Swimsuit Parade

As the long-awaited Hawaii trip gets nearer (44 days, but who's counting?) , I have become increasingly obsessed with the swimsuit riddle.

You've given birth to twins, led a sedentary lifestyle and love beer, now you must fit into something made of lycra. Okay, it's not a riddle, I just like that word better than, say, debacle. The swimsuit debacle.

I've been trying the exercise route in earnest. For more than three months, I've treadmilled regularly, even working my way up to running an entire half mile without dying! And it's helped a little...a really little.

But now it's come time to actually purchase that dreaded swimsuit. Despite not having worn one in 8 years, I really pictured myself in a bikini (ok, not myself, but someone like me who is in much better shape) just because, I don't know, it seems like Hawaii calls for a bikini. Plus I think in my mind I pictured it being some kind of pay off for pushing through my hatred of exercise...my reward for actually sticking with something for, you know, three whole months...turns out walking a mile, or even run/walking a mile doesn't produce miracles...I know that you are as shocked as I am.

Alright, so I should admit that I am saying all of this having already ordered the damn bikini. It came in the mail and, while the pattern perfectly fits my picture of Hawaii, my belly in it does not. This caused me to realized that if I'm going to be spending 75% of my time in a swimsuit for a week, then I probably need to feel good enough to leave my hotel room.

This has induced a sort of feverish spree of swimsuit ordering. Suddenly I want to try on every swimsuit, in hopes that there is, in fact, one that will give some illusion that I'm skinny...and possibly not flat-chested. This journey has led me to discover that swimdresses have made a comeback. Or possibly they never left and I am just old enough to actually consider one. Seriously, if I wear a swimdress in Hawaii will I be announcing to the world that I have given up? Or possibly that I have senior citizen envy? Hey, if it was good enough for Marilyn...

What will the outcome of this swimsuit parade be? Will I find a suit that is comfortable, flattering and does not add 25 years? The suspense is killing me.

Unwritten

We had parent/teacher conferences on Monday. Interesting thing: they are both doing great in their separate classrooms - excelling in reading and math - but they both need to work on their handwriting.

Aidan's writing is just messy because his brain works faster than his hand, so we need to work on getting him to slow down enough for it to be legible.

Owen, on the other hand, just doesn't want to do it. He hates the act of writing. This seems to be his only major source of meltdowns in the classroom. He can write - it's actually one of the few things he mastered before Aidan did - he just doesn't like it and has been refusing to do it. We think part of it is that he struggles to form his ideas into words, but thanks to this uncannily-timed story from NPR, it turns out that it might also be that the physical act of it is more difficult than we realized.

As a parent of a child with a disorder so confusing and mysterious, I can't tell you how exciting it is to read an article about it and actually go, "That's our situation! That's Owen!" Of course, the story doesn't exactly offer solutions, but even just identifying it as a common issue is helpful (mentally, at least). I am anxious to see if teaching him to type could help him get over the handwriting hurdle and let him focus on learning alongside his peers.

Because seriously, if writing turned out to be his biggest obstacle in school, well...I could deal with that.

Let There Be Health

My house was a sick bay all week. The illness started on Halloween, but I was in denial until the day after Halloween when the fevers arrived.

At first I held out hope that the kids would be back in school by Tuesday, but the illness wanted nothing to do with that plan. The school nurse called us on Monday to ask about symptoms (she's trying to keep track) and let us know that 13% of the school was absent. Tuesday night we got word from Aidan's teacher via email that 60% of his classroom was out sick.

On Wednesday, I decided to try sending Owen to school. His fever was gone and he seemed much improved, but alas, he was returned to us midday by the school nurse, who always manages to imply that you should have known better when informing you that you need to come get your child. He didn't have a fever, but his cough had magically grown worse since boarding the school bus that morning and by the time he got back home he sounded like an 80-year-old chain smoker.

Having listened to the school nurse list the smorgasbord of maladies floating around the school - flu, strep, stomach virus, lice, even two cases of pneumonia - we decided to give up on school for the week. By Friday, I was so used to the boys being home that I forgot to call them in sick.

