The Zen of Cheese

Apparently, according to my son, "nose" is plural. Makes sense really. When he sees the endless nose scene on Baby Einstein's Baby DaVinci, he proudly proclaims "NOSE!" But, when he touches his own, it is only "No". The kid is just too smart for his own good.

Sorry for the month-long silence. That is, I'm sorry to you if there is really anyone reading this at all... I'm not kidding myself about my traffic here. Anyways...

Of course I'll blame it on being busy, but I can't deny lack of inspiraion, either.

Candlemas was a bust. My altar looks fantastic, if I do say so myself, so at least there was that. Candle making was planned, and missed, and planned again, and missed again, rinse and repeat as needed. The stuff is still sitting on my kitchen table. I tell myself if I do it before Ostara, it still counts for Candlemas. I did make some delicious tomato herb bread for the Sabbat, though, so I suppose it wasn't a total bust. :-)

The Bug is so big, I informed my husband yesterday that we are no longer permitted to call him "baby". This, of course, is a ridiculous notion, as he will always be our baby, even when he has babies of his own. His recent antics include:

*Taunting me by putting himself in the way of whatever I'm doing and demanding "STOPIT!" (his new favorite word), then smiling a devilish smile.

*Climbing into his bed, snuggling under the covers (in the middle of the day), calling out "Nigh Nigh!", then putting his head down and fake snoring a la The Two Headed Monster from Sesame Street. ("Snnnnnnnoooorrrrrrre, wub wub wub wub wub").
Gets me every time.

*Banging his head on the tile floor during tantrums.

*Hating his bath. Suddenly and mysteriously.

As for me, I've been promoting my moms group and building more websites than you can shake a pointed stick at. Unfortunately, I'll only get paid for one of them, as one is for the mom's group, and the rest are for half-cocked ideas of my own design. Will I ever have a one track mind?

A good friend of mine recently told me about his embarrassing childhood word for "truck". A mere syllable change in an unfortunate word can cause a social horror story, only excusable if uttered by an innocent child. At least the jump from "truck" to "fuck" makes logical sense. The words at least rhyme! So, I ask you, from where does Bug's new expression originate?

Since he started eating solid food, I have been trying like crazy to get my boy to say "banana". Simple enough word, right? Well, he finally decided to start trying, after over a year of hearing it. The big problem is, he isn't saying "nana" or "bababa" or "nananana" like most children. Oh, but no. He says "cock". Yes, cock...complete with over-enunciated, extra-hard "k" sounds at each end, and the middle "ah" sound extended for a whole second:

"Kkk ahhhhhhhhhh khh!"

It took me several days to realize he was referring to a banana. Then, the horrible realization sank in that a banana is overtly penis-shaped. Oh, god, what have I done?? I don't know where he got it, honestly! Cock isn't even my preferred euphamism, and I doubt he has ever even heard it.

My plan is to pretend he is trying to say "cracker", and wait til he grows out of it. But, honestly...where does it come from?

Barack Obama has a long fight ahead of him. Boy do I hope he can take it on. Since his speech at the DNC convention in 2004, I have been heard to say repeatedly "If America will ever have a black president, he is the one!" Since his election, I have followed his politics and found him to be eloquent, reasonable, and working towards improvments where I feel we need them most.

The fight for him will not be his race, though. And that is unfortunate, since it would be an easy battle for him to overcome. Instead, it is his name. On January 1, CNN rang in the new year by showing this graphic:


Linking Barack Obama to Osama bin Laden...What can I say? Has the education system in the country gone so far downhill that we get hung up on one consonant? This is only the most recent mix-up with Mr. Obama. There have been others, and I feel confident they will flow more freely as 2008 approaches. It reeks of Karl Rove. It may not be him specifically, but I get the sense there is someone sitting in a shadowy room underground, cackling and pressing his fingertips together tightly while watching Wolf Blitzer apologize. "My plan is beginning to unfold!" he roars...

