Mia does indeed ROCK

Who knew fridge magnets were the answer to delicious home cooked meals? I resigned myself to eating cereal, with sliced bananas on top on special occasions, when Mia became mobile. I just didn't think it was possible to even boil water while she scooted around under foot. V and I are apparently slow processors. My mom has been asking if we have a gate up yet blocking the stairs leading to the front door. I tell her no, as I pull the box of cereal out and begin to "prepare" my dinner, all the while watching Mia crawl like crazy around the kitchen. Tis a new day. I finally realized that moms all over the world do this - they cook and procreate. Most of them do it with open fire pits and wild animals roaming around. With the gate in place, I cleared out a cabinet and filled it with Tupperware. She can play there and on her new letter board, aka, the fridge while I cook. She's quite gifted, as you can see from her message to me today.

Now that I'm back to eating things that you must actually heat and stir, I decided to make curry chicken. I had all of the ingredients ready to go when I noticed ROCK OF LOVE was on, my totally embarrassing addiction on VH1. I kid you not, I had a moment where I thought, Rock of Love or Chicken Curry. There was a moment that another bowl of cereal sounded good. (with sliced bananas because this indeed would have been a special occasion). My dignity won. I turned off the TV and made my dinner. V will be pleased. Today he had a BLT with no L or no T. That's right. That would be a bacon sandwich. I realized at that sad sad moment that I have not been living up to my true potential here as a the manager of the house. I went shopping. V's been looking into the fridge lately saying, "Surely we can whip up SOMETHING." This coming from the guy who not too long ago asked if I could just turn out a meat loaf or something. Ummmm...that would require some meat in the house, and some onions, and a can of tomatoes. I told him I'm not McGuiver and I directed him to the cookbooks in order to create a menu for the week. He's getting better at this. It's a ton of work planning meals isn't it? That's why cereal holds a special spot in my heart.

In vs. Out

Thanks to our dear friend Erin, we have a gate. Bijou is not at all pleased with the new addition to the house because she can't attack our guests with dirty paws and foul breath kisses when they enter the front door. The gate blocks the stairs leading from the kitchen to the door. V and I looked at each other in total dismay when we realized that this simple little gate would have spared us the past several years of TOTAL anxiety when the doorbell rings. I would have to try desperately to let our friends enter, while holding the dog back. It was always that awkward greeting of half hug and out of breath hellos. My friends never know if they should make eye contact with me, or the dog, or both. They don't know if they should pet her or knee her in the chest. They don't whether to laugh nervously or suggest meeting someplace else next time. Now, with this little bit of metal brilliance blocking the most aggressively friendly poodle known to man, I can actually be the hostess I always knew in my heart I could be.

Oh yeah. Mia is totally unfazed by it. She'll pull up onto it and then go and try to remove an outlet covering or stick her fingers in our dirty air vents. We are one small step closer to Mia proofing the house....but a giant step closer to sanity.

Eavesdropping on my V

A day in the life with V.....

I overheard my dearest V say to Mia the other day as he lifted her out of her highchair...
"You are getting SO big! I mean heavy. Did I say "big"? Did I say "heavy?" I mean you are growing up. Growing tall. Yes. Just getting to be a bigger girl than you are." (Have I trained the guy well or what? I must have instilled great fear in him about using the word "big" and "girl" in the same sentence.)

The other night I stated emphatically that I hate belts. He said, without looking up from what he was reading, "ummhmmm...Jennifer Aniston wears them all of the time." (God I love him. Who else knows this about Ms. Aniston, except me. He knows I'm usually down with my girl J.A.'s style...not with the belts though. Do I need to convert to belt wearing?)

As a guy got seated in front of us at the Bob Dylan show, V said, "This one's foreign." I laughed so hard because I was about to say the same thing. He then said, "No one but a Frenchman or a Spaniard can mix denims like that and still look cool." How true. This guy, a cross between Johnny Depp and Orlando Bloom, was rocking tight dark denim low riders with a lighter colored jacket. The hat. The long hair. He was the epitome of hip and young. I loved that V and I stared admiringly together.

A few nights ago I watched ROCK OF LOVE, a horribly embarrassing show on VH1 about Brett Michael's quest to find true love. V sat, disgusted but quiet, and let my brain dribble out of my ears and eyes while I zoned out...enjoying the hour to shut down and turn off. He knew that is what I needed in order to unwind after a long day with the Meez. That takes a really special person to NOT comment on his wife's obsession with bad reality TV.


