Good Food

On a business trip awhile back a co-worker said in a conversation about choosing a restaurant for dinner that she had no interest in the taste or texture of food, so it didn't matter where we went. In fact, she would probably just eat a yogurt and granola bar for dinner. As far as I could see, she mostly ate the same, bland things every day. Where's the joy.

In disbelief, I questioned her on whether she ever craved a warm baguette with triple cream French cheese? She never did. How about a prime cut of beef, expertly seasoned, seared and brought to your table within seconds? Nope. A rich dessert prepared by an artistic pastry chef? Why bother.

This I did not understand.

Every few weeks Robin and I try to treat ourselves to some of our favorite foods, like the aforementioned cheese, salty country pate, fresh seasonal fish, lightly cooked organic veggies, rustic Rosemary bread with unsalted butter, sumptuous desserts, a crisp bottle of summery Rose.

Since our weekends are no longer for relaxing (ever since our wonderfully active children arrived), we find comfort in searching for our dinnertime adventure and then pleasing our taste buds. And as a bonus, the kids are introduced to foods beyond mac 'n cheese and chicken tenders.

Last night we indulged in our twice-yearly Heirloom tomato Caprese salad. I had mentioned to Robin earlier in the week that I resisted the tempting display at Whole Foods that featured plump, multi-colored Heirloom tomatoes, fresh mozzarella, gourmet balsamic vinegar and freshly picked organic basil. The next day, he brought home exactly those ingredients (but from Pike Place Market). The tomatoes were the size of Gigi's head; the basil was the most firm and perfect I'd ever seen. I tried not to look at the price tag on the balsamic, but I'm pretty sure it would have paid for a lunch date for two.

So last night we started with the Caprese (I like mine drizzled with olive oil, Robin prefers his sans oil) and a mouthwatering Rose that had been cooling off in the freezer. Since we'd been running around all day, we ordered a Pagliacci pizza with everything on it (we do consider good pizza a culinary delight). Then we finished off dinner with ice cream bars made from dark chocolate and pomegranate ice cream.

Americans spend the least percentage of their incomes on food, compared with other countries. I try to remember this when I'm out shopping for groceries, so I don't just go for the cheapest option every time. Anyone who loves Costco (me) knows how tempting it is to buy huge amounts of bad (or unsustainable) food. Maybe the key is to conscientiously pare down on something else (bottled water? lattes? bar tabs? Apple products?) in favor of better food, at least some of the time.

We're not giving up our occasional trips to Costco anytime soon, but at least we can try to frequent grocers who sell local or organic food (PCC, Trader Joe's, or my favorite, Pioneer Organics). I think the more care and pleasure you take in shopping, preparing and eating good food, the less likely you are to overeat or take it for granted. There's so much joy in it. Bon Appetit!

Letters from Hillary

An article this morning in the Seattle Times reveals some letters Hillary wrote to a male (platonic) friend in college. I don't know if they chose the very best snippets, but I was surprised by how eloquent her writing and thoughts were. It elevated my respect for her intelligence and inspired me to seek out her books, of which I've read none. In fairness, I should read Barack's last book as well.

What we do all day

This was forwarded to me and I had to post it:

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A man came home from work and found his three children outside, still in their pajamas, playing in the mud, with empty food boxes and wrappers strewn all around the front yard.

The door of his wife's car was open, as was the front door to the house and there was no sign of the dog. Proceeding into the entry, he found an even bigger mess. A lamp had been knocked over, and the throw rug was wadded against one wall.

In the front room the TV was loudly blaring a cartoon channel, and the family room was strewn with toys and various items of clothing.

In the kitchen, dishes filled the sink, breakfast food was spilled on the counter, the fridge door was open wide, dog food was spilled on the floor, a broken glass lay under the table, and a small pile of sand was spread by the back door.

He quickly headed up the stairs, stepping over toys and more piles of clothes, looking for his wife. He was worried she might be ill, or that something serious had happened.

He was met with a trickle of water coming out the bathroom door. As he peered inside he found wet towels, scummy soap and more toys strewn over the floor. Miles of toilet paper lay in a heap and toothpaste had been smeared over the mirror and walls.

As he rushed to the bedroom, he found his wife still curled up in the bed in her pajamas, reading a novel. She looked up at him, smiled, and asked how his day went.

