone in the formation began to slow it was customary for the person behind you to gently press their finger tips in your back, reminding you to just keep going. It didn't matter if you could jump out of a perfectly good airplane in the best possible manner or memorize the countless checks required to do so, if you couldn't run the set pace you didn't deserve to earn your Airborne wings.

Double Time!! A Seargeant would scream over the formation. Some Other Time!! We'd scream back as we lurched forward in unison.

One mile! No sweat!
Two miles! Better yet!
Three miles! Gotta run!
Four miles! Just for fun!
Come on! Let's go!
We can go! Through the snow!
We can run! To the sun!
We train - In the rain!
Run me, run me, run me some mooore!

As I encroached upon another hill I was transported back to 2010 and my wheezing so I entertained myself by chanting these cadences and actually found bits of motivation to not necessarily run faster (come on, we're talking cadences not a double fudge sundae dangling in front of me) but at the very least, to keep running. So I did. I managed to do 1.5 miles in a lovely 20 minutes. The goal is to go longer, shorter. You know that high you usually get when you finish a great workout? The high of satisfaction, exhilaration!

I didn't get it.

I did back in the day when I was in shape. When I was in the Army. But I'm a civilian now. Five minutes after I stopped running I was in a spread eagle on my kitchen floor trying to slow my heart before it burst from my chest (or so it felt like).

I'm sure that high will return if I continue running. If I persevere. All I know is that I'm sitting here sore as all hell. We'll see what tomorrow brings....

I Parent, Therefore I Am

2010-04-07T09:24:00.004-05:00

An article in this past weekend's NYTs Sunday Book Review titled, "The Parent Problem in Young Adult Lit", has had me thinking about the prevalence of the evil parent in not just young adult literature but in all types of literature, young and old. I have actually been thinking a lot about the topic of mean mommies and daddies lately after coincidently reading several different advertisements and articles for plays, blogs and books about the drudgeries of parenthood (i.e., the mommy blogger who made it big by writing about the normalcy of having a drink or two a day but recently confessed that she's an alcoholic. I Parent, therefore I drink). If I see another poster in Austin advertising a play that portrays parenthood as a woman with rollers in hair, a martini in one hand and a cigarette dangling from her mouth I'm going to go postal. It's amazing we don't have a fertility crisis on our hands considering the amount of discussion out there about the horrors of being a parent.

But here's the catch, while sometimes I am weary of the rhetoric of Parent Martydom (I Parent, therefore I'm a Martyr) I also roll my eyes over articles and blogs that drip with the endless joys of parenthood. Don't advise me to sit, breath and take in the joy of cleaning dirty booty 12 times a day or comfort in the adorable smile of my son who's just received another note from his teacher for disrupting class (this just means he's sociable...sigh....). Do these parents really enjoy crafting with their kids 4 hours a day as much as they write? For cripes can't you admit to having bad days?

And we all know the media doesn't get it right. TV shows like Parenthood which feature only white, upper middle-class families start their day with just the right amounts of coffee to make the morning great, combat parental crisis in the afternoon, but are able to sing kumbaya by dinner time. Seriously...seriously? You either have too much of a good thing or too much of a bad thing and no balance.

I know, I'm being hypocritical. I'm trying to find the root of why it's so hip to talk and write about bad parenting when I myself loving refer to my own mother as QoG: Queen of Guilt. I whole heartedly believe though that stories about my father's near sainthood are truly not as entertaining as my mother's _____ ways (One adjective to describe my mother's demeanor is impossible so I have added a "fill in the blank"). Yet here's the kicker, I write about my mother because a). you just can't make this stuff up and b). she has never apologized for her parenting style nor her view on the world and that ladies and gentlemen is worthy of note. Not because her unapologetic demeanor is foder for great storytelling. Okay, it is. But more so it's because she has obtained a level of confidence in her parenting style that I can only hope to achieve one day. No apologies, Starr, she once told me after a lengthy argument that detailed all the career sacrifices she had made for my sister and I, I've sacrificed enough for you and I don't owe you any explanation as to the parenting decisions I have made. And she's right because my sister and I never went without and grew up to be good adults who may have a misdemeanor or two...but no felonies. Yet in my moment of angst and frustration with her I fired back, We're Parents! That's what we do...we sacrifice! She cooly and confidently responded, That doesn't mean I have to like it.

Yet reading this article reminds me of the fact that as our parent's children we tend to write more about the bad than the good. Do the inundation of blogs, plays and articles about parental missteps and/or good deeds feed into the "parent problem" in literature? Is this a backlash to parental martydom?

The "parent problem" in adult and young lit interestingly had me examine my own take on parenting: what do I exude to others and to my own kids? Looking in the mirror this morning, poking at the softness of my belly, the extra wrinkles in my once smooth face and making a mental note to slather on some concealer to hide the circles under my eyes, I exuded tiredness. Two cups of coffee later, a 10 second hug to Ranger, kisses to the girls and a loving reminder to Big J to make good decisions at school I exuded happiness.

It's give and take. To the Parent Martyrs...go craft with your kid for a few hours, put down the burbon and stop coveting the single life that your childless friends happily display on Facebook. To the Martha Stewart Parents: be daring, put down the glue and glitter, use the word "shut up" to quiet your kids once in a while and tell the PTA to screw off for having their meetings at 9:15am on a work day without alcohol.

photo from visionarymom.com

McDonald's Doesn't Always Get It Right

2010-04-04T23:12:00.005-05:00

Don't judge...I took Big J and Middle L to McDonald's Friday since they were both unbelievably awesome and because Big J swore he hadn't been to McDonald's in a million years! As I've said before, I've been revolutionized by all the gore I've watched about how the fast food and processed food industry is bringing the wo/man down. But sometimes you just need a break from the revolution.

Anyhoo. When the cashier asked me if the kids meals were for a girl or a boy, I responded, Surprise me (Last year there was an interesting discussion about this on the Freakonomics Bleg at the NYTs). I ended up with one "girl" happy meal complete with an iCarly plastic locker and heart stickers and one "boy" happy meal that included a two headed dragon from the movie, "How to Train Your Dragon".

I can't stand the fact that many fast food establishments gender stereotype their toys. So when I gave Big J both Happy Meals (to sort for little sis) guess who wanted the two headed dragon and who wanted the iCarly locker and heart stickers? McDonald's get a poo poo rating for their toy classifications but Big J and Middle L get a Double Fist Pump for sticking with what they like.

Our War With Food

2010-03-31T14:32:00.003-05:00

So I've written before about our family's or rather my battle with food. Not so much the eating of the food (the kiddos are not so bad on what they'll eat) but the preparation and types of food. It boils down to this: I'm lazy and hate to cook so I'll cook whatever is fast and that's usually not a good thing. I like eating healthy...really. But have this notion that to eat healthy requires an attention to detail that I simply don't have when 3 kiddos are whining about hunger at 6:30pm.

To me, eating good is not rocket science. I think there is enough information out there that any average Joe can glean from to know that fast food should be out and veggies in. But here is the American dilemma: organic, healthy food = mucho money, fast and processed food = cheap. I've watched Food Inc., and Super Size Me in horror swearing to never eat commercial beef again. I'm just downright shocked that I haven't keeled over with some sort of crazy health-related disease yet considering all the processed foods and TV Dinners my parents merrily gave me as a child and that I happily consumed pre-kids.

But as the cliche goes, when I had kids my view on food changed. So as a family, we've had to change. So we've been beebopping and I've been feeling pretty good about our eating choices lately. The kids are eating their veggies, albeit sometimes wearily, but eating is good. So the other night I decided to catch the new show, Food Revolution, more so out of amusement than enlightenment. Shamana!! (as Middle L likes to say for all things unexpected) the average school lunch is scary! What the HELL are our kids eating at school?? In the episode the kids at one elementary school aren't even give forks and knives to eat! Forks and Knives...oh my! They eat with spoons only and the school lunch ladies are practically appalled when the host asks them to give the kids forks and knives in order to eat a meal he has prepared.

The next morning I asked Big J, What do use to eat your lunch at school? He responded, Sporks and knives. Not bad...I actually think the Spork is quite an ingenious invention and wish they offered them in metal anyways. And I admit to not really scrutinizing the monthly lunch menu that comes home with Big J at the beginning of every month. I assume that just because he eats well at home, is educated on what is good and what is not so good then he'll make good food choices at school.

I obviously don't remember how a child thinks. According to Big J his favorite and typical lunch at school are hot dogs, hamburgers, french fries, and chocolate milk. You know that's not the best food choices, I responded to him when he admitted this (his school has a schmorgisborg of food choices ranging from salads, sandwiches and short order). I know, Mom, he replied, but I don't get to eat a lot of that stuff here anymore! And you haven't taken us to McDonalds in a million years! I may have to rearrange our school lunch arrangement and find the time to make more of his lunches.

More to follow on that....

The truth is that until healthy, organic foods become as inexpensive as the crappy foods, crappy foods will continue to remain in our schools. Granted, if more people bought organic then the prices of healthy foods would go down. However, considering the increasing demands to squeeze every measly dollar out of school budgets paying $1 for a single avocado when you can buy 4 hamburger patties with that same dollar what do you think Food Services is going to buy?

It's our unfortunate reality folks: money talks and the healthy food walks.

Here's also an interesting article in the NYTs about the show Food Revolution and our examination of school lunches.

When given the option of what to eat, how is it possible to get your child to eat the the best one?

Looking For Culture

2010-03-26T16:32:00.001-05:00

Part I: I Am Mexican

So There I was....At a family gathering once when I was 13 I was telling a story to my mother's extended family about how my then 3 year old sister had denied to QoG that she, my mother, was Mexican. I was making what I thought to be a funny point considering my mother's side of the family is Mexican-American. As la familia laughed my Grandfather, seated at the head of the table, thundered in my direction, We are NOT Mexican! We are Americans of Mexican descent! The need to assimilate into the mainstream American culture was more pressuring for my Grandfather's and my mother's generation than for my generation today. I remember sheepishly looking down at my plate in embarrassment after my Grandfather's point had silenced the table and remember feeling for the first time that perhaps I really had no culture.

My father is as Anglo as one can get: a blond-haired-blue-eyed, Apple Pie Farm Boy who dared to date the dark-haired Mexican beauty on the other side of the tracks. Teach Starr to speak Spanish my father often pleaded to my mother understanding the importance of knowing both English and Spanish as a native Texan. My mother refused though, remembering how the elementary school teachers had admonished her for speaking Spanish in school along with my Grandfather's pressure to ensure the second generation of his family would be able to speak English with no accent.

