Neurotic Traveler

Too much naval gazing

2011-08-04T04:41:00.000-07:00

I think.

Last night, in a fit of missing my ipod, I sat at the computer and rocked out to the music of my youth. Read, the best of the '90's.

(En Vogue! I miss you, and I bet there's not too many people who will admit to that.)

Anyway. As I sat here, mindlessly dancing in my chair, it occurred to me that I was happy. Happy! Wasn't that the whole blasted point of the month of health? Quietly soothe my soul with yoga, good food, and good livin'?

Really, all I needed was a dose of En Vogue and Weezer. Huh.

A vast oversimplification? Probably. All the yoga and healthy eating did my body good, I know. And I couldn't last a full month on En Vogue and Weezer alone. (I mean, that's just crazy.) It does occur that sometimes when life hands you lemons, it kinda just...hands you lemons. And, sometimes, all you can do is try your best to make lemonade or lemon meringue pie or, you know, eat less meat and do more yoga.

I think what I'm say, awkwardly and inarticulately, is that you can't force yourself to find meaning. Sometimes answers are elusive. So. Instead of pushing yourself to keep swimming against and through the current, maybe, sometimes, it's okay to turn around, climb out of the water, and wait.

And do the best you can with your lemons.

A door closes. A door opens.

2011-07-21T04:56:00.000-07:00

I was thinking about my question to Hubs and the Universe...

"You know, life shouldn't be so hard. I know there's an answer, if only I can see it. Why can't I see it?"

I was reading a fab collection of reflections on life and spirituality by Anne Lamott when I came across a little something written by Kathleen Norris, "Prayer is not asking for what you think you want, but asking to be changed in ways you can't imagine."

Love. It.

I can't help thinking back to the day I lost my ipod, otherwise known as The Day My Heart Fell Out of My Body and My World Changed Forever.

Slight exaggeration, but you know. It's strange to have become so reliant on such a small piece of technology. I used it to exercise, escaping into a fun dance-y Glee-like world where my Big Problems didn't exist. (Of course, they were waiting for me when I was done but never mind.) I used it to fall asleep at night, disappearing into familiar audio books, and walking to work in the mornings (and back in the evenings). Any opportunity to escape, I took it. My ipod was my friend and enabler.

Then, it was gone. Poof.

Without it, I started swimming, discovering a beautiful dance between myself and the water, loving the grace of each stroke. I still marvel that feeling of pulling myself across the water. I think how wonderful it feels to move so effortlessly, how elongated and strong my body feels. In fact, I marvel at being so "in" my body. I would never have discovered this without the loss of my old buddy. Escaping into a fantasy world is enticing. Was enticing.

So. No, I haven't answered my own question, but I have found grace in an unexpected place because of an unexpected loss.

Fare thee well, old buddy. And thanks.

Satan is a pilates instructor. I'm sure of it.

2011-07-21T04:35:00.000-07:00

And She took corporeal form in Tuesday's pilates class.

Look. Everyone's month of happy, healthy wellness needs an encounter with the Power of Darkness.

How else can you explain what took place on Tuesday? After a grueling 45 minutes of body defying, sweat inducing core work in positions both fantastical and, possibly, Evil, She clapped her hands and announced "Let's end our session with some push ups!" Why lay in child's pose when you can manipulate your jell-o like limbs into push-up position?

Why indeed?

That said, I might go back because of Satan. She was pretty effective. There's nothing like an encounter with the Unholy One to remind you that life is really not that bad.

It could be worse. You could be sentenced to a life of daily pilates classes.

That would be decidedly Not Fun.

Panicking my way to serenity

2011-07-19T04:43:00.000-07:00

Is there any other way?

I ask you, who has a near panic attack in a gentle yoga class?

(Yoo-hoo! Me, that's who.)

I actually found it fascinating, and, silver lining, managed to breathe my way through the shallow breathing, rapid heartbeat, and sweats. That's something, right? (It really is something. All I could think of, at the time, is that if I don't get out of this pose immediately, I'm going to run screaming out of class.)

Bo says that we can bring our anxiety and depression into our poses. That our mind is so hard-wired to be either anxious or depressed, for those of us with these chronic conditions, that we can force our body into re-creating these sensations. Pushing ourselves into downward dog, straining into a position. Fascinating.

In this case, I felt so smothered by all the freakin' props--bolster, eye pillow, all four blankets--that I just couldn't relax into the pose. I kept thinking the blanket was moving, the eye pillow was slipping, and the whole delicate operation was in danger of falling apart. From a relaxed recline, I would come tumbling out into a big heap, which brought on performance anxiety and the rapid heart rate and the sweats.

Man, the body is fascinating, huh?

So, here is my takeaway. The simpler the pose, the happier I am. Then again, maybe my takeaway should be an openness to falling ridiculously out of the pose and not caring if it doesn't "look right."

Whatever the case, I'm grateful that my month of health is making me take stock of these things by trying new things. It reminds me of something I just read by Anne Lamont, "When things break up and fences fall over, desperation and powerlessness slink in, which turns out to be good: humility and sweetness often arrive in your garden not long after."

I like it. And I'm starting to see where that may indeed be true.

Process and discovery

2011-07-14T04:44:00.000-07:00

After a particularly long day, I said to Hubs, "You know, life shouldn't be so hard. I know there's an answer, if only I can see it. I feel like it's there, just waiting to be discovered. Why can't I see it?"

Bo talks about the process of discovery in her fabulous gem of a book. Inspiration lives in the most unlikely of places. It doesn't come when asked or as a reward for hard work. It pops up--poof!--when the "mind and body are at play."

It's a tough balance. I don't want to be complacent, but fighting so hard to find a path is probably couterproductive.

At the same time, I'm finding myself increasingly able to let go of anxiety and anger. I have no idea if it's the breath work I've been doing, the evening swims, or the restorative yoga. Whatever it is, that, in itself, is pretty glorious.

As for everything else, I'll just be patient and enjoy the journey.

When the loss of an ipod is not a bad thing

2011-07-13T04:44:00.000-07:00

So. Three weeks ago I was in a taxi. The driver had no clue where he was going, and I was late for a meeting. When I finally made it to work, my thoughts were only on being late. I jumped out of the cab, put my purse over my shoulder, and adjusted my ear buds for some musical entertainment to calm my jangled nerves.

Unfortunately, my ipod was gone. The ultimate tip for the worst taxi driver in the world.

This was, in a word, crushing. I had just transitioned to a new laptop and hadn't transferred the music on my ipod to the new system. For one. For two, I had owned this ipod for years. For years. It was a member of the family, a faithful companion during workouts, on transatlantic flights, and drifting off to sleep at night. And I lose it in a DC taxi.

Great.

Without the immediate funds to replace it, I knew I had to do without. As I was swimming the other night, I was thinking how weirdly fortuitous it was that I had lost it. (Hmm, yes, I'll go with "weirdly fortuitous.") Most evenings pre-ipod loss, I would do a quick 30 minute workout on the bike or the treadmill, all the while daydreaming and jamming to my tunes. Post-ipod, the thought of working out on either bike or treadmill was just dreary. How boring without the escapist music to entertain me.

Luckily, and again there's that word fortuitously, I was entering my month of mindful living. Without my ipod as my faithful companion, I started swimming. I hadn't done laps in a pool in...Well, I had never done laps in a pool. In fact, the side stroke had become my carefree stroke of choice, and I had all but forgotten the rhythm of a strong forward crawl. (A stroke I had loved and enjoyed as a teen.) Without my trusty ipod companion, I found myself in the pool almost every night, a little hesitant and self-conscious at first. Since I had to concentrate on my breath and re-learn the stroke, there was no room in my mind for daydreaming or escapism. While swimming, I was (and am) very present, in my body and in my breath.

Now, I am an addict. Swimming has become a calm, centering exercise that allows me to be present completely and totally in my body.

If I hadn't had the cab ride from Hell, if I hadn't lost my ipod that fateful day, I might never have come back to swimming and found something so awesome.

Life is weird that way.

Reflections on the little things...

2011-07-11T04:43:00.000-07:00

I want to lay a bouquet of flowers at the feet of Bo Forbes and her fantastic book. 1:2 breathing is a sweet, simple miracle, and the restorative yoga poses are truly restorative. She really understands the restless mind. I'm grateful to have found this little gem. Way to go local library!

I'm a BIG fan of Whole Foods' Oatmeal Date Scone but not so much a fan of the price. Killer on the purse strings. I found this recipe and made my first batch this past weekend. Delicious and vegan to boot. I managed to use all of my remaining dates and walnuts. Score and score.

Am thankful to my friend N. for pointing out that not all of life's transitions are easy and that sometimes you have to accept that you are a traveler in your own spiritual wilderness. (Very similar to an idea Bo describes in her book.) I like the idea of being an adventurer in my own personal wilderness (although it would be great to see an end or solution). That said, the breathing and the poses are all helping me stay in the present and not wander off into a minefield of future what-if's and circular anxiety laced thoughts.