UPDATE: V just told me he doesn't want other guys to read this. I'm supposed to add in a few lines about him watching sports, eating animal products, grunting loudly, and being smelly on the occasion, which is all true.

There is nothing more appealing than a guy's guy who can still hang with me. I'm a tough one to hang with too. V is THE best.

This list could go on and on. There are items to return to Nordstrom though. What was I thinking buying a tweed short jacket with a velvet tie at the neck? Good God. Must. Return. Now.

A List

I'm copying Emily here. I love this kind of list. Here goes:

song: Smile by Lily Allen. Old news but it's fun.
book: Confessions of and Economic Hitman by John Perkins. Really intriguing. Who knew the USA was such a bully? (tongue in cheek)
magazine: US Weekly. An obsession that will die hard.
state of hair: long and limp. I think I want Katie Holmes' new cut but I keep getting derailed by those who are so offended by it. My closest hair confidants shrieked in horror when I casually mentioned it. They think she looks like a mom.
state of mind: focused. I start work next week. I'm just focused on the moment, enjoying Mia, enjoying wearing my underwear for far too long after my morning coffee, enjoying the dog days of summer
weather: sunny and HOT
outlook: optimistic. I feel good about what is to come. Nervous at times. Scared. Anxious. But optimistic.
celeb crush: Curtis Stone, a.k.a. The Take Home Chef. If you haven't seen this show, you must check it out. It's on TLC. He goes to different grocery stores around the country and finds unassuming women to seduce with his knowledge of obscure produce. He brings them home and helps them prepare a meal for a friend. Australian. Tall. Blonde. Young. Fabulously attentive. Crushable indeed.
obsession/irritation: my inability to buy something without contemplating returning it. Why do I do this?

The mighty talented Mia

Here are some photos of Mia doing what she does best: hanging with her Daddy on the stairs while clapping - going up and down the stairs, repeatedly, all day long - rocking the pantless look while going up and down the stairs repeatedly, all day long - being simply adorable - and pulling up on anything and everything.

She was off schedule for awhile which was difficult - on the entire Pellegrino clan. She's sleeping like a champ again and we couldn't be prouder.

I am working on a list. Here goes:

You know you are a mother when....
1. You run your hand over your legs and declare, "How smooth!" only to look down and discover that the leg hair is now so long that it's not prickly.

2. It finally makes sense why there are drive through liquor stores in New Orleans. As I was steering with my left hand and reaching back with my right to entertain Mia, I wondered aloud how I would manage another stop for a bottle of wine on an afternoon already chock full of errands. Drive through liquor store. Brilliant.

3. You are shopping and gravitate to long sleeved fitted t-shirts in the fall and winter, cap sleeve in the spring, and tanks in the summer. Seriously. If something is stretchy, washable, and stainless it suddenly gets rave reviews, "How cute is this top???? It is JUST like the other 100 I own too!"

This is a work in progress. Stay tuned.

Red Rock Blues

Dylan was exactly what I had heard he'd be...totally inattentive to the audience with a fixed focus on the music. That is after all while we are there right? Yes. But, I'm a sucker for a little bit of banter as well. I would have liked a special shout out to Colorado for hosting such a cool show at the insanely perfect venue known as RED ROCKS. I would have liked a "hey....how you all doin' this evening..." Perhaps even a sentence or two about not having performed at Red Rocks for over 20 years. Nada. Zilch. Nothing.

The set was a bit bluesy. Wait. Did I say 'a bit' bluesy? I meant HEAVILY bluesy. Some songs from his early career (60s) and about half from his new album, which is a ton of blues. The thing about Bob Dylan that makes him such a unique performer is that he completely revamps his songs while performing...almost as if he is creating them impromptu for the first time. In fact, he'll be in the middle of a song and you think, "Ahhh...now I get it. I hear it now." He changes rifts, mixes melodies, speeds up where his recorded tracks are slow and slows down when you are expecting the good ol faster tune you know so well on his albums.

He sat, in profile, hunched over his keyboard much of the night, except for the first couple of songs that he played guitar, in profile again. He is 65 years old. Very little movement on stage. No interaction with the crowd. No fancy stage decor or lighting. And the guy simply rocks. His voice, heavy and aged, sad and soulful, rips through me and sears the belly of the place where my feelings originate. He is not a performer. Nor should he be probably. But the guy is a poet and the most beautiful writer in rock.

