One little Indian

Well, half. And not a lover of the headdress.

Hope everyone had a wonderful Thanksgiving. We ate three times, capped off with a Friday night deep-fried turkey and an unknown number of sweet potato casserole helpings. My Jersey families are the best (although two days chasing D in their giant houses left me yearning to be boxed back into the city digs).

Here's her very first school picture. How studious and still she looks. Pictures can lie.

Put on your apron - it's holiday time.

Soon we will kick off the festivus season by eating into a big bird and fighting the tryptophan with a gingerbread latte. It's the most wonderful time of the year.

For your holiday baking pleasure, I share with you my #1 go-to recipe perfect for taking to a party when you don't know what to bring but don't want to bring cookies, because you will vomit cotton candy if you eat more sugar. It's the perfect balance against all the sweet. Pop one in between the cookies and macaroons to cleanse the palate, and you'll never stop eating. Yes, these will make you fat. Fat, but happy (with strong bones from the cheese and moisturized lips from the grease).

Please, do not make this for a party that I will be attending. It's mine, and it's the only reliable contribution to the hostess' kitchen I can make besides booze.

mini-cheese biscuits

4 cups all purpose flour
1 pound sharp cheddar cheese, grated
1 tsp. salt, a sprinkle of black pepper
3 sticks butter, melted (gross, is this recipe right?)
2 teaspoons chili powder (or even up to 2 tablespoons, depending on how spicy)
grated nutmeg (a fat pinch, but do it to taste)

Melt butter. Mix in everything else. Roll into tiny balls and place on cookie sheet. Flatten with a fork, about the size of a fifty cent piece. Bake 12-20 minutes at 375 degrees until brownish.

Enjoy alongside chocolate, wine, and other treats.

Delayed x 2

I just spent the last 30 minutes searching the entire terminal for coffee. Fail. This is how tired I am:

1. The kiosk wouldn't let me check in, because I kept entering Raleigh as my destination. Raleigh is where I already am.

2. I stood in a line and tried to change my flight at the gate so I could get home on time. They denied me. It was the wrong airline.

3. I just tried boarding the wrong flight on the right airline. Mine's not leaving for another 2 hours.

Oh plane, please come. I've been up since 3:45. Please come. Please come. Please come.

Still, life could be worse. I am reading Random Family, which I recommend even though it's a torturous read of a true story about people in the Bronx and their teenage breeding, drugs, abuse, poverty, self-destruction, and living the high-life. It makes you hate, pity, thank, worry, judge, love, and want to help. You die a little. If one more teenager has a baby by another daddy in this book, I will throw it. The only reason I haven't stopped reading is because I just need to know if it has some hope at the end. You wish it was fiction but know it's reality for whole a lot of people. It's a world I do not get, and I now look at people in this city and wonder if this is their life too...by choice, or by lack of it. Ugh.

Either way, I'll just be thankful in the spirit of the coming turkey day, joyfully finish my traditional airport Raisinets, and shut up.

Delayed

After a lucky streak of jetting around on-time, I find myself knocked back to reality and delayed in an airport that can't manage to serve any hot food after 6pm unless it's deep-fried. "The grill's off now but the frier's on...we got fries, mozz sticks, chicken tenders...(blah blah blah fried crap and more fried crap)," I am told. I gave the grungy packaged iceberg lettuce salad 3 seconds of thought so I could say I tried and ultimately concluded that deep-fried is a healthier option since it kills germs. No guilt.

On the 2nd of 5 (FIVE) work trips this month, I'm dying for a flight-free stretch of time. It's not coming. Last week when I was gone, Brett turned down a free ticket to Game 6 of the World Series because he didn't want to figure out the baby logistics and just planned to go to Game 7. In case you don't follow baseball, Yankees won it in Game 6.

Ladies in my meetings ask, "Who watches your baby when you travel?" I rave on Brett. Then they ask, "Do you have a picture of your baby?" And I don't, because I suck (and I'm not pulling up this blog to show them).

Brett tells me when he brings D home or she wakes up in the morning and I'm not there, she walks around the apartment calling for mama and Kajee. Then she gives up and looks sad. Then she moves on. And I break a little.

This morning I got to run on the beach and saw a pack of dolphins. And I found a cool shell for our aquarium. My guilt-free-deep-fried eggplant sandwich (interestingly listed on the 'healthy fare' menu) is goooood. So, it's not all whine.