In fact. If I had not come to a point in my spiritual wilderness that made me stop, reflect, and DO something, I might never have come to this month of healing, which (so far) has been truly healing.

Heavy.

The steak shakes

2011-07-09T13:58:00.000-07:00

New month, new me is moving merrily along! Unfortunately, in the race to attend an early morning Saturday workshop on ethics (kill-me-now), I consumed a Whole Foods' date oatmeal scone and a cup of coffee and buzzed out on sugar until lunch. There, I had a mediocre and measly cheese sandwich, which didn't do much to kill the sugar buzz or provide my body with much needed protein. So, in the aftermath of the workshop, I raced to Union Station where I had food court sushi. Not so bad for food court sushi, actually. But, once again, it was the dreaded (though deliciously appealing) scent of red meat that almost had me.

I mean, really, what is it about ground meat and cheese that is so sexy to my palate? Whatever it is, I'm virtually powerless in its presence.

I can already tell I'm going to need to ramp up recipe diversity this month to keep my tastebuds happy. Some women pine for chocolate; I pine for raw cow flesh.

So. Diet: check and check. Restorative yoga is still happening before bedtime and I'm digging 1:2 breathing: nasal inhale and exhale, longer on the exhale. Very soothing.

Now, I feel the need to challenge myself with something further. I'd like to take some mind-body classes of the yoga variety. I always mean to and then I virtually always find an excuse not to. And the excuse is usually time. Being a full-time working mom is hard. It is really hard. Emotionally I'm drained at the end of the day, but I still need to cook dinner, put Kiddo to bed, and, yes, workout. And that I do at 8:00.

But if this is truly a month of wellness, it has to be about more than the food I consume. And I think I need to push myself to do something that is really just for me. (And not make excuses why I can't.)

And that will be a hard one. Harder than the steak shakes.

Perseverance

2011-07-08T04:37:00.000-07:00

My month of healthy living almost came to a grinding and unexpected halt yesterday. The lure? Ground meat. Greasy, cheesy hamburger. (Note to self: gotta stop blaming hamburgers for life's problems.)

Happily, I persevered, walked past that temptation, and ate a grossly overpriced (and gross) lentil burger and kombucha. (It's a sad day when you can say your kombucha was far tastier than your entree.)

Lacto-pesco-ovo wise, the day was a success. I even practiced my restorative yoga poses and nasal breathing.

Unfortunately, the rest of the day, the day not involving Hubs, Kiddo, or restorative yoga poses, sucked profoundly. Profoundly.

Even deep nasal breathing couldn't save me.

So, this will be my challenge, as I knew it would. How do I stay positive and centered when my tendency is to slip into shallow breathing anxiety laced Hell?

Part of the answer is perseverance. I am committed to not only cleansing my body of red meat but also to remaining faithful to activities that promote mind-body wellness. Like restorative yoga and breathing.

And I need to counter my obsessive negative thoughts with positive ones. Like. My son is adorable and thinks that pirates, though "really bad," are also totally awesome. I don't want to miss that stage.

For my own sanity and, frankly, well-being, I need to stay committed to this month of well-being and persevere through that which sucketh.

Are you with me?

The lure of escapism

2011-07-07T04:29:00.000-07:00

A friend of mine went on a vacation following an emotional train wreck. I know exactly how he feels, as I've done it myself to varying degrees of success. During the most successful of those times, I managed to leave everything behind for the duration of the holiday. I saw new things, had adventures, and came back with a feeling that everything was manageable. My problems seemed very small and I couldn't remember what had bothered me so much in the first place.

And that lasted for, oh, a week. Then the accumulated emotional turmoil came back with a vengeance.

You really can't run away from your problems. This is very true. I think a successful vacation can be a tonic for the short term and, if managed well, it can be a jump start to a healthier life.

It is July 7th, and I, too, just returned from a successful vacation where my problems seem small and manageable. From experience, I know it's up to me to make that feeling last. (And let me just say the thing which is the source of my angst is not my wonderful little family. They are most wonderful indeed.)

So. I'm going to embark on a month-long pursuit of healthiness. Starting now. Details will follow but rest assured it involves lacto/ovo/pesco vegetarianism, as any month-long pursuit of mind-body wellness should. Duh.

I wonder what happens when you try to resurrect an old blog?

2011-06-28T16:21:00.000-07:00

Kinda like that old philosophical chestnut, "If a tree falls in the forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?"

Am I a tree in the forest of the blogosphere?

I guess I am.

So it begins.

French shmench

2010-08-15T14:52:00.000-07:00

It's cheap; it's close; it's family friendly. Point Chaud rules!

A West African sauce recipe for you...

2010-08-13T16:30:00.000-07:00

...and you and you and you!

I had such a flashback to Sarajevo the other day. A glass of red wine in one hand (Vranac, thank you) and a spatula in the other--sauteing onions and garlic, otherwise that spatula doesn't make a whole lot of sense.

No Bosnian recipe here, but a West African one from a dear Ivoirian friend.

Food always eases travel sickness and, let's face it, it hardly ever disappoints. Except when it makes you sick.

Eyes on you Quiznos.

Here is your delicious recipe, my friend.

Bisous.

Sauce Recipe from The Ivory Coast, West Africa

Chicken/Fish/Oxtail--you can use any of these in combination or alone. I usually use chicken, about 1 lb, but more is fine too. It's a flexible recipe.

You need a big pot.

Ingredients

Chicken/Fish/Oxtail (see note above)
Vegetable Oil
Red pepper
Salt
1 medium onion
3 medium tomatoes (ripe!)
2 medium size carrots
1-2 cloves garlic
1-2 chicken bouillon cubes

1. Cut onion in half. Roughly chop that half. Toss into big pot with a little veggie oil, chicken, salt and red pepper. Add a little water to almost cover chicken. Cook water down. This will flavor the chicken.
2. While the chicken is being flavored, skin the carrots and put them in the microwave for 4-6 minutes or so. Just to get them soft. Meanwhile, take out your blender or food processor. Roughly chop the remaining onion, tomatoes, and cloves of garlic. Toss them in. Add the carrots when they are ready. Blend thoroughly. You want it to be liquid and you may need to add a little water to get everything moving, especially if you are using a blender.
3. When the water is cooked down almost to the bottom of the pot, add the processed ingredients and some more water (this will be to your taste, if you want thick sauce, only add1/4 a blender-full of water, for thin sauce, add more). You will want to cook this down as well to let all the flavors mix together, say 15/20 minutes or so. But this is to your taste. Add 1 to 2 cubes of chicken bouillon. Maggi cubes are great but not required. Any old bouillon will do.
The sauce should be on the thick side, which I think tastes best! You can serve with rice, or, for the full African experience, you could buy fufu from an African store. Rice alone is fine though. Enjoy

Inexplicably homesick for travel...

2010-08-12T11:47:00.000-07:00

...and freakishly bound to this blog.

Hmm, well...Duh. It is kinda in the title.

I wonder about people. People who live their lives in one place. (And maybe move once in a lifetime.) How do they see their lives play out before them? Romantic partnership, family home, kids, up-up the career ladder, and retirement? It's funny. I can only see into the next two years of my life and then only vaguely. I don't see progression so much as leaps and gigantic bounds.

Inevitably, and really not very inexplicably, I get that antsy feet itch to explore new horizons. Is this the curse of those who are hopelessly bound to travel because of their work?

Without sounding hokey, and I'm afraid that's impossible, I really just want to do good work wherever I land, for the time I'm there. After all these years as a traveling spouse, this is my ethos, my modus operandi, my security blanket and comfort.

Is that hokey? Little throw-up-in-your-mouth-Hallmark hokey?

It must be 'cause I'm feeling queasy.

Here's to good work and to not talking about my job because hello? Stupid.

And to my posting some more here and there and everywhere.

Is this thing on?

2010-08-12T11:46:00.000-07:00

Tap, tap, tap...

Hellooo?

I've added Wai Lana and Margaret Richard to my daily routine (Day 71)

2009-05-21T10:14:00.000-07:00

What? You think it isn't worthy to blog about? You are, like, so totally wrong.

I'm finding my new Washington routine evolve ever so slowly, and it goes something like this:

1) Get up. Make breakfast for self, baby.
2) Play with baby; put baby in for morning nap.
3) Job search; apply for jobs; don't think about chances of getting job as economy is crap. (Maybe I'm crap? No! Patience is a virtue, a virtue, dammit! You are a strong, beautiful woman with a tight little booty, which does not really help. In the professions I'm considering.)
4) Turn on PBS and do workout with Margaret Richard even though I'm not "40 and Fabulous." She kicks my ass anyway, which is disturbing in and of itself.
5) Take bath with Ollie while Wai Lana does her yoga thang in background. Am totally into her trippy dance to end yoga workout. Think Wai Lana may be on to something. (Or on something?) Not sure what but she cheers me to no end.
6) Go to park. Run after baby as he runs after others and eats junk off dirt, or just dirt.
7) Run errands.
8) Make lunch. Make smoothies!! Try not to eat rest of Ben & Jerry's FroYo.
9) Baby nap; more job apply. Feel self-esteem leech out of soul, into chair.
10) Maybe watch Bernie Mac. I love Bernie, America.
11) Baby waketh! Take baby to play with baby friend around the corner.
12) Bring baby home; make dinner. Can take pride in asparagus soup. I make fine asparagus soup.
13) Give baby dinner; feed husband; put baby to bed.
14) Lather, rinse, repeat

Must leave city. Must leave city...(Day 70)

2009-05-08T11:27:00.000-07:00

It's too big! Too crowded! I'm constantly asking myself if I should move the baby's crib away from the window because you never know if a stray bullet will come through the window.