I'm not really looking forward to sending them back to the petri dish on Monday...I'd much prefer that they shut the school down for two weeks, give everyone time to recover, hose the place down with Purell, and then basically start over. I know we'd all get sick again eventually, but I'd just like a break. I have to imagine that the poor teachers would like one, too. And maybe, just maybe, if the schools were closed, employers would have to be a little more lenient in letting parents stay home, or work from home, or something, and then maybe fewer adults would be getting sick, too.

And then we would all join hands, sing kumbaya and achieve world peace...or, you know, something really good like that.

Pumpkin Quest '09

Have you ever tried to buy a pumpkin on Halloween? I don't recommend it. I imagine it's a lot like trying to buy a turkey on Thanksgiving, only since most frozen turkeys are edible, that actually might be easier.

You see, I planned ahead. We had our compulsory family outing to the pumpkin patch two weeks ago, where we each chose the most perfect pumpkins ever to be seen (seriously, mine was awesome) and carted them in from the field ourselves.

As always, we kept them outside for maximum freshness. But when I went out to our front steps on Halloween morning to fetch them, I found that three out of four of them had turned to mush. Mush! Was it the surprise snowstorm we had in mid-October? Did they freeze and crack and then start rotting? I have no idea - I've never had this happen before, but there I was.

At first I entertained the notion that maybe the boys didn't even really want to carve pumpkins (honestly, I find the whole process messy and unfulfilling, but I used to like it back when I was little and didn't have to scrape out the gooey insides), but that was quickly shot down when the chorus of "When are we carving pumpkins?!" began.

And so, I began my quest for pumpkins on Halloween.

SuperTarget had none. Our fancy grocery store right up the street didn't have anything bigger than an acorn squash. At last, I tried the behemoth Festival Foods. They had two sad crates sitting outside the front entrance, one-quarter of the way full of pumpkins...sad, half-rotten, mostly green pumpkins. The fact that they were selling these things rather than giving them away was ethically questionable, but since I had little boys at home waiting for pumpkins, I knew it wasn't the time for argument.

And so, I sorted. I was nearly vertical, leaning over the side of the crate to comb the dredges of the pumpkin crop. Rotten, rotten, green, green, rotten. Finally I found one decent-sized pumpkin with just one half-rotten dent in its side, a dent which I knew we could hide by carving the opposite side. Knowing this was the best it was going to get, I resigned myself to having to arrive back home with only one pumpkin (my husband would have to give up his perfect pumpkin, which somehow was the only one to survive the mysterious rot).

I headed inside to pay. (I thought about just walking away with it, but figured the whole thing would rot while I was busy getting arrested for shoplifting.) Next to the registers was a table of Halloween candy and then I spotted it: under the table sat a picture-perfect pumpkin complete with a curly stem. Just sitting there on the floor! Under a table! As if someone had put it there. Hid it there while the rest of us searched through rotten pumpkin carcasses.

With one quick glance around, I snatched it up and scurried to the register to pay. Whoever hid that pumpkin there was probably sad when they found it missing, but I couldn't be bothered with hurt feelings - these were desperate times. Plus, if you're going to hide a pumpkin, maybe try somewhere less obvious, like the pet food aisle.

And so, we had pumpkins. And all was well. But it's a good thing Christmas presents don't rot.

Check off #12

Tonight I completed my cake decorating class, thus completing #12 on the 40 by 40 list.

More important than the list, however, is that I learned how to make a Wilton rose. That is not to say that I became good at making Wilton roses, but I did at least learn the same basic technique that people who are good at making them use.

I also think I learned that my energy is far better spent making things that taste good, rather than things that look pretty. (Hello, life metaphor.) I've never been good at visual arts in any way and cake decorating was no exception.

Still, it was fun. And I think I'll actually use a few of the techniques on my cupcakes from now on. Hooray for developing skills that you might occasionally use!

