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March 2013
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We spent the weekend in Colonial Williamsburg. Full Post With All The Photos will be coming later, under the Sponsored banner, but I promise it will still manage to reach out through the screen and squeeze on your heart until water falls out of your face. I mean, not to oversell it or anything, but Noah was in rare form the whole time; basically a walking, talking blog entry of childhood wonder and awesomeness. He made two different grandmothers CRY on two different occasions, you guys. And I'm not exaggerating in the slightest. Two complete strangers cried actual happy tears in front of me because they just couldn't even with him. I couldn't even either. I still can't even. We were eating breakfast at the hotel on Saturday morning and my children were devouring a truly frightening amount of food from the buffet, but I guess they were being charming about it, as several older couples stopped to compliment their behavior to me on their way out. (Which some day, when I am not so completely focused on getting out of restaurants alive, I promise to pay forward and do that for another families dining out with young children, because... Read more →


(So it's come to this. Oh, blogging. The world had such high hopes for you!) Despite the now-documented existence of ZOMBIE BETCHTABULS, Ezra continues to blow my tiny little mind with his love of salad. And Noah continues to glare tiredly at me, meal after meal, because he is NOT RELATED TO THAT FREAK OVER THERE. THE ONE EATING RAW LETTUCE LEAVES. So meal planning continues to be a delicate dance o' Food Tetris — Child A will eat this but not that, Child B will eat that but not this. Child C is a wildcard, accepting and rejecting foods randomly and capriously like a total freaking jerk. Meanwhile, Jason and I would also, you know, like to eat things that we like. And to eat things that are healthy-to-healthy-ish, but are satisfying enough to curb the 10 pm cravings for ALL THE CARBS IN THE HOUSE. And can it not take a million hours to make? Also, please include some free diamonds and a unicorn, while we're making requests. We have had some successes, though. Noah discovered that he likes carrots. Cooked carrots, anyway, and carrots that have been glazed in butter and maple syrup. Which...okay, maybe not the... Read more →


So I spent my entire weekend painting. And as longtime blog readers probably know, if there is something I hate more than painting, it's...no. There is nothing I hate more than painting. Top Five Things Amy Hates: 5) Raw onions 4) Corked wine 3) Movies where children or animals die 2) Injustice 1) Painting On Saturday I painted the boys' bathroom. Like, the whole thing. By myself! This gigantic personal accomplishment, however, was slightly underwhelming in the end because I painted a white bathroom a...slightly different shade of white. In person, I swear it makes a HUGE difference. (Especially since I sort-of suspect that the white "paint" the previous owners used was actually just primer, as I don't think anybody sells a shade called "Mental Institution Lightbulb Whitey-White.") But it certainly doesn't make for very exciting before/after pictures. Also, it's a damn bathroom. Check out the new towel bar! It's from Homé Depöt! I bought it because it was a towel bar. (Towels are from Ikea. Prints are from here. I love them, but my children do not read them. At all. EVER.) Then we painted all the hallways and staircases, and that was even MORE exciting because we painted... Read more →


If it were up to ME, today's entry would have been the story about my new cat. Unfortunately, OTHER PEOPLE IN MY HOUSE do not subscribe to the "finders keepers also she really, really likes me!" philosophy of pet adoption. I was watching TV and kept wondering when someone on the show was going to acknowledge the crazy high-pitched meowing happening just offscreen. When it never happened, it dawned on me that OH. That there is a real cat. Who is definitely not MY cat, who is plenty prone to yowling but who has a much deeper voice. But damn, that is some loud-ass meowing. I got up to investigate, by which I mean I walked confusedly around my house with a dumb baffled look for awhile, because...cat? Hello cat? Are you there? Yes, This Is Dog, etc. And then I discovered a cat pacing in front of our kitchen window. It saw me and amped up its already desperate-sounding meowing. I walked out the front door and it ran right to me, purring and rubbing and sqwinching and in the 15 seconds it took me to pick it up and bring it inside I was already like, "WHELP I... Read more →


Pause

So this has been quite a week, no? I'm just...ugh. Boston. Tuesday's post had been scheduled months in advance, as most sponsored posts are, and I admit it was nice to stick my fingers in my ears and just post the blogging equivalent of LA LA LA LA LA LA ANYTHING ELSE. LET'S TALK ABOUT ANYTHING ELSE. But it's been hard coming up with the next thing to say. Maybe because there just isn't anything to say. My brother lives in Boston. Jason's brother lives in Boston. My nephew, his niece, our sister-in-law. They are fine. I feel stupid even bringing them up because they weren't anywhere in the vicinity of what happened on Monday, but...you know. It's the first place your brain goes. The second place my personal brain goes is right back to the morning of 9/11. I was 24. Stuck in traffic on a bridge heading from D.C. to my office in Virginia, listening to the awful news unfold on the radio. Suddenly seeing black wisps of smoke in the sky on the horizon, down the Potomac. Realizing it was from the Pentagon. Realizing that nothing would ever, ever be the same again. First Newtown, now Boston,... Read more →