Not really a joke in our neighborhood, although only one or two people in our building have actually been shot. (All survived.)

So, even though we can't afford to sell our house, I panic attacked my way through the classifieds and said to hubby, "What's the harm of checking out neighborhoods? You know, just to see..."

Which brought us to Kensington, it's darling antique row, and an equally darling man whom I'm guessing is named Sandro.

It's a lovely place to visit, but, oh my God, Sandro...He let me try on $10,000 necklaces, spoke at length about attractive cleavages, gossiped about how Sharon Stone wore one of his necklaces and DIDN'T GIVE IT BACK, and did I mention the $10,000 NECKLACES???

I don't know what casual bling y'all have hanging around the crib, but in these here neck of the woods, the closest I've ever gotten to jewelry in that price range is one to two feet. There's me. There's the thick glass and security alarms.

And here's this lovely older gentleman, talking about his craft and proudly displaying his finer work. Age and arthritis don't allow him to create anymore, so he waits until an enthusiastic shopper comes across his threshold.

We wandered in right in the middle of inventory, and I swear to the good Lord above, if hubby and baby weren't there, I would have volunteered my services and sat my ass down between him and his daughters and helped right on out. Just to touch the jewelry.

Why, oh why, didn't I get a picture?

Ha! You thought maybe I gave up??? (Day 69)

2009-05-07T05:47:00.000-07:00

Nope. I'm a crazy maverick and thought I'd tease you with anticipation! Do you feel well and truly seduced?

Actually, this move was a whopper, and we're still suffering from the fallout. Meaning.

We're broke and close to broken. And we still won't have our stuff for a month.

I've lost my friends. Actually, my best friend. My job. My adorable little town. And everything familiar.

I've gained an apartment situated on a LOUD alley, heavily used by police cars, trash trucks, and other assorted commercial vehicles. I swear it was not this way when we left. Or, maybe, my tough city girl skin is still soft from all that lush verdant QUIET English country life. Probably that.

And forget the job situation. What crappy choices I have.

If I were to put a positive spin on the madness, I can say it's nice to live so close to so many intriguing little shops. Our neighborhood got a lot cooler while we were gone. I could just say we live in an undisclosed location of Northwest DC, but I will be a little more specific and name the neighborhood. Drum roll please....We live in Logan Circle.

Yeah, I know. It is a little too cool for us. Believe me, the coolness happened around us, and we just bask in it, slack-jawed and kinda geekily staring...

Anyway. I'm going to push on with this project of mine. I'll get to 365 days even if I happen to skip a few days. Or a month.

So, here is Ol in our apartment. Forgive the mess. He's talking on the telephone to someone very important, I'm sure.

Cause I needed a laugh. (Day 68)

2009-04-02T15:08:00.001-07:00

The China Syndrome, totally the scariest movie ever! (Day 67)

2009-04-01T05:26:00.000-07:00

Thank you, Channel 4! Something to take my mind off the tedium and panic of the move--and all of the thank you cards I must send and those thank-you chocolate chip cookies in the oven.

Look at the young Jack Lemmon! "I knew the vibration wasn't normal."

And the young Jane Fonda!

OMG! "The nuclear reactor is going to blow, and I'm not even a real investigative reporter yet!"

It's "nuc-u-lar," right Richard, ahem, Michael Douglas?

Eesh! China Syndrome.

I'm so excited I almost burnt mah cookies.

Good-bye party Raj Douth, Cambridgeshire (Day 66)

2009-04-01T02:13:00.000-07:00

And so my NCT mommies said their goodbye's.

I am so sick of goodbye's.

I want this to be over. Yet, I find myself hit by incredible inertia. I may never leave this couch. Maybe the movers can just pack me in with all of the other furniture?

I'll be fine with my ipod and a small television.

I'm gonna get you, doggie...(Day 63)

2009-03-29T13:45:00.000-07:00

We so lucked out that fateful Thanksgiving eve when we adopted Veli. Our little Bosnian street pup has the most fantastic temperment. Although she's knocked me to my knees on countless occasions, she's always so careful with Ollie.

Ol wrestling away Vel's blue teddy.

To all outward appearances. (Day 62)

2009-03-28T16:22:00.000-07:00

We're fine. Not panicked. Not stressed.

At least he's not stressed.

He'll never remember England, which makes me sad, as I have so many memories.

When I was first pregnant and could barely make it out of bed, I would take the dog for her morning walk around this park.

When I entered my blissful second trimester, I would take the dog for more leisurely strolls. In the park. In the fields...I'd tuck my ipod into some part of my expanding waistline and tune into a Suspense podcast or Norah Jones or even Russell Brand.

You heard me. Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.

Not seeing these places again...That's hard. I felt the same way about leaving Bosnia, the mountains, and my morning walks around Bentbasa. They were such a part of my life, gave me structure when I had none, gave me routine and beauty. Apart from dear M., I will miss all of this the most.

Here's to finding something new and special.

Yesterday this happened. (Day 61)

2009-03-27T12:12:00.001-07:00

My "Surprise!" goodbye party at work.

You know. There's never a guarantee with jobs. That you'll like it. That the people will be lovely and sane. That the work will be interesting.

This was a good one, though.

That strange English weather. (Day 59)

2009-03-25T15:15:00.000-07:00

It was sunny.

It was windy.

It was rainy.

It looked like snow.

And a tree splintered in the park.

I like this wine. (Day 58)

2009-03-24T16:01:00.000-07:00

And I'm still not moving.

Nope.

Stress Baking. (Day 57)

2009-03-23T14:15:00.000-07:00

At least it was healthy. Ish.

I could have done a little sorting, a little spring cleaning, a little prep work for the move, but I have decided to believe that I am NOT moving in three weeks. Nope. No way. I'm going to sit on this couch, watch CBeebies, and look for healthy Baby Momma muffin recipes for the Baby and his Momma.

Which brings me to this recipe for Morning Glory Muffins, with my substitutions:

2 cups all-purpose flour I used wholemeal
1 1/4 cups white sugar I cut this substantially, 1/2-3/4 cup
2 teaspoons baking soda
2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon salt
2 cups shredded carrots
1/2 cup raisins Didn't have, used dates
1/2 cup chopped walnuts
1/2 cup unsweetened flaked coconut
1 apple - peeled, cored and shredded
3 eggs
1 cup vegetable oil Natural applesauce
2 teaspoons vanilla extract

DIRECTIONS
Preheat oven to 350 degrees F (175 degrees C). Grease 12 muffin cups, or line with paper muffin liners.
In a large bowl, mix together flour, sugar, baking soda, cinnamon, and salt. Stir in the carrot, raisins, nuts, coconut, and apple.
In a separate bowl, beat together eggs, oil, and vanilla. Stir egg mixture into the carrot/flour mixture, just until moistened. Scoop batter into prepared muffin cups.
Bake in preheated oven for 20 minutes, until a toothpick inserted into center of a muffin comes out clean.

They weren't bad. I thought they were delish with a bit of butter, and Ol liked them.

Befouled!

2009-03-22T12:14:00.001-07:00

I wouldn't normally post twice in one day, but the most terrible, horrible thing happened. The single-most soul destroying baby body emission that was ever emitted...

In my bedroom.
On my rug.
On my shoes and on two separate cans of deodorant.
AND
On my person. And his person.

Befoulment. Befouler! I cast thee out baby butt.

What do I do? I allow the baby to buff his little neked body around the bedroom while I prepare the bath. This is my crime. I turn around and there is...befoulment everywhere. Everywhere. After intensive cleaning, there is still the spotty brown mustard evidence and two cans of deodorant that need replacing.

Baby thy name is Befouler.

How to Hammam (Day 56)

2009-03-22T01:36:00.000-07:00

There are drawbacks to travelling with a toddler. The amount of time I could have spent lounging around Cogalaglu Hammam was seriously curtailed by the image of my husband wrangling Ol in the hammam's cafe. Speedy though it was, I was so SO glad I went. And please don't let your fear of nudity prevent you from going. It's not a stick insect convention. There are ladies of all shapes and sizes, and everyone does their own thing.

