Lawyerish

A Change of Plans

Our Christmas jaunt to Seattle to be with my family did not go as planned.

We got up yesterday morning at 5:30 to head to the Newark airport, and as soon as I woke up I knew I did not feel right.  My back was all jacked up -- in addition to lower back pain, my upper back has started to get into the act, especially when I lean forward; I guess this is somehow related to my ribs expanding, and...OUCH -- and I felt a bit nauseous and my belly was all tight.  I figured I was just dehydrated and pounded some water while I hurried to get ready. 

By the time we got to New Jersey, the situation had not improved.  I was incredibly uncomfortable and starting to panic at the thought of being strapped into an airline seat at 35,000 feet for more than six hours while feeling that way.  I'd been to the doctor on Monday (the glucose drink, by the way, really does taste like that flat orange drink from McDonald's -- it was not something I'd want to have every day, but it wasn't truly horrifying), and she was fine with me traveling so long as I was feeling fine, but she said if I had any belly tightness on the flight or when we landed, I should go to the hospital to get checked out immediately upon arrival. Better to be safe, and all of that.

Being on the receiving end of cervical exams wasn't really on my list of Christmasy things to do in Seattle and I knew that getting on the plane while ALREADY feeling unwell was going to mean many stressy, miserable hours.  And, by the way, the lines at Newark were INSANE, and by the time we got even close to checking our bags (and that was after already checking in online the day before), it was clear we were going to have to perform some kind of Jedi mind trick on the TSA to get them to let us jump the MILES LONG security line, and even then we'd have to SPRINT for our plane.

It was one of those times when you have to make a major decision in a split second, and Joe and I had agreed days before that if I felt even the slightest bit off, we wouldn't fly because neither of us needs the mental anguish (he's always SO calm and SO reassuring when I am freaking out or, you know, getting cervical exams in L&D, but of course inside he's quickly growing an ulcer, inasmuch as this is his baby, too).  So while he was pushing us to check in and saying it would be fine, I said, you know, I just don't think I can do this.  I didn't feel well enough and I know myself well enough to know the mental anguish I would go through, worrying about the baby and the TIGHT BELLY and everything else.  And while it kills me to miss a big family Christmas, my eyes are on March and all it promises to bring us.  Which is absolutely everything.

So I had some weepy conversations with my mom and I am terribly disappointed about the whole thing, but I think it was the right thing to do.  I spent the day drinking buttloads of Evian and laying on the couch with my feet up, knowing I could call my doctor if I needed to, and everything seems to be back to normal.  The baby gave me some good rib-kicks to remind me that she's cool and happy with the calm day of non-travel.

And all is not lost, as my parents swiftly changed their travel plans and will be coming here on the 27th and staying with us through New Year's Day, so we still get some family time and game nights and a little holiday feasting.  Also, the two of us wrapped our gifts for each other yesterday and, lo and behold, we have quite a lot of presents to open even by ourselves.  So yay for that!  We'll be ok. 

And no one's flight to Seattle had to be diverted to Milwaukee because of a panicky pregnant woman.

To close, I posted this questionnaire last year, except I've made some changes.  In any event, I think it's a fun way to usher in the holiday.  I love hearing about people's Christmas traditions, so please steal it and post it on your site so I can come see how y'all celebrate!

Merry Christmas to all (even if you don't observe Christmas, I wish you a merry day!), and I'll be back in a couple days to trade notes about loot -- I can't wait to hear what was under your tree! 

1. Egg Nog or Hot Chocolate?

I can't say with certainty that I have ever had egg nog, although I like the concept of it and I like egg nog lattes.  This year, obviously, egg nog is out, so I'll have to go with hot chocolate.  Although in practice I very seldom drink hot beverages because I'm thirsty 99% of the time, and only something nice and cold can help me with that. 

2. Does Santa wrap presents or just sit them under the tree?

Santa does neither.  Santa places unwrapped presents in the stockings, which are hung on the mantle (although if adults have stockings, then the gifts in them are wrapped; these days, we have gone to a kids-only stockings practice).  Larger gifts from Santa are placed in front of the hearth.  Gifts to and from family members -- which are distinct from those from Santa -- are wrapped and get placed under the tree on Christmas Eve, and then I arrange them in an aesthetically pleasing fashion while my mom says, "I thought we were cutting BACK this year!"  (EVERY YEAR.)   

3. Colored or white lights?

WHITE AND ONLY WHITE.  No exceptions.