The crowd was respectful (of course) and cool. They were my kind of people. We sat through some songs and sipped our beers nodding at one another with familiarity. It was what I wanted, and expected, of a Dylan crowd. Some people my parents age were down a row to my right. A young couple to my direct right and a drummer from St. Louis to my left. He even had his harmonica out and jammed with Dylan for some of the songs. This under any other instance under the sun would have received a heavy heavy tongue lashing from me, but it just warmed my heart. He shared his experience about the first time he saw Dylan in 75 during the Rolling Thunder Revue, headed by Dylan. He then pulled out his Doppler (on his blackberry) to assure me that the storm I saw approaching was passing behind us.

V talked a lot with the harmonica man about various bands. About one band in particular this exchange occurred:

Harmonica Man: The newest album is too esoteric. Too much feedback

V: No. No. I totally disagree. These last two albums are what sold me. That's what I like. That heavy distortion of music.

Harmonica Man: Yeah. I get it. I do. I hear what they are trying to do with the sound but I just like more of a gritty feel to my music. More acoustic. Raw.

V: It just hits me. I love it. Truly love it.

Their conversation continued like this about all different bands. I sat, staring at my absurdly good looking husband as he engaged with this guy and felt such pride. Here is V - with his soul splayed out on his lap for all to see - and I get to be seated next to him as his date. I love a guy who bares it all and still seeks more.

The night was full of people watching and laughing without having to say anything to V. He just gets it. Gets me. It was full of warm moments and deep thoughts. When Dylan heartily belted out the line about a shooting star falling...knowing it was "you" (whoever his "you" is), I nodded in agreement. Knowing who my shooting star is. It was a special night. One I'll remember.

Soul Sister

To my beloved sister,
Happy Birthday! Despite the fact that we spoke yesterday, several times, I didn't have time to write to you, which is what I wanted to do. So this is a day late.

I thank my stars every day that you and I were given to each other. How many times have we uttered the words, "What would I do without you?" We've both said it in our darkest hours and in our happiest states. We've said it after short talks about nothing and long conversations about weighty issues. We've said it over cake (probably many times...and we said it to the cake too). We've said it while snuggled in bed together as kids and we've said it while watching our own kid(s) snuggled in bed.

I tell you all of the time how funny I think you are. You are, without a doubt, the funniest woman I know. I tell you how pretty I think you are. How talented. How witty and quick. I tell you that I think you are a great wife, mom, and friend. Do I tell you enough that you make ME all of these things too? You bring out the best in people, especially me I think.

You and I are so entwined. I don't have many childhood memories (or recent ones in fact) in which you don't play a central role. You have been my closest confidant for my ENTIRE life. And what I cherish is that I have been yours too. When Mom and Dad first brought me home and you declared, "She's MY sister" to the boys, must have been the moment we took an oath. Till death do us part. And even then, you and I will continue our journey together someplace else.

I adore you. I'm wishing you a year of health and wealth and discovery. I'm wishing you quiet moments ALONE and joyful ones surrounded by friends and family. I'm raising my glass to you dearest Emily. For all you are and all you make me. HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!!!!

Mia and the Girls

We went to my nephew's end of the season baseball party at the neighborhood pool. It was such a fun summer night. The weather was perfect and it's always refreshing seeing how carefree kids are - with swimsuits wedged firmly up their butts, pizza stains on the sides of their faces, and sunscreen unevenly applied to their little bodies. I noticed how communal the feel was with this group of people. The older kids looked out for the younger ones and the boys were kind to the girls. I like that feeling of real camaraderie.

The parents and families clapped for each player as the coach pulled them up one at a time to comment on their strengths in front of the group. Every time there was applause, Mia would look around, beaming, and begin to clap too. If she's anything like me, I know she was thinking the applause was for her. She had worked awfully hard at the party you know: crawling, pulling up, eating grass and other odds and ends. I think she felt the clapping was well deserved.

I quickly walked Bijou when we got home and to my horror noticed that we have bats (yes. plural) flying around behind our house. I guess it's kind of cool, but a bit creepy too. They swoop around too much. I'm terrified they are going to try dive bombing me. I walked with my hands nervously tucked over my head and I awkwarldy did a half squat every time they came within 100 ft of me. I'm sure any onlookers were wondering what was going on with the crazy lady and the poodle. I'm just not comfortable with them. Should I be? Are they like birds? I somehow feel good about having birds flying around. I need to go do some research about bats. I hear that if you throw a tennis ball up into the air, they will dive to catch it. Again, cool, but totally disconcerting.

