Mommy insurance

Nothing like applying for life insurance to make you consider your own mortality.

Today I spent 30 minutes on the phone, completing an interview with a life insurance company so they can decide how risky I am and thus, how much the insurance will cost. The initial questions -- about things like cocaine use and bungee-jumping and piloting airplanes and international travel -- simply reminded me how very boring I am, as I answered "no" to every question.

But then, as the interviewer listed through scores of health problems and medical conditions (to which, thankfully, I mostly also answered "no") I began to think about why we're getting life insurance policy for me. Two reasons: Junius and Pippi.

My husband (bless him) is the primary bread-winner in our house these days. Although I make enough money on contract work to pay for preschool, it's his salary that keeps us afloat. But what I don't earn in cash, I make up for in fixing lunches, changing diapers, wiping noses and entertaining toddlers -- and those things aren't free if Mommy's not around. So instead of relying on the grandmothers to move in and care for our kids (no offense, Nanna and Nonna, but not sure that's a good solution for anybody), we need a way to pay for childcare and other supports if I'm gone.

And there, I said it: If I'm gone.

Makes me want to stop writing and go vomit.

All I know is that I hope this is like carrying your umbrella so it won't rain. By having this insurance policy, what I'm really trying to ensure is that I'll be around a very, very, very long time.

My personal shopper

Mothers-in-law get a bad rap. I won't admit to complaining about mine since she reads this blog, but I hear plenty of stories from friends about their crazy, although generally well-intentioned MILs.

I actually get along pretty well with my husband's mom -- she's kind and smart (and allowed to be a little crazy from time to time, given that she had four children under the age of 7 by the time she was 25). But we spend a lot of time and energy dancing around in an effort to be overly agreeable with each other, which often makes mountains out of mole hills for no good reason. I'm not sure why we do it and we've even tried to joke about it, but somehow it's hard to let go and trust that we'll be fine by just being ourselves.

One of her favorite things to do is shop, especially for bargains. She'll often call from a great sale to ask if we need anything, and she rarely shows up for a visit without some gem for the kids from the dollar bin. So earlier this week, I took her up on her offer to pick up purchases for us at JC Penney, since she gets an extra discount there. I sent an email with detailed info about our purchase, being sure to be polite and not impose and all those things she and I do to make a small request longer than necessary.

A few hours later, her email reply arrived -- with just the laugh I needed to remember that she and I can both relax.

So thanks for the smile, personal shopper! And here's the response from my MIL:

Your order has been received. You shall hear from our local shopping center within the next 24 hours to see if either set is in stock. Thank you placing your order with us. You are a valued customer and we appreciate your business.

Your Winston-Salem personal shopper,
M.

Ultimate Blog Party 2009

I started blogging because it seemed like the thing to do. And because I was inspired by my cool neighbor across the street, who is a great writer and friend.

But I'm discovering this whole entire world (apparently called the "blogosphere"?) that I didn't know existed. I mean, I knew people were writing blogs -- but I think I assumed it was mostly political junkies and sports fanatics and moms posting goofy pictures of their kids. Had no idea it was full of witty, clever, talented women writing about life and politics and motherhood and families and food and fashion and husbands and whatever else we might think of.

And now, here I am, joining in on the "Ultimate Blog Party" through 5 Minutes for Mom. I'm supposed to introduce myself, so here goes...

I'm a working-from-home-mom of two -- my son (called Junius here) is 3 1/2 and my daughter (called Pippi) just turned 1. Living in North Carolina with my husband -- we're just about the only two people who grew up Catholic in N.C. in the 70's who are still Catholic and living back in N.C., so it's lucky we found each other (although we're both pretty frustrated with the captial "C" Church these days). I'm a Tar Heel born (almost), bred and graduated twice, so these days we're watching a lot of basketball.

A "retired" high school English teacher, I've worked in public education advocacy and now do research consulting work for education organizations. Which is probably why blogging seemed like a good idea -- a chance to write something from my heart and head instead of from test and tracking data.

For the Blog Party, they're giving away lots of cool prizes... I'm hoping for the ergo baby carrier (#7 -- I found it to be the best way to wear a baby), a $50 gift certificate to Target (#19 -- who can't spend $50 at Target?!) or a $25 certificate to Shutterfly (#99 -- because I don't have any kind of baby book or photo album for my 1-year-old. oops.).

If anyone has actually wandered over from the UBP, welcome and thanks for reading! Hope that I can keep you entertained for a bit.

Somehow I just knew

I've had two moments in my life when I was strangely certain of something that I couldn't possibly know.

One was when I found out I was pregnant for the first time. I peed on the stick, waited, looked at the little lines magically appearing in the window, and knew immediately that I was having a son. I can't explain it, but it was just the first thought in my head. It was clear and loud -- and it turned out to be accurate.

The other odd moment of clarity and clairvoyance happened some years earlier, one sunny August day on the steps of Carroll Hall at UNC-Chapel Hill. It was my second day as a master's degree student, and I'd just introduced myself in the hallway to the handsome Ph.D. student who was teaching the Intro to Public Relations class I'd attended the day before.

As I bounced down those steps into the sunshine, I thought, "I have met my husband."

Six months later, we were engaged. Six months after that, we were married. When you know, you know.