He looked at her bewildered and asked, "What happened here today?"

She again smiled and answered, "You know every day when you come home from work and you ask me what in the world I do all day?"

"Yes," was his incredulous reply.

She answered, "Well, today I didn't do it."

Soda

I thought this article in the Seattle Times was so interesting, it was worth linking to.

It talks about soda's health consequences. Everyone already knows sugary sodas are bad for you, but this article talks about diet sodas as well. They're saying it's not a specific chemical in the diet drinks, but rather the habits that go along with drinking them.

What's funny (or not) is that I let Harrison have the rest of my Hansen's Diet Black Cherry soda with dinner yesterday, and for the rest of the evening he couldn't stop eating. He kept saying, "What else can I have?" Yikes. Everything in moderation...

Weren't They Ravishing?

I don't think I'm qualified yet to give an analysis of last night's YouTube/CNN democratic presidential debate. I'm a little embarrassed to admit that watching it was the first real effort I've made to follow the candidates, with the exception of reading some blogs on The Huffington Post. But you can read about it here, or on your favorite news site.

After last night's debate though, I am more motivated to catch up with the presidential race. Until now, I was undecided between Clinton and Obama. Obama certainly seems to have the superhuman intelligence I admire, but I realize there is much more to winning an election than just smarts.

Despite their differences, not only am I still undecided, I want to hug them both. (Okay, and Edwards too just because he's such a sweet guy.) I had the warm and fuzzies looking at radiant Hillary in her bright coral jacket and statuesque Obama with his chiseled good looks. Sure, they both gave solid answers that made sense to me, but damn they looked good!

Compared to the smooth confidence those two exuded, the rest of the candidates seemed downright freakish. I'd read around that Clinton and Obama have been the standouts from the beginning, but I didn't expect it to be so lopsided. And is it just me or does anyone else feel the love with having a woman and an African-American as front-runners? Maybe I've just been out of the loop (having babies or something) for so long that I haven't had a chance yet to take it for granted.

So now I must visit the sites, read the blogs and talk to people in-the-know to understand what these guys/gal really stand for. (Thank you Chris for offering this link, which has a useful chart showing each candidate's position on the issues.) I'm also looking forward to the CNN/YouTube Republican debate in September, although I have a feeling it won't be nearly as enjoyable to watch.

The Fog of War

War is endlessly fascinating to me. Films like Apocalypse Now and the miniseries Band of Brothers rate high on my all-time favorites list. I'm awed by the blur of necessity and uselessness that leads to such mass destruction and loss of life. While I'll never be an expert on war, I feel compelled to learn a bit here and there to put myself in touch with a reality that's beyond my little life.

As with most documentaries I rent, The Fog of War gathered dust while it waited in line behind Layer Cake (highly recommend) and Running with Scissors (mildly recommend). It's no wonder I wasn't racing to watch it the first free moment I had: Robert McNamara (Secretary of Defense under Kennedy and Ford) and World Bank were in the synopsis. Yawn. But of course it turned out to be incredibly interesting, engaging and enlightening.

The documentary is a combination McNamara biopic and Vietnam war analysis. If you don't know much about the man or have only a superficial notion, this film opens him up to see his past not just through photos and footage, but from his own frank point of view. He is so unscripted that he denies answering some questions in favor of being "damned if you don't." But for the most part, he answers on more than you could hope to hear.

The questions guide him from his childhood, to WWII, to the Cuban Missile Crisis, to the Ford Motor Company (his group invented the car seat belt), to Vietnam. He answers to his past with historical hindsight and often says the things he did were simply the things you did at that time. For instance, the Vietnam War was a "cold-war activity." But while giving that reasoning, he also explains that war itself is so complex, it's difficult for the human mind to see all the details and reasons - the "fog of war". Absurd miscommunications and lazy misunderstandings lead to mistakes, which in turn lead to casualties and destruction. (Today we went to the super cool Museum of Flight and walked through the WWI and WWII exhibits. This is a must-see. The images further reinforce the depth and breadth of war, and how easy it would be to get lost and make mistakes.)

