How did I get here...

"you may ask yourself- well how did I get here?" Talking Heads

I refer to this song, pretty much daily. It's not because I love David Byrne (I do), but it seems like I can never truly believe that this is my life. This introspection is not of the existential variety, it is more concrete.

How did I end up in small town Vermont?
At which crossroads did I do an about face and fall in love with a man 14 years my senior who has very little in common with me outside of our admiration for Davis Byrne?
When did it become reality that I would work for and very closely with an obsessive compulsive son with a serious Oedipus complex?

These questions may never be answered, but my longing for some understanding may not elude me for long.
I have joined ancestry.com.

A lot of people are interested in genealogy. It's fun to dive into the past, the same way it's fun to rifle through boxes in your grandparents basement. I wonder if my curiousity of the unknown isn't sparked by the fact that I know little to nothing about my fathers side of my family. There is a ton of information about my mothers side of the family, which is made easier by the fact that I know the names of most relatives going back four generations. Italians pass down family history the way they pass down recipes. While I like learning more about them it's the unknown characters of my paternal side that turned me into a fixated, family tree detective.

These are the things I do know about my paternal side : the names of my father and his parents, my grandparents divorced after having only one child together (spoiler alert), and that my father grew up southern RI.

After many an hour on my new favorite time wasting website of choice I have come up with some pretty intersting information:
My paternal grandmother's parents immigrated form Poland to the US.
They were most likely Jewish.
My child is the only child of a mother who was an only child of her father who was the only child of his mother who was the only child of her parents. Confused yet? Needless to say, not a lot of extended family on that end.
My father's father moved to the south, remarried and had three more children. In his obituary there was no mention of my father. This makes me a little sad and also more understanding of the fact that he is a total flake of a parent.
I know the names of my grandfather's other children (an aunt and two uncles) and have seen one of them on facebook.

Now what to do with this information?
Is this my way of knowing my father without having to know him?
Has the internet opened an unnatural portal that should be less easily navigated for a reason?

I'll let you know once Steven's family tree starts to grow. I've started one for him too, mainly because like me he knows very little about his father and his fathers family. I started this "work" under the guise that Lydia should know this information. But really it's because my family tree's trail is getting cold and I can't stop.

and to think I was optimistic

The last few days have been a roller coaster ride the way only New England weather and being a parent of a six year old can be. One day you've got every window in the house open, clothes blowing dry on the line. The next morning you are bobsledding down a icy snow covered mountain and are sad to realize that your forgotten laundry is still on the line now frozen solid.


The daffodils in this picture were bought out of early spring fever. Little did I know there would be an actual full blown winter fever in our house.
Lydia whose temperature rarely rises above 101 degrees woke up Saturday morning in a complete fog with a temp of 104.6. This freaked me out enough but then she started saying things like "I think our living room has turned into a boat" and "my feet don't feel like they are touching the floor " while walking down the stairs. She could barely open her eyes, like a little mole in the sun, because they hurt so much. Cheeks as red as a July sunburn.
After vomiting in the doctors office and sleeping for most of the day cuddled in bed with me to stop the shivering she seemed to be on the mend. Sunday morning she was jumping around and had a small appetite. She was back, or so it seemed. We decided to go on a little walk. It was such a gorgeous day it was too hard to resist. Fresh air will do her good, right?
I knew I was in trouble when we got to Amy's bakery and she said she didn't want anything except water. She was a trooper and we finally made it back home, even though she needed to keep her eyes shut for most of the walk. When we got home her temp was up to 105.2. She fell asleep for another three hours only to be woken up by the cold compresses needed to get her fever down.
Now it's Monday and it is snowy and slushy and Lydia's temperature is down to 99.6. I'm relieved she's OK (note to self: never google - 104 fever, vomit and hallucinations together). But now I'm stuck in the house with a bored child who only has an appetite for Popsicles and apple juice (aka crazy juice). But my daffodils are open and I know it's spring somewhere.

Where's my riot grrrl?

I'm a body hater. I don't hate anyone else's body.
I'm not very angry at mine at the moment either, but I have been a serious body hater in the past. I believe this form of self destructive behavior should be treated like any other debilitating behavior. You might be in remission, but if you were a body hater there is always a body hater in you. .

Of course I still have self doubt. But I like myself now and unless I'm trying on bathing suits I'm fine with me. I've already wasted enough time and energy, no more.

When I was pregnant with Lydia I was terrified to have either a boy or girl. A boy baby because of the unknown territory . A girl baby because of the danger of the known terrain. I knew one thing for sure, I was going to do anything possible to prevent my child from being body obsessed. I would raise a strong, healthy, happy person.