First. Do your research. I think if you wanted a local's experience, you wouldn't go to the hammams advertised to the tourists. (Too expensive for the locals; tourists are their primary stock and trade.) That said, if you want to see some of Istanbul's truly beautiful hammams, you need to suck it up and pay the 60-80 odd Lira. I figured if I was going to spend THAT much, I wanted to go to the cathedral of hammams. Be blown away by some architecture while soaking up the steam. Like a gift from the spa gods, the latest issue of Cornucopia was all about Istanbul's most beautiful hammams. The hotel was probably most convenient to Galatasaray, but as the woman's section was an add-on in 1965, I thought, "Eh." It was a toss-up between Cemberlitas and Cogalaglu, and since the Lonely Planet guide liked Cogalaglu a little better, I went there.

Finding it was another matter. Sheesh. The cabbie was not sure where it was and hubby and I must have taken half a dozen or so side streets before finding the sign. (And, btw, you do not need to make an appointment if you're going to one of the more tourist-y hammams. The local ones may be another matter, especially if you want an assisted bathing experience.)

When you walk in, you choose the service you want. You can go cheap and bring your own shampoo and soap, but if you're going to a Turkish hammam you should try the assisted bathing service. Frankly, if I had the time, I would have gone the full monty and had the massage, but, you know, antsy toddler in tow. So. Paid my cash and was shown to a cubicle to change. You place your shoes outside and go inside to, well, do your thing. There's a towel you wrap around yourself, and I stripped fully--no undies.

You have to wear the wooden clogs provided otherwise you may slip on the wet marble. You take the key to your cubicle with you and follow the bath attendant into the steam room to wait for your bather. You can go over to the fountains and poor warm water over yourself or lay on the hot marble and look at the ceiling. What a view, huh?

After about fifteen/twenty minutes of relaxation, your bather lady comes in with the shampoo, soap, bathing mitt and such. She will lead you over to the fountain, sit you down, and pour warm water over you. She will then lead you back to the marble, have you lay down, and scrub the bejesus out of you. After the scrubbing, she will lead you back to the fountain, pour warm water over you again and wash your hair if you choose. And, if you're lucky, she may massage your head and face a little. Then, voila! Your finished. At this point, she led me from the room, took away my wet bath towel and re-wrapped me in a new one. Now, I have to say the one piece of this process I was not totally sure about was the tipping. I mean, you can't take your paper money into a hot steamy room, right? (I did tip after I changed and gave the money to the senior bath attendant, but I thought my bather lady looked a little disappointed when I initially clogged away.) Anyway.

I slowly made my way back to my room, where I could have rested on the bed inside and taken a little nap, but, again, toddler, husband, no time. Just as I opened my door, one of the bath attendant's handed me a goody bag and asked whether I wanted a coffee or tea. Again, toddler, husband, no time. I changed, dried my hair, and made my way to the hammam's cafe. An hour all in all, and that was me moving speedily along. What a fab experience.

And what was inside my goody bag, I hear you asking? Underwear. Clean underwear. They think of everything.

Istanbul was cool... (Day 55)

2009-03-21T14:38:00.000-07:00

...but I'm way too tired to do it justice. Our impending transatlantic move is driving me doolally. Too much to do; too little time. Anyway. I leave you this image of the Basilica Cistern and the upside down Medusa. I have to say. This may have been my favorite sightseeing spot. Felt a little like Indiana Jones, except I had to pay admissions and I wasn't being chased by a giant boulder.

We interupt our regularly scheduled programming for...

2009-03-14T14:02:00.001-07:00

Istanbul!

Going to Turkey next week so no blogging guarantee!

Ollie, your second 1st bday party. (Day 48)

2009-03-14T13:53:00.000-07:00

NCT Group, Little Paxton Scout's Hut

Those wacky English...(Day 47)

2009-03-13T15:35:00.000-07:00

Note the red hair and the new funky glasses!

It's Red Nose Day!

I know, right.

What?

These are a reserved people, and they need a day to break loose. Red Nose Day kinda gives them that permission.

And so I was hosed down with red hairspray, had some red nose stickers slapped on my personal bits, and was threatened with "salsa-cizing" at lunch. (I hid in my office instead.)

I do really like the whole charity/costume thing. Think we can do this in the States? Hmm? It's fu-un.

Get that branch (Day 46)

2009-03-12T12:54:00.001-07:00

She was just doggedly determined. Get it? "Doggedly?" She's a dog! Oh my, funny stuff.

St. Neots Museum (Day 45)

2009-03-11T16:14:00.000-07:00

Alas, stock photo, as, duh, forgot my camera. Wouldn't you know? And there was a mammoth femur on display and all! I so-ooo wanted to snap that baby. A most decent local museum.

The Remembrance Day Poppies (Day 44)

2009-03-10T14:36:00.001-07:00

The Poppy Story

Alas, Woolworths...(Day 43)

2009-03-09T14:21:00.001-07:00

I have a very nice memory of eating at a Woolworths' lunch counter in South Carolina, but that's about all the memories I have about Woolworths in the States.

Here, though... :-(

I will miss our local Woolworths. I often forget how often I used it until I need something like a roll of duct tape, AA batteries, The Guardian, baby socks...

Little Barford, Bedfordshire (Day 42)

2009-03-08T14:50:00.000-07:00

What an eerie little village. Would loved to have explored more and would have...save for the pounding, driving rain. Followed by hail and sleet. (Note Hubby and Baby sheltering in church doorway like hobos.)

I know it's blurry, and you can barely see it in the background. But. What a cool (abandoned)manor house. After hubby ran crying for the car--"Oh, the rain, wah!"--I sprinted with the dog up to the perimeter, only to find that it was pretty well gated. Shame. A friend of mine had a chance to see it before security measures were put into place, and, apparently, it's chock-a-block with old furniture.

Four little penguins all in a row...(Day 41)

2009-03-07T06:10:00.000-08:00

A massive blowout necessitated a full-out penguin wash. That's right. The whole penguin army was dumped into the washing machine. The two in the middle have been through so many cycles, their necks are barely attached to their bodies and it looks like one has cataracts.

Satisfying. (Day 40)

2009-03-06T16:03:00.000-08:00

Enjoyed a very nice Indian take-away with Phil and Melissa. I think we may be ten pounds heavier now. Finally tried Gulab Jamin. It tastes like...pancakes! Pancakes in lots and lots of syrup.

Pens are delicious...(Day 39)

2009-03-05T12:24:00.000-08:00

(Maybe not so nutritious. But. Eh.)

I be stylin' (Day 38)

2009-03-04T10:37:00.000-08:00

Check out my new frames, dudes.

I think waiting three years for new specs is fair. And since I can't get the dirty mucky goop out from my wire rim glasses, I think others will appreciate my new purchase as well.

What my lazy ass made for dinner tonight....(Day 37)

2009-03-03T11:07:00.000-08:00

Remember that quorn I bought a few days ago in a fit of wild experimental passion?

Ate it.

Actually. Wasn't bad. And I will buy it again.

You know what else I ate? This stuff.

There wasn't even a number to tell me how much time to cook it. I guessed 6 minutes. I think I guessed wrong.

I shan't be buying this again. Though, really, it wasn't bad. Just mushy, and we'll mark that down to operator error.

Oh, Edward Monkton, what did I ever do for cards before you came along? (Day 36)

2009-03-02T14:44:00.000-08:00

I love shopping for cards, and I swear this man has a card for every occasion. Lunacy? Female chocoholics and shoe lovers? Ninjas? Check, check...and check.

What do YOU do when your husband's away? (Day 35)

2009-03-01T10:56:00.000-08:00

I go out and treat myself to...

A scrapbook

1/2 priced Christmas cards

Quorn.

(Wanna party?)

(Day 34) Duck a l'Orange (or however the heck you spell it)

2009-02-28T12:37:00.000-08:00

Yes, my duckies, this was my dinner.

Jealous?

You should be! Far from a pile of slop, this was actually good. My photographic skillery is both minimal and lazy. Stu did an excellent job with the duck and the snow peas and the orzo.

Now, oomph! Am propping up the ol' feet and settling in for a night of movie watching. I'm hoping Possession is as good as the book.

Hmm. Seems promising.

Exhausted and Friday and Movie (Day 33)

2009-02-27T12:55:00.000-08:00

That pretty much says it all.

Went to the hospital. Worked. Came home. Waited for the plumber. Watched an increasingly active and agile toddler climb onto the coffee table. And the sofa. And the chair. Wrangled said toddler. Collapsed in exhaustion at the end of the night. Ate Indian. Watched The First Wives Club. This is my pixture for today. It is a stock photo. I tried to get to the camera when said toddler toddled onto the coffee table for the FIFTH time. But, alas, it was too far away.

Feeding my inner American (Day 32)

2009-02-26T11:58:00.001-08:00

Yeeees!

Thank you, Phil and Melissa, for giving me access to Season 4 of The Office, via your devious blackmarket routes!

"The eyes are the groin of the face."

"I don't like being titillated!"

"Suck on this."