I pray we are smarter than this. I know schools are lame here in the US of A, but we have to know better. Please tell me Americans aren't fooled. Please, please, someone tell me this won't work! I'd like to see Obama as Commander In Cheif, but if he doesn't win, that's fine. As long as it is for his abilities...not because his middle name is Hussein, and he is one consanant away from someone else's name.

Ok, here's my beef this week. ("A vegetarian with beef?" you say. "Don't get me started," I say.) We recently moved. We moved because we lived in what can only be described as an upper-level slum. We really just moved a few miles across our sprawling Florida megalopolis, but technically we're now in a different town. Maybe I'm just so used to the slum after 6 years, but this town has some strange, strange habits, especially involving Christmas.

Now let me say for the record that I like Christmas. Though I am not a Christian, and the majority of my family is Pagan, we still celebrated the holiday (well, it started out as a Pagan holiday, anyway, so how could we not?) as well as Yule. It was convenient to have plausible deniability at school. Anyway...

So my first inkling that this place was a little *too* excited about trees and carols and Santa was that they have some very over-the-top city decorations that they put up. Which, is still okay. EXCEPT THAT THEY PUT THEM UP IN OCTOBER! They just couldn't hold it in any longer. Days getting shorter, nights getting colder....OMG! IT'S CHRISTMAS EVERYBODY! I have to laugh. Christmas is still more than a week off and I am way tired of looking at those damn decorations. Earliest date available for Christmas decoration: December 1st, and that is generous!

And then, today, they confused the ever-loving holly outta me. So, I pull into my parking lot, only to see 2 fire trucks (ok, a fire truck and a fire SUV, but 2 trucks sounds more impressive), creeping through my subdivision. We're talking 2 MPH. Sirens blaring, lights flashing. I immediately pull over to let them crawl by. The SUV guys just smiled and waved and kept creeping. Was it a parade? No, that would make too much sense. In the truck, there was a fireman driver and, oh my goodness, could it be? Yes, it is! SANTA CLAUS! The firetruck stopped in the parking lot. Santa waved at bystanders....nothing happened. Nothing continued to happen for several minutes. People stood on the lawn and watched nothing happen. I unbuckled the baby, and started gathering my stuff to go inside. Truck still sitting there. Santa gets on the megahorn and says "Ho Ho Ho, Merry Christmas". I thought this might be the beginning of something happening, but again, nothing moved right along. People are standing in front of their houses, staring at the nothing spectacle. Really. Nothing was happening. I just don't get it.

My next-door neighbor, whose oddities are beyond the scope of this meager blog, ran, yes RAN out of her house, scantily clad in a bathrobe, barefoot, to stand on the curb and watch Santa sit in a fire truck. As I walked by her, I said "Hey, what's going on?" She pointed to the truck and said "It's Santa!" I replied "I know it's Santa, but what's he doing??" Stunned by my highly academic question, she repeated "It's Santa!" and continued to stand there and watch Santa chat with his driver. Just walk away... walk quickly away.

When did "guy in a Santa suit" become a spectator sport??

Ok, so let's say you've just moved into a bigger, better, more fancy pants house. And, although you are unpacked, your new home is still a tad, let's say, "clutterrific". Here is Cheddar's simple solution: First, find the room (or hallway, in my case) that is the MOST cluttered. Remove all the clutter from this room and place it into what was previously your LEAST cluttered, most fantastically unpacked room. Spend most of the day cleaning and organizing the first room, from top to bottom. Bask in the glory of your new-found room. Go in to gaze at it's total cleanliness, as you would gaze at a beloved sleeping babe.

Ignore the previously clean, now unthinkably cluttered room until you get bored with the room you just organized. When this occurs, rinse and repeat.

Howdy. Haven't blogged lately because, well, I couldn't think of much to say. :-) Here's a run-down of the last few days. Enjoy.

1. House is officially unpacked. The last 7 boxes were all the crap that gets thrown together at the end, with no rhyme or reason. The last box contained: belts, papers to file, playing cards, old keychains, a tie rack, and the shadowbox with my wedding headpiece, among other random crap.

