juliloquy

Holiday Road

I may have mentioned that we live in a rather scruffy neighborhood in West Philly. I love it — I do. One prominent feature of our block is the Holiday Rambler.

When we moved into our house in early 2004, I was rather suspicious of the Holiday Rambler. Houses on our block (and in most parts of Philadelphia) do not have garages. They do not have driveways. Our block is mostly twin homes, and people park on the street. The Holiday Rambler was parked directly across from our house. It never rambled. Did someone live in it? Was it a roving (but not really roving) meth lab? I would peek out of our bedroom window, looking for signs of life.

A few months later, we saw a neighbor clunking around with it. There was much revving of the accelerator and cranking of . . . other parts. I was relieved that I could attach a person to the Rambler. Yet still it remained in its non-rambling state. We began to joke about it - use it as a landmark when giving directions to our friends. ("Turn left at the old firehouse, then a quick right, then a left, and we're right across from the Holiday Rambler.")

After a few weeks of our neighbor's tinkering, I woke up again to the characteristic ignition roar. I thought our neighbor was getting an early start on his daily mechanical bricolage. But then something amazing happened: It drove off.

It was gone for about a week and then resumed its spot across the street for another 51 weeks. The next summer was a repeat: a few weeks of tinkering, then gone for a week.

Last summer we noticed a bright orange citation slapped on the RV's window with an order to move it. We weren't sure what our neighbor would do. (You may have realized by now that we don't really talk with this neighbor. We at least say hello to most folks on the block, but we honestly never see this guy except for the few times he's working on the Rambler.) I was relieved when I noticed that he merely moved it around the block. As captured on Google street view. (Click "street view," then the arrow to SW Pentridge.)

A couple of weeks ago, I noticed that the Rambler was back in its original station across the street. The neighbor has been clanking around in his free time. And yesterday morning at 5, the familiar gunning of the ignition. Easing off the emergency brake, then putter-putter-putter-ROAR down the block. I was wishing I had advance notice so I could pack a picnic breakfast for the front porch swing. It seriously felt like a ghetto space shuttle liftoff. Mimosas for everyone!

I rolled over in bed and smiled. I wasn't even mad that the noise woke up the baby.

Did this post's title get the song into your head? No? Well then here:

Having a Lucille Ball

I had just pumped and was leaving my office to put the milk into the company fridge (disguised in a brown paper bag, of course) when the phone rang. I dashed back to answer it, placing the bag on the edge of my desk. Of course the bag wasn't balanced well and fell off the edge of the desk. Of course the lid popped off. Of course in the tangle of phone cord I didn't get to the bottle before 8 oz had spilled out. (I rescued 2 oz, however.)

Of course it was a sales call.

It's not the end of the world. I have lots more milk stored in the freezer, and anyone who has seen da Roo recently knows that she's in no danger of starving.

The chair mat caught most of it, so I didn't have to sponge too much of it off the carpet.

Still, my office is sure to smell like gjetost tomorrow.

I'm no professional photographer, but . . .

I'm no professional photographer, but . . ., originally uploaded by juliloquy.

The kids' daycare set this up. They got good shots of them individually, but I don't know what was up here.

I don't know, I don't know, I don't know why

Thoughts for today:

I challenge you to find better 8 a.m. grocery store music than Barry White. Specifically "Can't Get Enough of Your Love, Babe."

Dear peanut-butter- and caramel-filled Hershey's Kisses: You make me proud to be a Pennsylvanian. (I've lived here 5 years now. Am I a Pennsylvanian? Maybe a Philadelphian? This is bouncing around in my head as its own post. We'll see I ever get around to it.)

To JDS, aka Mr. Isoglossia - no, I haven't joined Twitter. Am resisting that and Facebook, thinking that they would become black holes for my scant spare time.

Cat hair is threatening to take over our house. Oh, did I mention that we took in a fourth cat? [Orange] Pekoe, formerly known as Sherbet, Mr. Sherbs, or Peaches and Sherb. He had been living in a box on our front porch. We resisted taking him in: He's neutered, see, so we thought he belonged to somebody. But then it got really cold, so we let him stay in our entryway for a few days. Now that he's been inside (for more than a month), he has shown absolutely no interest in going back out. He's the sweetest thing ever. So if any of you would like a cat, we have a couple to spare.