Ho-boy. Good stuff.

Another developmental milestone...(Day 31)

2009-02-25T11:54:00.000-08:00

Well. Crap.

So, the chair I use as a blockade to the kitchen steps? He can haul his little baby butt onto it.

He has super human baby hulk strength.

Pingu v. Scrubs (Day 30)

2009-02-24T01:53:00.000-08:00

My favorite kiddie show...

His favorite "kiddie" show.

Anyway. Win. Win.

Fotheringhay (Day 29)

2009-02-23T00:48:00.000-08:00

When you live somewhere long enough, the special becomes commonplace.

Hmm. I may want to retract that. I never ceased to be struck by the beauty of Sarajevo, on days when the clouds swept the mountains, on my walks with Vel around Bentbasa...I was daily reminded how lovely the city was.

Now, I live in St. Neots. A market town, here in Cambridgeshire. Not a bad place but not a particularly lovely place either. It is easy to forget that I'm in England, actually. And the day to day routines of work and baby don't allow for much countryside travel (or reflection).

So, there we were last weekend. Anticipating another lazy Saturday with an afternoon dog walk as the day's highlight. Maybe it was the impending move (because still, still it seems we will be back in the U.S. soon....) but I took out the Rough Guide to Britain and gave it a look-see.

We've done so much travel around Cambridgeshire, I thought Northamtonshire....Yes! That's it, Northamptonshire. Surely, there has to be more to see than Oundle. Which is very nice, don't get me wrong, but I didn't really fancy overpriced gourmet olives or a latte.

Then I saw Fotheringhay. Promising. A lonely village, once the place of a very high profile beheading. Mary, Queen of Scots.

What a lovely, magical, even haunted, little place...The castle is no longer there, just a mound, where a section of the castle used to be--and a pile of rubble, all that remains of the castle. What a location, there on the Nene River, right by a footpath. All that pasture, all that land. And we had a rare sunny day to boot. (And a nice pint at the local pub.)

Now, I have an itch to see all these hidden gems. I must kick us into high gear if we are to see even a fraction of them before we leave.

Little Barford, you're next.

Whoopsy...(Day 28)

2009-02-22T11:10:00.000-08:00

The batteries in my camera died, so the picture I planned for today (Fotheringhay!) will have to wait until tomorrow.

Probably best as I burned my right hand and am typing, poorly, with my left.

But, hey, here's our entertainment for tonight...

I am/was such a film nut. I can't believe it's taken me (how long?) to see this.

The easiest bestest dish for the busy cook (Day 27)

2009-02-21T10:54:00.000-08:00

Cook up some farfalle
saute a shallot in a generous amount of olive oil
poor shallot and olive oil onto farfalle
top with shredded smoked salmon and capers
sprinkle on some parm.

So. Good.

(Day 26) Where the dog grows ever fatter from baby food debris

2009-02-20T10:37:00.000-08:00

I think he ate the entire cream cheese and blueberry jam sandwich. Damn.

Baby Boozer (Day 25)

2009-02-19T11:24:00.000-08:00

What happens when you don't child-proof cabinets...

Ollie, your first year of life on this here earth (Day 24)

2009-02-18T00:35:00.000-08:00

Sonny boy,

Imagine this. It was Sunday, the 17th of February, in the wee hours of the morning. I woke up to some very startling leakage. (No, not pee, although the thought had crossed my mind.) Instead of breaking in a whoosh, my water broke in a trickle, and it continued through those early morning hours and well past breakfast.

Of course, I freaked out, as mommy has a tendency to do. We raced over to Hinchingbrooke where I was told that my waters broke. Indeed. Your daddy and I sat there in the maternity ward listening to the screams of other women's labors. And then I was given an appointment to induce my very own labor. The next day.

That was that, then. You were coming tomorrow morning whether you wanted to or not. And, crap, was mommy nervous. Mommy has heard tell of some laboring ladies who find inner strength or peace during those hard hours of labor. They let the pain take them deep into a place of calm where the wood nymphs dance with the sylvan elves. Mommy strongly suspects that if she were to have come into contact with any such other-worldly beings she would have begged them for a dram of morphine or beat them senseless. You know, just 'cause...

Anyway. Mommy and daddy made their way out of the hospital and decided to go grocery shopping. I mean, why not? We were close to Alconbury, and we needed food.

I was in a bit of a nervous pre-labor induced fugue. For example. I remember a Girl Scout asking us if we wanted to buy a box of cookies, but I don't remember the verbal bitch slap I gave the poor kid. I thought I politely said, "No," but apparently I said, "Noooooooo!" with fat lady fanged fury.

For the life of me, I can't remember what we had for dinner that night. I do remember your daddy going off to bed, leaving me to late Sunday night TV viewing. I thought, "Father Ted? That's it? That's all I have to distract me from imminent labor? Great, just great."

I waddled off to bed, and, yes, at that point, I waddled. I had such a difficult time closing my eyes that night, as I was terrified to wake up in actual labor. Yes, true. All through my pregnancy I had this fear of going into labor in the middle of the night. I had this bizarre conviction that if I went into labor during the day, I would have more control over everything.

In any event. About an hour later, I woke up. In labor.

Since the pain wasn't so bad, I thought, "Well, might just let Stu sleep and go into the other room and shave my legs." Which I did.

But then THE contractions came.

And got worse.

Fucking wood nymphs. Where's your Goddamn fairy dust now??!!

Mommy put on her trusty leggings. (Bless those leggings, they served mommy's expanding tuches well.) And her green top and her suede boots. Daddy thought the backroads through The Offords and Godmanchester would be faster than the A1. So, off we went, at a rip-roaring 30 mph.

And the speed bumps! I remember them well...

We arrived at the hospital, at which point mommy was absolutely certain she wanted drugs. In the form of an epidural. Lovely, lovely numbing...Daddy managed sleep and mommy managed a cup of tea and some toast. Drugs. I sing a celebration of thee.

And then. Then, the most horrible, unthinkable thing happened...

The epidural slipped. And MOMMY KNEW PAIN.

There was a lot of ugly cussing and apologies to the midwives for said cussing, so I will leave that to your imagination. (Throw your imagination far and wide because mommy sure did. Mommy was both dirty and creative. That takes some mad skills.)

After a lot of pushing and MORE PAIN, out you came. My God, there you were. A real live person. Our Oliver.

The nurses swaddled you, helped me into a wheelchair, and took us both back to the Ward. You slept for a total of...five minutes? Enough time for mommy to leaf through her copy of Vanity Fair with Harrison Ford on the cover. (I remember that as well.)

And there we were and that's that.

The beginning of everything.

For the love of casseroles and apple pie (Day 23)

2009-02-17T11:23:00.000-08:00

You know these cookbooks. (You know you do.) Your mom or your granny has contributed a recipe for a church fundraiser or has one tucked away on her shelf...

I love them. I collect them. A second-hand bookstore fella once told me they get tons of them and, usually, toss 'em.

Sacrilege!

I love food, the culture of food, the eating of food. These cookbooks represent America's culinary history from bog-standard American kitchens. There's the casseroles, the pies, and the quick breads...Tuna casserole? It's probably in there. Pumpkin bread? Sure. Apple pie? My word, you have to ask?

Then, there are the recipes that have gone out of style. Off the top of my head. I have a beautiful buttermilk bread recipe from a 1920's cookbook, but lordy if I can find anything similar in a modern American cookbook. Why? Oh...Just not in vogue, I suppose.

But holding them, reading them, there's a simple folksy charm that always cheers me and reminds me of home. My mom's pumpkin bread. My mom's tuna casserole. (And, btw, yuck.)

I was reminded of my old-timey cookbook collection when a friend lent me a lovely handmade cookbook, given to her by her mother. Full of the recipes of her childhood. The good, the bad, the tuna casserole's...

And, from it, I made a swiss cheese chicken casserole with canned cream of celery and Stovetop in a box. It was simple. It was artery-clogging delicious. And it reminded me a little of home.

The good parts.

Cambridge graffiti and a day at the orchard (Day 22)

2009-02-16T12:06:00.001-08:00

Ah, President's Day in England. What to do, what to do...?

Leisurely stroll through Cambridge and Grantchester, tea and a bit of chocolate cake at The Orchard. Ol, there's not a lot you don't eat or drink. Milky tea and cake were both hits.

The Orchard was nice but not quite what I had expected. (Thank you Rupert Brooke for raising my expectations. Poets.) I imagined the tearoom a bit more like this.

But, you know, the natural beauty and all was nice. That, I will concede, Mr. Brooke.

First, comes the snow...(Day 21)

2009-02-15T12:39:00.000-08:00

Then, come the floods...

V-Day (Day 20)

2009-02-14T11:12:00.000-08:00

Wasn't I the lucky recipient of Belgian chocolates? I was. I think Stu may be hiding the rest of the box from me, as I lost all willpower and ate about four this morning.