As my American-Family-of-Mexican-Descent grew we slowly started to leave behind many of our Mexican and inherently Catholic ways. Fading were the days of First Communions, Confirmations, and Quincineras. We used to attend a Spanish Mid-Night Mass on Christmas Eve at one of San Antonio's historic mission churches complete with the Stations of the Cross...but no more. Hanging a blinking Lady Guadalupe over the threshold of my Grandfather's home in San Antonio for Christmas became a faux paux by the time us cousins reached adulthood. Well, to QoG it was always a faux paux and a stain on her childhood memory but when my Aunt, the matriarch of our Mexican culture, stopped doing it I felt as if our Mexicanness was slowly leaking out of la familia.

When I was younger, QoG would drive all the way to the South Side of San Antonio to buy sopapillas and Mexican sweet bread since she was unable to find proper substitutes up at the North side of town where she had moved (having decided loooong ago that the South Side, where she grew up, was not where she wanted to live). Whatever you do, she would warn before we entered the Mexican bakery, don't try to speak Spanish. They'll think we are North Siders with your terrible accent and I'll lose my discount! My mother would place our orders in spanish while I stupidly pointed to the various sweet breads that I wanted. My sister, who was more Anglo-looking with her creamy, light skin and light brown hair as compared to my more olive tone and dark brunette hair, was always ordered to remain in the car.

It wasn't long before la familia started serving commercially made tortillas from the local HEB grocery store at our family get togethers. When they tried to convince me that store-bought toritillas taste the same as ones made from scratch I knew this was the beginning of the end of our Mexican ways. Then came the sudden ending of listening to Tejano music and mourning on the anniversary of Selena's death (the only time of year it was appropriate to shoot Tequila straight after screaming Selena Forever!).

By the time I turned 20, chorizo, barbacoa and tripas became too fattening to eat, menudo too stinky to cook, and lingua too Mexicle for our American-Family-of-Mexican-Descent to make. However, when I announced that Ranger and I were getting married in a botanical garden by a non-denominational Army chaplain, QoG was appalled: What do mean you're not getting married in the San Guadalupe church with out mass and without a priest?? I was confused by her reaction considering that there were only four reasons la familia now attended catholic mass: weddings, funerals, Easter, and Christmas Eve...maybe. The fact that QoG, now excommunicated from the catholic church after her divorce from my father (they had gotten married in San Guadalupe), wanted me to have a traditional Mexican wedding complete with a lot of kneeling and praying in Spanish was perplexing. Ranger's Jewish! I copped out. She gave an understanding nod and then scheduled an 8 piece mariachi band to play at the reception. Ranger's New York family loved the San Antonio setting of our wedding and the mariachi band so much that his grandmother whispered over to Ranger's father enthusiastically, This wedding is very ethnic! If she only knew...

Next up, Part II: I Am Korean.....

My Love Hate Relationship with Martha

2010-03-17T10:31:00.002-05:00

Yes, I love and hate Martha Stewart. I love Martha for her craftiness but I also hate her for the perfection in her craftiness. A perfection that I, armed with glue gun, can never seem to obtain. Hello, My Name is Starr and I have a subscription to Martha Stewart's Living magazine. I'm not that parent trying to obtain Martha Stewart Greatness only Martha Stewart Mediocrity. I like the magazine for its' common sections on plants and how to grow them or what environments certain plants thrive in. I have a black thumb, but Ranger does not. So usually I'm the one thrusting another Martha Stewart foliage masterpiece in his face and demanding, Make me that! Which he happily does because he thinks Martha has good taste in foliage as well.

However, I met this month's issue with a sigh which was followed by a crinkled brow of skepticism solely by my first glance at the cover. Walking it over to Ranger I pointed to the picture and announced, If I start making Easter eggs like the ones pictured here I have officially gone over the suburbtopian edge and you have my permission to slap me on the spot. He peered over at the April cover and responded with an approving nod. To Ranger, that cover alone was a reason to cancel my subscription. To me it was simply a reminder of the pressures parents face to be....perfect. This cover with all of its' Easter egg perfection and perfectly placed double layer bunnies atop yellow backgrounds displayed a standard that I know I can never obtain. Not just a standard of craft, but a standard of supposed good mothering. Not just because I'm a parent, with a full-time job and a deadline for a thesis looming but because such a task could never be accomplished in the presence of my kids. Can you imagine doing this with Middle L and Big J? I asked Ranger. He scoffed and said, Hon, we're lucky if we're fortunate enough to not get dye all over the place let alone outside of the stencils needed to make these eggs. I couldn't help but see an analogy in this moment. Our life as parents with 3 kids, two dogs and two hamsters, is not a perfect picture that has been colored in between the lines. Rather, it probably ranks up there with something my two year old would color now. Who wants to color in between the lines anyway? I rank this craft project with that of the pressures of women in the 1950s to be June Cleaver. These eggs and most of Martha's crafty projects (don't get me started on her December issue!) is my June Cleaver.

So, why do you subscribe to this magazine? Ranger asked me after I got all academic with him over the April cover of Martha Stewart magazine. I'm pretty sure I saw his eyes glaze over, as they usually do when I go into my academia review of the things that bother me the most about parenting today, when I started on June Cleaver but his question did confirm to me that he was listening...slightly.

Because, I responded, licking my finger tips and flipping open the magazine to a middle section that showcased a garden of springtime plants, I want you to make me that!

photo from marthastewartliving.com

I Heart You Chic-fil-a

2010-03-10T16:58:00.005-06:00

Before I share my story, first two announcements: NO, Chick-fil-a did not pay me to hock their chicken sandwiches and second, YES I am still committed to eating healthy.

Parents, check this out: So I go to the Chick-fil-a today with Baby C. I walk in to find table cloths on the tables and small glass vases on top filled with carnations! And do you know what happens next? I've got drooling Baby C. in my arms and just as I'm looking around to see how I can juggle Baby, tray of food and my purse the cashier informs me she'll bring my tray to me with my condiments! The rolling baby seat even has a plastic can of Clorox bleach wipes attached to the bottom. Oh, it gets better. The cashier brings me my food, removes the table cloth (a freakin table cloth in the Chick-fil-A...with carnations!!), unwraps a plastic kiddie mat with sticky sides all around and "pastes" it to the table top in front of Baby C., because it's cleaner for the babies, she says. I can only compliment her with my embarrassed thank you's spilling out several times over and stupefied grin because I don't think I've ever been treated so nicely at a fast food restaurant let alone in a fast food place with Baby in hand.

After eating our lunch (Baby C. went to town on the yogurt) I looked around and noticed that there were at least 5 other mothers with their kids in the Chick-fil-a, content, unstressed and just as at peace as I seemed to be.

And have you seen their kiddie menu? I'm not necessarily talking about the food (which I do admit is a little pricier than most other fast food joints). Fat is fat no matter how you fry it, or slice it, or cook it. I'm talking about the toys. You won't find toys segregated by gender. There's no such thing as a toy for the boy and a toy for a girl. This month's item for the kiddie menus are....books! Yes! Bernstein Bears books! Imagine that!! No My Little Pony with her suggestive booty-stance, no Legos Batman for the boys, just books. Books about behaving good and books about helping others. The other month I think they gave out National Geographic board books that pinpointed exotic animals or something like that.

For customer service and gender-neutral-toys alone, Chick-fil-a gets a Double Fist Pump!

picture from http://www.chick-fil-a.com/

Children's Books

2010-03-07T22:46:00.006-06:00

I picked up Ladybug Girl Dresses Up for Middle L today. The book depicts a little girl dressing up in various outfits: a pirate, an astronaut, a princess. The reader eventually learns that you can't categorize Ladybug Girl as pink or blue because she likes to be both. Unfulfilled by any of her costumes she assumes the role of Ladybug Girl. Having watched Middle L run around the house in Big J's Batman capes and then strutting around in her princess garb shortly after I knew she would love it. And she did.

In these times it's easier (not to be confused with easy though) to find children's books that don't gender stereotype. There is even a list on Amazon showcasing "Charming Children's Books With a Feminist Message". Not my favorite title choice ("message" used in this way feels like a pseudonym for "infiltrate" but I digress) but the content is what counts and I like the list.

I, like many parents concerned about how boys and girls are stereotyped in books, find myself changing shes to hes and hes to shes to convey a sense to my kids that both genders can pull all types of duties not just one set. I can't even begin to recant how many "police men" I've changed to "police officers" and how many lines depicting girls as emotionally weak, disgusting or dumb I've omitted from Big J's books (I'm on to you Flat Stanley series!). Ultimately though I hate how even broaching the subject of gender stereotyping in books is grumbled as having a "feminist agenda" instead of looked at by people as a valid societal concern.

I admit that it is much easier to find books about girls who are strong and independent yet what about books describing boys who like, say...dance? Or just like to read without personifying them as social outcasts worthy of taunting? Try finding books portraying boys who like things characterized as "feminine" in a positive light and you're going to come up short. Try hunting for books about girls who like things described as "masculine" and you'll find at least one on a NYT's best seller list.

I'm glad that I have a larger selection of "feminist agenda" books to read to the kids. It teaches, no..shows my girls and Big J, that girls cannot be categorized into just the color pink. But I also think the "feminist agenda" should be inclusive of books that depict non-stereotyping-norms for both girls and boys. Now if I can read books to my kids which show that boys aren't categorized to just blue, with naughty behavior and a disgust for all things feminine then I'll believe we're really getting somewhere.

Article of The Day: Everyone say Cheeese!

2010-03-05T16:00:00.005-06:00

For graduate school, I have devoted almost an entire 8 months of my life studying breastfeeding, breastmilk and the rates of breastfeeding from the early 1900s to present day. I've read more articles in the journal Pediatrics about the benefits of breastfeeding and breastmilk that I can almost recite every meaningful breastfeeding statistic since 1948 (I'm a total bore at parties...I know). Through research alone, I know the benefits of breastmilk.

So then why is it that when I read an article about a recipe for breastmilk cheese do I get a little squeamish and have an initial reaction of I wouldn't try that. I mean, I drink milk made from a cow for crying out loud and fed 3 of my children from the breast...so why do I get all crinkly at the thought of eating breastmilk cheese?

