This Page

has been moved to new address

Fairly Odd Mother

Sorry for inconvenience...

Redirection provided by Blogger to WordPress Migration Service
body { background:#fff url("") 50% 0; margin:0; padding:0 10px; text-align:center; font:x-small Verdana,Arial,Sans-serif; color:#333; font-size/* */:/**/small; font-size: /**/small; } /* Page Structure ----------------------------------------------- */ @media all { #content { background:url("") no-repeat 250px 50px; width:700px; margin:0 auto; padding:50px 0; text-align:left; } #main { width:450px; float:right; padding:50px 0 20px; font-size:85%; } #main2 { background:url("") -100px -100px; padding:20px 10px 15px; } #sidebar { width:200px; float:left; font-size:85%; padding-bottom:20px; } #sidebar2 { background:url("") 150px -50px; padding:5px 10px 15px; width:200px; width/* */:/**/180px; width: /**/180px; } } @media handheld { #content { width:90%; } #main { width:100%; float:none; } #sidebar { width:100%; float:none; } #sidebar2 { width:100%; } } html>body #main, html>body #sidebar { /* We only give this fade from white to nothing to browsers that can handle 24-bit transparent PNGs */ background/* */:/**/url("") repeat-x left bottom; } /* Title & Description ----------------------------------------------- */ @media all { #blog-title { margin:0 0 .5em; font:250%/1.4em Georgia,Serif; color:#353; } #blog-title a { color:#353; text-decoration:none; } #description { margin:0 0 1.75em; color:#996; } #blog-mobile-title { display:none; } #description-mobile { display:none; } } @media handheld { #blog-title { display:none; } #description { display:none; } #blog-mobile-title { display:block; margin:0 0 .5em; font:250%/1.4em Georgia,Serif; color:#353; } #blog-mobile-title a { color:#353; text-decoration:none; } #description-mobile { display:block; margin:0 0 1.75em; color:#996; } } /* Links ----------------------------------------------- */ a:link { color:#488; } a:visited { color:#885; } a:hover { color:#000; } a img { border-width:0; } /* Posts ----------------------------------------------- */ .date-header { margin:0 0 .75em; padding-bottom:.35em; border-bottom:1px dotted #9b9; font:95%/1.4em Georgia,Serif; text-transform:uppercase; letter-spacing:.3em; color:#663; } .post { margin:0 0 2.5em; line-height:1.6em; } .post-title { margin:.25em 0; font:bold 130%/1.4em Georgia,Serif; color:#333; } .post-title a, .post-title strong { background:url("") no-repeat 0 .25em; display:block; color:#333; text-decoration:none; padding:0 0 1px 45px; } .post-title a:hover { color:#000; } .post p { margin:0 0 .75em; } { margin:0; text-align:right; } em { display:block; float:left; text-align:left; font-style:normal; color:#996; } a.comment-link { /* IE5.0/Win doesn't apply padding to inline elements, so we hide these two declarations from it */ background/* */:/**/url("") no-repeat 0 .25em; padding-left:15px; } html>body a.comment-link { /* Respecified, for IE5/Mac's benefit */ background:url("") no-repeat 0 .25em; padding-left:15px; } .post img { margin:0 0 5px 0; padding:4px; border:1px solid #cca; } /* Comments ----------------------------------------------- */ #comments { margin:0; } #comments h4 { margin:0 0 10px; border-top:1px dotted #9b9; padding-top:.5em; font:bold 110%/1.4em Georgia,Serif; color:#333; } #comments-block { line-height:1.6em; } .comment-poster { background:url("") no-repeat 2px .35em; margin:.5em 0 0; padding:0 0 0 20px; font-weight:bold; } .comment-body { margin:0; padding:0 0 0 20px; } .comment-body p { margin:0 0 .5em; } .comment-timestamp { margin:0 0 .5em; padding:0 0 .75em 20px; color:#996; } .comment-timestamp a:link { color:#996; } .deleted-comment { font-style:italic; color:gray; } .paging-control-container { float: right; margin: 0px 6px 0px 0px; font-size: 80%; } .unneeded-paging-control { visibility: hidden; } /* More Sidebar Content ----------------------------------------------- */ .sidebar-title { margin:2em 0 .75em; padding-bottom:.35em; border-bottom:1px dotted #9b9; font:95%/1.4em Georgia,Serif; text-transform:uppercase; letter-spacing:.3em; color:#663; } #sidebar p { margin:0 0 .75em; line-height:1.6em; } #sidebar ul { margin:.5em 0 1em; padding:0 0px; list-style:none; line-height:1.5em; } #sidebar ul li { background:url("") no-repeat 3px .45em; margin:0; padding:0 0 5px 15px; } #sidebar p { margin:0 0 .6em; } /* Profile ----------------------------------------------- */ .profile-datablock { margin:0 0 1em; } .profile-img { display:inline; } .profile-img img { float:left; margin:0 8px 5px 0; border:4px solid #cc9; } .profile-data { margin:0; line-height:1.5em; } .profile-data strong { display:block; } .profile-textblock { clear:left; } /* Footer ----------------------------------------------- */ #footer { clear:both; padding:15px 0 0; } #footer hr { display:none; } #footer p { margin:0; } /* Feeds ----------------------------------------------- */ #blogfeeds { } #postfeeds { padding-left: 20px }