4. Do you hang mistletoe?

No. 

5. When do you put your decorations up?

It sort of varies; usually the first or second week in December.  I don't have much in the way of decorations other than the tree, the new Danish elf and carved Santa, and the angel chimes.

6. What is your favorite holiday dish (excluding dessert)?

I am a big fan of the turkey dinner with all the trimmings, especially the mashed potatoes and stuffing.  Starch.  STAAARCH!

7. Favorite holiday memory as a child?

Oh, that's a tough one.  My parents did so much to make Christmas special that I pretty much remember each one distinctly, and it's hard to preference one over another.  I was just as enthusiastic about the life-sized Annie doll my mom made one year as I was about our surprise trip to Epcot another.  Mostly I love the memory of all the traditions we had, and the immense feeling of anticipation every Christmas Eve that kept me from getting to sleep and compelled me to wake everyone up at 5am on Christmas morning, just aching to run downstairs to see what awaited us all. 

8. When and how did you learn the truth about Santa?

I don't remember how old I was, maybe fifth or sixth grade, but I think some kid at school was going around making fun of people who still believed in Santa (this had happened in third grade as well, but the kid was quickly shouted down; this time, there was enough of a critical mass in the other direction that the rumor sort of took), so I went home and asked my mom about it.  She said something along the lines of Santa being part of the spirit of Christmas and the magical feeling of the holiday, and even though there wasn't a man coming down the chimney, per se, we could still hold onto the wonder of Christmas no matter how old we got. 

9. Do you open a gift on Christmas Eve?

NO.  NO NO NO NO NO.  It would lead to CHAOS.  And ANARCHY.  And the END OF DAYS.

10. How do you decorate your Christmas tree?

White lights, and lots of them; some plain metallic balls (hee); some lace angels; and a small but growing collection of ornaments we've gotten since we got married.  At some point I will have to bogart some of my childhood ornaments from my mom -- and of course make new ones with our kiddo -- because the tree needs a little handmade touch to look right.

11. Snow. Love it or dread it?

Love it!  Until it gets all sloshy and disgusting and filled with dog pee.

12. Can you ice skate?

I can stand up and move forward on skates, but I can't do anything fancy and I am generally guaranteed at least one dramatic fall on my kiester per ice skating outing.

13. Do you remember your favorite gift?

Again, it's hard to choose.  The adoption doll my mom made me, the Annie doll, an antique German dollhouse, the trip to Epcot, a bike, Breyer horses -- I got a lot of good loot growing up!  Never did get the puppy I always asked for, though...

14. What is the most important thing about the holidays for you?

Getting together with family and remembering the spiritual significance of Christmas.

15. What is your favorite holiday dessert?

Just about anything involving pumpkin, although since I got married we usually have Carvel cake for dessert because Joe's AND my sister-in-law's birthdays are on Christmas Day!

16. What is your favorite holiday tradition?

I love sitting and looking at the tree, which sounds stupid and lame, but there it is.  I also like how we open presents:  we go around one by one, read the little clue that the giver puts on each gift and then open it.  It's very orderly and calm and makes the gift-opening last longer.  As a kid, I also loved sitting at the top of the stairs while my mom went down and plugged in the tree lights and my dad got dressed and my brother tried to squeeze in a little more sleep, and then we'd all go downstairs together and see what Santa brought, then we'd have a little snacky breakfast and then go sit by the tree to open all those gifts.  Again, it was all very orderly and ritualistic and I LOVED IT.

17. What tops your Christmas tree?

I haven't found just the right angel tree topper, so right now it's a star.

18. Which do you prefer, giving or receiving?

I love giving gifts, especially if I can pull off a great surprise or find something really perfect for someone.  I do like getting gifts, too, because I am lucky enough to have family and friends who are really good gift-picker-outers.

19. What is your favorite Christmas song?

It's hard to narrow down, but what pops to mind would be:  Nat King Cole's "Christmas Song"; Josh Groban's "O Holy Night" and "The First Noel" (shut up!); and Sarah McLachlan's "River."   

20. Candy Canes. Yum or Yuck?

Eh.  I'm not wild about peppermint.

21. What do you want for Christmas?

Nothing much in particular this year, I have to say, but I'm excited to see what I get nonetheless!

22. Do you attend an annual Christmas party?

We have a "holiday gathering" at work, which I usually try to avoid.  That's it.  I think it would be fun to host a little holiday something, but it's hard to schedule with people traveling for Christmas or whatever, so it hasn't happened.