I have been able to search through flickr for my job for the last two days. Trying to find a good image of Cloud Gate to use for the Sept. 2008 cover of our journal. There are lots of great images, but it needs to work with our vertical format and have people in it, preferably people of diverse ethnic and socioeconomic backgrounds. Lorilea, I may be in touch.

Thus saith da Shmoo

Woe unto them that serve me breaded morsels of fowl which hath been marred in appearance. The very peppercorns that adorn them shall be plucked asunder and cast into the fire.

Verily I say unto you: Let not the morsel of fowl in any manner touch the nectar of ketchup before the time at which I shall appoint. Saith the scripture: "And the flesh that toucheth any unclean thing shall not be eaten; it shall be burnt with fire. . . . Moreover the soul that shall touch any unclean thing, as the uncleanness of man, or any unclean beast, or any abominable unclean thing, and eat of the flesh of the sacrifice of peace offerings, which pertain unto the LORD, even that soul shall be cut off from his people" (Lev. 7:19-20).

Manservant and maidservant, present not unto me cereal bars fissured in nature, neither shalt thou bestow unto me crackers nor pretzel sticks unwhole or otherwise impure. Saith the scripture: "whatsoever hath a blemish, that shall ye not offer: for it shall not be acceptable for you" (Lev. 22:20). For my wrath shall be kindled against you and I shall smite you with great plagues.

"Ye shall keep my statutes. . . . thou shalt not sow thy field with mingled seed" (Lev. 19:19). Neither shall nourishment mingled of more than two ingredients come into me.

Herein ye have done foolishly: therefore from henceforth shall ye provoke my fury.

"To me belongeth vengeance, and recompence. . . . for the day of their calamity is at hand, and the things that shall come upon them make haste. For [da Shmoo] shall judge his people, and repent himself for his servants, when he seeth that their power is gone, and there is none shut up, or left" (Deut. 32: 35-36).

SEPTA Mama

I have handed off the Roo-baton to HPR. He is home with Polly until the end of January and, in addition to my return to work, I have taken on the role of Mommy Sherpa for da Shmoo. Although we live and I work in West Philly, daycare is near HPR's work in Old City, so this means I will be logging many hours on our fair transit system. Shmooie likes to be carried. It's faster, so I usually acquiesce in the form of a piggy-back ride. He tips the scales at 40 pounds. I am going to be cut by the end of the month.

We have typically used transit tokens and have thereby stuck with the trolley/subway combo to take advantage of the free transfer stations. But because I will take 4 trips a day through January, I bought a monthly SEPTA pass. With the pass, we can throw options like the bus into the mix, much to the delight of my motor-head son.

Here's the typical weekday schedule.

I nurse da Roo when she stirs in the 6 or 7 a.m. range.

7ish: We get up whenever da Shmoo awakens. I never thought I'd see the day when he'd rise so late. (Thinking back to those awful days when he would wake up for the day at 4:30 a.m.) HPR wrangles the kids while I dress and primp. I drink some OJ while I get ready.

Ideally, Shmoo and I would leave the house by 7:50, but it was closer to 8 this past week. We take a bus north to the El station. We try to sit/stand at the very front for the poor man's roller-coaster.

We arrive at daycare at about 8:30-8:40. We are at the mercy of the transit schedule. I try for a quick drop-off, then run back to the subway station. I get to work between 9 and 9:10. I can read page proofs for the Shmoo-less legs of my transit.

I eat breakfast and drink coffee at my desk. I pump at about 10:30. When it's lunchtime I eat at my desk. I pump again at 2:30 or 3. At 5 sharp I pack up the refrigerated milk and catch the subway to Shmooie's daycare. I get there around 5:30. With either subway/trolley or subway/bus combo, we get home at about 6:20.

Wednesday, Jan 2, was the first day of the new routine. I was feeling a bit sorry for myself during the day, but then HPR uttered the six words a woman loves to hear: "What would you like for dinner?"

I'm glad it was a three-day work week. Polly-roo was literally attached to me from 6:30-9:30 Wednesday night. Thursday night she woke up during each of the hours between 1 a.m. and 6 a.m. Wait, she didn't wake up from 2-3 but Shmooie did. They both woke up during the 4 o'clock hour. Thank God for caffeine and adrenaline, which got me through the day Friday.

