A Contest!

A couple of weeks ago, I reviewed On Borrowed Wings by Chandra Prasad. I have access to an autographed copy of the book, so I'm going to give it away. If you'd like to be entered into the drawing (which will be pulled from a Red Sox AL East Champions t-shirt), leave me a comment here. If you want your name in the hat twice, post a comment here and tell me that you've linked back to this post on your own blog.

If you want to read the review again, you can go here. It's an excellent book - I really enjoyed it.

I may start doing this with other books I review, although they probably won't be autographed copies, just my well-thumbed ones.

There's Joy In Mudville Today

The Red Sox clinched the AL East last night, for the first time in twelve years, beating the Minnesota Twins 5 - 2. An hour and 17 minutes later, the *spit* Yankees lost to Baltimore, 10 - 9, in extra innings.

There were around 4000 fans left at Fenway, watching
the Baltimore/Yankees game on the jumbo screen.

Jonathan Papelbon soaks the crowd.

I see you, baby, shaking that ass....


Many bottle of champagne sacrificed themselves to the celebration.

Facebook Can Suck My Left One

I put this little button in my sidebar:



If you click on the button, it takes you to League of Maternal Justice, a site set up by Her Bad Mother and Motherhood Uncensored, to protest Facebook's policy of not allowing photos of women nursing their babies. They do, however, allow pro-anorexia groups and photos as well as pedophile groups. Breastfeeding, however, is verboten.

I'm 100% pro breastfeeding. I'm not a lactivist, I don't think women who use formula are horrible mothers or any of the other stupid things you hear some women say about them. As long as your baby is being fed, and fed properly (ie, formula or breast milk), then I'm not going to get my panties in a bunch. However, I do think, if a woman choses to nurse her child, she should be allowed to do so freely and not be forced into a bathroom. Women shouldn't be stared at, whispered about or asked to leave a location just because they're feeding their child. I don't know any woman who nurses because she's trying to titillate (hur) anyone. She just wants her child to stop hollering, most likely. And unless you're really trying, you're not going to see much anyway.

So, I've deactivated my Facebook account. If anyone would like to do the same, in support, I'd love it. Just post your website on the LMJ site and they'll give you credit. You don't have to be a nursing mother, or even a mother, to join us. Even if you can't live without Facebook, you can still register your disapproval by putting up a button and writing about it.

The Eyes Have It

Moral Of The Story: Never turn your back on a child with a glue stick and googly eyes.

In other news:

It was O's birthday on Tuesday (and thanks for all the good wishes for her) and her fuckwit of a father never called her. Not on her birthday, not the day after her birthday. Not one single person in his family called or sent a card or anything - not even his parents, her grandparents. Not one. I really wish they would just fall off the face of the earth. What kind of grandmother doesn't even acknowledge her first grandchild's birthday? O has made the effort. She's called her grandparents, she emailed and called her aunts and uncles and nothing. They'll email her back, but they don't make any effort to see her. They only live an hour away, so it's not like it's a chore to visit. They just don't seem to care. And O's heart is getting harder and harder towards them. She still gets a bit upset, but it's not like it was before. Now she just shrugs and says "Oh well. What do you expect from that family?" She's so jaded about them. It pisses me off. I just keep telling her that some people are just like that and there's not a lot you can do about it. If you want to make all the effort, they're happy to let you, but if not, then they won't. O says she's sick of making the effort, sick of being the bigger person. As she puts it, "I'm a kid, mum. I'm not supposed to have to be the bigger person here." It's hard to argue with that.

A Post In Pictures

Answers on the back of a $20, please.

The Splendor of Silence

This is a Mother Talk book review.

The Splendor of Silence, by Indu Sundaresan, is a lush, sweeping novel, set in India in 1942. It weaves a love story, culture clashes, some espionage and anarchy into four boilingly hot pre-monsoon days.

Sam Hawthorne comes to India via Burma, where he had parachuted in behind Japanese lines to rescue a missionary. During his mission for the fledgling OSS, he's injured and comes to Rudrakot ostensibly to heal. In reality, he is searching for his missing brother Michael.


Read the rest of my review here.