Really, I'm not a prude...seriously. But I never even tasted my own breastmilk (Ranger took a sample though and cried...Sweeet...literally!). I don't seem to be the only one though. I've had friends get all crinkly too at the thought of drinking their own breastmilk, let alone someone else's, even though we all chose/choose to give it to our babies. I treated that stuff like liquid gold savoring every last drop I pumped out. But I surely couldn't bring myself to taste it!

Anyone have any insight into this phenomenon? Would you try a slice?

You Like Me, You Really Like Me!!

2010-03-03T09:57:00.001-06:00

Jana, a witty Feminista Mama and writer of the blog An Attitude Adjustment has given to me the Beautiful Blogger Award! Huzzah!!
Thanks Jana! I have thoroughly enjoyed reading another mother's perspective on the latest topics effecting families today. Her post about Raising Girls is great!

According to the award I have to write 7 things about myself and pass on a few blogs that I enjoy reading, so here it goes:

1. I believe there are two types of people in this world: Givers and Takers.

2. I will graduate in the Spring with my M.A in Women's and Gender Studies.

3. I've decided to not buy any new, rack clothes for a year. If I need...okay...want "new" clothes, I go to the Good Will and then, with my sewing machine, alter them to my liking.

4. I give odd nicknames to my children such as Booty, Noom Noom, The Zoomer and Beast.

5. I use Pilot VBall Extra Fine Red pins to make lists. And I make lists for EVERYTHING. Making lists in anything other than that red pin just doesn't convey the same sense of urgency that lists with that red pen do.

6. When it comes to my kids I hope to raise a son who is never too proud for sympathy and daughters who will believe they are lovely just the way they are.

7. I believe that Converse All-Stars should be the National Shoe.

Blogs I'm reading:

The (Not So) Little Things: Stephanie's blog cannot be summed up in just one word because it's just filled with so much awesomeness! She does an amazing job of adding the feminist perspective on several subject matters. Oh...and I love her Friday Awesomes!

I'm a do it yourselfer and The Little Green Notebook is great for people who want to do household decorating on a little budget.

Other blogs I enjoy reading are on the right! The stories, the feminist perspectives on parenthood and life in general I truly enjoy!

Suburbtopia Haiku: Mama's Cooking

2010-02-17T11:43:00.000-06:00

Healthy meal tonight
The dog won't even eat it
Better luck next time

Scholar Ladies

2010-02-11T15:57:00.005-06:00

This video is just too wonderful on all the right levels:

The video features students who attend the Hope Christian School in Milwaukee. According to the Chicago Tribune one of the students featured in the video said that it "inspires kids to see it's cool to be smart and reach goals".

"If you learned it then you should have got an A on it!" I look forward to this being the new catch phrase with my kids.

I HEART Mini-vans

2010-02-09T08:41:00.006-06:00

It was a tough decision to make: trading my hipster Honda Element for the mini-van. However, with our third child on the way and the fact that my Element only sat two in the back the decision to taste the mini-van dream was almost inevitable. Sure I looked at SUV alternatives that would allow me to cling onto some level of hipness but the 12mph and horrendous price tag of the hybrid models were too much for me. Hybrid + 8-passenger-SUV still seem more of an oxymoron to me. Plus, I curse those soccer Moms in their 8 passenger suburbans trying to park in compact spaces in Downtown Austin. I put those people in categories akin to parents who buy $900 Bugaboo strollers and $95 dolls...I was not about to become one of them by purchasing another status symbol.

Hello, my name is Starr and I proudly drive a mini-van. You won't see me trying to squeeze my way into compact spaces in Downtown Austin. I promise you, I'm more practical than that. The instant the dealer showed me that with the touch of a button both side doors automatically slid open and closed I was sold. You try closing your car doors...in the rain..while holding a convertible car seat with an 18lb baby AND a two year old whose screaming about getting wet. In that situation doors that close with the push of a button on your keychain are heaven.

So in the spirit of automatic sliding doors, a big fat kiss goodbye to my youth, and 23 mph in my mini-van I bring this most wonderful song to you by Austin's very own Lounge Lizards!

Flo-rida

2010-01-15T00:13:00.002-06:00

Well, we're packing up and heading to Florida for the next week. No...we're not doing Disney. Ranger has an allergic condition to all things amusement park so I don't think we'll ever make the American Mecca to Orlando. Instead, we are visiting Nanna and some of Ranger's family for a week....and we're driving. That's right, Ranger, Me and three children who are the wee ages of 6, 2 and 8 months are taking a 22 hour road trip. This is going to be funner than college.

There was just no way in hell we were going to fly. There's a reason I refuse to fly with my children until the youngest is at least 5. Too many to count but let's say it's based on previous experience. The cost to fly a family of 5 is daunting itself: ~$1500 for 4 plane tickets (if Baby C. sat on our laps) plus the extra cost of baggage and the hassle of kids, luggage AND 3 car/booster seats? Driving, while still brave, is the way to go.

But the trip won't begin until Friday so right now everything is still unicorns and rainbows. For now I'm just crossing the To Dos off my gargantuan list, sewing some last minute gifts for a few tiny cousins we'll see while in Florida, and adding music to our trip playlist. Of course I wait to do all of this the night before the trip. So typical of me.

Pureeing Baby C's food for the road. Don't give me too much credit for being an Earthy Mom. I'm trying to expand her pallet by adding some spices to some spinach and zuchinni puree to see if she'll like it. I have Gerber prunes and peaches on stand by in the event she pooh pooh's my concoction.

And we go old school when it comes to making baby food. None of this William's Sonoma Beabock Maker stuff which retails for $149. My food processor and a $7 steaming clam-a-ma-thing works just as great.

And what a lovely color! Do you think Home Depot's paint section carries this shade of green?

Fallen Princesses

2010-01-07T10:52:00.003-06:00

I came across a series of photos titled Fallen Princesses by photographer Dina Goldstein while reading More magazine in the ladies latrine at my office the other day. For the record, yes this 32 year old reads More magazine. It's a magazine that celebrates women aging beyond their 40th birthday. It does have cooky storylines like "Year of the Cougar: The Good, the Bad & the Wacky but in the ladies latrine you take what you can get when the other choice is Reader's Digest. Anyhow, I digress...

It's not hard to imagine why this Feminist Mama likes Dina Goldstein's take on life after the fairy tale for Disney's princesses. My view of Disney's lack (that's not to say absence though) of strong female characters never sat quite right with me when I was child and especially now as a parent. What's up with Disney's morbid consistency of either killing off, displacing, or making evil most of the character's mothers? Think Bambi, Finding Nemo, The Little Mermaid, Beauty and The Beast, Sleeping Beauty, Snow White, Alladin, and Cinderella. Okay, okay..we do have Mulan. I'm sure some Women's Studies PhD has written a dissertation on this but seriously??

And my Knight in Shining Armor did not arrive on a noble steed donning chain mail and claiming he was here to "save" me. He instead arrived in the form of an Army Airborne Ranger who proclaimed before we married, I'm all about women's lib and have no problem with females earning more than a man. Therefore, I hope you didn't have dreams of being barefoot, unemployed and pregnant darling because we've got college debt to pay off. I knew he was the one for me.

It's not like I'm going to show these pictures to Big J and Middle L and include a lecture on how the fairy tale may have ended for Belle, Cinderella and Snow White. But I sure am tempted...

Snow White

Beauty and the Beast's Belle

Check out the rest of the pictures at the Fallen Princesses website.

images from buzzfeed.com

Christmas Isn't Christmas Unless Someone's Crying

2010-01-04T22:05:00.008-06:00

I read an interesting article before Thanksgiving about the holiday ritual of family dinners and get- togethers. The article discussed that when family members gather for holiday dinners they often "revert to decades-old patterns of behavior".

My family is no exception.

If Christmas involves La Familia (a title I lovingly give to my Hispanic side of the family) then your about 95% sure that someone is going to be crying. It's inevitable considering the rarity with which La Familia gets together. QoG lives in Korea, MIA Uncle is always, well...MIA, and the remainder live in Dallas (which is practically like driving to another state). Add my step-father to the mix and you've got a 100% solution for disaster.

I wish I could choose one great exception to our family's woeful Christmas holidays together but there are just too many that compete for first place. This year the only La Familia participants for Christmas were my sister and QoG. MIA Uncle said he was going to show up and didn't (apparently he got into a car wreck and was laid out with muscle spasms??), my Aunt was out sick which meant Abuelo (my 85 year old grandfather who lives with her) was out too and my other Uncle never responded. One out of 4 siblings meant we simply had a 1 in 4 chance of drama. The odds were with us this year!

But they unfortunately weren't in previous years. One year included my Aunt literally going for my step-father's jugular after he smarted off to her as if she were a child. He had made the mistake of pointing his finger at her and ending his point with ..."Woman!". She attacked him in a heap of presents, tinsel and hair while screaming all sorts of explicatives and ending it with, Nobody calls me Woman you son of a bitch! It took the strength of 3 relatives to pull my 5 foot 1 Aunt off of my 6 foot 2 step-father.

One Christmas while my mother was away on business my step-father decided that my sister and I should make a "miss you" family Christmas video for her with the 3 of us singing a song. Only the song was "Ding Dong the Witch is Gone" (appropriately changed from the original version in the Wizard of Oz). There we were, my sister and I dressed in matching red holiday dresses perched on our step-father's lap with the Christmas tree sparkling in the background singing, "Ding Dong the Wicked Witch is Gone!" For the record, I was 11 and my sister was 2. It's no wonder my mother and I's relationship is strained and why her and my step-father are now divorced.

I've spent one Christmas evening at an Itaewon bar in Seoul, South Korea (I was an Army brat) after 2 of 4 members of La Familia, who were visiting from Texas, started an argument with my grandfather about who were the haves and have-nots of the family. I called my best friend to see if she wanted to slip out with me assuming she too was going through the same thing since her extended Korean family was visiting as well. The roar of multiple voices screaming Hangul at each other in the background confirmed my suspicions. She didn't require much coaxing and our families were too distracted by their own misery to mind our absence. Christmas Day dinner that year consisted of tequila and a karaoke rendition of Frosty the Snowman with about 5 lonely GIs in a rinky dink Noraebong which was a subway hop from my house.

Oh, I could go on about Christmases that included an annual forcing of elvinhood while my step-father dressed up as the town's very own Kris Kringel. (I'm pretty sure I've ruined several family shots of kids with Santa since I was dressed up as of the moping tween elf lurking in the fake snowy background)...but I'll save those for next year.

I'm glad this year was different: quiet and pleasant. As I said before only 1 out of 4 siblings were present so the odds were wonderfully in our favor this year. But I have to admit...things seemed rather boring as compared to other years.