Apparently, I need help in the willpower department as I've gained three pounds! Fwah? I drink but a drop of red wine in the evening and, maybe, eat just a little ice cream for dessert. And, you know, I may do this every day, but I still don't see where all the poundage is coming from. I work out, you know...

As for you, Stinky...Did you know your due date was originally Valentine's Day? It was. This time last year was, well, a Thursday. Last year, V-Day fell on a Thursday. And there I was, heavily pregnant with you and totally paranoid about giving birth...and peeing every five minutes. I remember meeting my NCT mommies for coffee and bringing them V-Day/my-due-date cupcakes. Yellow cake with vanilla icing and pink sprinkles.

And look at you now. Today you clapped for the first time. (Witness momma's attempt to snap you in the act.) You're such a big boy. You say "Dooga, dooga, dooga and dugga, dugga, dugga." And occasionally you say "Dada," although I don't have a lot of confidence you associate the word with the live action "Dada."

Crazy.

Time flies, kiddo.

I don't hate Rachael Ray (Day 19)

2009-02-13T10:47:00.000-08:00

I'm not, like, obsessed or anything, but I did make this purchase on base last Saturday.

Don't judge me.

(Some of the stuff's good, okay??)

(I swear.)

(Really.)

(Okay, I'll find this really neat-o super easy French Onion Soup recipe, and you can see for yourself.)

Oh toys! Now, how do I get to them...? (Day 18)

2009-02-12T10:54:00.000-08:00

Planning the spring wardrobe (Day 17)

2009-02-11T07:59:00.000-08:00

In other non-baby news, I am planning my spring wardrobe!

I know, right? That is some BIG news Jacki.

Now, you have to imagine this handbag in green because that's what I have. Green. With bright pink lining. And a black double breasted mac because, well, hello, I needed something to match.

I admit to falling head over heals with the new faux patent leather, plastic-y handbag look. I have a strong and abiding feeling that I might be tempted to splurge again. Purple, maybe. Yeeees. A purple patent handbag.

Why I thank god for organic crunchy carrot thingamies (Day 16)

2009-02-10T10:44:00.000-08:00

He stuffs them whole into his mouth!

They entertain him while I pound down my lunch!

It's gotta be better for him than Cheetos.

I eat them too!

Senor Destructo! Witness the carnage. Hug his mommy. (Day 15)

2009-02-09T07:04:00.000-08:00

What the...?

Actually, this is no great shocker. I no sooner get done cleaning the room--that's right, cleaning-- when Captain Underpants rolls through like a tornado.

I am spent. Purely and utterly and am praying that he naps this afternoon like he did yesterday. (Two hours and not a peep. That's the sleep I want.)

How do you folks with multiples do it? I know I'm a big whiny mommy baby myself, but jeez...Ol has never been the kinda baby you could put in a playpen, in front of a book, or, heck, the TV...(I know, "Jacki, you monster!") Nope. He must crawl or walk or play or GET INTO THINGS, THINGS THAT ARE NOT HIS. What's the point of toys, I ask?

Look, I get this is all developmentally appropriate. It's good he's exploring. It's good he's curious. It's good he's slobbering on all the ice-trays and assorted plastic containers. They're new and unique and he's bored with the thousand other brightly colored toys strewn around the house. It makes sense.

Maybe I just have a profound lack of patience. But. Doesn't anyone else just get fed up? I need to make dinner or put in a load of clothes, and "Damn!" "Ol, shoot, don't touch that. That's trash." Or. "How did you find that? Where did you find that?" "Oh, sweetie, don't cry. Here, come on, momma's got you...." "Oh crap, the onions are burning." Just a recent example, right off the top of my brain.

A lot of women go at this momma business alone, and being a momma now, I so tip my hat to you. (And dads, props to you single dads...) I sometimes wonder, for those of us who are expats and who have family back wherever we're originally from, if it would be easier to raise a child "back there."

For instance. Our folks wouldn't be around the corner, but I know we could always drop Ollie off at his grandparents to sleepover. If we wanted to make the two hour drive up to Delaware or Jersey. Then, we could traipse off to a merry night at the movies.

Since having Ol, we have been out alone twice. Wow.

I think I might just need a break, but there's no break to be had. Except for my outside work, I'm stuck in 24/7. And what about you moms who work at home? (And let me be clear, by "work at home" I do include being a mom. Most definitely.) How do you balance it? I build routines into my at-home days. And, actually, I do look forward to the routines....

Sample routine. Monday. Go to Boots, pick up baby treats and formula, if needed. Wander down the high street and end up at Waitrose. Buy beautifully packaged and overpriced food. Like pre-chopped onions. Thing of beauty.

I do like spending time with the little guy. He's mine. And I loves him. But I am whacked by the end of the day, and I look around the house and feel like I've accomplished nothing. (I have yet to truly conquer our laundry pile. I don't actually think our laundry basket has a "bottom." I haven't seen it for months.)

And I realize, as I write this, I feel a little foolish, as my little guy is sleeping away upstairs. He's giving me a much needed break on this hectic day, so I just should shut my mouth, quit complaining, and put my feet up....

While the silence lasts, that is.

The joys of showers! (Day 14)

2009-02-08T10:28:00.000-08:00

Finally!

Ollie loves the bath, er, shower. With me. Is that weird? And if it's not weird now, when will it be weird?

The problem to date has been getting a diaper and assorted clothing back onto his person.

He's not so into that. He prefers the buff.

(I have a much cuter picture, but I think Ollie would rather I not display his winkle on the blogosphere. Understandable.)

Lazy days and spoon feeding...(Day 13)

2009-02-07T10:14:00.000-08:00

Ol wants to hold the spoon. Some kind of developmental step, I think. He's surprisingly clean about it. Mostly.

My lazy day included a trip to the good Chinese restaurant and a sinus headache. Ol, you were very good. Ate your organic carrot crunchy things and only spit out the rice.

Rare for us but very welcome is an equally lazy time lounging around watching movies. Skyjacked! Omg, how many opportunities did they have to kick his terrorist ass off the plane? Too many. Idiots. Next up, Close Encounters of the Third Kind. Believe it or not, I have never seen this movie, and I'm quite looking forward to it.

Frickin' heck. It snowed. Again. What up Jack Frost? (Day 12)

2009-02-06T08:02:00.000-08:00

Dear Ollie, Your mother trudged to work in a blizzard because Daddy took off at 5 in the morning. (To work, to be fair...) Dude, trains, buses, and frigid tootsies, oh my! Now that mommy is home she will watch The Mighty Boosh. You don't seem interested. One day, my stinky butted friend, you will heart the Boosh and think a little more of your momma. Love, Me

Winter storm wreaks havoc with morning commute. Part Deux. (Day 11)

2009-02-05T11:07:00.000-08:00

Imagine my great and abiding surprise when I woke up to snow.

Again!

This is England. As a rule, you may see a flurry but actual physical white powder evidence?
Hardly.

The normally 20 minute drive to work took an hour, as we were going about 10 mph.

(I understand there are some cutie-patute Ollie-in-the-snow pictures, courtesy of Auntie Melissa. Will post when available.)

a) View from our balcony. Now, that's snow! b) The red car we followed all the way to Huntingdon. At 10 mph. c) Tree on the way to work. In a field. Some field. No, I don't know where. d) Godmanchester. Waiting and waiting to get on the ring road.

Not an anglophile anymore (Day 10)

2009-02-04T01:03:00.000-08:00

Not that I ever thought England was all tea and crumpets, but, well, I must have had some romantic Dickensian vision of the country. It hit me the other day that I was no longer the Anglophile I once was. Picture me kicking back to some classic Britcoms on UKTV Gold, in a rare moment between house-cleaning/working and everyday Ollie maintenance. I realized as I was watching As Time Goes By or Vicar of Dibley or some such, that they didn't hit that "Oh dear, isn't England cozy and quaint?" spot they once did.

And it's not that I hate England. Not at all. The impending move back to DC is a heartbreaking thought because I will miss my town and my job and my friends...It's just, well, England is home now, with all that is good and bad and ugly and funny and lovely. Sure, the thatched houses are hobbit-like and the country villages idyllic, but I see them all in a greater context of life and work and everyday living. If I was passing through as a tourist, I might come back to the States with that same hunky-dory, English life is ideal, tra-la-la, but I'm not a tourist. The magic is there. I still see the beauty of the old mixing with the new. But it's not with stars in my eyes. Well...Sometimes, there are stars. Cambridge is pretty spectacular, and I will miss that small city/big town feel. But the romance of something that you idealize from afar, without really knowing??? That's gone. And I feel sad about it.

Anyway. Hey-ho. I scored this amazing find at our local charity shop...

Now, there's a collection that's truly magic. Lucky for me, books never lose their lustre, especially ones fondly remembered from young adulthood. I can't wait until Ollie is old enough to enjoy this with me. He still likes to eat books, which is magic of some kind, I'm sure...