Fairly Odd Mother

Frantically waving my magic wand to make wishes come true.

Sunday, December 31, 2006

Five-Year-Old Theorist

Jilly ended her 2006 with a few fireworks of her own: lots of tears over what PJ's to wear, what story to hear and how to brush her teeth. In between screams, screeches and howls, she proclaimed, "Everyone's Mad At Me!" which has become her mantra for the year, along with "I'm Having Nothing!" and "I'm Going to Hit You!"

Of course, much of her fussing was nothing more than the 'too tireds' creeping up on her. About two minutes after her head hit the pillow next to mine, she was sleeping peacefully. I turned to Belly, who was lying awake next to me and said, "See, Jilly was just very, very tired and that is why she kept having meltdowns".
Belly than sat straight up and said the following, very seriously:

"You see, mom, it is as if your body was being run by ants. And, the ants all decide they have to go to work. But, they leave one ant in charge---he is the ant that handles feelings. But that ant is sick and the other ants don't know that, so they leave anyway. Because the ant that handles feelings is sick, you just completely go out of control".

Me:, "Well, I hope those other ants hurry up and get back here soon!"

Belly:, "Oh, mom. . . .(giggle)".

Happy New Year everyone. May your ants never leave the sick one in charge.


Thursday, December 28, 2006

Well, this about sums it up. . .

Nothing says "Merry Christmas" like a toddler pitching a fit in the middle of the nativity scene.

It happened on Christmas Eve when the Fairly Odd Family all went to our kind, affirming, open-minded Unitarian Universalist Church for their 'family-friendly' 4pm service. Belly and Jilly were in the 'Cherub Choir' which means they got up twice to sing---a rousing version of Jingle Bells and a somewhat confused version of the Twelve Days of Christmas (as one dad said, "They are great until Day Eight; after that, it all falls apart").

After the Choir finished, the Nativity Play began. Other than the parts of Mary & Joseph, all of the other parts in the play are filled as the play is read. For instance, when the story got to the part about the star in the sky, the minister would ask for someone to volunteer to be a star. That person would run to the back of the church, grab their star 'prop' and saunter down the aisle to the 'manger' at the front of the church.

Jilly and D acted quickly, running to the back early in the play to become a donkey and a sheep, respectively (I even teared up to see little D toddling down the aisle with his 'sheep' poster held before his little body). Belly, being the oldest and having done this before, waited and waited until she heard these words: "We need five angels".

With that, she and four other girls tore to the back of the church and were dressed in the mother load of props: a white sheet, fairy wings and an angel's halo. They then floated, er, walked, to the front of the church and were then ushered to stand up in the pulpit high above our heads.

By then, I had crawled on my hands and knees to where Jilly and D were sitting, to make sure they remained quiet and to keep them from knocking over the large candle displays around them. I found Jilly in a major snit.

"I want to be an angel!"

"Yes, dear, but look! You are an adorable donkey!"

"I hate him! (bonks mommy in head with donkey placard) I want to be an angel!"

"Don't bonk mommy. You can be an angel next year. Now shhhhh, we need to listen to the minister."


Her cries were pitiful. She was just crushed that she was not an angel like her sister. She was just. . .a donkey.

I did my best to comfort her and, once we were home, she immediately changed into a fairy costume which seemed to cheer her up a bit.

Fairly Odd Father summed up the entire fiasco the best, though, on Christmas Day when we were telling the story to the rest of our family. I had just mentioned that the Director of Religious Education had come over to me during Jilly's meltdown to tell me not to worry; every year a child or two lost it during the Nativity Play.

"Yeah", interrupted Fairly Odd Father, "there is always some jackass that thinks they're an angel".

Labels: ,

Thursday, December 21, 2006


Posted by Picasa
Two years ago, on December 22, 2004 , my father never woke up from his night's sleep. He had been suffering from cancer and, yes, suffering is the operative word. By the end, cancer had robbed him of his ability to walk, eat, drink and even lie comfortably, but it never did rob him of his mind. Indeed, the day before he died, as he felt his eyesight and hearing fading, he told my mother that he thought he was 'shutting down'. He was aware of it all, and for that I am grateful because I never really lost the essence of my father, my daddy, my children's Opa.

