they have a holiday for this now?

Happy 4:20, everybody!

Or should I say "Happy National Smoke a Doobie Only I am So Old and Square I Didn't Even Know This Existed Day!"?

Did you all know about this already? Apparently, somewhere along the way, "4:20" became slang for pot. And 4:20 replaced 11:11 as the preferred time for getting high. And April 20, well, you get the picture. I learened this, of all places, on NPR yesterday. National Public Radio. Not, you know, on tour. Oh, no. On NPR, as I chopped spinach for my family's healthy dinner.

This afternoon, I told this all to my friend Tracy, who is still young and groovy and runs my favorite local dining establishment. She felt sorry for me and gave me a hug. That's my life now. Cool chicks hug me out of pity as I chase my son out of the last actual phone booth in the county.

In happier news, the antibiotics kicked the bronchitis out of my system, I hit my goal at Weight Watchers, I'm going shoe shopping tomorrow, and the sun is out.

i am now officially pathetic and disgusting

So there we were at the diving pool in the town rec complex, Emily and me. And there was a dad, you know, a typical pot-bellied hairy dad, doing cannonballs off the diving board, in some kind of competition with his young son.

And he got the late-high school/early-college aged blond eye candy in the chair life guard wet, and the eye candy life guard took off his shirt.

And I was glad.

40: Proof

Emily is sick. She came home from school early yesterday and tearfully got into bed, where she stayed for the next five hours. I think that the only good part for her was getting to watch Survivor and American Idol.

This morning, when I got out of bed, I noticed that my back felt kind of funny...strained...like I had been lifting moving boxes yesterday. But, whatever. Who has time for that? I took some Advil and moved along. Nothing to see there.

After washing all of the sheets that Emily puked on last night (three times!), I called the doctor and took her in. She has a high fever. And strep throat. And an ear infection.

It was hectic getting out of the house, as Jonah decided that the time between when I put his shoes on and when we left the house was the perfect time to throw a full-blown, kicking, screaming hissy fit. He was quiet by the time we got there. I put the car into park and lifted Jonah out of his seat and something in my back went URK! NOT SO FAST! I swear, the pain was like a contraction. It doubled me over. It's somewhat better now -- nothing that some more Advil and a yummy little Vicodin at bedtime won't fix -- but I was limping for a while there.

I just want to say that I have no interest in being a Bad Back Girl, unless I can also be an Oxycontin Cddict which, as I'm not Courtney Love, I can't be. I have no time for this crap. And I am far too young.

whadja get?

Hoo boy...the birthday hits just keep on coming!

They day itself? It was fine. Low-impact. Things got off to a mixed start. It had been snowing all night, and we had gone to bed anticipating a snow day, only to awaken to a delay. Andrew, who had been planning on catching up on some work, was pissed. I, who know that snow days seem like a better idea at 6 am than they do at noon, was not too disappointed.

The stupid thing, however, was that Jonah's school, which normally runs from 9 am to noon, was also delayed 90 minutes, which gave me only enough time to get a cup of coffee. I was going to try to start my book club reading, but ran into Kelly and there went that.

The rest of the day was relaxed, and included a lovely dinner at Karen's house. It was nice not to have to wash dishes on my birthday. Emily and Andrew showed up with a nifty giftie -- a dessert decorating tool that works like a cross between a pastry bag and a spritz cookie gun.

Excellent presents from Julie, too! Some leftover holiday gifties from King Arthur...cool silicone molds for the molten chocolate cakes and decorating sugars, all of which I am very excited to use. I have no doubt that my previous issues with silicone pans will not extend to these sweet little guys, which seem just right for the job at hand. Also in that package, a most excellent new OSX native USB label printer.

What you need to know here is that I've had a label printer for years, purchased back pre-USB. It's got a serial connection, and it was attached to my machine via a Keyspan serial-USB adapter and run in Classic mode, with mixed results. In other words, a FrankenPrinter. This new one is spiffy, and works perfectly. A wonderful upgrade!

My mom sent gorgeous flowers, made even more beautiful by the fact that they arrived with a big box of chocolates! That's my kind of bouquet.

Shelly sent a very beautiful peridot bracelet from redenvelope.com. Not only do I adore the bracelet, but it came in the most gorgeous packaging I've ever received. Note to self: redenvelope for mail order presents!

Lisa's gift arrived today...speakers for my ipod! No more fumbling for cd's in the kitchen! Hooray! Something to listen to when it's not time for All Things Considered...a break from TNT"s Primetime in the Daytime!