The words fat and diet were stripped from our vocabulary. I never put myself down in front of Lydia and I try not to let anyone else do either. I talk about exercise as a thing that helps you to fell good inside and out.

So when my 5 year old daughter walked into the kitchen and said, "I'm exercising in the living room", I replied "that's great sweetie, I bet it feels good to dance around." Then a steam engine appeared from nowhere and plowed me over, "I'm exercising to get skinny, I don't want to be fat."

After about five minutes of a very poor, unscripted, mishmash of a lecture Lydia says, "your just trying to make me feel good."

So... I checked out four books today from the library 101 Ways To Help Your Daughter Love Here Body, The Confident Child, Reviving Ophelia and How To Mother A Successful Daughter.

I'll let you in on my plan of action once I've gotten through these books. If anything it may improve my lecture.

Crazy Cat (lil') Lady

When I hear a story about a woman with 10+ cat's in her home I always wonder: when did this begin? Most of these stories center around a woman who lives alone. You never hear positive stories about these overly enthusiastic animal lovers. More likely the stories villanize the woman with headlines such as "Crazy Cat Lady's Home Condemned 37 Cats Placed in Shelter". Or "Cat Corpse Found in Old Ladies Freezer". Well what is an elderly woman supposed to do with a cat corpse in the dead of winter? No pun intended.



Whether the feline loving "perpetrator" is just lonely and needy. Or desperately feels the obligation to care for homeless, hungry animals. It's hard for me to believe that the person is acquiring mass amounts of pets out of malice. I'm sure it just got out of control, like a collection of angel figurines. Knowing you like angels everyone starts to give you new angels, before you know it you've got a home full of the things. These people probably were eccentrics their entire lives. I doubt their family members and friends were surprised to find that the person had a few too many cats. There must have been warning signs.

Was there a photo taken like the one below of them when they were five? Or maybe Lydia is just a visionary and she will cultivate the "Shabby Kitty Lover Chic" look. Only time will tell.

Bored? yes, This Lonely? No

Lately I've been a little bored. Well a lot bored. On more than one occasion I have referred to my brain as oatmeal.
Steven has worked extra hours over the past few weeks. He hasn't had a day off in a long time. When he gets home he's tired and I have nothing to talk about . I totally miss him. But, I don't miss him this much. The customer reviews of this thing are unbearably funny. (For some reason I can't get it to link. Go to Overstocks.com and then type in "hug me pillow") One hopes that some are fake, but either way they are amazing. There's a person who sleeps with 5 of them, so that it feels like there is a family in bed with her.

But you know there are people out there that are comforted by this half torso. And for that I applaud this product. Sometimes in all the gloom and doom it's nice to have a strong arm to rest your head on.

I'm not sure I could ever get passed the fact that it seems like a dismembered body part. It doesn't help that the hand appears to be backwards. I also have never been partial to men that wear oxford shirts. An old, stinky rock tee from a band that hasn't played since 1993 and then we'll talk.

Shopping Lists

I feel like you can tell a lot about a person or their momentary situation when you look at what they buy at the grocery store. I think you can tell the most in the 10 or less lines. The fewer the items the better for a simple case study.


What do you think of the guy in front of you that buys a box of diapers, bacon, toothpaste, a can of tuna and a thirty pack of Bud. Or the woman who buys organic milk, tofu, prune juice, Mike and Ikes and a family size bag of Doritos. You can draw your own conclusions about their current situation. When running in to get a few things, what is that extra impulse buy? I imagine what the cashier might think of my purchases. I think about this whenever I buy tampons for some reason. I never just buy tampons. I'm usually in the supermarket and pick up a few other things. Is it normal to feel self conscious when I also get a bag of chocolate chips and a bottle of red wine with the tampons at nine in the morning?

On the nights that I work I can expect to get a phone call from the son of the woman that I take care of. He always seems desperate for something. I will preface this with he has a huge supply of everything they need. I have never had to pick something up that they don't already have at the house. Most night it's just a few things : ice, large Ziploc bags and smoked salmon one night. Sometimes he wants more things I emphasis want not need. "I was wondering if you wouldn't mind picking a few things up for us (us?) at the co-op. I already called over there and asked them what sort of soup they have and if there is anything wonderful like moussaka. I'm not interested in what they have so could you just get me a few things. It would be really great and it would really help me and mom out."
After twenty minutes on the phone while he rummages through his kitchen here is the list:
2 glass bottles half gallon whole milk McNamara farm
2 organic veggie juice
2 blood orange Knutzen sparkling juice
2 organic Apple and Eve cranberry juice.
as many bottles as possible Nantucket Nectar's lemonade
5 bottles tonic water
4 four-packs sugar cane cola
4 four-packs root beer
8 gallons distilled water
2 six-packs Heineken
6 bottles sparkling water
1 and a half pounds ham sliced 1/16 of an inch
six navel oranges
mild salsa
a bag of ice
and mixed nuts
I'll tell you who was the mixed nut.
That would be me, as I braved sub zero weather to get all these beverages and random items in an empty store at 9:00 pm (in our town that's like 11:30 anywhere else).
And when I got to the cashier I couldn't help but wonder, "where does she think I am headed?"