Although The Fog of War's subject matter may sound dry, the film is replete with archive footage and smart commentary, like the Eleven Lessons, which includes "Empathize with your enemy." Haunting images of bombs dropping from planes onto civilian cities and the after shots of mass annihilation are enough to keep anyone absorbed.

And of course there are the parallels drawn between the Vietnam war and the Iraq war, such as ill-preparation (and misjudging the other side), troop increases and lack of allied support, among other things. I also caught some alluded similarities between Rumsfeld and McNamara, which made me want to learn if all former Secretaries of Defense were arrogant and bullish. Are those requisites for the position? Also made me want to see a female Secretary of Defense.

Again, I'm no expert on the subject of war, but it seems that part of the reason for this documentary was to use an old, experienced man with hindsight to sprinkle us with wisdom so we don't make the same mistakes time and again, or at least make fewer of them. In the film McNamara says he doesn't foresee an end to the acts of war anytime soon. I don't foresee a beginning to learning from mistakes anytime soon, either. I think it would take superhuman intelligence to do that, something the White House hasn't seen in quite some time.

The film made me want even more to have a leader who's mindful, empathetic and wise. At least someone with enough educational hindsight to keep us out of war instead of barreling towards it for any given (false) reason. Here's hoping that person is in the running soon.

A Good Week, Fer Real

This afternoon before I laid Gigi down for a nap, she wriggled and said “no” in her high-pitched girly “nyooo”. But the moment I put her down and tucked her in, she relaxed, closed her eyes and pretended to sleep. This out-of-character occurrence is exemplary of the way the week has gone. If it hasn’t actually gone well, it’s done a terrific job of pretending.

For starters, I came out of the weekend having banked a fun dinner date with great friends. The balance brought a renewed motivation to be an exceptionally patient mother, which I’ve triumphantly practiced all week. It reinforced what I previously said about balance. This post I read today is yet another good commentary on the subject.

On Monday I attempted a new, and turns out essential, organizational tactic: make dinner before lunch. I’ve done this every day and it has worked wonders. I no longer try to create mediocre meals while unsuccessfully managing two kids who are clawing at my legs and nerves. At 4pm, since dinner has been ready for five hours, I can focus 100% on the kids, which is clearly all they ever want from me.

On Tuesday I went to my first MOMs group playdate at the park by our house. The mothers were not the two-headed alien rabbits I had so feared. They were friendly, normal and seemed to want the same thing I did – camaraderie and something to do with the little ones. Because of this activity the day ran more smoothly than usual. I look forward to meeting the rest of the group and know it'll make a difference to my sanity.

Wednesday night I went for a run and appreciated the weather. The warm, humid air felt soft and clean, like white sheets straight from the dryer. This week's weather is a welcome break from the hot, dry, lifeless air we had last week, and has provided just the right encouragement to help the days along.

For most jobs I’ve had, it took about three months to get comfortable to the point of not being totally wiped out every day. Maybe with parenting you never become fully comfortable, but I’ll surely take the weeks, days or hours that feel like downtime. I’ll take them, recognize them and be grateful for them. Because next week I may have to do some Oscar-worthy pretending.

Burn Baby Burn

While cleaning out the large pile of unread magazines dumped onto the floor next to the coffee table, I came across two articles about the importance of vitamin D, which has been known for a long time as essential for helping bones absorb calcium and preventing osteoporosis and rickets.

Historically, we've gotten most of our vitamin D from the sun. But with the increase in sunscreen use over the years, coupled with an indoor lifestyle behind computers, people in mild climates such as ours are becoming deficient in vitamin D.

New research shows that this deficiency can actually increase our chances of cancers such as breast, prostrate and colorectal, and it has been noted that "the death rate from the cancers for which vitamin D appears to provide some protection outnumber skin-cancer deaths by 30 to 1." (Eating Well magazine, August 2007).

So some specialists are now recommending moderate sun exposure without sunscreen. I love this kind of revelation: It's bad for you. No wait, not only is it not that bad, you may be worse off without it or by using a synthetic alternative (dark chocolate, butter, wine, meat, eggs, sugar, sunshine).

I would be jumping for joy about this vitamin D news if it weren't for, oh, I don't know, my brand new SUN ALLERGY. Yeah, I now get a rash on my arms if exposed to the sun for longer than it takes to check the weather. After 34 years of very rarely using sunscreen, I now have to slather myself with SPF 50 just to drive the car or water the flowers. I guess it's my skin's way of telling me I'm too old to be frying in the sun as I did in my youth.