Octomom spotted on Halloween with 8 babies and a beer

Octomom continues to prove that having 14 children is no reason to stay at home and away from the nosy cameras of the paparazzi. Last Friday, she was spotted with the 8 little ones in Dumbo, headed to a Halloween party (at a bar...seriously, this woman is trashy). With no time for a costume, she donned a blue velour tracksuit and kept half the babies naked. There was, however, of course time for lipstick on those giant lips.

At the party, she was accompanied by her sperm donor and one of her other 6 children dressed as Wonder Woman. Despite juggling all 8 babies, she found room in her arms for a beer and even fed her hungry toddler some peanut M&Ms.

Although she lacked a costume, the judges didn't believe it was really her and awarded her the prize for best costume. Or they just felt sorry for her. During her acceptance speech, she had the audacity to ask for donations on her website. She also gave a shout-out to the turkey baster for gifting her with 14 blessings.

Her sperm donor was overheard exclaiming, "That woman is a leech. She used me for 14 babies and all I get is to be her 'toddler holder' at this party. There is a MAN behind that turkey baster and he has FEELINGS." He then drowned his sorrows in some Gobstoppers.

Said one attendee, "This speed-breeder dresses one child as Wonder Woman and leaves half her other babies naked in 50 degrees. I'm calling DFACS as soon as I get through this Tootsie Roll Pop."

It took too many licks, and he forgot to call. Octomom continues on.

Wonder Woman!

 

 

 

 

Happy late birthday

It wouldn't be from me if it wasn't late, right?

Tuesday was my dad's birthday. We miss him.

These few days of the year at the end of October and beginning of November have always been about the first crisp, leaf-crunching feelings of fall, Halloween, the World Series, the time-change, and his birthday. After 18, I added the Georgia-Florida football game and elections. Upon moving to NYC, I added the big marathon (it's time-consuming to think about those runners).

It's a very busy time. Despite that, I managed to squeeze in time for a (week-late) birthday card. He didn't care and expected my tardiness.

Our birthday conversations were always centered on the said events, which especially makes his absence all the more pronounced this time of year.

- the snarky prediction that Florida would win.
- that his free time was spent watching baseball and football.
- that he was really snoring while watching.
- the advice not to drink too much before the game, especially if it was hot.
- whether I was voting.
- that he wouldn't tell who he was voting for, because that's no one's business.
- that I shouldn't run too much.
- asking about my costume.
- reminder to set my clock back.

This week a guy at work came to talk to me, sporting the kind of obnoxious Halloween tie only my dad would wear. He warmed my heart without saying a word.

Lost on how to commemorate this birthday, I finally settled on taking Dilan to the pediatrician for her 18-month visit and partaking in his favorite end-of-day relaxation activity -- carefully chosen red wine, fancy mixed nuts, nice crackers, and cheese off the block.

And had this year's conversation happened, it probably would have gone something like this.

K: Happy Birthday.
D: Thank you.
K: What are you doing?
D: Relaxing. Watching baseball. Your team is going to the World Series.
K: Well, I'm not really a Yankees fan, but yes, I suppose that's my team.
D: You were born in New York -- that can be your team.
K: I think I'll pick the Mets because they're the underdog.
D: But the Yankees are in the World Series, so you have to root for them.
K: OK.
D: Florida's going to beat you this weekend. They're #1. You guys are playing like crap.
K: I know. We'll see. I'm having people over. I'm making chili and cornbread.
D: Beef chili?
K: Yes. Sigh.
D: You should use turkey. It has less fat. All that ground meat is junk parts.
K: You have to have ground meat in chili. It's a special occasion. We're just doing it for the game. I'm sneaking carrots in there, don't worry.
D: Well, don't drink too much. What is Dilan doing?
K: We had her 18-month check up today. She's going to be Wonder Woman this weekend.
D: Very nice. (Insert various pediatrician-like questions.)
K: (My answers)
D: You need to feed her. You were a difficult eater.
K: I do. She's fine.
D: (Insert various questions disecting her diet.)
K: (My answers and some bragging about her love of beets and the pink pee it makes).
D: Everything in moderation.
K: What are you doing for your birthday?
D: Nothing. Your mom is cooking dinner. People coming over. Having some wine now. Relaxing. I'm old and tired.
K: You should exercise. You'll feel younger.
D: Um hmm.
K: I better go. Dilan is pulling my hair. Have fun at your party.
D: Make sure you give Dilan whole milk.
K: Duh, yes. OK bye.

We do miss him immensely. But he's still here in my imaginary, yet likely quite accurate, conversations. And that makes me happy.

Better than underwear

When I was 5, I jumped into my Wonder Woman underoos (any girl remembers how perfectly they emulated WW's real outfit) and proudly proclaimed I was ready for school. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how you look at it), I was quickly redressed by mom into my blonde-plastic-masked, pink-plastic-sheathed, Kmart Cinderella costume.