The joy of canned peaches! (Day 9)

2009-02-03T10:55:00.001-08:00

Winter storm causes chaos! England comes to halt. (Day 8)

2009-02-02T02:56:00.000-08:00

View from our living room balcony

The marina outside our living room window

Well, it's official. This really is the worst winter storm to hit England in 18 years. Unfrickinbelievable. It barely coats the bottom of my shoes!

Ah well. It's pretty, and it's probably the first and only snow of the season, so I'll takes what I gets.

To celebrate the storm of the century, I put Ol in his red plaid flannel jams. Instead of throwing him into whatever was clean, that is...

Sunday Roast with the English (Day 7)

2009-02-01T10:22:00.000-08:00

Finally, people who understand our pain...Friends with an eleven month old baby! And they somehow managed to cook us a grand Sunday Roast. (Yes, those are Yorkshire Puddings!)

Croc wellies are in! (Day 6)

2009-01-31T11:35:00.000-08:00

It's a shoe bonanza! First Nike's, then Wellies...Where will the madness end?

Sick Day (Day 5)

2009-01-30T11:25:00.001-08:00

Imagine coming home to this face...

Methinks I have the sniffles. Thank you my boy. Ugh.

My brand spankin' new baby shoes (Day4)

2009-01-29T11:34:00.000-08:00

Ollie's first shoes! (And, yes they are Nike's. You can thank Ollie's daddy for that completely impractical $26 purchase.) Darn cute though, eh?

Gavin and Stacey (Day 3)

2009-01-28T01:05:00.000-08:00

Rainy, rainy English day...

Ollie no sleep last night. Toothache. Mommy tired. Mommy collapsed on couch. Mommy looks at pile of dishes and toy debris on floor and CAN'T. BE. BOTHERED.

Mommy turns on idiot box, i.e., mommy's BFF despite all warnings from helpful baby development books about THE ROTTING OF THE BRAIN. Whatev...Mommy's brain rotted a long time ago.

What do we have here? Gavin and Stacey! Ding, ding, ding! Who loves Nessa? Huh? Hands, hands...?

Cheesy cravings (Day 2)

2009-01-27T11:29:00.000-08:00

Somtimes a girl just needs her Wensleydale--with cranberries! This image, poorly planned and executed, is just a taster of the 363 photos to come.

Funny thing cravings...I'm almost always a strong red kinda girl, but I had to go for the white. See how the label is turned discreetly from the camera? I thought I needn't brag about my 2 pound bottle. I have no idea what it was or where it was from, but the cost was just right...

Year of the Ox...Happy New Year! (Day 1)

2009-01-26T06:07:00.000-08:00

I'm going to try for this 365 photo a day concept...Ol, this is for you. As momma has been utter crap with a baby book, consider this your birthday pressie. (Also, momma feels guilty that you're very first birthday will be celebrated sans grandparents and various and sundry family members.) Saying this, I make no promises that I will post every day, but I will certainly try. And, although this may surprise you wee one, not all pictures will be about you or actually be you.

In fact, my first photo is this...

I think Karin and I may be in competition to see who can send the prettiest birthday flowers. Imagine these as one lovely bouquet (because that's what they were until I realized I had no jumbo vase so had to keep them in the sink and troll the charity shops for something to put them in and found these and thought "Oh hell, I'll just split them in two.")

Good Crap! Where has the year gone...?

2009-01-04T08:44:00.001-08:00

This time last year I was vastly pregnant. And terrified about giving birth. (For good reason, it turns out. Labor hurts.)

Now, I am snuggling up to watch the Christmas episode of Lark Rise to Candleford over the cries of the young 'un. (Please stop crying, Oliver; it's been going on for four hours now, methinks you exaggerate your angst.)

So-ooo...2009 proves to be interesting, as we plan our repatriation to Washington DC.

(Oliver, I mean, MY GOD, WHAT???)

But, really, it's just as I feel inside. "Whah! I don't want to go home," she says in between sniffles and sobs.

(Oh, you sucketh your thumbeth. You're tired! Yes! Great merciful happy dance, you're tired! To bed, tra-la-la!)

15 minutes later....

Yes, well. Going home. Funny thing "home." What is home and where is it? It is/was England, but in a few weeks, it will be DC, for better or for worse.

Must get used to the idea. I have no other choice.

On a happy note, he-eeere's Ollie! Ain't he cute? I mean, really?

Richard Quest is bitch slapping anchors and taking names

2008-10-08T00:30:00.000-07:00

I will always remember the day the world went down the toilet because of Richard Quest.

"Run for the hills, people! Grab your children and your cyanide pills. We're doomed. DOOMED!"

Trust Richard to give me a good hard giggle when I should be rooting through my medicine cabinet to find those cyanide pills. And removing all my money from the bank.

Thanks, Richard. You're a much needed tonic to all the worry about the economy tanking.

Nothing says autumn like...Sambo?

2008-09-29T00:41:00.000-07:00

Hummuna, hummuna?

I have been meaning, meaning to take pictures of this since our local hardware store put them in the window a month ago. Finally, I remembered to grab my camera before taking the dog for her Sunday evening walk. Blurry, yes, but I think you get the picture.

Are they supposed to herald the coming of autumn? Symbolize the waning summer sun?

Dunno.

Kinda creepy, though.

Scottish wedding chic

2008-09-27T13:28:00.000-07:00

I was in the car at the time, so, props to my eyeballs for catching this out of the corner of my eye and equal props to my quickdrawl hands. Taken, somewhere in Cambridge, sometime last week.

Playpen smooshy face

2008-09-24T01:35:00.000-07:00

Ollie loves his playpen.

See?

But, when Ollie wants out of his playpen, he gets very, very close to the netting and does this...

This amuses me to no end. In fact, I'll leave El Stinky Pants in there until I get to see the full smooshy face effect. Yes, I am a good mother.

In other, more wholesome, less laughing-at-your-child's-expense news, Ollie is enjoying the fall leaves with photographer/friend/nanny/dog-wrangler Melissa. She prefers to capture Ol in the thus and so of autumn colors....

Ah, glorious Ollie in all of his glorious glory.

Eating a leaf.

Aw....

An Ollie a day keeps the blues away...

2008-09-23T07:38:00.000-07:00

Actually, I'm not blue. How could you be with this little bubba-labum?

I've been abysmal at keeping a baby book for Stinky Pants. Maybe this will work? Ollie, I love your teddy bear hat, and I don't care who knows it. Unfortunately, your head's getting too big for your ear flaps. I don't think we'll make it through the season. Luckily, you still have your booties. Your fabulous, fabulous bootays.

As much as I love to dress you up in your ear flap hat and your flamboyant booties, it's time for your nap. Mommy's going to kick back with the Gilmore Girls, now on E4. I loves you E4, and I loves you More4 for bringing back ER.

The Disnifictation of the Muppets or "Say it ain't so, Walt!"

2008-09-22T00:43:00.000-07:00

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/09/21/movies/21barn.html?scp=1&sq=muppets&st=cse

Gah!

Clealry, I will have to buy Stinky Pants all the classic Muppet Shows because who knows what Disney will do to them...How do you recreate the hilarious Swedish Chef or Pigs in Space for viewers in the Disney-verse? I don't think it will ever be as funny or as subversive. Oh, Jim Henson, how I miss thee.

Speaking of you, Stinky Pants, how you love to be thrown into an old pillow case and flung around the room by your daddy! Ah, we are easily entertained.

We drove two hours to a beach with no beach.

2008-09-20T12:05:00.000-07:00

That's actually not fair. Although there is very little beach to speak of, Southwold is pretty...

Nice little high street with pretty little boutique-y shops. But, man, with the dog and the baby, it's not like we had a chance to see very much. So, that left a meal on the pier and a quick high street drive-by which amounted to "Oh, pretty coffee shop. I think. Hey, don't drive so fast!"

[Station Break]

Okay, CNN playing the whole "Sarah Palin Unveiled" or whatever. I can't write pithy comments on the Suffolk coast. Book banning whackjob.

Nice specs, though.

What the electoral map has taught me....

2008-09-19T06:27:00.000-07:00

Well, mainly, that North Dakota is right up there. See it? It's right by Canada! Canada. Huh, go figure. I had it wedged in the middle of Ohio and Indiana and Tennessee and West Virginia. Basically, I thought it was Kentucky. Or I thought Kentucky was North Dakota.

The More You Know, right?

In retrospect, things I DO miss about New Jersey

2008-09-15T01:28:00.000-07:00

Rejoice! It is fall, my much beloved season of seasons. It is Halloween and Thanksgiving and pretty leaves and the beginning of cozy sock wearing and crock pot cooking. Most happy of sighs.

So, I'm sitting here with my morning coffee and my lovely socks (see above) and scanning our summer beach pictures. I come across this one...

When you're an expat, you find there are some things you miss about your country and other things you miss, well, not so much. I suppose things falling in the not-so-much category would be the ever-present-in-your-face flag waving. Like you aren't really an American unless your business/place of residence is covered, tip to toe, with American flags. And what's with the "American Owned" thing? Why did they feel the need to advertise the fact? What are they really saying, er hum? I sometimes find American patriotism to be cloying and dangerously nearsighted.