So I will be the one out on the beach lying on my belly, covered from head to toe in a lightweight SPF fabric, except for the large white patch of ass soaking in the rays. I still need my vitamin D after all.

It's About Balance, Not War

I have never felt any tension between at-home mothers and working mothers, so I was curious to see how an entire book could be devoted to this topic. The mothers I know seem to understand that regardless of whether you work or not, it's not easy being a mom. The idea that one side feels superior to the other is ridiculous to me. I began reading the Mommy Wars with that sentiment.

The Mommy Wars is a collection of 26 essays written by women, nearly all of whom are mothers who have struggled with the decision to work outside the home. Their stories tell of how they came to their decisions to stay home, work full-time, or enjoy a combination of the two. But contrary to the title, most of the essays never materialized the so-ascribed tension between the groups.

Rather, the essays (with the exception of one by a feminist stay-at-home-mom) leave you feeling good about whatever decision you've already made, as well as the decision you'll make when you change your mind. Each mother's personal distress is turned into a positive outlook with an "everything's going to be okay" mentality. The stories are heartwarming, funny and thought-provoking.

Here are a few snippets from different essays:

One of the funny parts:
"Once at 3am, in an attempt to help out, Michael got up to change a diaper while I sat on the floor by the changing table, the breast pump wheezing and pulling both boobs. I was so tired and stretched and stitched, I didn't think it could get worse. Then I felt warm liquid splatter against the side of my face. I didn't move. 'That better not be shit on my face,' I snapped. It was."

What really bad child-care looks like:
"Before I had a chance to bend down and hug my son, I noticed my infant, Sara, on the kitchen floor, propped up against a dirty pillow with a receiving blanket tied around her to hold the bottle in her mouth. The nipple had slipped out, and Sara was struggling to find it, twisting her tiny face as far as she could, turning red with exertion."

A daughter's thoughts on her mother's suicide:
"Thirty years later, I'm awed by a mother who kept house and raised two children while working five days a week. Who could completely sublimate herself, uncomplainingly, throughout her twenties and her thirties for the good of her family. It was an incredible act of self-sacrifice. I believe it killed her."

One mother braves the truth about children:
"Taking care of children full-time is overtime without pay. Children are little vampires. Nothing is enough; neither is everything. They turn their adorable faces up to us, and we hardly mind that we haven't had a full night's sleep since they were born. They are adorable, of course, for reasons of evolution: If they were ugly, they wouldn't live beyond age one."

Nothing like tragedy to bring focus to what matters:
"Doctors showed me a shiny sheet of X-ray paper with a cancerous lesion the size of a quarter on my left lung. They told me I would be dead in months. I was thirty-eight. Sasha was four."

The best advice I ever heard about having it all:
"This is the cardinal rule for 'having it all' - have it all inside a very small perimeter, so that you can get to any problem ASAP."

Every essay made me stop, put the book down and ponder what I had just read. Sometimes I couldn't continue reading because I was so lost in thought. I was of course examining my own decision to stay home. There aren't many days when I don't consider it. No doubt, the moments I cherish are plenty and I'm eternally grateful for them: watching the kids grow before my very eyes, drinking in the brief moments of family peace, watching Gigi wake up from a nap, both of us fresh from rest and eager to bond.

But a lot of the time, the notion of sitting in a meeting with co-workers sounds very appealing after not talking to a single adult all day. The dream of sitting down to a desk job looks like a vacation after chasing two kids around for 12 hours. Too much of one thing is bound to have you yearning for something else.

Or worse, the exhaustion and tedium will render you worthless at your job. No successful employer would expect his employees to do top-notch work with no lunch break in the day. Laws are enacted to ensure workers get breaks. It's humane and it yields a happier, more productive workforce. It's a simple truth: I'm a bad mother if I'm exhausted and have had enough; I'm a good mother if I've had a break, even a tiny one.

For a long time I've personally tried to achieve balance in my life, and for the most part, I believe I succeeded. Work some, play some. Eat some, exercise some. Read some, watch some. If I was stressed or physically unwell, it meant I was unbalanced in some way. I just had to find out why, and then do some of the opposite.