2. Today is the end of an era. Bug climbed out of his playpen (which means he could theoretically get out of the crib, too). Hubby and I yelling across the house to each other: "Did you let him out?" "No, didn't YOU???" Another thing to disassemble and store for the next kid...someday.

3. Bug is on a kissing spree today. He kissed the fridge, the wall, the dog, his cup, his train, his toy car, and Daddy's knee. Complete with "mmmmm-wah" sound effect. Sooooooo sweet.

4. I've recently joined a new mom's group here that is planning, among other things, a huge sweep of VBAC activism here in Florida. Since Bug was a C-Section baby, I am very enthusiastic about changing the VBAC scene here in FL before I get pregnant again. There is talk of people here making arrangements with OB's in other states to just make a long drive right before they are due or when they start labor. Or, they just labor at home until they are ready to push, then go to the hospital, a practice of dubious safety without a midwife. No woman should have to consider these things just to have a totally safe VBAC! I hope we are able to make some impact on the issue.

5. The spies are coming. I cannot tell you more without compromising my position.
Over and out.

This is, hands down, my favorite bit of poetry. I always think of Leonardo DaVinci and Benjamin Franklin when I read it. I hope you enjoy it as well.

"Hey buddy, who is that?" (I point at my husband.)

Without hesitation, and with great exuberance, he says "Dada!!"

"Ok Bug, now who am I?"

(Blank stare.)

(Pointing emphatically at myself now,) "Say 'Mama'!"

(Blank stare.)

"Say 'Mama'!, 'Mama'."

(Bug thinks hard for a moment, eyes light up, and he exclaims:) "Dada!!"

All I can do is groan, and slap myself in the forehead.
***********************************************************************************

"Hey Bug, who am I?"

"Bob!"

Bob? C'mon! Well, I guess if he likes that name better he can use it, as long as I get a name at all. Better than being called "Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

So, things are pretty crappy, my lovely readers. Aside from only having, like, 4 friends in the whole city lately, we find ourselves without celebration for Thanksgiving. My mother in law invited us up north for the holiday, at her expense, which was nice. But our small supply of both friends and funds meant no one could look after our plethora of pets for the weekend, so we could not go. So, then the plan was that she was going to come to us. We waited and waited for flight info, and never got it. When we finally got confirmation today that she is not coming, we made several calls and found everyone otherwise occupied at dinners we were not comfortable inviting ourselves to. Last minute. Nothing to do but go shopping and just have dinner at home.

My hopes for this holiday were that we would be able to use hubby's days off to spend time with people we love who we never get to see. Oh well. It's just us, and these four walls. Luckily we have each other, and among the three of us, there is plenty of love to go around. I'm so thankful for that, and for all our loved ones around the world that we can't be with. It's still a little lonely. And the guilt about the baby is overpowering. With a little one, all holidays take on new meaning, and are suddenly paramount. I feel like a failure for not providing him with rich memories. He should know Thanksgivings with a gazillion people and football and all that other American crap. My only consolation is that he is young enough to not remember this one.

Looking forward so much to Yule, when my whole clan comes into town. I really really need a swarm of people, yesterday if not sooner.

I have new mommy vocab. The Pooper Tantrum. This is when your youngling, the little darling of you life, has an enormous poopy diaper, (known in the Cheese household as a "Fantastic Poo-splosion") but puts every ounce of strength he has into preventing you from changing it. The first stage is where he sits up and throws himself backward onto the floor several times, causing the poo to shlorp out the top back seam of the diaper. Then, when you try to pick him up, poo transfers from his back to your hand, and then it's all over. This causes you to put him down and get a diaper wipe for yourself and clean your hands. It's instinct, and you can't help it. While you innocently wipe your hands, he has reached around and grabbed a glob, which he liberally applies to several parts of his body. A giant chunk has landed on his foot, unbeknownst to you, and when you go to pick him up again, he braces his foot on you, causing a large smear down your very nice pants. Jelly Legs and Arching Back in full operation, poo rains down on the carpet, and is smashed in by Stomping Feet. Finally all you can do is say "screw the carpet, screw the clothes" dress him down any way you can, and throw him out on the back patio for a hose down. The first dinner guests you have had in weeks LOVE this kind of entertainment! We are available for shows Mondays and Thursdays, and we rent Bug out on weekends as natural birth control.