The Defintion of Excitement

2009-12-28T08:12:00.000-06:00

The Definition of Excitement when your 32 and married with 3 kids:
Going to go to Ikea during your holiday vacation and learning they have free kids meals and one hour of free childcare!

I Heart Babies!

2009-12-21T07:49:00.004-06:00

I watch this trailer and it makes me want to snuggle up on Baby C, my 7 month old. Aside from the diapers, teething and her inability to communicate unhappiness beyond crying I often wish that Baby C would remain an infant so that she could stay under one year for a little longer than well...one year.

If anything, this trailer reminds me that babies do not care whether you are poor or rich, whether they ride around in a sling or $900 Bugaboo stroller, or whether they're wearing Ralph Lauren or little clothes at all.

Enjoy.

All I Want For Christmas

2009-12-15T20:10:00.010-06:00

When I was 5 my Grandmother gave me a penny to toss into a fountain at the local mall and instructed me to make my greatest wish. I wish for 1000 Guinea Pigs! I remember screaming in my thoughts before tossing the penny in. I obviously had quite the imagination to go along with the typical 5 year old obsession with vermin. When my birthday rolled around and 1000 Guinea Pigs didn't magically appear I figured I would have to take my request to the highest echelon's of wish makers: Santa. I begged QoG to take me to the mall to see Santa even knowing that such a request would come at an even greater cost to me than to her. Meeting Santa included a picture with Santa which equated to QoG forcing me to wear a dress. And not just any dress but an itchy velour red dress with white tights that never seemed to fit snugly against my crotch. And even though I hated such attire I didn't protest that year because I figured that Santa was watching and if I got my guinea pigs then wearing that damn dress would be worth it.

But Santa did not deliver that year. Nor the next. But oh how I yearned for a guinea pig or a thousand well until I was 10 and stopped believing in Santa.

But wishes last forever...don't they? In fact mine has been granted 27 years later in the form of a Chinese Hamster...two to be exact, not a thousand. These hamsters were sinisterly bestowed upon us by a close family friend intent on giving us that one present you should never get a child. When Big J was 3 our friend got him a bow and arrow. When Big J was 4 it was a set of rubber knives...or shanks as they came to be known. This Christmas he took it to a whole new level and gave Big J and Middle L two little hamsters that came with instructions clearly spelling out "for 14 years of age or older". And while my heart sunk with the thought of another mouth to feed and another butt to wipe (we have several fish and two dogs too) I also harbored the excitement of a 5 year old girl who finally got her wish.

Now with that wish comes the reality of being bitten by a rat the size of half your palm and waking up in the middle of the night to the sound of a hamster furiously exercising on its' wheel. But that still doesn't prevent me from tip-toeing into Big J's room after he is asleep and stealing Dingle (the one that doesn't bite) from Bingle (the one that does) for a few moments of happy play time.

Santa, I do believe!!

When Mama Cooks Cookies

2009-12-06T22:21:00.003-06:00

About 4 years ago I got the itch to get "good" at something that I could gift to people for the Holidays. I had this crazy desire to be "known" in my family as having the best ____________ (fill in the blank with something clean) for Christmas. My Aunt was known famously in our family for her Christmas sugar cookies. Yet she passed away several years ago taking her recipes with her. What I did know was that she made her cookies from scratch. In 2005 I decided to do my best to fill her shoes in the selfish hopes of one day overhearing my family tell one another, "I can't wait to have some of Starr's cookies this year. Did you know she makes them from scratch?" or, "Starr you make the best damn Christmas cookies...hands down".

Yet as I've stated before, when Mama cooks you never know what you're going to get. So let's reflect on Christmas 2005. Shall we?

So There I Was.....For some odd reason, or perhaps not so subtle hint, Ranger's mother bought me a year subscription to Martha Stewart's Food magazine in Christmas 2004. Christmas 2005 would be the first time I'd crack the fresh binders of the previous 11 editions in order to find the perfect recipe for chocolate chip and sugar cookies. I didn't have any unrealistic dreams of full-filling my Aunt's shoes in one Christmas but figured that even I couldn't go wrong with your basic chocolate chip and sugar cookie recipe. Martha even made it easy for me: two kinds of dough could yield me 5 different types of cookies. All I had to do was add either chocolate chips, frosting, jelly or nuts and voila! I had an assortment close to the likes of those Danish Butter cookies you get in fancy tins.

I spent a ridonculous amount of money on the ingredients. I even scoured the internet and Black Friday sales for the lowest marked Kitchen Aide mixer. A good friend who was looking for one herself spotted several at the Post Exchange (PX) at Fort Sam Houston in San Antonio that was on sale $200 less than the original asking price.

Yes, I drove to San Antonio for that damn mixer.

I had everything in place to make the perfect cookie. Flour, vanilla, baking powder (I had just learned what that was), baking soda, brown sugar, mixer, nuts, chips, and jelly: Check! Unlimited motivation and desire to bake the best Christmas cookies ever: Check! Actual baking skill? You do remember what happened to my pies...right?

Christmas 2005 included QoG, my other Aunt and my sister. When together, my mother and her sister are, hands down, the most critical and cruel but equally loving women you will ever meet. Upon their arrival they sauntered over to the kitchen table and eyed skeptically at the cookie display before them: chocolate chip along with snowmen, stocking and Christmas tree sugar cookies. Oh yeah...I did make jelly cookies but tossed those out after "toasting" the first and second batches a little too long which ended up searing and blackening the jelly inside the cookie, which then caused the jelly cookie to literally implode on itself. But we don't need to go into that.

"Who made these cookies?", QoG asked with a tone of skepticism and her familiar arched right eyebrow. "I did", I proudly proclaimed adding, "From scratch". "I'll pass", she hissed obviously remembering my other cooking mishaps. My sister and Aunt managed, however, to fake admiration over the fact that the cookies weren't store bought and with pinkies pointed chose each a red stocking and a hastily smeared snowman sugar cookie. You could hear a pin drop as they bit into their cookies and munched slowly. Ranger even stopped watching the TV to turn around and share in the moment. Keep in mind that no one, not even Ranger or I had eaten these cookies. I slapped Ranger and Big J's hands away while I was making them since they seemed to be the only ones that had come out "perfect".

My sister smiled and in her most fake high pitched voice proclaimed with frosting stained teeth, "They're grreeeeaaat, Starr". "She's lying!" my Aunt cackled, "Are there any sugar in these cookies?". And with that, she tossed the cookie back onto the plate. QoG snorted with validation. My heart sank. My eyes rimmed with tears. My mother turned her attention to Ranger's pot roast that was warming in the crock pot. She certainly wasn't eating a cookie now. "What do you mean?", I stammered. I snatched up my sister's cookie (much to her relief, I imagine) and bit into the snowman's head.

My Aunt was right. They were bland. More bland than cardboard. More bland than babies rice cereal. These cookies only saving grace was the frosting that had been squeezed carefully onto them. But I didn't acknowledge it. No, instead I told them they were out of their minds. And just as a screaming match was about to unfold, Ranger came to my rescue. Over the course of the next hour he proceeded to engorge himself with all the sugar cookies left on the platter in order to prove to everyone just how "great" they tasted. He ignored the taunts of my Aunt and the disgust on QoG's face. And when he was done he quietly wiped the stains of green and red frosting from his lips and strutted, albeit slowly, with his head held high like some proud chicken hawk back to the sofa. "I solved that, baby" he muttered to my Aunt after he had sat back down.

But he didn't eat much of his dinner after that. Nor much of his breakfast the morning after.

Christmas 2009

I don't do sugar cookies anymore but I still make chocolate chip cookies. I've given up on that perfect Christmas cookie because some good things are not meant to be "bested". Instead, I make a delightful Christmas treat that is almost impossible to ruin: Chocolate peppermint bark. My family not only loves it but honestly looks forward to receiving it every year during the holidays. This will be my third year mixing chocolate, peppermint candy and mint.

QoG and my Aunt are going to be at my house for Christmas this year. And already they've asked if I plan on making those "Gawd-awful cookies from a few years ago".

Better to be known for something, I guess than to be known for nothing at all.

The Definition of Excitement

2009-12-02T22:34:00.000-06:00

...when you're 32 and married with 3 kids:

1. Hitting Target by yourself on a Sunday night and finding that the Christmas lights are still on sale from Black Friday.

2. Watching your 6 foot 2 husband viciously shake a can of paint.

3. The presentation of office donuts on a Friday morning (absolutely worthy of the Happy Dance).

4. Painting the house on a Saturday night when the kids are in bed and hugging the wall after it's dry because you got the second coat just right and it looks fantabulous.

5. Learning that the nice wall paneling you see in Martha Stewart magazines actually has a name that you can use to sound "sophisticized". It's called: "wainscoting".

Thanksgiving Misgivings

2009-11-30T08:42:00.014-06:00

Asking me what my greatest Thanksgiving memory would be is a loaded question. Good memory or Bad memory? would be my reply. I've spent Thanksgiving in the desert...thrice (you can read one of those stories here). I've spent many a Thanksgiving at the Officers Club in South Korea where my mother was stationed. I've spent Thanksgiving surrounded by a bunch of angry New Yorkers and even one Thanksgiving eating a spiral ham rather than a turkey.

So There I was...With the exception of the Turkey Days in the desert there is always one common thread in all of my varying Thanksgivings: The White Elephant in the room that everyone is aware of but no one speaks of. They have included the Uncle who promised to show up with the Turkey but didn't only to leave to "get" the turkey and never return, hence the pre-cooked spiral ham that was bought at the last minute after waiting in line for half an hour with all the other last minute schmoes who forgot something. My mother, a.k.a Queen of Guilt or QoG, slapped that ham in the microwave with nary a complaint or word and dressed it up with slices of canned pineapple to serve. Despite the rest of the family's earlier protests to not invite the M.I.A Uncle she had out of an act of rare forgiveness on her part (for a previous scuffle) and in light of the holiday. The silence at the dinner table was only interrupted by our repeated walking back and forth to the microwave to nuke the portions of the ham that missed out on the initial heating.

There's been the obvious tension that exists between two alpha males who believe "they" should carve a turkey they didn't lift a finger to cook. Lucky for us that was settled after QoG snatched up the carving knife and proclaimed, "I roasted this damn turkey so I'm slicing it!"

