NaBloPoMo Day 28: The Thanksgiving Pile

NaBloPoMo Day 28: The Thanksgiving Pile

I try to keep things light on this blog, but sometimes there arises an issue of such moral and social importance that I am compelled to confront it. This issue on my mind today is The Thanksgiving Pile. Specifically, the fact that the only appropriate way to enjoy a Thanksgiving dinner is in a massive, gravy-drenched pile that is decadently disgusting.

Thanksgiving Pile

This is the most disgusting looking food picture I’ve ever taken. That’s the point. It’s wonderfully disgusting. AND THE WAY THANKSGIVING DINNER SHOULD BE EATEN.

There is a school of terribly misguided thought that believes that each of the foods in the Thanksgiving meal should be kept separate and eaten individually. THIS IS WRONG. It is completely impossible to fully experience and enjoy Thanksgiving dinner unless you properly mash it all up.

I feel so much better, now that I have shared this incredibly important information.


NaBloPoMo Day 11: Thank You, Vets

I support, and will always support, the troops. Even if I think the military’s decision to send them to a particular place or interfere in a particular issue is inappropriate, I will still always support the troops.  Our military service members sacrifice so much, and they deserve our appreciation and respect.  On this Veterans Day, I especially want to give a shout out to my brother, Matt. In the last few weeks, he just returned to the USA after deployment in Qatar.  He had to leave his wife and son behind during his deployment, and I’m sure they are overjoyed to have him back.  Hoping he gets some free donuts and discounts today!


THANK YOU, VETERANS, for all you do for our country!!


NaBloPoMo Day 9: Return to the Homestead

NaBloPoMo Day 9: Return to the Homestead

It’s incredible how refreshing a weekend away can be. Although our vacation was only 2 full days and 2 days spent mostly traveling, I have returned home feeling at least sane again. It’s not full on rested bliss, but I am rested enough to feel capable to dive back into real life.

When traveling, I try to hit as many “local favorites” as possible, even if totally kitschy. Before leaving Montreal today, I enjoyed a Montreal bagel (totally legit), as well as one last helping of Timbits (also legit, but in a totally different way).



Travel was smooth going. In the course of this weekend away, I started and finished one book (The Beach by Alex Garland, in case you are wondering) and also made significant progress in another audiobook (The Scorch Trials by James Dashner).

Baby Beez Spiderman

Returning home with presents was mandatory, of course, and the pom-pom slippers and Spiderman comic book en Francais were very well received.

I know it’s not even late enough to be grown-up bed time, but I’m beat. So g’night.


In Memoriam

As I climbed in the car to drive home from Washington, DC, my husband called. His mother had very unexpectedly passed away. And after my shock gave way, I cried nearly the whole drive home, knowing that we were going to have to explain to our 4 year old little girl that her Grandma, whom she adored, was gone forever. By “adored,” I don’t just mean “she loved Grandma.” I mean Grandma is literally her absolute favorite person in the whole wide world. She wakes up every morning and begs to go to Grandma’s house. This girl loves Grandma. And Grandma loves her back. She’s got her own bed and own toys and own everything at Grandma’s house. Grandma doesn’t just babysit, Grandma calls us and says “I want that baby for the weekend.” They are absolutely the best of friends.


My relationship with my mother in law was a complicated one, but we had reached such a good place in the last year or two. We weren’t the type to really be buddy buddy, but we did spend time together sometimes, and enjoyed splitting the cooking duties for the various holidays. She liked reading this blog. When I hopped on her computer yesterday to share the funeral information on her facebook account, it was touching to see that she had a link to this page right on her desktop. Most of all, we had gotten to such a good place with respect to my little girl. Grandma spoiled her, absolutely spoiled her, which I wasn’t thrilled with, but I was OK with them spending weekends together, without the watchful eye of mama, and they could eat all the cookies and paint their nails and go to Chuck E Cheese, and revel in their own little rebellions.