I always said the Terrible Twos would be a breeze for me. As a behavior analyst, I get the luxury of seeing it from more of a cause-and-effect standpoint. We'll see if I can put my money where my mouth is on that.

Any "tips from the trenches" from other parents?

* You wake up at 6 AM with a cheerio stuck to the side of your face, don't care, and go back to sleep.
* You sing the theme song to "Clifford" to yourself while you are washing dishes (and the show is NOT on!).
* YOU HABITUALLY TALK IN A VERY LOUD VOICE TO BE HEARD OVER TEMPER TANTRUMS that may or may not be happening presently.
* You prefer one brand of pudding over others, not for its taste, but because it does not adhere to the paint on the wall when it dries.
* You have an entire repetoire of strange, un-human noises that you instantly launch into just prior to doing something you know the child will hate, in the hopes of distracting him. It rarely works, and boy do you feel stupid.
* When your son does this with a bread basket at Olive Garden, you think it's cute, and a very nice way for him to occupy himself while you take this rare opportunity to speak to your husband in full sentences. The diners around you are scandalized.

As I sit at my computer screen, feverishly writing HTML code for a web page I'll probably never be able to finance, Little Bug glued to Sesame Street, I suddenly have a deep craving. The need stirs from the depths of my belly. Must....have....chocolate!!!

The enormous tub of Double Fudge Brownie Ice Cream in the freezer screams my name in the way that only ice cream can. "It's only 500 calories!" the ice cream box says to me, and I agree, as I stand before it scooper and bowl in hand. "I'll exercise it off," I reason.

No, wait. Must control self. Must not eat all ice cream before husband gets any. Must eat *gasp* real food.

So, I eat the real food, and I still need chocolate. But, now at least I am thinking more rationally.

I decide to compromise and raid the Bug's Halloween candy stash. Oh, the Hershey's kisses! Oh, the mini Peanut Butter Cups!

Oh, but no. The kisses turned out to be (*yick!*) coconut filled, and the PB cups were long since inhaled. My options are only unknown brands and known yuckiness. Surprisingly, the most delicious thing in there turned out to be...chocolate eyeballs?

Even now, if you listen carefully, you can hear me riffling through the candy basket, swishing cellophane-covered lollipops and Superman-logoed gummies to find my new best friend, and recently endangered, chocolate eyeballs. Oh, the cheap tin foil I will tear!

P.S. Happy Cheese Friday!

Oh, thank Goddess! The Dems have taken both houses! I'm so happy I could spit. The Shrub (President Bush) looked so defeated it nearly made me giggle. God, I hate that idiot so much.

It's a whole new ball game, folks. Although I'm pleased as punch, I hope the Dems don't waste time with revenge. Let's just get down to business fixing some things around here!

I have witnessed what I believe is the most amazingly disgusting interaction between mother and child. Honestly, I just don't understand how people do these things. Gather round. This is the story of a totally normal-seeming mom and her 3-year-old son, on a cool evening last week...

I had to pee like a mofo. Racing around, I finally located the only public restroom in miles. Bugling was strapped into his (quite bulky & large) stroller as I pulled up to the ladies' room door.

From the appearance of the door, I could tell a couple of things, as any discerning and experienced public restroom user could. Firstly, I noted that this was a particularly gross bathroom. Secondly, I realized both from the size of the door and the way the voices were echoing inside that it was not only a very small room, but also quite crowded. Inside, I heard a mother and her 2 children talking to each other. The children were obviously quite young as the mother was coaching them on what to do. Despite my soon-to-be-soaked pants, I decided to hold my ground outside the door until the place cleared out so that there would be ample space for me and the mammoth stroller.