Anyhoo.

The U.S. New Jersey. The beach. Things I do miss....

1. Tastycakes! I was particularly partial to the Cream Filled Koffee Kake Cupcake. Oh-la-la.

2. Wawa. Affordably yumtastic coffee. I do miss you, my pet. But what is up with the Pancake Sizzli? Bad, very bad (and this why Americans are fat. Very fat.)

STATION BREAK, or, YES, I AM A HYPOCRITE. I do realize everything I miss so far is food and crap food at that. So, hold onto your hats for number 3...

3. Hoagies! Cheesesteaks! I'm talking proper Italian hoagies and cheesesteaks, folks. It's a world of difference (and a thing of beauty, no?)

4) Italian Delis. God, I sorely missed these, even when living in DC. Growing up, you never realize that a town or city could exist without a proper Italian deli. Yet, they do. And we're the worst for it, really.

STATION BREAK, PART LE DEUX, or, CAN JACKI THINK OF SOMETHING SHE MISSES THAT IS NOT FOOD RELATED?

Er, um, friends? Family? Oh, I know...!

Le Target. Sing unto the angels!

Argh! Spider!

2008-08-04T00:36:00.000-07:00

I sat down with myself this morning and thought, "Hmm, what kind of post should I write to herald my return to the blogosphere?" After such a hiatus, it's difficult to know where to start.

General chit-chat about the baby?

The joys of homemade puree?

Sleepless nights?

I pondered these and other thoughts as I sat down on our easy chair. Just for good measure, I glanced up at the ceiling to take note of our family spider. Actually. Our-not-so-family-spider. He/she/it stole into our house five days ago and has been working her/his/its way across our very high ceiling. We had been waiting for a chance to take it down when it became, well, more reach-able. This would have been Stu's responsibility as I hate all creepy crawlies.

Imagine my horror, when I saw it IN OUR KITCHEN. DANGLING! FROM A SINGLE THREAD. A SINGLE THREAD!

Holy monkeys' nuts! "What to do," she asked as she screamed and scanned the kitchen for a spider killing device.

Still screaming, behold our brave spider wrangler swinging wildly at the ceiling with the kitchen mop. "Die, die!"

And so it did.

Shaking and vowing mightily to never ever use the mop again because there may be spider bits stuck in the squeege-y part, she placed the mop back in the utility closet, sat in front of the computer, and typed out this entry. With shaking hands, I might add.

Sheesh.

Oh. And here's another picture of the baby. More on that later. Must recover from frightening early morning spider attack.

I'm too sexy for my onesie

2008-07-27T11:32:00.000-07:00

Guess what blogosphere? I'm back, and I have a baby!

Him.

Isn't him's cute?

My friend, Melissa takes the bestest pictures of my baby man.

She can take good pictures of you too, I'm sure.

Shameless promotion is my first middle and last name.

The Wrath of Veli

2007-10-16T03:13:00.000-07:00

It's always about the tissues. She leaves everything else alone, except for the tissues. What is their delicious attraction?

Is it so wrong...

2007-09-27T03:05:00.000-07:00

to base the design concept of a baby's room on this?

View from baby's crib.

Too scary? Or just whimsical? 'Cause I was aiming for whimsical.

Signs that you have spoiled the dog...

2007-09-26T05:37:00.000-07:00

The day my tastebuds died and went to Greek Yogurt heaven.

2007-09-22T12:22:00.000-07:00

Yes, there is such a thing...

Doubters. Sheesh.

As we will at some point find ourselves back in the U.S. of America, I thought I should do a little research on something I just can't do without...

Greek Yogurt.

Yes. And yum.

This is widely available in the UK, and I have fallen in love with its rich texture. The way it calls out for a splodge of honey, a handful of crushed walnuts, and sliced bananas. It's truly a thing of beauty.

But. Is it available in the U.S., I wondered?

I became absolutely dependent on the various drinkable yogurts available in Bosnia and found my heart broke, just a little, when I could no longer get it. (Can this be found in the UK? Can it? If you can lead me to this drinkable yogurt-y nirvana, I might just name my baby after you.)

DUKAT-Tekući jogurt. Sublime.
Anyway.

Yes, in fact, you can get Greek Yogurt in the U.S., and this little company does one hell of a job.

Fage! Thanks in large part to this little blog entry, I breathed a sigh of relief, betook myself to our local Waitrose, bought a container, ate it, and danced my happy-food dance.

Now, if I could just find Cream Top Brown Cow yogurt.

I want it all, baby.

Where's mah belly? Mah baby belly?

2007-09-21T00:18:00.000-07:00

As I look down the barrel of my sixth month (in two weeks, two weeks!), I wonder whatever happened to a sizeable, noticeable baby-bump?

I'm tired of looking like I waddle down the pub for a few pints. I still fit into my non-preggo pants...with the zipper down and a shirt pulled discreetly around my exposed bits. I think my neighbor might be hinting, if ever so subtly, that I'm looking a little portly 'round the middle. "It's a beautiful day! Out walking the dog, huh? Did she go for a nice long walk?"

Don't play with me, mister. I see you looking down at my jacket that doesn't quite fit over my stomach but that doesn't quite not fit either so what's the point of getting rid of it for maternity wear that I won't need in a year?

Methinks a purchase of one of these bad girls is in order:

It's called a belly band. Does anyone own one of these? Does it work? Mah belly needs stylish emphasis, "Look at me! I'm a baby, not fish n' chips pudge. Really!"

Really.

Red leicester is good and all but gouda is better.

2007-09-18T04:24:00.000-07:00

I love sandwiches. And, now that I'm in my second trimester, I'm back to eating my sandwiches as I like them, with mayo and mustard and tomato and spinach and relish and onion and ham and...gouda.

But, martyr and non-food waster that I am, I decided to forgo the delightful slices of gouda in favor of the leicester that's been living in the fridge since last week.

I feel a finer person, really. And I'm glad that my baby, when he or she is born and able to read this blog/baby journal, will know that his (or her) mother values all food and will even forsake her precious gouda for leicester leftovers.

I'm sure there's a lesson to be learned in all this, and, I'm sure if we all think hard enough, long enough enough, and creatively enough, we will find it, by gum.

Wales is awful purty. Take that, Cambridgeshire!

2007-09-14T03:27:00.000-07:00

Shucks. That's not nice. Cambridgeshire can't help being flat or windy or flat, windy and rainy. And we do loves its flat hilly charms. Mostly.

But what we really loves is North Wales with its purty, purty mountains and it purty, purty coast.

This is Criccieth. I do believe we were at the castle, looking down at the town. Really should have taken more castle pictures, but, you know, one castle is so much like the next...

I was totally charmed by the scenery and the people. We had a fantastic breakfast at our little B&B which included blood pudding, something I really enjoyed. Then again, I really love (and miss) scrapple, so you can see where blood pudding and I would really get along. (Stu pretended to try it, lied to me about liking it, and then lied about both trying and liking it. Men. Honestly.)

So, here we are, in the middle of nowhere, already charmed, and we come across this church with the most intriguing tile work. And we're charmed some more.

I hated leaving Criccieth. If we had more time, I think I would have happily stayed and puttered around town, enjoyed the scenery, gone for long walks, and eaten hearty lunches. But, alas, we had three days left and more peninsula to see.

Bye, bye, blood pudding. I was very happy to meet your acquaintance, and I'd like to think our paths will cross again.

The Welsh equivalent of the American pink flamingo.

2007-09-13T03:10:00.000-07:00

The ubiquitous pink flamingo:

The ubiquitous...butterfly?:

Oh-hhh! I see.

I wants this for Christmas, Santa.

Roadtrip, roadtrip! Wales here we come! Part One.

2007-09-12T02:40:00.000-07:00

My first trimester is finished kicking my ass, and my second trimester is letting me get back to "normal," which means:

I can maintain a vertical position for more than an hour.

I can eat onions again.

I can stay awake for more than two hours.

I don't feel like dying.

These are all good things, as I like living. So, Stu and I thought we would push/celebrate our good fortune and take a roadtrip to Wales over the American Labor Day holiday. (So, yes, I realize these posts are late and backdated, but, hey, we are talking about the pregnant dead coming back to life. Throw us a bone here.)

The idea of leaving the house thrilled me with giddy excitement. Where would we go? What would we do?

Ultimately, we settled on North Wales, and we took a route that led us through Porthmadog, onto the Llyn Peninsula, to the towns of Criccieth, Nefyn, and Nant Gwrtheyrn. Then, we came back through the peninsula and stopped in at the scenic "town" of Portmeirion.

It was then I realized that we did indeed push our good fortune and that I was still pregnant and that my body required rest. I took many Rolaids and clutched my stomach as we drove back to England.

But, I'm getting ahead of myself. Onto Wales. Westward, ho!