In the evenings we divide the tasks of kid wrangling, dinner clean-up, and lunch-packing, although HPR has done more than his half of these tasks. I have had to shower in the evenings, too, because the morning schedule has been too tight.

HPR got Polly on a routine on the very first day. He credits her for being easy and malleable, but he also deserves credit for knowing her signals and working with them. She has taken the bottle well. (We learned from our mistakes with Shmooie and kept her to one bottle of my pumped milk a day since the beginning.)

I already have a few SEPTA stories to tell, but they will have to wait for another post.

things I did today, my first day back to work

• Spelled worthwhile "worthwile."
• Wrote "The Japanese media has . . ."
• Spelled critical "criticle."
• Couldn't think of the phrase "conference call." I resorted to saying "that . . . group . . . phone thing."

I can feel my brain leaking out each time I feed the baby. Ah well, at least my kids will be smart.

FINALLY [part of] this day in December 2007

I know you've all been waiting on the edge of your keyboards for the detailed write-up of my day December 7. I started the list on two scraps of paper. When they filled up I moved to a spiral-bound notebook. A few days later, when I had a free moment to key it in, I was able to locate the scraps, but not the notebook. So I started with the scraps, thinking I'd find the notebook before long. Well folk, it's nearly two weeks later, I have cleaned and organized for my family's visit (parents fly in today; siblings on the 24th and 25th!) and it's nowhere to be seen. So I give you 1/3 of the actual day, and then what I can recall of the remaining 2/3. (Still more detail than you really want to know!) If the notebook ever turns up, I may fill in more details. It's disturbing to think that I'm in charge (along with HPR, of course) of the care and feeding of two small ones, I return to my professional job tomorrow (look out, colleagues!), and yet I can't keep track of a stupid notebook.

1:13 a.m. Polly-roo stirs in the co-sleeper next to me. I nurse her. I worry about my right eye, which has a sore bump on the lid. I wonder whether it's the dread pink eye.

1:23 burp, swaddle, sleep

4:33 nurse

4:43 burp, switch sides

4:45 swaddle, sleep

6:11 I wake up to Roo grunting and snuffling, but she's not fully awake. I wait. I hear HPR get up (from the guest room bed, where he has been sleeping on the nights when he has to work the next day). He goes downstairs. I sit up, then recline and wait some more.

6:27 Hear Shmooie stir. Shmoo calls "Mommy." I get up and pee and check my eyes in the mirror. They don't look pink-eyey. (whew) Shmoo comes into the bathroom and we greet each other. I walk down the hall with him and move the monitor from his room to near Roo's co-sleeper. Shmooie and I go downstairs and get juice. I offer oatmeal. Shmoo says "I want raisins and honey [in the oatmeal]." I say "If you want that, how would you ask?" He asks politely and I prepare it. Conversation as we eat:

Shmoo: "I don't like the raisins with the pokey things sticking out [gestures pokey thing]. Do other kids?
Me: No.
Shmoo, defiant: YES they do, cuz [unintelligible].

Shmooie also demands that I stir his oatmeal. I do, and return the bowl to him. "No, stir it!" he again demands. It becomes clear that it's not stirred properly if raisins are visible on top of the oatmeal. So I dunk them all under and it [finally] meets with Shmooie approval.

6:48 Roo wakes up. When we hear her snuffling over the monitor, I say something like "Oh, Snorgle Snorg," which Shmooie thinks is very funny. I leave the guys at the table and go upstairs. Change the diaper of da Roo.

6:52 I sit upstairs and nurse Roo while reading Catch-22. [Still not done!] If I were nursing her downstairs we would be mauled by her brother's overly enthusiastic affections.

7:05 Head downstairs.  I'm still holding Roo as Shmooie and I play. We're on a bus, I help him find Bucky car. . . . We try to make a tent on the couch with a blanket, but my one-armed attempts don't work well. I ask HPR to take our picture, then he goes upstairs to get ready. I read Nine Days to Christmas  [my copy from childhood] to Shmoo. It's long for a picture book.