Just as I was having this thought, the door swung wide. Inside, I saw a nice enough looking young mother, not much older than myself. She smiled at me. Then she looked down at the floor and I followed her gaze. In her hand, she held the public restroom plunger. Yes, the plunger. And, it should be noted that this was a fully-stained, scummy brown, moldy, putrid, nasty public plunger. She was holding onto the handle. On the floor was her 3-or-so-year-old. He had one hand wrapped around the plunger stick, and the other curled around the rubber lip. He was hanging on for dear life, obviously protesting something. His mother, holding the handle, was dragging him across the grimy, smelly, bathroom floor. Yes, she was dragging him by the plunger. All the while, she was saying to him "Ewww, that's yucky, huh? (*Coo, coo*) Ewww, soooo yucky." She made no effort to detach him from the device until they arrived at the sink. Once there, she pryed his hands off the plunger, washed only her own hands, then proceeded to herd her children out of the restroom.

Bad? Oh yes, but it gets worse.

The boy was actually very cute. Blonde haired and blue-eyed, and obviously full of spunk. When he stood up, however, I could see the extent of his filthiness. Hair to toenail, he was covered in dirt, soot, poo, food, you name it. Are we surprised? Not really...

Apparently Cute Dirty Boy has a facination with babies. Like most children that age, he longs to fondle and play with any baby in sight. At the moment, that was MY baby. He darted out of the bathroom, plunger hands outstretched, making a beeline for Bug, who looked equally enthusiastic about the meeting. I have never run backwards so fast in my life. Suddenly, I was trying desperately to out-manuever a 3-year-old with a monster stroller. I walked briskly in backward circles, pretending my baby was fussy, so as not the be obvious to Dirty Boy's mom. Plunger Boy got bored with the chase and wandered elsewhere.

His Mom leaned over to peer into the stroller at Bug. "Awwww," she said, "She's so cute." ("HE'S A BOY, WOMAN!" I pout in my head. Why do so many call him a girl? Pretty face, I guess.) Dirty Boy's Mom continued, "It's really small in that bathroom. Do you want me to push your baby in circles for a minute until you come out?"

My life flashed before my eyes at the very notion. In my mind, I said to her, "Oh, right. You can push my son around so that your son can feel free to caress his sweet little face with those unfathomably disgusting plunger hands? NOT A CHANCE, HON!"

What did I really say to her? "Oh, no. That's okay. We have to change a diaper in there."

Seriously, now. Am I way out of line, or was that just too much? Send me an Individually Wrapped Slice. I need a snack after that.

Today we celebrate a new year...It is a time of reflection and renewal, of casting away that which you no longer need or which is detrimental to you. Bug and I celebrated by going to the Florida Pagan Gathering Samhain Festival. The energy was incredible and the people were all fantastic. It was so refreshing to be reminded of what a broad spectrum of individuals are drawn to the Pagan Path. The whole event was beautifully done and extremely successful.

Bugling got to trick or treat for the first time, too. He went as a Target-discount Lion, and he really didn't like the costume at first, but after he figured out that it got him candy, he stopped complaining. His daddy even taught him to roar! We set up a beautiful Samhain altar, with mementos of our Beloved Dead, pictures, candles, and seasonal decor. Bug loved to watch the candles burn and I told him about his ancestors that came before him. I made Samhain cake and some lovely Da Vinci Minestrone (the Maestro's favorite!) and we all just spent great family time together. That is what Samhain should be. Do not be distressed by those who condemn it with ignorance!

I am on a serious mission, people, to find a good pumpkin recipe. This time of year they a just such tempting veggies, and I really want to find a simple, yummy way to enjoy them. I tried Pumpkin Souffle the other night, and it was just short of a disaster. They weren't bad, per se, but they certainly weren't good. And, no, pumkin pie isn't really an option. Can't stand it. (I know that the phrase "I don't like pumkin pie" is a four-letter word to some people, but I can't lie to myself and the world any longer!)

Any ideas, folks? Please remember, must be lacto-ovo vegetarian. :-) Speak up! I can't hear you in the back...