Laughing All The Way To The Bank

Whooo! I can finally reveal the job I have. Kerri, from the incredible SixUntilMe, also works for dLife and a while back, hired me to write a blog for them. There's a great group of writers over there, so if any of my millions hundreds half a dozen readers are at all affected by diabetes, cruise on over and check out blogabetes. There are blogs written by people with type 1 and type 2, parents of kids with diabetes, spouses of people with diabetes, the whole gamut. The website itself is also a great tool and full of useful information. You can also check out the dLife television show, which airs (at least for me) on Sunday nights, on CNBC. This week's episode features Darren Brass, from TLC's Miami Ink.

That's great, mama. Maybe you'll make enough money to fix mah teef.

On Borrowed Wings

This is a review for Mother Talk.

On Borrowed Wings, by Chandra Prasad, is a coming of age story with a twist.

Adele Pietra grew up during the Great Depression in Stony Creek, CT, a town divided between the haves, or Cottagers, and the have-nots - the quarry workers. Adele's father was an Italian stonecutter and her mother was a former Cottager, disowned by her wealthy parents over her marriage.

Adele has a brother named Charlie who is a year older and their mother's favourite. Their mother pours all of her spare energy into educating Charlie, tutoring him into the night so that he can get into Yale.

When Adele's father and brother are killed in a quarry accident, Adele and her ambitious mother decide that Adele should assume the role of Charlie and take his place at Yale, where he'd been accepted shortly before his death.

Continue reading this review here.

An Open Letter To The Red Sox Organization

Dear Mr. Francona,
A 1.5 game lead? 1.5??? We had 14.5 games on the *spit* Yankees and you've pissed it all away. And listen, I know you want to give Eric Gagne a chance, but for the sake of my blood pressure, could you just not use him when the game is on the line? Don't turn into Grady Little on me.

Thank you.

With much nervousness,
Major Bedhead

Dear Mr. Farrell,
Could you please explain to me how someone of Okijima's caliber can become out of shape during the season? How is that possible? Is he scarfing down Fenway Franks on the side? Channeling Babe Ruth? Could you maybe give him a salad and start him on an exercise program?

Read the rest ovah heyah.

It's International Talk Like A Pirate Day, Savvy?

So buckle your swashes, reef those jibs, ye scurvy dogs, or it's the plank for all of ye.

The reality is that I just wanted an excuse to post a picture of Johnny Depp.

Who are you and what have you done with my husband?

TCBIM is lounging on the couch, watching the opening night of...no, not hockey. Not football. Not the World Poker Tour. Not even House. Are you ready for this? Are you sitting down?

The opening night of the New York Philharmonic, live from Lincoln Center. It's Dvorak. "Look," he says, "It's Yo-Yo Ma." Yo-Yo Ma?? Yo-Yo Ma???! I didn't even think he knew who Yo-Yo Ma was.

Today, when he had a couple of hours between sales calls, he came home. He did some work on the computer first, sending emails and faxing things like busy Canadian bee. The little girls were napping, so I was doing a book review and an entry for a new blog I'm working for - more on that soon. When he was done, he stood behind me and gave me a 10 minute shoulder massage.

He didn't follow that up by asking if he could go on a weekend trip to Vegas.
Or Atlantic City.
He didn't invite twelve people to dinner tonight.
He was just being nice.

Doods. What the fuck?

Alien abduction. It's the only logical answer.

Interred With Their Bones

This is a Mother Talk book review.

Interred With Their Bones, by Jennifer Lee Carrell, is a roller coaster of a book, weaving the mystery of the whereabouts of one of Shakespeare's lost plays with the mystery of the actual identity of Shakespeare himself.

I love books like this. Big, fat, entertaining books that assume you know a bit about the subject at hand. Books that take you on a rollicking ride while never pandering or talking down to you. Books that have you on the edge of your seat, eager to find out What Happens Next. Best of all, they're based on actual facts and real history. These books are fun, especially when you stop and think about history. People get intimidated - "Oh, I could never get my head around historical fiction." Codswallop. Of course you can - all history is is gossip, gussied up and given the patina of age.
On to the plot:

Yahoo

I have not been able to access my Yahoo email since late last night. This is pissing me off no end because a.) it's where all my work-related emails are and b.) it's where all my Amazon gift certificates are and c.) it's where my comments from this blog go. It's making me itch. Seriously. I'm about to jump out of my skin.