Happy to You Dad!

Today is my dad's birthday. I'm so conflicted; do I celebrate or do I mourn? I miss him so terribly but I also think of him still as being here. I hear his voice. I see him laughing. I see him talking with the grandkids about all of his treasures. I see him hugging my mom. Sitting at his desk. Watching a movie. His death has made me question our very understanding of mortality. How can he be considered gone when he is, infact, still with me? I am always reminded of a saying...You show up. You do your work. You burn brightly in the moment. When your work is done, you retreat. That's the beauty of being in the midst of such a bright light - you never forget what that light looks like or feels like. Dad's work may have been done but his torch is still lit. It's lovely to be bathed in Roger Padden's glow. God I'm lucky. So so so lucky.

Playtime

I just wanted to add some fun photos of us playing this afternoon. V and I have recently updated Mia's toy chest with fun educational toys. Notice that in the photos she is playing with the camera case and Bijou's toy.

Why do we even bother?

Beauty and The Beak

Mia is the beauty. I have the beak. Just in case there was any confustion about the title of this post.

So I find myself in familiar territory; I'm baking brownies...again. I don't know why I do this. I go through a week, maybe two, of eating so well - tons of veggies, lots of water, fruit galore, whole grain...you get the point. Then, out of nowhere, I find myself following the "one bowl" method of baking brownies that you can find on the back of the Baker's unsweetened chocolate box. I INTENTIONALLY never ever buy any type of cake mix. That's just a disaster waiting to happen. It would be like bringing an alcoholic to Vegas. I should never ever be left alone with prepackaged sweets. But, as it turns out, I've discovered the old fashioned way of making brownies. You know - adding actual sugar, flour, vanilla, etc. Actual baking. Who knew? I'm a baker. A few licks from the spoon while mixing everything together is all I need though. Now, I have 30 minutes to kill while I wait for these damn brownies to come out of the oven. Oh God. This is so reminiscent of the ice cream sheet cake. I need to be kind to myself. A brownie never hurt anyone. Nor did an ice cream cake. I figure all of those healthy aspects of my diet offset this small itty bitty minor addiction. Right?

V and I have been making a concerted effort to be less wasteful. We are out to lessen the footprint we leave on the planet everyday. We are trying to be much more mindful about things we buy. Do we need that piece of clothing? Will Mia really be a smarter baby if she gets that toy? Will we really be a happier couple if our TV is 17 inches bigger than it currently is? Will I really feel prettier if I buy all new eye makeup? Of course, we recycle. Of course, we try to use our own bags for transporting things. I carpool to work. V likes to bike places. Those are the easy ways to be green. It's the consumer in all of us that is really killing the planet. That's the hard monster to silence too. BUT, we are determined to squish it. Just a side note - I heard on Oprah that 2/3 of Americans have storage units to house all of their extra crap. TWO THIRDS.
WHAT? V and I are struggling to afford things to actually fill our house and 2/3 of the American population has enough disposable income and time to buy loads and loads of shit that won't even fit into their homes??? Well, I guess "disposable income" is a relative term here in this country. Let me rephrase that...2/3 of the population is CHARGING loads and loads of shit that won't even fit into their homes.

Call me crazy but I'm really horrified by this. The headline on CNN yesterday was that antidepressants are the most prescribed drug in this country. No shit. STUFF WON'T MAKE YOU HAPPY. I wish I could be an interventionist (is that a word?) for these people. I would go in and just throw everything out. And then put them on a financial diet. I LOVE financial diets. I consider myself quite a master. I think my next career will be as a financial advisor. Then I would give them all makeovers. Because I'm guessing they would need them. Wouldn't that be a great show?

As I was digging through the cupboard tonight - a cupboard that contains only things we will eat and use mind you - I found an econo size jar of jelly in the back. EGATS! What the hell is this I say???? I actually began laughing when I saw it. V LOVES peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and I have finally trained him to use organic natural peanut butter (after he exclaimed "What's fully hydrogenated oil?" when he was reading the label one day). He used to buy the GIANT jar of discount peanut butter that families of 18 use regularly. I explained that his heart will stop beating in several years when all of the crap clogs every artery. When I stumbled upon the monster jelly jar, I realized my work isn't done. I'm planning my intervention tomorrow. I guess old habits die hard. I should know. smell of brownies wafts over writer at this point.