When you have kids, this isn't so easy. As one mother in the book put it, "In a life with children, balance does not exist." I want to beg to differ, because that would go against everything I've just said about managing my own life. It may take a little longer, and perhaps more patience than I've ever had, but I do hope that I can come to my balance ideal - one that makes me a happy wife, a connected mother and a complete person. I think that's what every mother wants, working or not, because it's in the best interest of her family. I owe it to mine to find that balance.

Real Thrillseekers

Last weekend while pushing Gigi on the swings at the playground, I overheard some newish parents who were pushing their 12-13 month old in the next swing.

Mom to Dad: "Whoa, don't swing him so high!
Dad: "It's not that high, is it?" (It wasn't high.)
Mom: "Well, he was terrified."
Dad: "He was?"
Mom: "Yes, terrified."
Dad: "Well, is he okay now?
Mom: "I don't know."
Dad: "Does he still look scared?"
Mom: "No, but he was letting go, so don't push so hard."
Dad: "Well he's okay now, right?"
Mom: "You just need to be careful."

It was everything I could do not to snicker.

I tried to remember back to when Harrison was that age. Were we that cautious? I don't think so. I do remember the first time Harrison was on the swings. He did this incredibly cute frightened grimace, where he beared his two bottom teeth. Since I thought it was more cute than cautionary, I just kept swinging him until a smile crept across his face. And now he wants to be Evel Knievel.

Stuff Happens

From the minute I read the synopsis for Stuff Happens, I thought it might be my favorite play of the ACT season. The booklet reads:

"If the grim reports out of Iraq have you wondering how we got there, you'll be spellbound as this compelling "quasi-documentary" takes you behind the closed doors leading up to the war. How did the president earn Tony Blair's loyalty and France's scorn? And what was Colin Powell thinking? Shakespearean in scope, this blistering ensemble show pulls no punches. And in Hare's telling, none of us is off the hook."

It's old news that the Bush Administration lied and deceived its way into the war, but what's not so clear is what actually (or probably) transpired behind the scenes. And for someone who only knows select bits and pieces, or hasn't had the inclination to delve further into the issue, this well-researched play lays it out in a palatable and oftentimes hilarious manner. For instance, I wasn't clear on Blair's role in the war, but a good chunk of the play revolves around his involvement.

A large cast represents the major players in the discussions leading up to the Iraq war: Bush, Powell, Cheney, Rumsfeld, Wolfowitz, Rice, Blair, de Villepin, Blix. I thought they were all played very well, with some exceptional performances by Powell and Blair, as well as clever comic relief from de Villepin (the French are so funny, n'est pas?). And for a change, Bush wasn't portrayed so much as a dumb schmuck, but rather a bystander (if full of himself) with genuine beliefs. You almost liked him.

One thing that struck both Robin and I were the moments of balanced opinion. It wasn't just a liberal smoothie to comfortably slurp down. There were parts that tried to elicit an understanding of a different angle. For instance, an angry journalist comes on stage and rages about the fact that everyone is so absorbed in the illegality and fumbles of the war that they forget that millions of people were freed from a dictatorship. However mistaken that view is, it's a tiny pinch on the buttocks of liberal cliches.

It goes without saying that I recommend this play. There are no final answers as to any one reason for starting the war, but many are alluded to, such as Cheney's association with Halliburton, Rummy's obsession with war and Bush's messages from God. Whether you're politically-inclined or not, it's a play that everyone can learn from, and be entertained in the process. Buy tickets here.

The Big Black Box

A few years ago someone at Robin's work was leaving the country and giving away most of his belongings. From the list, Robin brought home a hanging shoe rack made of heavy canvas and a 27" widescreen TV. The shoe rack remains unused in a closet after three years, but the TV made it into our bedroom.

Our bedroom is typical of a house built in the 50's. It's barely big enough to fit a double bed and the closet works nicely as a spice cabinet. Blinded by the lure of watching letterboxed movies in full-screen, we added the TV to our room, which was already stuffed by our king size bed. The TV covered the entire top of one of our dressers and sat inches from the foot of the bed.