Bratz Attack

These moments come and go.

Every so often Lydia gets into something that I am horrified by.

This isn't the "I'm horrified, but really sort of happy" moment like when your daughter begins to love salamanders and caterpillars and tries to kiss them or expresses interest in playing ice hockey.

It's more the "I want pom poms to be a real cheerleader" moments.

The Cinderella obsession of age three followed by the Princess period of age four were easy enough to deal with. I liked princesses as a kid and I agree it is fun to have a costume of every character down to Pocahontas (yes she is a princess be it a less popular one). I even feel like I am to blame for this Disney saturation in some ways. It's sweet and cute to see your little one in a baby blue sparkly ball gown, it makes them look like one of those weird paintings of a royal child in the 1500's.

It is a little upsetting that most Disney princesses are waiting to be rescued by princes and usually the only friends they have are animals. I won't even bring up the mother abandonment hang ups. But all of this I can blow off as theatrics and drama, it adds to the story. Lydia has never even mentioned a prince, she really doesn't seem bothered. The mother issue also went under the radar. She loves to talk to animals and is forever dressing her lions and rabbit's in tutu's and gowns, but this doesn't seem to be a precursor for adult hang ups. Of course the self absorbed mother in me would love to think, "she could care less about those Disney Diva's". But I've been trying to remember (and remember and remember...) that she has her own taste and this taste needs to be respected. And in most cases she has better taste than I do anyway.

Now enter the Bratz. You know them, the big head /little body, lips lined in dark purple, street walker ensemble dolls. I have avoided them at all cost. I will not even entertain the idea of buying one. I've used many excuses: "Santa doesn't make lady of the night dolls" and "those are way too expensive, it costs a lot to get a doll that looks that cheap".

It worked for a while. That is until Lydia got a $25.00 Target gift card to spend on her own and has begun to read prices. Now she has decided she wants Neveah (someone had to fill me in that this is Heaven spelled backwards) and Peyton, a set of twin good girl/ bad girl Bratz. Will these dolls destroy her body image or turn her into a tart (Steven's words not mine). I doubt it. Will she think that this is what women should look like? Probably not. So I let her order them online.

The irony of the situation is, the gift card is from my re-born christian uncle. Can't wait for him to get a picture of the toy in the thank you card.

x-mas and new years true love

It's not every Christmas that you can say that you really feel the love from someone close by the gift that they give you. Yes I realize that you should feel the love without a gift, and I do from these gift givers. It's just that sometimes when you give a gift or receive one you feel like the person whether it be yourself or someone else, has missed the mark.

Well this Christmas for our family was a winner in the "I feel the love" gift category.

I'll start with Lyd.
Without a shadow of a doubt she felt the love from Santa and now shares this love with Elizabeth Cole her A.G. doll. (A.G. is not getting any publicity from me they already swindled Santa out of $115.00 bucks). This doll was the constant topic of most conversations over the last 8 months since our first catalog arrived. And it was serious love at first sight in a way that only a five year old could feel about a doll. It doesn't hurt that Elizabeth is a colonial loyalist. God save the Queen!
I also experienced love when I opened my present from Allison. I've hinted a lot over the past year and my x-mas wish came true. I got the softest most stylish scarf a girl could want. And I got it in the most awesome color green. Check out my peeps in this photo a total match.

Whether Steven's Mum is sending Lydia sets of sweat pant track suits or pink camouflage coats she always knows exactly what she would love. I might cringe when Lydia opens the box, but never has she sent anything without Lydia's taste in mind. She made no mistake when sending us out family present.

The brits might be a little fashion kooky, but they know their sweets. Candy love.

I wasn't even sure that Steven would like this present. But when he unwrapped it he was in awe. The Mr. Fawlty in Steven could not suppress his glee. Not because he needs an autographed photo of Basil but because it was an item that he didn't know he ever wanted (or ever existed) but was something that is so fun to have.
I know that Christmas is not about what you get or what you give, but sometimes the things that you do get actually make you feel more of the love.

Oh, it was also great that our friend Jeremy at first glance, thought the Fawlty photo was a picture of someone in our family. That my friends is priceless.