I can log in to Yahoo just fine, but when I click on Get Mail, the page times out. Every. single. time. I tried asking in the help section, but that, too, timed out. TCBIM has a yahoo account and he can access his just fine. So, what the fuck? If my account has imploded and I've lost all those emails I've been saving, I am going to be one pissed off person.

Excuse me while I channel Hugh Grant for a minute. Fuckfuckfuckfuckityfuckfuck.

Boo Update

A comment by Christine brought to my attention that I never updated the Boo situation. After a couple of days of weird blood sugars, she's been disgustingly normal ever since. I try to do a fasting check in the morning several times a week and she's been cruising in between 80 - 90 each time. I haven't been doing the two- and three-hour post prandials because she noshes all day long. She's also not wetting the bed as frequently (my washing machine is as thankful for that one as I am). She's still a little crank monster, but she is two, nearly three, and these things are the norm. Shame I couldn't blame her mercurial behaviour on something else, but alas, it's all her.

She looks so sweet and innocent, but don't be fooled.
Behind those blue eyes and that blonde hair lurks
a shrieking, weeping, wailing imp of Satan.

Book Meme

Suzanne, over at CUSS, tagged me for a book meme. I do love book memes. And Suzanne. She's one funny, funny woman.

Total number of books owned: I have no clue. Hundreds. I have three floor to ceiling bookcases full of books and three half-height book cases full of books. One of the half-height ones has books double stacked because I don't have any more room for any more bookcases.

Last book bought: I bought two, actually. The Sword In The Stone by T.H. White and Life Mask by Emma Donoghue. I got both of them used at this great bookstore called The Bookmill. I definitely need to go back there. Once I've weeded out some of the books already taking up so much space in my house.

Last book read: I'm currently reading Interred With Their Bones by Jennifer Lee Carrell. I'm also working on On Borrowed Wings by Chandra Prasad. Both are very good. Both are books I'm reviewing for Mother Talk.

Five Books that Mean a Lot to You:

• Little Women - I've loved this book since I was about 8. I love the characters, I love that it's not all happy, happy and I love Jo March.
• The Sparrow - I couldn't put this book down. I recommend it to everyone. Including you.
• Harriet The Spy - This one made me want a dumbwaiter and a chocolate egg cream.
  
• From The Mixed-Up Files Of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler - This book made me want to run away to the Met.
  
• Good In Bed - I know it seems shallow, but I loved this book because of how she described what life is like when you're heavy.
  

Best Five Books You Read in the Last Year

• Middlesex - Jeffrey Eugenides
• Lost And Found - Carolyn Parkhurst
• Harry Potter And The Deathly Hallows - JK Rowling (I know, but it really was good.)
• The Les Halles Cookbook - Anthony Bourdain (who is my imaginary TV boyfriend)
• I honestly can't remember what else I've read this year, so it obviously didn't make too much of an impression on me - I did re-read all of the Harry Potter books again, for the umptithird time.
  

I tag:
daysgoby
Kerri
Shannon

Resuming Normalcy

My in-laws have gone back to Canada. We won't see them until November 08, when TCBIM's brother gets married. November. In northern Alberta. I think I'll be wearing these to the wedding:


The girls are freaking out because the all-singing, all-dancing grandparent party has left and they only have boring old mama now. It's been Cranky City over here at Casa Bedhead. TCBIM and I are fighting over running errands - "I'll go get milk." "No, really, let me, I don't mind." just to get out of the house for five minutes to get away from the incessant whining.


On Friday, The Bug was still cruising the furniture, only taking the odd step now and then, and usually thumping her little butt to the floor once she realized she wasn't holding anything. Saturday? This:

The Dark Dreamweaver

This is a mother-talk.com book review.

The Dark Dreamweaver by Nick Ruth, a young adult fantasy fiction novel, tells the story of David, a young boy plagued by nightmares. In spite of his fractured sleep, he still manages to be cheerful and content, engaging in a Monarch butterfly-raising project with his parents.

To read the rest of this review, click here.

As If....

As if I could ever forget that day....

As if I could ever forget the stunning blue sky, the beauty of that September morning, as I walked my daughter to the bus stop....