My Childhood Brush With Historical Re-enactment Fame

This post is sponsored by Colonial Williamsburg. My dad was a history buff, which is such a Dad Thing, isn't it? He especially loved American history, so my family took lots of trips to battlegrounds and historical sites, and toured just about any oldish hollowed-out structure that existed Way Back When and managed to survive the great Suburban Strip Mall Onslaught of 1983. I went trick-or-treating as a pilgrim for like, three years straight in preschool. We took two trips to Colonial Williamsburg — one when I was about Ezra's age, and another when I was a few years older. In my head, the trips have long since blended together. I remember the costumes and the blacksmith's shop, the hoops and the sticks, and being generally delighted that you could talk to everybody and watch them do things, like animatronic museum figures brought to life. Because even at four years old, I guess, I was more used to being entertained by robots than actual human beings. At some point, I was "chosen" to march in some...thing? A parade of some kind? And I was given a flag to carry. I don't remember being asked, but according to my mother I... Read more →


1. I officially gave up on the art of carefully crafted and creative blog titles. OBVIOUSLY. Suck it, SEO. We have no use for you around these parts. 2. We had the bathtub in the boys' bathroom repaired and reglazed. It made the entire house smell like a giant magic marker. The guy doing the work didn't even wear a MASK, meanwhile I could feel my brain cells having a giant tripped-out rave before overdosing on whippits. And then a unicorn walked by. But hey! The bathtub looks fantastic. 3. Ezra's brain, meanwhile, is doing just fine. The bathroom hullabaloo meant I temporarily relocated our extensive stash of bathtub letters to his room. He quickly got to work finding the very best ones. (Please ignore the piles of laundry. I am enfeebled! I cannot carry loads of laundry down the stairs in my current condition. Beause ye. My ankle injury. Is totally why this completely out-of-the-ordinary level of mess is happening. Yeeeeah. That's the ticket.) (Oh, and obviously the children were not here during the bathrub reglazing. They were off in the fresh air, doing wholesome activities with the sitter, while I tried to get work done in between bouts... Read more →


Please say hello to Little Mister Woodchip Triangleman. You may call him Mister Woodchip. I am not sure where Ezra found Mister Woodchip exactly — possibly from his school playground, or swiped from a neighbor's mulch — but I guess it doesn't matter. Mister Woodchip lives with us now. Mister Woodchip lives with us and all of Ezra's many, many actual for-real toys. Although please don't tell Mister Woodchip that I didn't call him a real toy. Because Mister Woodchip is very, very loved. Here is Mister Woodchip sleeping. You can tell that he is sleeping because he is wearing his pajamas. When he is awake, he is dressed much fancier. When Mister Woodchip goes for a ride in the car, Mister Woodchip requires a coat. When taken out in public, Mister Woodchip naturally demands your attention and acknowledgement, despite being an oversized hunk of mulch wrapped in a pair of socks. You will say hi to Mister Woodchip, dear waiter/cashier/random stranger in the supermarket. You WILL. Ezra will simply not tolerate any snubbing of dear Mister Woodchip. And that's really all I have to say about Mister Woodchip, other than thanks for giving us something to do with all... Read more →


The ER doctor warned me that my ankle would take at least four to six weeks to heal, and even longer if I didn't: 1) Stay off it 2) Stretch and exercise it 3) Elevate it 4) Ice it 5) Ice it, then soak it 6) Repeat items 2-5 at least five times a day The ER nurse added to my aftercare instructions by yelling "NO SHOES NO" at me when I asked whether I was supposed to wear the air cast over or under my shoe. No shoes no. Okay then. So...socks? I'm supposed to walk around in public with only a sock to protect my feet from general ground filth? That's going to be a really, really gross sock. At that point the nurse rolled her eyes at me in frustration because NO SHOES NO, BECAUSE NO WALKING NO EITHER. IT'S LIKE THE FIRST THING WE TOLD YOU, IDIOT. You can imagine how well I've been able to follow the above instructions. As soon as I could bear to put weight on my foot, I damn well did so, because the crutches were a huge pain in the ass and the arm muscles. I maybe remembered to ice... Read more →