Silver white winters that melt into spring

In case you're looking for a little sunshine, here are a few of my favorite things (in no particular order)...

1. Wondertime magazine -- the magazine for parents written by people you'd actually want to be friends with. Beautiful design, interesting material, great writing, and no guilt. (Sadly the website isn't as lovely as the print edition, no thanks to Disney.)

2. Merrell shoes -- they're expensive, but oh-so-worth it for comfort and style in one well-fitting, long-wearing package. (I'm wearing the ones pictured to the left.)

3. Vanilla yogurt with berries and granola -- layer it in a parfait glass for a fancy dessert or dump it in a cereal bowl for a snack. It's versatile, tasty and healthy. And a little addictive, but maybe that's just me.

4. Pandora -- it's free music at your fingertips and a great way to discover artists you love that you've never heard of. Just type in your favorite bands and listen.

5. Sherwin-Williams paint -- Duration Home goes on smooth, has low VOC/odor, inhibits mildew and comes in any color (my favorite is the "sleepy blue" we used in our bathroom) . Plus the store will set up an account for you to keep track of the colors you buy, so you don't have to.

6. Picasa -- Google's free software lets you store, organize, export and email your photos and video clips with ease. And it's easier to use than Photoshop for quick fixes like cropping, removing red-eye, adjusting color/contrast or converting to sepia or black-and-white.

Duck in a Crockpot

We recently interviewed to be on the TLC show Home Made Simple. A friend in the neighborhood knew they were looking for families in Raleigh and we volunteered to try out. The show's producer (a very nice guy named Mike) came over on a Friday evening with his video camera to shoot the house and us talking about our home and our life.

It's a strange thing to talk about "our story" on camera, trying to think about whether or not anyone would want to see us on TV. And it's awkward to try to look nice and sound witty while also fixing dinner and feeding two small children, but we did our best. Goodness knows we could use the help with the house, so it's worth a try.

Anyway, during the course of the interviews, Mike asked if there was something we'd like to learn how to cook. I was thinking something boring like anything-that's-easy-to-make-that-my-husband-and-son-will-both-eat crockpot casserole. But here's how the conversation actually went on camera...

Mike: So is there anything you'd like to learn how to make?
Husband: Crepes. [Excitedly.]I'd really like to learn how to make crepes.
Me: [Looking incredulous.] You mean, using the crepe pan that we got as a wedding gift seven years ago that's still in the cardboard wrapping in the way way back of the cabinet?

Yes, he says as he digs the pan out of the cabinet, holding it up for the camera (he's a PR guy, he can't stop himself). And he goes on to explain to Mike that we got engaged in Paris and that he loves crepes because they can be savory or sweet and wouldn't that be a cool thing to be able to make. So Mike follows up by asking where we ate in Paris and what foods we liked best, and Patrick starts telling him about all the fabulous duck entrees we ate while we were there, and before I can stop myself, I blurt out...

Me: [Looking stunned and slightly pained.] Oh my gosh. If I really wanted to woo my husband, I'd learn how to make a delicious duck dish. [Yes, I'm that alliterative when I talk -- probably too much time teaching English and reading Dr. Seuss.] This is terrible! Can you cook duck in a crockpot?!?!

So now I'm ruined. Me -- the girl who until very recently refused to touch raw meat under any circumstances. Me -- the girl who could live just fine on cereal and milk three times a day. Me -- the girl who sometimes serves her kids an all-orange meal (chicken nuggets, sweet potato fries, carrots and mandarin oranges) and thinks that's okay.

Regardless of whether or not we get picked for the show, the idea is out there. I now have to learn how to cook duck.

Quack.

Remembering Ally

Depending on your age and your TV viewing habits, you may or may not remember a show from the 90s called Ally McBeal. At the time it first aired, I was the target audience for the show -- mid-20s, single white female, searching for true love and professional happiness. I followed the show religiously, grading papers while I watched in order to justify staying up past my high-school-teacher bedtime. I lived vicariously through Ally (played by the frighteningly thin Calista Flockhart, shown at left), sharing her pain and wishing I could wear those fabulous short skirts. I finally stopped watching when I was living overseas and didn't have a television (plus the UK version was a season behind), but I think the show jumped the shark while I was gone and I never went back.

I'd forgotten about the show until this week, when I pulled out a Vonda Shepard CD for New Music Monday. Shepard provided much of the soundtrack for the show, and just listening to the first song suddenly took me back... Ally's continuous efforts to get over the (supposed) love of her life who had married someone else (and unfortunately worked in the same law office along with his new wife), her crazy boss who put up with (and sometimes contributed to) her own craziness, her desperate quest to find the right man to love, her often failed attempts to be good at her job, her biological clock not just ticking but dancing in front of her.

Thinking back on the show made me so grateful for all the ways my life has changed since then... two graduate degrees, one husband, three internships, one long-term job, two babies, seven moves, three houses, one consulting gig, too many friends to count. Lots of chaos and plenty of challenges, but also hundreds of wonderful, beautiful and ordinary days.

In many ways, I have less control over my life now than I did then -- my kids determine my routines more than I do and I don't remember the last time I even got to use the bathroom alone. And yet I feel like I'm making more conscious decisions these days, choosing to live in my craziness instead of trying so hard to get out of it. Believing in that doesn't always make me feel better, but it does give me something better than a skinny TV character to hold on to.