7:35 I put Roo in her bouncy lounge chair and dress Shmoo with the help of the militant, yet clumsy penguin. I tame his bedhead. Put an ice pack in Shmooie's lunch box, put it and snacks and books for the trolley ride in his backpack.

7:50 The guys head out. I pour myself juice and coffee and finish Shmooie's oatmeal (nursing mother = family's garbage disposal). Loki cat snuggles. I clean up the kitchen from last night. I turn on the radio, to the all-holiday music station. "We Need a Little Christmas" is the first song to come on, and I am glad because it gives me the excuse to tell you the following: The rhyme of "Christmas" with "minute" bugged me as a child, so I wondered what word would be better. If I lived in Madison WI I would try to get all the locals to change the words to "We need a little Christmas / on this very isthmus. . . ."

8:14 I go upstairs to shower and primp.

8:40 Back downstairs. I have sorted through the sizes of some of Polly-roo's clothes and bring a bunch of them to store in large plastic tubs in the basement.

__and that's where I left off__
Here's what I remember about the rest of the day.

I make a lot of progress with organizing Polly's clothes. At nine-something she fussed and I breastfed her on the couch while reading a few blogs. I hear Neil Diamond's version of "Joy to the World" and think Isn't he Jewish? A quick Google tells me in fact he is. Rolling Stone even calls him "the Jewish Elvis." How strange for him to sing "Let Earth receive her King!" I try to sleep a bit, but just as I am relaxing Roo fusses again and I fed her again. She finally settles around 10:30 or so, but it's too close to the time I should leave to meet a friend for lunch, so I don't nap, I make tea and keep reading blogs.

11ish: I change Polly's diaper and get us ready to go. I leave the house at about 11:25, carrying Roo in a sling. Wait in line at the ATM for at least 5 minutes - with only one person ahead of me at the machine (and someone helping him). I am really irritated. Who needs 5 minutes at the ATM? I have a lunch date to get to! When I get to the machine, it spits out their receipt. The people have already left, so I can't give them the receipt. I look at it. They were trying to get $10 out, but there wasn't enough in the account. I feel bad for being irritated: I have been there. I set off on foot for the restaurant, and call my friend to tell her we'll be a little late.

12:14 p.m.: Arrive at Han Wool. My friend A. is at a table waiting for us. [Her name is Amy but it's spelled differently, kept off the website to stay under Google's radar.] I order my usual: spicy squid tofu casserole. Roo, typically, wants to eat right when the food arrives. I feed her and eat simultaneously.

1:25: We leave the restaurant. I go to International House where my friend Holly works. I have a maternity shirt to return to her as well as a photo of our boys from the last time they were at our house.

2:15ish: Go to the drug store for a couple of things. It has started snowing - just flurries.

2:25: I start up Walnut Street, but Roo is fussy. I decide to go back to a spot with tables for employees to eat their lunch. No one is there, so I sit at the table by the window and look out at the pretty snow as I feed Roo. I go upstairs to change her in the bathroom.

3:10: Start again up Walnut Street, a guy stops me. His wife is having a baby in January and he asks me about daycares in the area. He is from Australia and is working at the University. I tell him the run-down of what I know and give him my card.

3:20: Stop at Metropolitan Bakery and buy saffron-raisin challah for our Hanukkah meal at HPR's dad's place tomorrow.

3:25: I was going to buy salad veggies from the guy who sells produce  at 40th and Locust, but he's not there.

3:30: Catch the trolley home. I would walk, but I'm a bit weary.

3:50: Home. I think about suggesting an evening at the Art Museum (We rejoined and love the Friday night Art after 5 concerts and noshes), but I think I'm too tired.

The rest of this is a bit fuzzy, but it's a pretty standard evening at Casa Juliloquy/SEPTAkid. I do another round of nursing and changing Roo, relax on the couch a bit. At 5:15 HPR calls to say he's on his way to pick up da Shmoo from daycare. At 5:50 or so I warm up some leftover soup (sweet potato / chickpea / cilantro / tomato) for our dinner, along with something more in line with da palate of da Shmoo.