It’s only Tuesday, but it’s been a hard week. Baby Beez kind of understands what’s going on. She’s been informing lots of shop clerks and random strangers that “My Grandma died,” which is very awkward. We’ve had lots of advice and support and followed all of it, but it is still hard. Mr. Beez and his dad have the heartbreak of worrying over Baby Beez’ grief, with the crushing load of losing their mother and wife on top of that. We’ve all had to confront an emptiness that we did not expect and were not equipped for.

Baby Beez is four. Everyone keeps telling me she will remember her Grandma. I think she will. But I’m afraid her appreciation for the depth of their relationship will fade over time. It breaks me up, thinking Grandma might just be someone in smiling photos. I want her to remember how much she loved her Grandma. How for her, Grandma could make absolutely everything OK (especially when mean mom told her she had to eat all the healthy food before she could have cookies). I didn’t see Grandma as competition or some kind of cheat to the everyday rules. She was Baby Beez’ escape to 24/7 FUN. I was so glad they had that together.

Tomorrow is the viewing and Thursday the funeral. If you know my husband, please give him a hug or send him an email. He needs that love right now.


On Sharing, or Things I am Incapable Of.

When people hear that Baby Beez is and will forever be a (not so) lonely only, I’m encountered by concerns that she will not learn to be good at sharing. She is three, and she has the usual three year-old misgivings about sharing. But on the whole, there is nothing significant about her only-ness in terms of her sharing capabilities.

I, however, have a lot to learn about sharing. I blame this on my three younger brothers. Primarily the oldest of the three. You see, he is about 2 years younger than me, and was often afforded the get-out-of-jail-for-eating-everything-in-the-damn-kitchen-free pass of being a “growing boy.” So whenever shopping day came around, which as everyone knows means 24 hours of blissful feasting on all the glorious fresh things straight from the grocery, he destroyed it. I mean he killed every last Oreo, every last Chips Ahoy, every last anything that was actually GOOD and I wanted to eat.

He even, on multiple occasions, committed the unspeakable crime of stealing my leftover doggy bag from a restaurant meal. YOU DO NOT TOUCH OTHER PEOPLE’S TAKE OUT. And yet he did. (I have petitioned the legislature to make “stealing someone’s doggy bag” a defense to criminal mens rea, with little result as of yet.)

This childhood trauma stayed with me. It has caused me to be an utter psychopath in our own house when it comes to any kind of desirable food that I’m afraid someone else might snap up before I get to it. I am not above leaving long notes detailing the bodily harm that will befall anyone who touches my food.

You know who does not have a similar psychosis? My husband. Who is an only child. He never knew lack. When he wanted Oreos, he went to the kitchen and got the Oreos, because there was no one else around to steal them first. Or if he ran out of something, he could tell his mom, and she’d go to the store and get more. So he never had the trauma of a junk food craving gone unfulfilled because a bratty sibling swooped in first. Which also means that he is utterly unsympathetic when I go off the deep end over food.

I brought home ice cream last week. I waved the cartons in Mr. Beez’ face and announced “IF YOU TOUCH EITHER OF THESE, I WILL STAB YOU IN THE NECK WITH A PEN.”


Mr. Beez hates coffee, and does not much care for blackberry either, so neither of these tempted him. He said that it was not necessary to threaten him with violence. If I tell him something is mine, he will just not touch it. But I am incapable of such trust. I have a deep-seated doubt of household males’ abilities to not destroy all the things in the refrigerator that I want.

Also last week, I indulged in a major splurge… a whole CASE of PumKing beer!


Again, I declared that the entire case was “MINE!” And he better not touch it. He had no objections. He doesn’t like PumKing either. And he also pointed out that it is not necessary for me to be so dramatic.

After all this, I seriously doubt the characterization of only children as incapable of sharing. Even Baby Beez, when she had a sleepover with her friend Elena this weekend, shared her toys much better than I am capable of sharing my food. But for now, I’m chalking it up to a survival instinct. Clearly there is no survival without ice cream or beer.