Other White Elephants include the unexpected pregnancy of a young family member, the step-parent that showed up shortly after the separation papers were signed, the alcoholic toast that was sprinkled with comments about not being the most favored sibling, and an argument that included smashed dishes that fortunately preceded the rest of the family's arrival for turkey dinner. One year when I was about 15 I painstakingly baked several pumpkin pies from scratch for a few nuns at a local church only to discover later that I had forgotten to add sugar. QoG had sampled out one of the pies to the family and it wasn't until after I had delivered the pies to the church did my sister share with me my mishap. That explained why my family s-l-o-w-l-y ate their pieces in silence. Nuns don't care for things like sugar anyways.

This year Thanksgiving was at my house and I am happy to report that it was without drama. QoG, having returned to Korea, was not present but most of my family was (minus also the M.I.A. Uncle). There indeed was another White Elephant in the room but that is for another day to tell.

I meet Thanksgiving with anticipation while bracing myself at the same time. The holidays symbolize an upcoming abundance of time off from work and the possibility of perhaps a peaceful holiday...or not. One holiday knocked down with just one more to go! And this time QoG will be visiting. In my extended family Christmas just isn't Christmas unless someone's crying.

Mini-van Musings

2009-11-12T09:10:00.001-06:00

In the entire year I spent in Iraq I only consumed two cups of coffee. Three kids later though and my morning routine now consists of a two cup coffee minimum.

Princess Power Ranger

2009-10-30T10:06:00.001-05:00

Middle L may be a princess but she's a Power Ranger too.

Guest Post!

2009-10-18T12:27:00.002-05:00

Hello Everyone,

I am guest blogging today over at Victoria Flynn's Mama's Experience Initiative blog! Take a looksee at my post: "Save The Milk!"

Have a great weekend all!

So There I Was: Let's Talk About Breasts, Baby

2009-10-05T20:16:00.012-05:00

So There I Was...about to sit down for some lunch with my father, step-mother, Ranger and The Kids. Ranger and Big J were wrestling in the living room when Big J shrieked with laughter, "Daaadddy, you hit me in my penis!". It was as if a record scratched to a halt in the distance and my father looked up from his newspaper while my step-mother glowered over in my direction. In a low whisper she said, "Did-he-just-say" (wait for it...)"Penis"? "Yeess", I slowly and mockingly whispered back.

Keep in mind that we're Texans, true "suthanuhs" my father would say and there are just some things that those with proper decorum do not discuss in the presence of others. Especially when you are about to eat. Correct terminology for our private parts are one of them.

I dismissed my parents arched eyebrows of disapproval with a, "Oh puhleeease. What is he supposed to say, Pee Pee? Wee Wee?". The continued conversation of our private parts was about to send my southern Baptist father over the edge so he interjected with, "Now that's enough. We get the point. I forget that you do live in Austin so this type of discussion is normal for you folk". For those of ya'll not from Texas Austin is as liberal as Texas gets. And according to my father it's Austin that has made me a "bleeding liberal/Nancy Pelosi lover" which therefore excuses the penis talk.

As a child we used all sorts of cute terminology to describe our most private parts but never did we actually use the right term. Saying vagina or penis was like saying a curse word in that it was whispered and giggled over behind cupped hands and hushed voices.

I never gave much thought about the words I used to describe our parts until I had my own children. Yet being a feminist mama and feeling rather embarrassed to use "chee chees" to describe breasts, Ranger and I decided that we would use proper terminology around the kids to describe our bodies from the beginning. I feel that being honest with my kids about their body parts will lead to less confusion as they grow. I'd rather they hear it right from Ranger and I the first time than not at all. I believe that talking openly and using correct terminology normalizes the discussion. The hope is that by doing so my kids will feel comfortable asking questions or addressing concerns they have later on. Plus, I have nursed both daughters in front of Big J and the last thing I wanted to hear come out of his kiddie mouth were chee chees or boobies to describe that which fed his sisters. I'm also not going to sequester myself when nursing at home simply because my son might catch a glimpse of the flesh! The Horror!! Shouldn't he and my daughters know first hand what breasts were originally designed for?

When I was changing Middle L's diaper one day Big J noticed that she looked a little different, "down there" he pointed out. Curious, I asked him why he thought his sister looked different than he and he replied, slapping his forehead as if he knew the answer all along, "Because she hasn't grow'd her penis yet!"

He even once asked me if I had a penis. Ranger was there and could barely hide his laughter. Strutting like a chicken hawk with my hands on my hips I pronounced to him, "Well son, many people have asked me the same thing but it is true that Mommy does not have a penis". Surely he didn't get the adult humor but I made sure to follow up with the "boys have penises and girls have vaginas" story.

One day when I picked him up from pre-school his teacher pulled me aside and in a hushed whisper asked me if I breastfeed Middle L, who was 6 months at the time, in front of Big J. I replied to her that I did and she chuckled that my son had come to her proclaiming, "Did YOU know that my Mom feeds my sister milk from her breasts?!". Apparently other children were in absolute awe that such a thing was possible and so had many questions for him and the teacher. Big J, always the show and teller, then grabbed a doll, lifted up his shirt and proceeded to give a first hand account of how Mama breastfeeds.

Of course now that Big J is 6 he prefers to use "tenders" because that's what Po uses in Kung Fu Panda. And I don't mind that because that's the best accurate alternative description I've heard to describe our private parts. They are indeed tender so I let that one pass. He thinks vagina sounds funny (and I can't help but agree) and has resolved that Middle L will never grow a penis since yes, she is biologically a girl.

I still draw the ire of my family but they've gotten used to such terms being spouted off nonchalantly by their grandson. Because I'd rather such talk be normal than taboo as it was when I was a child.

Fight Club at Chuckie Cheese

2009-09-30T09:27:00.006-05:00

We were in Dallas this past weekend visiting family for Big J and Middle L's September Birthdays. My wonderful and amazing Aunt decided that she wanted to take the kiddos to Chuckie Cheese. I groaned and moaned but because I love her and because she loves my kids...I agreed.

Sorry, I don't do Chuckie Cheese. I love the concept but don't love the chaos. I took Big J to a Gattiland when he was 3 and after that experience I opted to NEVER do that again. He spent the entire time running around like a rabid child high on cola, pizza and birthday cake. The afternoon ended with me prying tokens out of his little clutches as he screamed over the fact that his friend got to a game first before he did. As I was carrying him out to the car he was screaming, "GATTTILAND!!" as he writhed in my arms. The Gattiland Tantrum still haunts me to this day.

However, Big J, Middle L and Baby C had a great time at Chuckie Cheese...and so did Mama. Granted, I did have reinforcements: my sister, my cousin, my Aunt, Uncle and Grandfather to help stave off any unpleasant tantrums. Middle L was perfectly content staying close by us while I allowed Big J free reign over the games. I gave him tokens in intervals of 10 and told them that once we were out...that was it.

Chuckie Cheese is a great place to people watch too. I saw long tables of birthday parties with screaming, hysterical kids flinging cake at each other while the guy in the hot, sweaty Chuckie suit did his best to get them into organized song. That poor guy got no love either. Middle L screamed her head off when he approached her, hence why she never left our side. There was also a creepy, "over the hill" Spiderman that was leaping out at kids. His fitted costume left nothing to the imagination. We overheard him telling a parent that he was not a Chuckie Staff member but rather a regular dude who was attending one of the birthday parties and living up to a double dare by a friend. We quickly pulled Big J aside and said, "Stay away from Spidey".

And did you know that Chuckie Cheese sells beer?? Sweeeet! Mommy and Daddy can have a date night with the kids!!

Ranger was is in NY the entire weekend attending a wedding at West Point so he missed out on all the Chuckie goodness. But when I told him about spending the day at Chuckie Cheese he replied, "Did you know that there is a history of violent outbreaks between parents at Chuckie Cheese?".

Get out of town! Who would have thought? But there is!! Apparently parents get all Mama Bear on their kids when there is a disagreement over skee ball. The incidents have been so bad that police have had to be called to break up the fights between parents. One Chuckie establishment had to hire armed security guards!

Check out the Chuckie Cheese blotter! Who would have ever thought??

photo from mademen.com

Weekends

2009-09-27T20:50:00.005-05:00

Big J's soldiers ready to fight. These were his Grandfather's and then Ranger's when they were boys.

Hooded Towel Ghosts after bathtime

My sewing closet begging to be used (but on hold for now since I must keep the house clean in case of a showing!). Frida is tacked on the wall for inspiration.

Article of the Day: What's In a Name?

2009-09-24T23:11:00.015-05:00

"What's in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet." --Juliet in Romeo and Juliet

Before I was Starr C., I was Starr W. Dub-Ya as in Warr. As in Starr Warr.

That is right...my maiden name was Warr. No, my parents weren't hippies and no they weren't George Lucas freaks. They were pretty normal for the 70s. According to my father, "I was as beautiful as the stars of Texas" the day I was born and so he named me "Star" with a twist...an extra R. Yeah...thanks Daddy. According to him, even though I was born the year the first Star Wars came out he never put two and two together until much later.

I was taunted and ridiculed relentlessly as a child. At one point after 3rd grade I begged my parents to let me enter my new school known only by my middle name and they reluctantly agreed. By high school though I accepted the name for its uniqueness but still hated the conversation piece the name provided when I met someone new.

On my first day of bootcamp in the Army I was only known as Pvt. Warr. Drill Sergeants had little time let alone care for my first name so I felt relieved that I would be spared their ridicule. Yet when a dear friend mailed me a package addressed in big block letters to "PVT STARR WARR" my moments of anonymity was over. What started out as "Private, your name is fracking cool!" quickly turned into "Holy Sh*t..did your parents smoke dope when you were in utero"? While struggling to qualify on the rifle range I was startled by a Drill Sergeant's voice on a bull horn that bellowed, "USE THE FORCE, PRIVATE WARR!". And don't get me started on how many times I had to sit through, "War..huh..good God, what is she good for? Absolutely nothing!" by the Drill Sergeant quartet.

So yes, this feminist woman took her husband's last name and rightly so, but I think I get a pass on that one.

Which brings me to this article that I read on Strollerderby about the Worst Baby Names. But that's not to say that I'd add my former one to the list. It might go more on a list with Interesting Baby Names. However, anyone who chooses to name their children Hugh Jass should be sterilized on the spot. There is a reason why the Danish value sameness when it comes to names and the parents of Hugh Jass and Mike Rotch are why. And what's up with former Texas Governor Jim Hogg naming his daughter Ima Hogg? Let's add that to the list.