We pretended to ignore this monstrosity and went about our daily lives. We never hooked it up to cable, so we patted ourselves on the back for not really having a TV in the bedroom. "It's not TV, it's just DVDs." Once a week we'd hover in front of it, cocooned in our boat-bed and slobber over the big screen. I will admit it was an enjoyable experience.

But the rest of the week the Big Black Box pervaded the space in the room. There was nowhere to look without seeing it out of the corner of your eye. It quietly seeped positive energy from the room just as it drew electricity from the wall. This was something that happened without notice, and only realized when the thing was gone.

For Robin's birthday, his parents and sister gave him an Apple TV. Long story short, it didn't work with any of our antiquated TVs, so we had to get a new TV just to make it work. The new TV replaced the living room TV, which went into the basement. And the one in the basement (also given to us) would be recycled. I then told Robin I wouldn't be heartbroken if we also got rid of the Big Black Box in our room. He agreed with no protest. Yet another reason I love him.

So yesterday I took the TVs to PC Recycle in Bellevue. It cost $55 to dump them. Since King County no longer accepts TVs in the trash, recycling is your only option unless you can give it to someone with an even older TV than you have.

When I got home, I stared at the naked space above the dresser. I had no remorse. On the contrary, I was exhilarated by the concept of this new open space. It was an invitation for change and I accepted.

I measured the proportions and rearranged the furniture. This dresser there and that dresser here. No need for this chair anymore. That looks better turned this way. A little dusting, some re-organizing, a $5 trash can from Michael's and TADA! - a room that's twice the size with half the clutter.

I laid on the bed for almost an hour, admiring my handiwork. With the Big Black Box gone, air circulated through the room like fairy dust sparkles reflecting the now unobstructed rays of sun. I closed my eyes and inhaled the magical empty space.

During the transformation, I covered a patch of scraped paint with my favorite Smith & Hawken garden calendar from 2006. The photo for July shows an intimate garden retreat, furnished with weathered armchairs and surrounded by well-kept climbing pink roses and jasmine. It complements the room's soothing neutral colors and south-facing sunshine. I imagined sitting in those chairs with good friends, sipping mint juleps.

Above the dresser where the TV used to be, I placed three cut hydrangea flowers in a small, round vase. The violet petals resemble hundreds of tiny butterflies clustered together. Sure beats the black hole that was there before.

When Robin walked into the room after work (I didn't tell him what I'd done), he stood in a corner that had doubled in size and glanced around wide-eyed in gleeful rumination. "I love it," he said.

Eliminating the Big Black Box had transformed the room in such a way that freed up physical, as well as spiritual space. The pressure to watch it is gone, along with the mental debris left by a hundred movies and shows. The room is finally restored to its original intent - a sanctuary for calming thoughts and peaceful sleep. Who doesn't need more of those every day?

The Holiday

If you're unfortunate enough to rent The Holiday because someone said it was "cute", here's what you need to do:

Pop in the DVD and hit mute before the beginning credits roll.
Fast forward about half an hour until Jude Law enters the scene.
Admire Jude in all his charming glory, ignoring Cameron Diaz who keeps obstructing your view.
Fast forward to the next Jude scene.
And repeat.

I rented this movie last night because I was home (Gigi was sick) while the boys went out to a 4th of July party. I had no idea it would be equally as long as it was dull. It was so boring I paused it repeatedly to do something more interesting, like toast my corn dog or ... pee.

You'd think a strong cast of Kate Winslet, Jack Black, Cameron Diaz and Jude Law would be capable of holding up a romantic comedy. No dice. Kate gave it her best shot, and so did Cameron, but the script was so trite they ended up looking awkward and cheesy. And Jack's character was too forced to be anywhere near believable. He's a comedian. Don't make him do schmaltzy.

And for God's sake, what happened to editing? I kept imagining the cutting room floor as totally barren. It's as if each scene was shot - and kept! - in one take because the director was too shy to be demanding. And yet, I watched the entire thing in hopes of a payback.

I'd like to say I've learned my lesson, and that next time I'll read more reviews before choosing a rental. But this is far from the first time I've rented a romantic comedy only to be disappointed and bitter about wasting two hours of children-asleep time. So if anyone out there has a recommendation for a good night-on-my-own RC, bring it on. Just don't say it's "cute."