A check from my dad will go toward a kitchen scale, which I badly need. My old one mostly just estimates.

Alan's present hasn't arrived yet, leaving me something to look forward to, along with flowers that Sharon sent that are also lost in the system.

I suppose it's time to take the countdown module out of the sidebar, huh? But here's what I want to know...what happens when the River of Presents dries up and I'm still 40?!?

God. That was the first time I wrote it down, and you know what? I winced when I saw it on the screen. It's agonizing, really. And I can't believe it's me.

what a day!

Let me tell you something. I have the best husband, and the best friends, in the world. You might think you do, but I need to set the record straight: You're wrong; I do.

He'd been planning something for my birthday for months. I knew it. Everyone I know knew it, including Emily, who in a likely-never-to-be-repeated feat, kept the secret. I was really good, and I didn't snoop at all. Seriously. I knew it was going to be fun and I placed my trust in Andrew, and, boy oh boy, did it pay off!

It all started Friday. I went out with Karen to have a nice lunch (we were checking out places for her son's 2007 bar mitzvah -- hated one, loved another) and a mani/pedi. The entire time, I kept wondering Is this it? and expecting singing gorillas to jump out from behind bushes. Nope. Nothing. So I just had to wait.

At about 6:30, the children fed, but Andrew left to fend for himself, as I sat around in a black t-shirt and the pink flannel pj bottoms that no one but Andrew and the kids are allowed to see, the doorbell rang. Andrew and Emily looked at each other. Emily started bouncing up and down like a super ball dropped from the roof I wonder who that could be? Gee, I don't know...let's see!

I opened the door and there, on my front porch in Connecticut, grinning from ear to ear, was my great friend Shlomit. I swear to you, I could not have been more surprised if it had been Elijah the Prophet himself. Shlomit lives in New Jersey with her husband and two kids and, sadly, the logistics of our lives have conspired to keep us apart. We see each other when we can, always with the men and kids and all their various needs and issues in tow, but mostly keep in touch via phone, email, and this blog. She's a constant lurker.

We helped put Jonah to bed, grabbed Andrew a hero from Subway (I cannot believe that people eat at that place, but that's another post), and went out for dinner. A nice dinner. Without kids. Or husbands. In a child-unfriendly setting. With a bottle of wine. And, for the next three hours, we talked. Just Shlomit and me. Uninterrupted. Unfettered. Literally, we hadn't been able to make that happen in years, and it was great.

Shlomit brought me the most gorgeous pockebook as a gift. It's so cute and adorable, but not too trendy, and I love it. Don't you agree?. It's the red one.

The next morning, Andrew poked me at about 8:00 and told me that I had 45 minutes to get dressed. My usual uniform of jeans, black t-shirt, and boots would do fine. I did have the good sense to do proper makeup, sensing that I'd be photographed a-plenty that day. Karen came over, and then Kelly, who gave me a terrific gift -- classes with the local macrobiotic cooking guru. I'm really looking forward to doing one of those classes in the Spring, when produce has returned to New England. Kelly was wildly ill, and was a great sport for getting it together and showing up.

Later, Karen produced a small box, robin's egg blue and tied with a white ribbon (be still, my heart!) from her pocketbook. Inside? The Elsa Peretti bean necklace...so me...simple, silver, elegant. I love it.

But where were we going? And what would we be doing? I still didn't know.

Karen drove, of course. She knows every back road in the county but that hardly matters anyway, as I am a directionally-impaired doofus who doesn't know where she is half the time, anyway. After numerous twists and turns, we ended up at the Connecticut Culinary Institute!! I had known of this place, but never actually been there, and was totally psyched!

Andrew had arranged a private cooking class for us...Pan-Asian Appetizers...Julie helped plan the menu, with an emphasis on technique and presentation. We made Shiu Mai, Boiled Dumplings, Potstickers, Vietnamese Summer Rolls, Asian Slaw, and two dips -- Soy-Ginger Dipping Sauce and Hoisin-Peanut Sauce, which may just be God's Own Condiment. We chopped and minced and sliced and diced. We folded and rolled and pleated. We teased and joked and laughed. And, finally, we ate.

It was a perfect morning for me...time away from the kids, with my great friends, doing just what I most love to do. And I learned to make things that I never would have tried on my own. It was great. The pictures are in the slideshow at the end.

After a nap in the afternoon, I was told to dress again, a little snazzier this time. And fresh makeup, of course. Fortunately, Karen had gone shopping with me a few weeks ago, and I had just the thing to wear!