So last night, I am forced to stay up to ungodly hours doing laundry. This is because the heating element in our dryer is toast (or, rather, ISN'T toast) so the dryer must be restarted 5 or 6 times to get a load dry. While drying clothes, I found myself with hours of spare time, which I used to, of course, clean my kitchen. Long hot, much needed shower? Nah! Read my book free from other demands, no way! MUST CLLLLLEEEAAAN!

So anyway, I discovered that no matter how much time you have to clean your kitchen, it will never be enough. I could clean that room for probably ever. Dishes, counters, floors, the obvious stuff first. Then, you get down to organizing cabinets, throwing out old broken dishes, redecorating, supergluing broken knick-knacks, etc etc. I cleaned my kitchen for 4 hours, and it is still dirty.

Hello dears. The lack posts the last few days has been due to a recent trip to the pediatrician where I foolishly allowed them to give my Bug some vaccines. Oh boy, we aren't doing that again any time soon! Poor thing has been grumpy, feverish and throwing up for 2 days. The whole problem seems to be on the decline, but holy crap that sucked! My desire to have my son vaccinated has been wholly innoculated out of me!

In other news, there really isn't much news. House is still a mess of boxes, somehow this inspires both cats to shit behind them regularly. Cos ya know, when I see a stack of cardboard boxes in a corner, the first inclination I get is to lay a big turd back there.

I went to the dentist for a cleaning today. Nothing deflates one's self-esteem than a trip to the dentist! I got a whole lot of talk about how I need to floss more than once again because my gums aren't looking so good and how it is now "imperitive" that I do something about my wisdom teeth. I went right out and ate some sticky food in protest.

Our big accomplishment these last couple months: Moving into a real home.

They say that to be happy, one needs three things: Someone to love, something to hope for, and some work to do. This rings so true with me. I have people to love, and for sure I have plenty of work to do. So, here is what I have to hope for.

Goals for the remainder of this year:
1. Finish moving into my new house. Okay, it isn't "mine", or "ours"...we are still renters! :-( We tried so hard to buy a house before the Bug was born, and all we got to show for it was me 37 weeks pregnant crying in the mortgage broker's office. It was a nightmare. No wonder I had a C-Section. I was way to stressed out to open up and let a baby through. Anyway, we just finally moved out of the pit-of-falling-apartedness-impossible-to-babyproof place, and now we are finally in a real house. But the cardboard choas is never ending. The expression most frequently on my lips? "AAAAAHHHH! DROWNING IN STUFF!"

2. Get my husband all set and ready for law school. He works 70 hour weeks, so it is up to me to do all the applications and whatnot. He got a fantastic LSAT score (163!) so now we just need to get him accepted somewhere so that we know where we are going from here.

3. Work on playing piano.

4. Play more chess. I once played in a really important international chess competition. I used to be good. Now my brain has atrophied.

5. Make some kinda money. Then again, don't we all have this goal?

I hope any who read this blog will see this and help to remind me when I wander aimlessly, as I am wont to do. :-)

Cheddarina

"If at first you don't succeed, skydiving is not for you."

Hello One and All,

Please, have a seat! Watch me contort and writhe as I work diligently to place my foot into my own mouth. I have finally done what I said I'd never do: Have a blog. The pull was ubiquitous. How could I stay away forever? (Actually, I do lots of yoga, so foot-into-mouth is pretty easy. How convenient is that?)

My goal here is to spark conversations. To make connections. It is all too easy to feel we are alone, even when surrounded. I am hopeful for the future, and walking the edge of bonkers at the moment. Life is good. Expect endless quotes and fleeting insanity, laced with poetic waxings and dirty diapers.

For the record: I am 24. I am married to Mr. SmartHandsomeHardworkingCanreadmymind Guy for 4 years now. I am mother to a fabulous little boy Bug who is 16 months old. Some would say I have a pet acquision addiction. More to come, all in its own time.

Wake up early and unwrap a new post!

Cheddarina