You can imagine the deep thought I put into my own kids names after my 22 years as a Warr. (Okay, Baby C. is named after a Bond Girl but she doesn't need to ever know that. Don't judge...she wasn't named after the Girl per se..but the Girl's great name!).

However, I do have one to add to the list: Chlamydia. Yep, that's right. The Clap. A dear and trustworthy friend of mine who happens to be a Labor and Delivery Nurse dropped that bomb on me the other day. According to my friend, the young mother knew exactly what the name meant but loved the flow and sound of the name anyhow. Sigh...the confidence of youth.

Have any other crazy ass names to add to the list?

Please Disobey Me

2009-09-22T22:47:00.007-05:00

So There I Was....doing my Sunday routine of de-cluttering and organizing. Ranger was upstairs with Middle L and I was downstairs with Big J rummaging through the junk drawer (Baby C. was napping). As I was pulling handfuls of pens and address labels out of the drawer, Middle L appeared at the top of the stairs whining "Hode Me, Mommeee". Her arms were stretched out toward me while her 2 year old little fists clenched and unclenched in an attempt to convey their void. "Baby", I annoyingly replied back, "Mommy has her hands full right now. You need to scoot on your booty to come down the stairs. I'll watch you as you do it".

"Nooooo", she whined back which was then followed by, "Bloo bloo, bloo bloo" over and over. The pens and address labels were still piled in my hands and I was growing increasingly short. I said her name forcibly with a "Scoot on your booty! You'll be okay"!

Her whines turned into an insulted cry as she crumpled onto her diapered rear and began to scoot down the carpeted steps. I could barely make out "hode me and bloo bloo" between her crocodile tears and snot. Ranger, likely having heard her cries, appeared at the top of the stairs to investigate what was going on. In the mean time I cheered Middle L on with a "Good girl" and returned to juggling my pens and labels over to the kitchen table.

"STOP!" I heard Ranger shriek and I froze. Middle L stopped screeching and confusingly looked at me and then looked up at her father who was also frozen.

"She's rail road tracking down the stairs!" Ranger managed to yell out. I unloaded the pens and labels onto the table with a "What?" and ran over to see Middle L sitting in a pool of her own poop. I quickly realized that when I heard Middle L say "Bloo Bloo" she was actually saying "Poo Poo". She had been trying to tell me about it but always the pleaser she did as she was told and made her "sticky" situation worse by plopping down on the floor and scooting down the stairs. There was now a streaky hazardous mess smeared along the carpeted steps behind her.

And did I mention she was wearing a skirt...without bloomers?

Now Ranger is a tough man. He's a former Army Infantryman turned Fire Fighter. This man has been struck by lightening (really), done a tour in Iraq and has held people's faces together with his bare hands. Yet when it comes to poop...he's a no show. According to him, he's spends too many Fire Fighting hours as an EMT cleaning up other people's poop that he has lost all tolerance of it. Even his own kids poop.

I scooped Middle L up under her arms, allowing her jelly belly and legs to dangle feely. Ranger was backed up against the wall still frozen at the top of the stairs and with a look of horror that also conveyed a pinch of amazement. "Seriously, Hon...Seriously?" I judgmentally said to him as we passed him by. Middle L was only sniffling at this point but her big brown eyes read vindication as I apologized over and over to her. I could hear Big J literally laughing out loud with shouts of "Oh Man!" and "Gross!" at the foot of the stairs. His ridicule ended when I screamed back from the upstairs bathroom, "YOU CAN START CLEANING THAT UP NOW!"

In my slick, cool, Poopy Pro way I managed to wrestle off the swampy marshmallow that was suctioned to Middle L's bottom and wrapped it in a neat little wet package. Ranger appeared at the doorway and after giving him 2 commands of "bath, now" I headed out to tackle the stairs. The man had cleaned enough "I've fallen and I can't get up" booty that week at work so I didn't want to bring him over the edge by asking him to scrub poop off the carpet.

And there's nothing in Martha Stewart's Living that discusses "How To Clean Poop Off of Beige Carpet". Seriously, Martha get your head in the ball game!

The fact that we have 3 kids and 2 large dogs means that we've got plenty of carpet cleaner. And sad to say, it's not the natural 7th Generation type. It's the "inhale this and you'll probably get cancer but you'll have a sparkling clean carpet" type. This stuff is only brought out in case of emergencies.

After consistent amounts of blotting, scrubbing, and hysterical laughter I managed to get the stairs back to their pre-poop form. By the time I was done, Ranger had scrubbed Middle L pink and everyone was back to happy.

Yet here's another little nugget: we use cloth diapers at home and yes, Middle L was wearing one during this incident. We don't use a diaper service either. However, I'll spare you the details on that detox but it did involve a splash guard and rubber gloves. You can guarantee Ranger was not involved.

This was one incident where I really wished Middle L had simply disobeyed me.

Cutting It To the Bone

2009-09-18T13:43:00.003-05:00

I'm 80% sure we are moving. We have found a house in another suburbtopia (no, not with the help of the sexist Realtor), gotten our bid accepted and moving forward with the closing. And yes, it is THE house: that which I will grow old in, that which my children will return to as adults and say to their kids, "This was once my room but now it holds Grandma's computer junk".

In light of the expense of a move we've decided to cut things down to the bone: what do we need versus what do we want until we are settled. Eating out: gone. Taquitos at the Shell Convenience store: sooo 10lbs ago. Cable: do I really need to watch "The Real Housewives of Atlanta"? You get the picture.

The whole nutroll of moving can be expensive and so I am turning to you, dear readers, for tips, tricks and hints on how to clean house naturally, move modestly and save a buck. For example: boxes. I need boxes but Walmart, Target etc smash theirs down after use. Where are other places to find large boxes on the cheap? I'm a big fan of re-using and re-cycling items and look forward to your suggestions!! I'll even post my results!

Onward Christian Princesses!

2009-09-16T09:50:00.003-05:00

I know, one of Mama’s things to not talk about includes Religion but I couldn’t help but post the latest “interesting” toy I’ve come across.

According to the promo, Godz Girls is a doll that girls “can feel good about”. The shown Sarah, which in biblical speak means Princess, is sold as a true princess because her “Father is the King of Kings!”

Well, who can argue against that??

I am no biblical scholar but my Bablic (Baptist/Catholic) parents did make it a point to rid me of my Original Sin during Baptism and I was a child bride for my First Communion and Confirmation so I’ve had my share of Sunday School. But I don’t recall being taught anything saintly about princesses.

Marketing at its finest indeed.

I will admit that compared to Bratz dolls, the other Gods Girlz are pretty bland so I truly cannot poo pooh the entire doll collection. Yet multi-cultural in the larger sense, they are not. There is only one African-American God's Girlz while the rest are white. And of course they are all uber Barbie thin. With such little representation of other ethnicities to this brand I can't help but question the message Gods Girlz is sending on who the "chosen" ones are.

Kids On A Leash

2009-09-15T22:17:00.002-05:00

"Look at that", my father said to me, "what is that child, a dog?". We were at the Dallas/Fort Worth airport in between flights and had just passed a mother who had her son attached to a monkey backpack a.k.a "child leash". I was in my early twenties and was baffled with a mixture of morbid curiosity that such child accessories existed. Being the impressionable daughter who had no children let alone any experience with them I assumed my fathers point of view that child leashes were evil too.

Fast forward 5 years to 2004.

"Did you see where he ran?" Ranger yelled over the ruckus of Christmas shoppers hustling around us. "I think he ran towards Santa", I frantically shouted back. We were at a mall one week before Christmas stupidly trying to shop with a toddler. Exhausted from juggling packages and Big J, then 15 months old, in our arms we made the very wrong decision to put him down. Aware of his new found freedom he bee lined for something flashy that caught his eye. It's every parents worst nightmare and now we were running through people and packages trying to catch a glimpse of the bouncy brown head of hair running towards the elves. And of course we caught up with him. As I scooped up my wriggling, screaming boy a woman with her child on that evil child leash breezily walked by me: watching, judging, and triumphant.

In that moment, those leashes made sense. For Big J in his twos and threes you bet those leashes made sense.

But I could never bring myself to buy one. I don't want to be that Mom walking her child through the zoo while the kid claws forward like a wet cat, knees two inches from the ground, fingertips reaching for that extra inch of cement. Nor do I want to face my father's judgment considering I once agreed with him so vehemently before. And I hate the way they are masked: with a cute monkey or panda as if to trick the child (and parent) into thinking it's cute and cool.

I saw a parent and child with one the other day and paused. The kid was happy. The Mom was happy. And when a toddler and Mom are happy then everyone's happy. But I just can't wrap my head around them. Big J doesn't bolt for freedom anymore and Middle L is too timid to stray 1 foot from my side so I know I won't need one for them. However, there's still Baby C and karma is a byatch.

But damn...they sure do look sooo wrong!

photo from uniquescoop.com

Nobody Puts Baby in the Corner

2009-09-14T20:35:00.001-05:00

Before there was my husband and even before that short guy who broke my heart in high school there was "Johnny" aka Patrick Swayze. Dirty Dancing came out shortly before my tweens as I approached the puppy love phase. My parents absolutely forbade me to watch the movie because of the "dancing that only bad girls do" scenes. And so of course my step-sister and I began a quest to do everything within our power to watch this forbidden movie. Thank goodness for friends whose parents had the movie on Betamax! I still remember the excitement of watching that which was forbidden. I was still too young too understand the difficult choice of abortion, let alone what it was but not too young to be cast under Patrick Swayze's spell. I remember sitting stunned during the grinding hip scenes in the instructors clubhouse and getting goose bumps and pumping my fist, "Yes!" as Johnny lifted Baby into the air during their final dance. To this day, that movie remains my favorite and a constant annoyance to my husband who learned early on that he would never be able to measure up to Johnny's dance skills.

And then, in Ghost I watched with heartbreak as Demi Moore whispered "Ditto" to her beloved Sam. "Unchained Melody" was the main song for the Spring Dance when I was in Middle School as well as the theme song to my first, but not my last, heart break from the short guy I would end up dating all through high school.

And so it was with great sadness that I learned earlier this year that Swayze had pancreatic cancer and with an even sadder heart that I read about his death a moment ago.

Thank you Swayze for showing that even straight men can dance and look good doing it.

Retro Friday: Hey You Guuuuys!