Off we went to Trumbull Kitchen, one of our favorites -- it's loud and fun and the food is great. When we sat down, another surprise awaited -- Andrew had gotten in touch with my sister and several of my old friends, and they had all sent photos and birthday greetings, which Andrew had formatted, printed, and attached to my menu. It wasn't as good as having them there, but it was close. Those are in the slideshow, too.

Cocktails were served and then salad for dinner, and lots of little bites...crab cakes, potatoes, pizza with sausage...finally, dessert. Delicious banana cheesecake with a candle and, of course, singing.

It was an incredible day...a perfect day for me. What a remarkable thing it was to have the man who tells me he loves me every day go to such extraordinary lengths to show that love -- to make me feel special and adored -- and to have the friends who love me join in that effort.

Thank you, Andrew, and thank you to everyone else who took part in the planning of execution of this little miracle for me. I enjoyed every second of it.

Experience the day for yourself.

the game is afoot

I'm putting this back up at the top so everyone has a chance to get in their shot before it's too late...there are some notable absences, including last year's champion, who is apparently happy to let someone else eat her Oscar cookies in 2005.

It's here! The second annual Digital Hausfrau Oscar Contest!

Same rules as last year...you put in your guesses here. The winner gets a batch of the homemade cookies of his or her choice, sent within some reasonable period after the Oscars.

Lurkers, I know you're there, and you have the same chance as everyone else, so play with us!

Note the countdown clock. Tickety tock, huh? My soul is stamping its foot like Marisa Tomei in My Cousin Vinnie.

Andrew's up to something. That much I know. What I don't know is who, what, when, where, and all that. I have hopes about this and that, but no real concept of what's going on. I know that the rest of you all know, so quit smirking. I think it kicks off tomorrow, so I'm going for a manicure with Karen. At least, I think I'm going for a manicure with Karen. It could all be an elaborate ruse.

I'll tell you everything when it's over.

the painted ponies can kiss my ass

Here's a good thing about my friend Sarah: Everyone else sugarcoats the agony of turning 40; Sarah will look you right in the eye and say it sucks.

This came up today because I called Sarah to tell her about my great morning at yoga...about how I love my teacher, who is not young, nubile, or pierced that I can see, but is strong and beautiful and inspiring instead. I told her about the wonderful, supportive place I go, and how serene I feel while I'm there (if only I could figure out how to take that feeling with me when I leave!). And I told her about the wonderful music and weather while I was there this morning. It all came together for me today, and I was really happy that I'd gone.

Anyway, in the middle of all of this, Sarah says Hang on...What, Honey?, and A MAN starts talking to her. A MAN. This might not seem odd, until I tell you that Sarah is the single mother of a young son. A young son who, the first time I met him, was unable to hoist a softball bat from the ground to his shoulder. A young son who, granted, is getting older in the pictures she posts, but who can't possibly be A MAN yet, right? Right?

Wrong.

Nine weeks and four days to go. It's getting closer. It will be here soon. Before the snow melts, before the tulips have come up.

note to myself

This morning, I had a big daydream in which I sent a note to the me that I was 15 years ago at that very minute. You should know that the girl I was writing to was living on St. Mark's Place, going to graduate school, and dating a stage hand 4 years her junior. She weighed 129 pounds, wore a lot of black with some chartreuse and tangerine mixed in, and had recently dyed her hair black. The letter went more or less like this:

Dear Person I Used to Be:

If, somehow, technology ever advances to a state where time travel becomes possible and you find yourself, fifteen years ago today, looking at this and wondering what your life will be like in 2004, let me clue you in to a couple of things, without giving away too many secrets. You do need something to look forward to, after all.

1. You'll be fine.


2. You will not be living in Manhattan.


3. You will be driving a minivan.


4. You will not be as thin as you are now if you keep eating like that.


5. You will not do anything with those advanced degrees in wanking. Drop out now and get either a job or an MBA.


6. Fifteen years from this minute, you're going to be marching in a circle in the library with a beanbag on your head.

Bet you weren't counting on that last one, were you?

Love,

You, only Me

jonah and the decibet

So, there I was in the family room...me, Jonah, and his 27-year old speech therapist. We were singing the ABC's and, when we got to Q, Jonah said something like "course," which I took to be Jonah-speak for "Q, R, S."

I was about to make a joke about Jonah using the decibet, but I realized that Joyce wouldn't think it was funny. She wouldn't even know what I was talking about.

There I was, in my own home, with a virtual Beloit College freshman.

And, yet again, I heard something creak deep down inside.