Puppet Show

Do men call shirts "tops" now? I was just online looking at some shirts for V and you had to click on a link that read "tops". Is it just me or is that supremely feminine? I noticed the same thing at TJ Maxx not too long ago. I was there digging around their horribly merchandised store looking for secret treasures and I noticed signs for men's "tops".

I wanted to quickly add a picture of Mia. She continues to amaze me. I keep her puppets in a big red box, away from the giant poodle who will carry them away to her den if they are left out. I was cleaning up yesterday and put all of the puppets away and began picking up other toys. Mia watched me work. She then crawled over to the box and carefully opened it to release her friends from captivity. It was the first time I've noticed Mia really maneuvering something to get what she wants. Just think about the dexterity needed to open a box. And then to use one hand to continue holding the lid up while the other hand pulls out a puppet. It's just a normal step on the developmental ladder but watching these little steps always leaves me in awe.

It's a family day today. We're heading to the arts festival and then to look at some "tops" for V. I'm thinking about squeezing in some gelato into the mix somewhere. Family days rock.

E=Mia in a basket

Einstein may have come up with the theory of relativity. Alexander Graham Bell may have invented the telephone. But, can either of them claim to have come up with the "Mia Minder"? I think not. This brilliance is all mine.

After pulling Mia away for the 100th time from the dog food as I tried to unload the dishwasher in the kitchen, it hit me. I took the laundry basket from the laundry room and behold - the Mia Minder - was born. She thought it was hilarious to be pulled around in the basket.

Unfortunately, she knows how to pull up now too so the Mia Minder worked for about 45 to 55 seconds.

Anything for you my Mia

I have decided that if you can't beat her, join her.

I usually try to play with Mia and clean a toilet at the same time. I try to chop vegetables as I'm rolling some balls on the kitchen floor with my foot, a desperate attempt to entertain her without using my hands. I try to e-mail, talk on the phone, pay bills, make lists, do laundry, all while singing and playing with her plethora of toys. Motherhood IS all about multi-tasking but now that Mia is so mobile, she needs more of me. Multi-tasking has taken on a whole new meaning. A meaning that I have discovered I need to redefine.

I am a structured person (me? structured? No!). I'm pretty sure even strangers now this about me. My life is usually organized into chunks of time - a time to workout - a time to grocery shop - a time to relax - a time to surf the net - etc. A baby takes all of that organization and dumps it out the window. No big deal really. I simply call a household meeting with all of the residents - Bijou and Mia attend to. We just revamp. I'm discovering that with a child, one is ALWAYS revamping because they change so frequently. I have become a master at quickly and efficiently rescheduling my life. Does this make me spontaneous?? I have longed my whole life to be carefree - the girl who never looks twice at her watch...or her list. Can I claim that I am FINALLY that girl? (I know that answer is "no" to that question but just indulge me here...let me pretend.)

I have devoted a lot of time during the day to just Mia lately. We just chill out in the basement and play. Good old fashion play. Tonight I was doing handstands against the wall to her total delight. I made voices for her little people set. I'm not nearly as gifted as V in that department but I'm getting there. I put on a puppet show with her new puppet set. I hid toys under a towel and watched her shriek with delight as I magically made the toys appear and disappear. (Don't tell her that all you have to do is pull the towel back and then cover the toy again. I'll lose an element of cool if she knows how easy that trick is.) I have been having a blast just PLAYING. I am trying to get work done when I can. It's secondary to Mia being happy though....to me being happy.

I took Mia to Nordstrom this afternoon to run a few errands. I took her out of her stroller as we walked through the mall, heading back to the entrance near our car. She smiled and looked around. We stopped and were looking in a store window. We both looked at the skirts hanging limply (oh...sad sad sale skirts...it is the season to get rid of you all to welcome the new fall delights). Her face was turned toward the mannequins and she then turned to face me. I just said very audibly...loudly even..."Mia, I love you so much. Look how lovely you are?" It took me right back to my mom gazing lovingly at me...at my sister...saying such things. Emily and I have shared these memories with each other - how we have felt Mom looking at us and when we turn our heads to meet her gaze, she'll say, "You're so beautiful." or "How smart you are!" Now, that I do the same thing to Mia, it makes my heart a flutter. Because I know my Mom means all of those things. She means them deeply. As I mean them fiercely when I say them to Mia as well. Tis the legacy being passed down. It is the love of a mother.