2009-09-11T23:15:00.000-05:00

Big J was watching PBS Kids the other morning when I did double take at what came on: The Electric Company. But it wasn't the Electric Company from my youth. This was a hipper, modern...rap version? Trust me, I've got nothing against rap music but I can't help but cringe sometimes over remixes of some of the songs and shows that define my early childhood. It's like that feeling you get when you're embarrassed for someone for trying too hard, especially when it's people doing corny rap. I'm of the firm belief that no one can top Rita Moreno's "Hey You Guuuuuys!"

But hey, the educational message is the same and it had Big J's attention alright.

Here are the comparisons:

Late 70's early 80's intro:

2009 intro:

Dress Your Daughter Like a Ho for Halloween!

2009-09-10T14:56:00.005-05:00

Halloween's approaching and I'm going to make it my duty to prepare in advance. For a split second I thought about making the kids their costumes but have realized that between having to make Christmas presents and writing my thesis it's best I just not. I need to keep some semblance of sanity right now.

Big J is probably going to be Batman again for the 4th year in a row (entirely his choice) so he's taken care of. Baby C. is going to wear the same sweat induced, velvet pumpkin suit her brother and sister wore at her age. But two-year old Middle L? Hmmm...not sure yet but I knew it was probably going to end up being something pink, with a skirt, and probably hair clips. I have accepted the fact that she is a Diva, the complete antithesis of me. My father always called me the son he never had while my Mother cursed the fact that I hated dresses and picked at my scabs. She warned me that one day I was going to have a little girl who loved everything I loathed. That time has arrived and I have the Pink Menace for a daughter. Granted, she wrestles with her brother and dives head first into his Legos and Transformers piles. However, she's a classy girl so she's probably wearing the plastic high heels my sister (the girlie one) happily bought for her when she's doing so.

So, I went browsing on the internet to see what was available. Here are a few of the treasures I found:

Having been in the Army before, you can imagine my immediate disdain for this costume

Of course knee high stockings and barely there tutus are what the girls want!

Seriously...Seriously?

Any costume for a child labeled "Bunny Honey" gets an immediate disqualification

What every young girl should aspire to be: a French Maid

Hmmm...something tells me that the combo of v-neck, pink feathers and toddlers just doesn't go together

Do you think the clear plastic heels come with the costume?

I think I'll be putting Middle L in a pink burlap sack....

Article of the Day: We're American!

2009-09-09T09:28:00.005-05:00

When Big J was almost 4 he looked towards an African-American woman in front of us in the grocery check out line and asked me, "Mama, is she black?". I was putting a box of Cheerios on the counter and was stopped dead in my tracks. "What?", I replied and in a voice of probable hope that perhaps I had heard his question wrong. "Is--she--black?", Big J replied slowly and this time shoving his finger in the woman's direction. Flushed with embarrassment I quickly looked at the woman and found relief in that she was already leaving the checkout counter and "seemed" to not have heard my son's question. Trying to bide my time like those guys in the Twix commercials while I thought of something educated to reply with I asked Big J, "What makes you ask that?". He then pinched the skin on his forearm and asked me, "Well, you know...are we white?". "No, honey", I stammered, "we and the lady in front of us are American".

My mind flashed with anger and speed dialed through my memory trying to think of a chance moment that Ranger and I were talking about race and perhaps Big J had heard it and therefore had questions. I couldn't think of any in that moment. Then my anger turned to his home care provider. Had she mentioned race to him and not discussed it with me? I then began to interrogate him: "Who told you about us having different skin colors?". His answers varied like any normal 4 year old: Daddy, Pepaw, Me, Memaw even Shade and Bella, our dogs.

As we were leaving the grocery store I snagged the store comic book to distract him from asking anymore questions about skin because all the right answers alluded me at that moment. It worked. Back in the car and buckled in he was now reading it upside down while I sat staring at the steering wheel. I was visibly upset. Upset with the realization that I just let an important moment pass and also with the feeling that I had just watched a slice of childhood innocence being stripped away from my son. He was now noticing skin differences between people.

I had always imagined "The Race Talk" to be initiated by Ranger or I, not by Big J. I imagined us sitting in a comfy chair with an acclaimed story book followed by a discussion on how people look different but how we're all the same inside. And how what we look like does not determine who we are.

I never imagined that conversation happening in a hurried checkout line with my son pointing a finger at a woman who looked different from him.

On the ride home, I gathered my senses and engaged Big J again on his previous questions. This time, I did explain to him about skin color and America being a big melting pot. About how my family was Mexican-American and about how his beloved cousin was biracial since her father was African American and her mother, who is my step-sister, is white. He blankly looked at me and then asked for an orange.

Last year, Big J asked about my good friend Phil and whether he was Asian, which he is. I then replied yes and that he and his family were Chinese-American. In his loudest, "Mom You Just Don't Know" voice he exclaimed, "Mooom, Mr. Phil is not Chinese-American! He's American-Chinese!"

I admit that I am still stumped sometimes at the "right" way to talk to my kids about race when all I wish was that they were color blind. But the fact is that the world around them is not always colorblind.

I thought of race and my children after reading this article from Newsweeks' website which is also going to be the cover story for this weeks magazine. It is from the authors of NurtureShock and reports this surprising fact: "Kids as young as 6 months judge others based on skin color". The article discusses a study by the University of Texas at Austin that researched kids and their perceptions of people of different skin color. It's a pretty fascinating and eye opening read.

If anyone has any suggestions to share about discussing to kids about race that has worked for you, please feel free to leave a comment!

photo from Newsweek.com

Article of the Day: Froot Loops are Smart for You!

2009-09-07T17:51:00.004-05:00

As any person knows making good food decisions for yourself let alone your kids can be daunting. What do certain brands of ketchup and peanut butter have in common? High Fructose Corn Syrup as their second ingredient. Of course, my parents practically raised me on Spaghettios, Sunny Delight and boxed lasagna and I turned out fine! However I do try to be as conscious as my budget allows when it comes to what my kids eat. Because when Mama Cooks my kiddos need all the nutrition they can get.

However, food labels have gotten out of control. How do you know that what is advertised on the box is really what you're getting? Take the latest controversy over Cheerios' claim that the guilt free snack lowers cholesterol. I just learned that the USDA Organic label means that products who sport the label have to be at least 95% organic. Simply saying "organic" does not necessarily mean 100% organic. How confusing...

Hence why I cringed when I read this article Sunday morning over my bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios. Yes, there is a reason why I specifically told you that I was eating Honey Nut Cheerios. I'll be blunt: I eat Honey Nut Cheerios because it's the closest thing to the deliciously sweet cereal I ate as a child that I now do not buy for my own kids. Trust me, Big J doesn't need an extra dose of sugar to start his day. For those of you that know him...you know you agree. But oh how I miss my Pops, Lucky Charms and Cookie Crisp. When the kids are spending the night with my parents I'm literally coo coo for CoCo Puffs. I'll buy the cereal after dropping them off and wolf down half the box by morning...literally.

Anyhow, I digress. According to this article items like Froot Loops are going to bear the latest stamp of great nutrition known as the green check of the Smart Choices Program. But you see, the companies behind this program (that make the junk health experts warn us not to overconsume) want us to feel good about the food choices we make, not bad. I LIKE THAT!

Froot Loops here I come!!

NoBama in Texas Schools

2009-09-05T07:43:00.006-05:00

My reaction to the latest outcry by parents, namely Texas parents over the President's address to children on Tuesday about the importance of education was simply: WTF?? I literally did a double take at the headline in the Austin American Statesman that described: "3 Districts Say They Won't Show the Obama Speech Live". Before reading the entire article I immediately thought, "Well, what is he talking about that is so controversial? Healthcare? Welfare? Abortion?". No, Education and the need to do well in school. Yup, that ranks up there with War, Abortion and Religion. What is so controversial about the President speaking to children about the importance of education? That's right, the topic is not controversial...just the man speaking. Hey Texas mommies and daddies, that man is our nations' President.

It's true folks, Texas parents are pissed and schools are doing CYA moves like sending slips to parents giving their children the option to opt out of Obama's speech. My son came home with the one above.

My Mama always told me to never discuss the following three things in public: Politics, Abortion and Religion. But before you go thinking I've got Obama Lust let me share this little nugget: If McCain was President and it was him addressing my kindergarten son over the importance of education, I would still have no problem with that, because he's the President of the United States. If George Bush were still President, I'd still have no problem with my son's school broadcasting his speech on the importance of education, because he's the President of the United States. Hell, If Kinky Freedman had won the Texas Governorship and wanted to address children in school about the importance of education, well sure! He's the Texas Governor! See my point?

In the Army, we had saying, "You don't have to respect the person but you do have to respect the rank". I do my best to remember that when it comes to the President, regardless of who I voted for.

So please don't judge all Texas mommies and daddies. We're not all ridiculous.

The Science Behind Parenting

2009-09-04T10:30:00.006-05:00

When it comes to mothering I rely on instinct and a whole lotta literature. I'm a news junkie and even worse, I read a lot of research articles that describe the latest scientific study that was done to explain some sort of funky behavior in children. I'm a science nerd by trade so it's no surprise that I read this stuff. However, I don't entirely rely on the latest study or literature when it comes to parenting my three munchkins. If the science merges with my instinct then the advice is a winner. (As if to say, "I figured that out and I don't even have an Ph.d or M.D! I'm awesome! Yay Me!" I know, I'm shameless, guilty as charged.) I parent this way because the science can often be confusing. Especially when it evolves over time.

On an earlier post I briefly discussed the bottlefeeding v. breastfeeding debate and what the latest research said about it. Yet I find it ironic that 30 years ago my generation was born to mothers who were encouraged by their pediatricians to formula feed when now my pediatrician asks, "You are breastfeeding Baby C, right?". It was only ten years ago that 37% of physicians surveyed believed that breastfeeding an infant was best for the first year (according to a 1999 journal article in Pediatrics by the American Academy of Pediatrics). In 2005, the AAP updated it's 1997 policy of breastfeeding recommendations.

The evolution of data and research can be frustrating for anyone, parent or not, because what was once good for the gander 30 years ago now seems to be attributed to why our kids grow up stupid or why one of my toes are longer than the other. An exaggeration...I know but frustrating nonetheless: Oh, I scored low on my SATs because Mom didn't give me the booby? Well crap! That explains it! Mom you suck!

So today I came across an interesting book titled, NurtureShock that is supposed to explore or debunk the latest scientific data on kids from topics ranging from pregnancy to early childhood education. I'm probably going to check this out at the library to see what it has to offer. I'm a glutton for deciphering scientific data and will plan to share little tidbits to you and do my best to break it down in laymens terms.