After he died, I felt like he was gone. Yes, his ashes were in a box on my mother's dresser and his voice on her answering machine, but he was gone. I would never see him again watching Speedvision, I would never be able to argue/joke with him about politics, I'd never see the way his eyes shown when they looked at one of my three children, his grandchildren. Two years later, the knowledge that he is gone can take my breath away, make my eyes fill with tears and make my voice catch. It seems unbelievable that it can be true.

And while I can accept that his physical self is gone, I am beginning to think that maybe he isn't really gone. There have been little things. Like, the time I was about to listen to a liberal call-in radio show, and the show suddenly went to static (that was him protesting my political leanings). Or, when we went up to an inn in Vermont with my mom and my sister's family and found a Fleetwood Mac CD in the stereo. As corny and superstitious as it sounds, I know he had some part in it being there, Stevie Nicks fan that he was.

Then, there are other, more subtle ways in which I can feel my father's presence. In fact, if I pay attention, I see that he is everywhere.
I see his gait--straight-legged and stiff--in the way my son walks across the floor.

I see his craftmanship and attention to detail in my husband's work around the house. I imagine that he is standing by his son-in-law, providing the same quiet guidance he offered during his life.

The taste of a fresh tomato, a just-picked zucchini or a crunchy pole bean remind me of the garden he tended year after year in my youth.

I hear the synthesized plinkings of Mannheim Steamroller on the radio, groan and then think of how much he liked that Christmas music, even though his musical tastes were normally much better than that.

Red Sox games on the radio, kielbasa cooking on the grill, the roar of lawn equipment and the murmer of late-night television---these are the sounds of my youth that remind me of my father.

When Belly tickles my feet, I remember how he laughed from his hospital bed as she tickled his toes and warmed his heart. When Jilly leans over to kiss me, I remember how she took turns kissing him and then me, over and over, when she was nearly one year old. And when D does anything sweet, a hundred times a day, I feel the warmth in my heart that my dad must have felt the day we appeared in his hospital room holding his three-day old grandson.

Posted by Picasa

A lot of people have said to me that it must be hard to have my father's deathiversary fall so close to Christmas. In many ways this is true. That first Christmas was a blur of strong emotion. Now, though, I feel like this time of year, when we are all trying to spend as much time with family as we can, when we are remembering to be a little kinder to each other, when we are reliving traditions and celebrations of years past, this may be the best time for me to stop, pay attention to his presence all around me and just remember.

Posted by Picasa


Wednesday, December 20, 2006

For the ladieeeezzz

Oh my. Thank you to my sister for forwarding this most excellent website. And to think that I just thought it was my son who could find new things to do with these products (like soaking them in the cat bowl for instance).
Happy Holidays! May you find something unexpected under the tree.


Sunday, December 17, 2006

Branded from birth

One of the first things my daughter Belly said was "Dunkin Donuts!", shouted as we pulled up to the drive-through window.

A couple of years later, one of the first things she wrote were the words "Samuel Adams", written inside a picture of a beer bottle.

A few nights ago, she shouted out that she READ WORDS! In excitement, I ran to see what she had read and heard her proudly sound out, "Live! Love!". . .read from the side of my fridge pack of Coca-Cola.

Labels: ,

Wednesday, December 13, 2006

Ten Years After

Ten years ago today, on Friday the 13th in 1996, Fairly Odd Father and I began our life together. No, this isn't our wedding anniversary, rather our anniversary of meeting.

Sort of. Actually, I met FOF briefly a couple of months before that, at an outdoor bar, but he has no recollection of this, so it doesn't really count, does it?

So anyway, ten years ago, I put on a black velvet dress and tarted myself up to crash the gigantic company party of a friend. She and I arrived and immediately headed to the open bar. The theme was 'gambling night' (open bar and gambling = I loved company parties before they went all 'responsible'). My drink of choice: Cranberry and Vodka (coincidentally, this was my exact same drink of choice at my 101 degree wedding, because cranberry juice and white wedding dresses always are a perfect pair!).

I first spotted FOF at the Craps table (heh, heh, craps). He looked handsome in his suit. He totally didn't notice me (HEY that is twice now dammit!) even though my hair was a bitchin' maroon color and I was hanging on to the table for dear life to keep the room from spinning. Then I heard, "Last Call for Open Bar!" and RAN to get two more drinks.

Shortly afterward, we were formally introduced through mutual friends at the party. From that moment on, we were a 'couple' all night. I learned that he could dance! He had the most fun friends ever! He wasn't afraid to kiss on the dance floor in front of 2,999 of his other co-workers! And he made perfect pancakes for breakfast! (yes, I was a shameless hussy).