The guys arrive home at 6:15. The first thing Shmooie asks, as always, is "Can I touch Beeebeee [Polly]?" We make him wash his hands first. Then we begin the constant refrain, "Gentle! You're smooshing her. She can see you better if you back up. Not on her head. Not on her face. BACK OFF!" What Shmooie hears, "Mwuh mwah mwuhmwuh MWAH mwuh MWAH mwuh [the noise adults make in Charlie Brown] . . . BACK OFF!" at which point he responds with something like "I don't LIKE IT when you SAY THAT" and we  remind him that he has to listen to us, that he's much bigger than da Roo and he has to be careful around her. It wears on all of us to keep having this conversation.

We sit down to eat. I snarf down as much as possible before Roo decides she's hungry again. Shmoo wants to sit on my lap and I let him, after Roo finishes. Shmoo claims "I'm a Beeebeee" and wants to be spoon-fed. I indulge him, and miraculously he eats the soup I offer. [He has eschewed multi-ingredient foods for the past year but has just recently started eating them occasionally.]

Shmoo then asks us to play with him, and as always, we say we'll be happy to when we're done eating, that he can go play by himself now if he wishes.

Around 7:15 one of us plays with Shmoo while the other either Roo-wrangles, eats some more, or starts clearing the table. No baths tonight - the kids both had baths yesterday.

7:45: HPR gives Polly a bottle of yesterday's pumped milk mixed with vitamin drops.

8:00: Offer brie and crackers to da Shmoo so he can't use the "I'm hungry" stall tactic at bedtime.

Thanks for Shmoo's shirt, Niki!

8:15: I ask Shmoo whether he wants to bounce upstairs or march. [I don't remember which he chose.] One last potty call. I help him brush his teeth and get into his jammies. We call HPR up with Shmooie's signature "Daddy, it's time for bedtime. Bring [Polly]!" I feed the goldfish. We sing one bedtime song, read one story, sing the second bedtime song, have a round of kisses, and tuck him in.

8:30: I take out my contacts. Go downstairs to pump. One of us Roo-wrangles while the other packs da lunch of da Shmoo and cleans up more of the dinner mess.

I head to bed with da Roo sometime between 9:30 and 10. It takes a while to settle her, then I get ready. HPR comes up for bed. Then, 20 minutes after I have nodded off, Polly wakes up crying. Those are the worst - the groggy wake-ups when I've just fallen asleep. But after a quick nurse, we go right back to sleep.

 

day in the life placeholder

I recorded my day on Friday; now all I need is to have both hands free to key it in . . .

Here's a photo from that morning. I love Shmooie's bedhead and the Mona Lisa smile of da Roo.

The Internet was made for this kind of post.

I am 38-and-three-quarters years old. This morning I organized my sock drawer.

For the first time.

Ever.

Why hasn't anyone ever told me how much fun it is to organize a sock drawer? Or if they did, why didn't I believe them? Here was my old system:

a) Throw socks into drawer.
b) When a pair of socks is needed, dig in drawer. Find appropriate pair. Pull them out amid a jumble of tangled tights/leggings. Cram everything back into the drawer and attempt to close it.

Today, I took everything out, set aside the hosiery, then replaced, from left to right: heavy wool socks, medium-weight socks of color, lightweight trouser socks (skin tone), then white athletic socks. I threw out solo stragglers.

For my hosiery (which I rarely wear but am not ready to get rid of) I assembled a white cardboard storage box from Ikea. Leave it to Ikea to sell a box that requires assembly. 11 nuts and bolts. Anyway, I went through all of the hosiery and tossed out mismatched legs.

Mismatched legs in hosiery, you ask? How can that be? Frugal Midwestern secret. If your nylon gets a run in just one leg, cut the offending leg off (of the nylon, smart-ass). Then when it happens on another pair, cut that leg off and wear the two good legs together. This trick really only works if you're brand-loyal, so the halves match. I am not brand-loyal. I'm glad I'm not a celebrity, because it would be very embarrassing if someone were to go through our trash and find the scads of pathetic abandoned one-legged pantyhose (gah - hate that word).

Then Polly-roo needed me, so I haven't done the final step of hosiery in the box and finding a place for the box.

Baby steps in my continuing attempt to get rid of clutter and have a place for everything. Wish me luck.

Tomorrow I'm going to do another day-in-the-life to record a maternity leave day for posterity.