As if I could ever forget that first message, popping up on the bulletin board I read every day..."A plane has hit the World Trade Center."







As if I could forget turning on the Today Show and listening to Matt and Katie, struggling to find out what was going on, what, exactly, was happening down in the financial district....

As if I could ever forget the sight of that plane slamming in to that building....

As if I could ever forget watching those buildings boiling black smoke into that glorious blue sky....

As if I could ever forget seeing those papers, those tons and tons of papers, fluttering, raining down....




As if I could ever forget about the people...the thought of those people, on the planes, seeing those people in the buildings, hanging out the windows, begging, pleading for help...and then, giving up and leaping....

As if I could ever forget about the firefighters, the policemen, the EMTs, rushing to help, rushing to their deaths....

As if I could ever forget the vision of those buildings falling, those clouds of dust rolling and roiling thru that city that I love....

As if I could ever forget the tears, the stunned silences, the worried phone calls from friends across the sea and around the corner....

As if I could ever forget the fear...the panic...the complete unreality of that day.

I won't forget. I can't forget.

You God Damned Shit-Eating...

...Ass-Licking, Butt-Fucking, Cum-Sucking Ghetto Skank.

Bet that got your attention.

I am shamelessly swiping this from Shannon because it cracked me up. And, I really, really like to swear. I'm pretty sure I was a sailor in a past life.





My in-laws are here this week, so my posting will probably be rather thin on the ground.


This song has nothing to do with the fact that my in-laws are here. They're actually quite nice and I don't have any complaints about them, other than the fact that they won't let us pay for anything, and if that's my biggest complaint, I'm very lucky.

Pachelbel's Canon In D

I do love me some classical music humour.

Allison is the most wonderful human being on the planet

Allison fixed my html in my sidebar.

She is wonderful.

She is lovely.

She is a saint.

I worship the ground that she walks on.

Allison, you're the best. What would I ever do without you?

Allison replies, "Not have your blog abused by a bored twentysomething?"

Help!

Once again, I'm going to the internets for help.

You see my sidebar over there? It's a fucking mess. How do I line things up nicely so that they fall neatly one under the other? Obviously, hitting the return key twice in between each snippet of code isn't working. I am absolutely clueless when it comes to code, so if you have the answer, could you use speak very slowly and use small words?

I tengyubeddymudge.

Popping My Dirty Search Cherry

Yeah, I've had searches for Julia Bond, who is, apparently, a porn star, but I finally got my own dirty Google search. I feel all special, like I've finally arrived.

What was the search query, you ask?

where to find a girl for a threesome worcester massachusetts

I feel as thought I should print it out and hang it on the fridge. Bet that'd impress the in-laws.

The Little Black Book Of Style

Go check out my review of Nina Garcia's Little Black Book Of Style, reviewed for Mother-Talk.com, over here.

If you're a fan of Project Runway, you may be pleasantly surprised by the non-bitchy tone of this book. I was also knocked out by the illustrations - they're fantastic. I may frame some of them.

She Who Cooks

Mrs. Incredible was bemoaning her lack of skills in the culinary department. And she complained about having to clean up. I can totally relate to that latter complaint, although not the first.

I really love to cook. Wait, let me clarify: I love it when I have the time to do it, not when I'm running back and forth from stove to clamoring children, trying to keep them from beating each other to death with the wooden blocks. Then I get distracted and things get burned and I do things like adding 8 tablespoons of cayenne to a recipe when it only called for 8 teaspoons. Whoops. Little hot. Here, have some milk.

But given the time - actually, just given the chance to focus on the task at hand, I can whip up a very nice meal.

I miss that. I don't have the chance to focus on food or cooking right now. I don't know how some people do it. I read cook books the way some people read porn - you know, drooling and moaning and saying things like "Oh god, that look sooooo goooooood. Oh, I want some of that! Oh, baby, how did he do that?" I subscribe to Cook's Illustrated. I covet a subscription to Food & Wine and/or Saveur. I watch cooking shows like Hell's Kitchen, Master Chef Goes Large and The Naked Chef whenever possible. I'm obsessed with Top Chef, envying the contestants' opportunity to cook every single day. Sure, they have to please people like Tom Colicchio, Gail Simmons, and my imaginary boyfriend, Anthony Bourdain, but still. They get to cook.