Till D can get her own WW underoos, this will have to do. With Napoleon Dynamite moon boots. That's style.

Thanks Kaycee :-)

18 months

I had a beautiful plan in my head to bake 18 cupcakes to commemorate this lovely milestone and also present D with her very own baby scrap book of all the little tidbits of paper specialness that I've shoved into very important places. Since I chose not to make time for the workouts needed to burn off the 17 cupcakes I'd eat (only 1 would be for D, she's just a baby, come on), locate the tidbits of paper specialness, or do pretty things with paper bits and glue...the beautiful plan remained only that.

Whatever. I'm sure by the time she's 4 I'll have pulled it together to be that mom that always sends personal notes in lunchboxes and homemade paper invitations for birthday parties. Till then, I'll just show my love with blog lists.

18 reasons my D enchants me:

1. Mmmmm-wahhhhh! -- Ask for a kiss, and you get a real one. Complete with the vocal mwah, her teeth on your face, and some tongue if she's up to it. We've asked her to keep it under wraps with the boys.


2. The mouth full of teeth -- They're all gappy and big and especially cute as shown in her big fake crinkly-nosed laughs.
   
3. Mini-me -- She is so me. This is super fun (for now).


4. Veggie lover -- I've never seen anyone put away beets like this. I can tell her they're dessert.


5. The dancing -- She finds a beat even in the dishwasher. And also in my singing (that's skill).


6. Kajeee!!! -- That's how she calls me.


7. Books -- She can't get enough and will bring you her favorites if you ask for them by name.


8. Yay -- She claps and yays at herself when finishing a book.


9. Must have hair down -- she pulls the pigtails out every day. Sometimes she has to celebrate this accomplishment and presents you with her ponytail holder like it's a prize.


10. I just like watching her eat.


11. She speaks her own language.


12. She loves sitting on the kitchen counter to supervise my cooking.


13. She says uh-huh instead of yes. To most things. I wonder if she knows what she's agreeing to.


14. No -- Can't say it, but her head about falls off telling us.


15. OK -- This is her new favorite word. Well, second to Kajee.


16. Pigtails! -- Something I didn't even know could be done with such little hair till she came home with them from daycare...what a girly mom I am.


17. She feeds me.


18. Non-stop fake phone talking.

I can't stop at 18.

19. She tears paper by putting it behind her neck and pulling forward. Always has. I don't get it.

20. She must touch random people.

21. The endless amusement she gets from pretend-working at the computer.

22. She's loud. So now I don't seem that loud myself.

23. She proudly throws her diapers in the trash.

24. She runs off and hides in other rooms, patiently waiting in silence for you to find her.

25. Upon being told no, she belts out one big scream. And then we move on.

26. When she gets moving, one arm swings like she's powerwalking while the other hangs dead.

27. She's just so busy.

28. She starts a game of peek-a-boo with strangers if they're not paying her attention.

29. She loves on babies, her cousin, and most of all, me.

I WANT TO EAT HER FACE. Cheese alert, but I just never knew I could love a little person this much. We all feel this way about our own and show it by boring the crap out of everyone with "isn't it cute!" lists like this that really describe about every toddler. Whatever, mine's special dammit!

That's enough mush for today. Happy 1.5, D (a few days late, but that's how Kajee rolls). I promise there will be cupcakes on my own birthday. I'll share. One.

Weekend with Martha

My mom just visited (and D is now calling for her Nani). This is a woman who shows up with a suitcase of assorted foods for the pantry and a pressure cooker. I'm scared of pressure cookers. Whistles and steam blowing...I stay away. Yet she's been after me to use this thing for years, so fine. I learned. And I think I'm sold. You can cook things FAST. Things like yucca!

She also taught me pizza crust, yogurt, and ghee (clarified butter, which supposedly make your eggs lovely). She adjusted my chai recipe and introduced me to boric powder for roaches (ew, but yes). How skilled I've become -- thanks mama!

We actually saw the real Martha at her cooking demo kicking off the Food and Wine Festival. Not on TV, she let her smug sass shine with various comments about how the knives weren't sharp enough and the electric stove was too slow (delivered with that magical Martha touch that makes it not rude).

The best was in response to a question from a lady about handling butternut squash and how buying it pre-cut seemed to be an option.

"No, no, no. Never, ever buy pre-cut anything. Those pre-cut vegetables and pieces of pineapple...don't ever buy that. Cut it yourself so you know what you are working with. I never buy pre-cut things. Well, I don't have to." Chuckle.