Here we are 10 years later, with a house, two cats, three kids, two cars and lots and lots of stuff. My hair is no longer maroon, but I still try to be a shameless huffy at least a few times a month.

I love you baby! Glad I finally caught your eye.

Labels: ,

Tuesday, December 12, 2006

Confession #1

On those days when I feel incredibly cynical, PMS-y or just tired from the whole 'mommy mommy mommy' thing, I go here. Although part of me wants to vomit from the 'Precious Moments' cuteness of it all, the photos just melt away my little Grinchy heart. They also make we want to own a hamster, a desire I have never had before in my entire life.


Thursday, December 07, 2006

Abominable Mew

In one of my favorite holiday movies, Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer, I am always troubled by one scene. It happens almost at the end of the show, when Yukon Cornelius drags in the scary Abominable Snow Monster and all the elves recoil in terror. Then, he reveals that "Bumble" is actually now just a big furry oaf, rendered harmless now that Hermey (the dentist) has removed all of the White Giant's pointy teeth.

I'm not sure what bothers me most about this scene. Is it that Hermey did his surgery without anesthesia? Or that the Bumble isn't more pissed off about the whole thing? Or maybe it bothers me because the Bumble has lost something that defined him---after all, it is hard to be "Abominable" without those teeth.

Strangely, it was with those thoughts running through my head that I brought my old male cat, Zack, to the vet this morning to be declawed.

The decision to do this did not have anything to do with our precious furniture or my dislike for clipping claws---it had to do with him scratching three children in the face in the span of a few months.

It started with a hug from a two year old who had come to visit. Zack seemed to be saying, "Enough is enough with all these little people. I'm old, cranky and am going to get these creatures away from me!". The little girl took a nasty swipe to the face, horrifying everyone, most of all me, who had never seen Zack lash out like that.

We tried to keep the kids away from him, but little people are forgetful so it was only a matter of time before I let my guard down. This time, he took a swipe at Jilly who was gently patting him. He missed her eye by a few hairs. Then he scratched Belly in the scalp because she dared to sit near him on the couch.

All of my options sucked. I could try to find a new, child-free home for a 14 year old cat, or perhaps keep him locked away from the kids (and, therefore, me--his most favorite human). Sending him to that big catbox in the sky was never really an option, in my opinion. This left me with: "get rid of the offending claws".

My vet listened to me sob to her one Sunday (yes, she took my call on a Sunday; she rocks) and suggested we try the declaw. The office she recommended uses lasers which sounded very high-tech and fancy to me and are supposedly less painful than the traditional surgery (I repeat this to myself to make me feel better; I pray it is true).

Zack comes home tomorrow afternoon. I have a feeling he will not be as altered as the "Abominable/Bumble" character was. I just hope he can find a way to live with our crazy family, kids and all.

And, I hope he doesn't realize that he has good biting teeth. I doubt Hermey the Dentist makes house calls for cats.

Labels: ,

Friday, December 01, 2006

Dress Up

When my first daughter was born, several people said to me, with great excitement in their voices, "It is so much fun to dress a girl!"

What they meant is that it is so much fun to dress UP a girl, seeing as how many little ruffled panties, hair ribbons, stick-on bows and glossy black shoes we received.

I never found this 'dressing up' all that much fun, though. Trying to wrangle a 6 month old's squirmy legs into thin nylons takes more coordination than I have. And despite both my girls' lack of hair until the age of 2, I never would consider those 'garter belt' or taped-on bows. For my daughters and my son, I preferred soft cotton sleepers, pants and pullover tops over anything too fussy.

Belly, my oldest, has had her share of clothing quirks, but nothing too unusual: she prefers simple tops and pants, or cotton dresses and striped tights; she has dressed herself for well over a year and usually looks just fine for the average five year old.

Jilly, on the other hand, has been a bit more challenging in this department. For the longest time, socks were verboten. Tights were disliked as well, so her many cotton dresses were paired with soft, elastic waist pants. Clothing is chosen mostly for its comfort factor with no consideration for color, pattern or seasonality. However, given that she is willing to do dress herself with very little help from me, I happily give her this opportunity to express herself.

Lately, though, her outfits have been getting a little odder than normal. It seems that she is taking "fall" quite literally as the bridge between summer and winter and pulling out clothes from both seasons. Check out this little number:

Or, this:

Note the long AND short sleeved tops, the pants AND shorts. Well, I guess she's ready for all kinds of weather.

For our little man, D, no real issues. . yet. . .after all, I do still dress him. However, he does have a peculiar fascination with footwear, so stay tuned on what happens when he starts to dress himself.