Oh, Anthony, how I do adore thee. I want to get drunk and smoke cigarettes and cook things with you.

I worship at the altar of Alton, if I had a patron saint, it would be Julia Child and my most treasured possession is my Henckels 8" Chef's knife. If I were stranded on a desert island, I'd want that knife with me. I can do just about anything with that knife and I luuuuurve it. I dawdle over kitchen goods, stroking things and cooing, the way some women do in shoe stores (ok, I do it in shoe stores, too, but whatever. You can't eat a shoe.)

I have definitive opinions on food.

• I believe in making my own stock.
• I believe in trying new recipes.
• I believe that a steak cooked any more than medium rare is a travesty.
• I believe that chocolate (in any form), red wine and coffee make the perfect dessert. A sip of coffee, a bite of chocolate, a sip of wine. Lather, rinse, repeat.
• I believe a perfectly good meal can be made of a baguette, a great cheese and a bottle of wine.
• I believe in diner food and fine dining.

But I don't believe in cleaning up. That falls under my new creed: She Who Cooks will have Those Who Eat clean up the kitchen. Otherwise, She Who Cooks will not cook any more for Those Who Eat and Those Who Eat shall be left to fend for themselves, subsisting on meals of Hamburger Helper and Kraft Dinner. And, lo, She Who Cooks shall find Others Who Eat who will appreciate her talents, nurture her desires to Cook Good Meals and all She Who Cooks asks for in return is gratitude and a clean kitchen.

Just don't put the Henckels in the dishwasher, else thee shall suffer the wrath of She Who Cooks and lo, it will be a bleak and expensive day.

This Ain't Gonna Be Pretty

The Bug is making me insane. She will not fucking sleep. Not for love or money or pleading or crying or anything. She falls asleep, only to wake up 20, 30, 60 minutes later. She can't put herself back to sleep, so she stands in her crib and screams. Screams and shrieks until you would swear I was pouring boiling water over her. This is maddening at 8 p.m. but at 3 a.m., I'm ready to start punching holes in the walls.

She doesn't have a fever. She's not hurt in any way. She doesn't appear to be teething, although I've been giving her Motrin over the last couple of nights, just in case. It's not doing shit.

She wants me and only me all. the. fucking. time. TCBIM won't do. She screams right in his face.

So I rock her and rock her and fucking rock her until she falls asleep. Then I put her in her crib and invariably, she wakes up, just about instantly, and the whole fucking thing starts all over again.

She's exhausted, I'm exhausted and I am rapidly losing my shit. I screamed back at her tonight because I am so fucking frustrated with her. I don't know what to do. TCBIM doesn't know what to do. Because she's not sleeping, neither of us is sleeping. We certainly can't take it out on her so we're becoming short-tempered and snotty with each other. Not to mention, we haven't had sex in weeks because she won't fucking sleep.

Boo isn't much better. She has about 8,947 meltdowns a day, complete with sobbing in the hands. If she knew how to rend her clothes and tear out her hair, I'm sure she would. She whines incessantly, about everything. She also talks constantly. "Mama, can I have a cup, can I have a cup, can I have a cup?" "Mama, play blocks with me, play blocks with me, play blocks with me." I can't even get a word in edgewise to ask her to hang on or to say "OK." She just keeps going and going and going, like that fucking battery rabbit. Forget it if I say no - then all hell breaks loose. And I know, she's 2-3/4 and I should expect this, but between her and The Bug, I'm about at the end of my rope. I feel like I'm always on edge with them, just waiting for the next fucking storm. The calms only last for a few moments. It just sucks.

I need advice. I get out once a week, by myself or with TCBIM, so it's not like I'm house-bound with them. TCBIM is generally home in the evenings to help out - he plays hockey twice a week, but rarely leaves before they go to bed, so I do have help. It's not that - it's the fucking shrieking all night long and the whining all day long. It's driving me around the bend. It's driving TCBIM around the bend. If this doesn't end soon, I'm going to be a.) an alcoholic or b.) insane. Locked up, white jacket, padded room insane.

Where's the fucking wine?

Holy No Hitters, Batman!

I'm posting over here today.