The authors have also started a blog in which they discuss parts of their book and the latest parenting scientific goop in an effort to make sense of it all. But what does this data all really mean? Are books like NurtureShock another attempt to feed into parents insatiable desire to raise the perfect kids? Or do they truly have substance for parents today? Do they hinder or contribute to the debate on the "right" way to raise kids?

photo copied from nurtureshock.com

Dear HOA: You Can Go Frack Yourself

2009-09-01T23:09:00.005-05:00

When we first moved into our home we convinced ourselves that being in a neighborhood that had a Home Owners Association was a good thing. It keeps the neighborhood in check...right? I'm not going to have to worry about Billy Bob parking his 18 wheeler on our lawn or Oil Can Harry opening up a pit stop out of his garage...right? (And trust me, these people do exist. In my former neighborhood these were my real neighbors.). I've heard the horror stories about HOAs taking poor home owners to court over displaying the American flag or a pink flamingo in the front yard but I was thinking of the bigger picture: an enforcer of green lawns and tasteful statuettes.

It's been four years since we moved into suburbtopia and HOA...you can go frack yourself.

While I get HOA letters asking for the exact dimensions of a playscape in my backyard Oil Can Harry gets to maintain the neighborhood auto repair shop out his garage. His driveway looks like the Exon Valdez crashed into it. Why...I didn't know you could open a used car dealership in your front yard. Looking to start one? You can in my suburb! Six foot tall weeds are known by another name in my neighborhood: drought tolerant, native Texas plants...so they must be showcased.

It's always great to read the HOA expense reports for how my annual $360 HOA dues are spent:

1. Entry access gate maintanance: $1000. We don't have an access gate

2. Pool Maintenance and upkeep: $13,150. I need to go into the pool maintenance business.

3. Annual Color: $3000. What is annual color??

4. Recreation Center Power: $8,599. We don't have a recreation center.

And I love HOA newsletters! They are so chockful of information:

This section of the newsletter was right on the front for all to read...even the mailman who delivered it to my mailbox. Drugs being a problem....news to me!

"Hey potential buyer of my home, have you read our HOA newsletter? In addition to a pool that is open only 2 months out of the year we've got a ready supply of illegal drugs! Isn't that swell?"

And this latest exchange with my HOA has just put me over the edge. Being a responsible home owner I contacted the HOA office yesterday to see if there was an HOA transfer fee for selling my home. Of course there is and was informed that there was a $100 Admin fee and then a $300 HOA Management fee. When I pressed for details this was the response:

"This is a one time fee paid to the association each time a home is sold it is placed in the operating account for the association to be used for expenses the association incurs. The other fees are paid directly to the management company."

Huh?? Doesn't my already paid $360 HOA dues pay for "expenses the association incurs?" Trust me, they're not going to be the ones mowing my lawn if the house sits empty. I pressed for further detail and have not gotten a response back.

Frackin HOAs.

Update: New Realtor

2009-09-01T07:13:00.004-05:00

Just an update from yesterday's post: we've gotten a new realtor. The more I thought about the former realtors remarks the more upset I became. She was also pretty unflexible with when she could meet us etc so I gave her the boot. We've got another realtor who not only seemed perfectly at ease with talking to me about the selling of our home but was also just..well...more enthusiastic.

When I think about the need or drive to sell a home I always think of Annette Benning in the movie American Beauty in which she plays a nervous realtor.

"I will sell this house today!"

Is Your Husband More Suited to Handle This Deal?

2009-08-31T08:25:00.008-05:00

So we've made the bold move to put our house up for sale. Don't worry, we're trading one suburb for another so I'll still be able to report from the front lines of suburban kidfare.

After Ranger and I decided it was time to move, I went to our bank's website and submitted a request to begin the selling process. They have a program where they'll find you a realtor etc.

The next day I got a call from our new realtor (a female) and the conversation begins like this:

"Is this Starr C.?"

"Yes it is"

"I'm sorry, I thought Starr was your husband's name. Should I discuss the selling of your home with him or is it okay to talk with you on these matters?"

Stop. Did she just ask what I think she just asked?? The last time I checked coverture was unlawful. What millenia is she living in? I replied that I was the one who submitted the request and so she could talk with me (Ranger wasn't home anyway). She was cheerful and polite enough and so I figured I'd let it slide. Until she said:

"I know this is off the topic Mrs. C but I just have to ask. With three kids and all is it worth you working or does your salary just cover the cost of day care?"

What the Frack?? What do you mean does my salary cover the cost of daycare? Would you ask these questions if you were talking to my husband? And who thinks Starr is a man's name anyway?

I quickly cut her off and spat, "Excuse me, but my salary is far more than the cost of day care!" She then chuckled nervously and returned the conversation back to the selling of my home.

I discussed the conversation with Ranger and he was pretty appalled. I then talked it over with my neighbors, both women, to see what they thought. One replied that considering the high cost of daycare (it is true that my day care bill is more than my mortgage) she was probably just wondering how we do it but worded it the wrong way. My other neighbor called bullshit on that and said I needed to get another realtor on principle alone.

How should one react to a gender-biased comment when it's coming from their own gender? Am I perhaps over reacting to mis-worded comments? I mean, she did sound grandmotherly and nice.

And speaking of working Moms I couldn't help but post two commercials that, in my view, don't paint an entirely pretty picture of working Moms. The first one is soooo 90's. In the second one you can argue that the commercial shows the reality of Moms period in that everyone, and I mean everyone always wants a piece.

When Mama Cooks

2009-08-30T01:14:00.005-05:00

When I cook, you never know what you are going to get. I'll be blunt: I-HATE-COOKING. In college I was known as the Microwave Queen and was pretty proud of the fact that I could just about nuke anything. I'm not being a radical feminist and refusing to cook out of anti-domestic principle. I just find no joy in cooking.

Ranger, on the other hand, loves to cook. He can make something out of a slice of baloney, some mustard, and a Kraft Single. And it won't just be edible but it'll be damn good. So as you can imagine, he does 99% of the cooking. However, he's also a public servant and works nights every two days which means that I'm left to feed the two most intolerant critics in the world: Big J and Middle L (Baby C is not on solids yet). I used to do my best to mimic what Ranger made but it would take me twice as long to cook it and taste twice as bad.

Wanting to make easier the process of feeding, bathing and putting down 3 kids by myself for the evening I caved in to the two little critics one night and made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with a side of milk for dinner. The kids loved it. Two nights later it was Mac n Cheese...only. I was their hero. One night Ranger slaved in the kitchen for an hour making an over-the-top fish and vegetable dish only to have Big J and Middle L poo-poo it. "Mommy makes better dinners!", Big J whined as his sister sniffed her fish. Ranger proceeded to go into a rant about the starving children in North Korea and I did my best to make-up for Big J's comment by over-compensating on the dinner compliments.

If the kids are lucky, I will actually use the oven to make them dinner. But 9 times out of 10 it's going to come from a box. As tonight's dinner did: Hamburger Helper Cheesy Shells. I added some canned corn and huzzah! I've got at least 3 food groups! For desert we had Yogurt with peaches, strawberries and apples. I then topped it off with a "squiggle" of hershey syrup. I believe I got the Dairy and Fruit food groups! Mom is the hero once again!

My List of Evil Toys

2009-08-27T13:09:00.008-05:00

I read with great amusement today Lisa Belkin's blog post on Motherlode about toddlers and texting. The discussion was in reaction to a NYTs article titled: "Their Old Enough to Text. Now What?" which describes the latest cell phone gadgetry for our little ones.

I'm all for technology. I even work in the IT Industry. But I have to poo poo Leap Frog's Text and Learn toy and add that to my "List of Evil Toys". Disclaimer: I'm really not a "holier than thou" person but in an age where technology is driving a wedge between parents and children I just have to draw the line somewhere.

It's worse enough that I have family members that talk to me in emoticons and acronyms (I use them too when I text but I don't necessarily shout, "LOL!" when actually talking!) so now we have toys that promote our worse habits?

Here are a few of my other "evil toys".

Leap Frog's Tag Reader

Another tool to promote parental dis-involvement. Hey, I've got three kids and need a break too but if they want to know how to read a book the least I can do is sit down with them and read it to them! I don't need to pay $39.99 for the Tag Reader plus an additional $14 for each Tag Reader Book! The last time I checked the library had a bunch of free books to read.

Smart Cycle by Fisher Price

Now there's just all sorts of wrong with toy. I don't think I need to go into elaborate detail as to why I think so..

Article of the Day: Poo Pooing the Ice-Cream Man

2009-08-24T11:25:00.006-05:00

When I was a kid, just before dusk, I would hear the familiar voice of the ice-cream man screaming, "Raspas!!" as he pushed his heavy-laden cart of cold treats up and down our sidewalk. Back in my day raspas were 25 cents (of which I earned cleaning my Dad's Oldsmobile. What a jip!). If you wanted sweet carnation milk dripping down your cone, it was an extra 10 cents.

Fast forward to the millenia and now it seems that the ice cream man is a bane to the suburbs. Folks are gathering signatures to petition against this familiar icon for various reasons: nutritional, interrupted nap times, kids foaming at the mouth at the sight and sound of the truck, the danger of kids running after the truck and into the street and even the mere creepiness that the ice-cream man seems to personify now a days.

A recent article from the New York Times discusses this latest phenomenon. I can surely sympathize with those complaining about the beast-like qualities that occur in children when they hear the truck coming. We've been known to turn up the TV and even usher the kids to the bathroom (farthest point in the house from the street) to "show" them something simply to avoid hearing the ice-cream man because he had arrived before dinner.

But I've also used the moment to incur some fiscal responsibility on my son. I once asked him to pony up 2 bucks from his piggy bank so he could buy a SpongeBob goobily gop that ended up staining his entire mouth and finger tips red making him look like a bloody clown. Sure I had the cash, but the lesson learned was invaluable: stuff costs money, even goobily gop.

I can't, however, agree with banning the ice-cream man from the neighborhood simply because you want to prevent your kids from going Gremlin on you. If you're going to ban the ice cream man for that reason alone then you might as well unplug your munchkins from the TV and avoid the grocery check out aisle AT ALL COST. Companies pay millions of dollars to hock crap to your kids every second of their lives...leave the ice cream man alone! Teach your kids some restraint!

Now, if you want to ban the ice cream man because he's all out creepy and possibly on your neighborhood sex offender list...I'm with you !