That's three list items in under 5 months. Apparently my ambition is closely tied to my ability to check things off of a list - who knew?

New York State of Mind (and Stomach)

Every time I blog about my anxiety, I proceed to feel anxious for at least 24 hours about whether or not I should really provide such peeks into my neuroses...It makes me feel like one of those crazy girls who corners you at a party and misinterprets a friendly gesture as an invitation to explain how her parents' divorce when she was three has caused her to develop unhealthy coping mechanisms and she thinks that's why she only dates kleptomaniacs or something. You know, one of those girls.

Anyway, how about some lighter fare this evening?

My husband is in New York City for the week and might actually get a long enough break from his button-pushing to venture out on the town once or twice. As I was thinking of places to suggest that he venture to, I remembered that I put together a list of restaurants in Manhattan where I want to dine. You'll note that a large percentage of this list feeds my desire to integrate reality TV/Food Network/celebrity chefdom into my life. (Perilla was on this list before my last trip.)

I don't know whether I'll ever make it to all of these places, but I figured it would be fun to post the list here so that anyone who has been to any of them could advise for or against. Or that possibly the next time you find yourself in Manhattan, you could refer to this list, go to one of the restaurants and tell me all about it, so that I can live vicariously through you.

Here goes (in no particular order):

• Babbo
• Bar Americain
• Del Posto
• Esca
• Lupa
• Les Halles
• L’Atelier
• Per Se
• Le Bernardin
• Otto Enoteca and Pizzeria
• Craft
• The London
• WD-50
• Maze
• Café Boulud
• Bouchon Bakery
• Mia Dona
• Centro Vinoteca
• Kefi
• Bolo
• Paladar
• Morimoto
• Payard Patisserie & Bistro
• Anissa
• Butter
• Barbuto
• Spotted Pig
• Masa
• Momofuku
• Mercer Kitchen
• Nobu
• Jean Georges
• Gotham Bar and Grill
• Pastis
• Convivio
• Sarabeth’s
• Le Cirque
• Max Brenner

Yep, so only like 30 trips to go...no problem.

She's Got Issues

My husband has an awesome job, with the one (large) drawback being that he has to travel all the time. In the last couple months it feels like we've reached the tipping point where he is actually out of town more than he is in town. This is a problem.

Truth be told, his job touches on my two biggest "issues" (at least according to my therapist): security and abandonment. Maybe those two often go hand-in-hand, I don't know, I didn't study psychology.

Him having the job gives us security, yet requires him to be gone all the time. The possibility of him getting a different job would allow him to stay in town, but puts the security piece in jeopardy (i.e. Will we have health benefits? Will it pay as well? etc.) And really, with the economy as it is, looking for a new job is equal parts depressing and crazy-making. (Two things which I don't think you need a therapist to tell you are bad.)

But the psychology gets even better. My own work situation (as in, returning to it) makes me feel all the more secure (financially), but then hits my abandonment nerve, only this time as it relates to my kids. I know that rationally, my work schedule in no way has me abandoning my children, but the irrational side of my brain tells me the opposite...that I can never spend enough time with them.

The prospect of my husband's travel schedule driving him to have a nervous breakdown (as really, I think it would for any parent who feels as though their children's lives are speeding on ahead without them - true or not) suggests that I may have to take on more work and resume the role of bread-winner, the role that I played for the first 2.5 years of their lives. The rational side of my brain tells me that this is the right thing to do for my family. The other side, the anxiety, tells me that I will be abandoning my children in some way. That I will be making a bad trade.

That feeling of empowerment that many women get from being able to bring home the bacon and fry it up in a pan is elusive to me. I guess after years and years of taking care of myself from a young age, there is something incredibly appealing about being taken care of...if even just so that I can, in turn, focus on taking care of these little people who mean more to me than I ever thought possible.

Such a confession makes me feel weak. It betrays my upbringing. It confuses me. But I think it's true. So maybe I can add that to my list of issues...issues that are alternately addressed and aggravated by every choice...issues that I need to just learn to get over.