23. Do you dress up for Christmas Eve or wear PJs?

If we go to church, we wear decent clothes but not, like, ball gowns or anything, and then we pretty much RACE to get into sweats after that.  No one in my family really wears PJs in the technical sense.  There are no union suits or flannels or anything.  Also, when I was growing up I was always CONVINCED that the house would burn down or someone would break in and steal all of our Christmas gifts while we were at church.

24. Do you own a Santa hat?

Just one for the dog!  Hee.

25. Who do you normally spend Christmas with?

My parents and usually my brother and his family (though this has been spotty in the past couple of years because of people moving and blah blah blah).  This year was supposed to be the big family Christmas we'd all been missing.  FAIL.

Winter Wonderland. Well, Sort Of.

We got almost a foot of snow last night, and this morning I went to Central Park to take in the wintry scenery.  A city snowstorm is one of the things that rekindles my crush on New York; I love watching the swirl of white outside our window and breathing in the snow-fresh air and seeing kids run toward the park, clutching sleds.  There's something calming about standing on our block as the cars and stoops and branches become laden with fluff, and the street lamps cast shadows against the sparkling white. 

And then, the next morning, the supers start scraping their shovels against the sidewalks before six, waking me from ocean-deep sleep, and I venture out only to find that the pristine snow has been mottled with yellow and someone's written an obscenity with their hands in the accumulation on the side of a car. 

Even though the block was no longer heart-swelling in its beauty by the time I got up, the park is always worth exploring in the snow, so I headed over with the little camera and about ten layers of clothes on, and made my way along the Bridle Path.  The snow was shin-deep and still blindingly white; the sun hadn't broken through the clouds and the plows had only done a quick once-over of the loop.  The air was hushed and still.  Some families were tackling the hills on sleds, lots of dogs were romping about (Miles does not romp in snow; he cowers and whimpers and stands there shivering pitifully until you carry him back inside) and plenty of die-hard runners were slogging through the powder, but a sense of quiet and solitude lingered. 

I was sort of charmed to see people cross-country skiing along the path; they must wait all year for the first of a handful of times they'll get to drag out their gear and glide around the park.  (But where do they PUT cross-country skis and boots and poles the other 364 days in their Manhattan apartments?  We hardly have room for a spare toothpick in our closets.)  There was something earnest and quaint about it, and I fancied that all of the cross-country skiers were transplanted Midwesterners who used to ski in orchards and across frozen lakes, and now embraced every opportunity to traverse the city snows. 

That is, until one of them came up alongside me and scolded me for walking in the ski tracks, because I was "messing them up."  He said it pretty nicely, and I just smiled and nodded, but my initial internal reaction was, "Oh, EXCUSE ME, Your Highness, for daring to disturb one of your PRECIOUS tracks, as if this is your own private NORDIC PLAYLAND and the rest of us have NO RIGHT to be here!"  I mean, there were several sets of ski tracks and MOST people who were on foot were walking in them because it was much easier than plundering through the ungroomed snow, which about gives you a heart attack after about five minutes. 

And then I started thinking about how maybe I should work on my kneejerk reactions to strangers, which have come to be rather on the negative side.  It's something that prolonged city living does to you, makes you assume that everyone else is being an asshole or might be harboring psychotic tendencies.  If a guy is standing on the subway directly in front of the doors and doesn't move to let people on and off, you immediately label him a clueless jerk, but you don't say anything (other than maybe a meek, "excuse me") because you don't want to start a confrontation that could result in your getting stabbed (not that people get stabbed on the subway with any kind of frequency, but YOU NEVER KNOW, and you don't want to be the one whose random, gruesome end is written up in the Metro section with a slight tone of "well, she was ASKING for it"). 

I mean, my default position in interacting with people in stores and restaurants and such is one of positivity and politeness; I don't walk around in a perpetual snit or anything.  It's just the random street and subway-type dealings that put me in a huff.  And yes, there ARE plenty of weirdos and assholes out there; I have come across a great many of them in my 12 1/2 years as a Manhattanite.  But that doesn't mean that EVERYONE is that way, or that a guy who wants to enjoy his cross-country ski outing is being unreasonable in asking me not to walk in the tracks laid by his fellow sportsman. 

Or WAS he?  I'm still not really sure.  On the one hand, it's a public park and that was a WALKING path we were all sharing there, and it's not like there are designated paths for skiing that I was violating -- in contrast, for example, to the official, demarcated biking and running lanes on the loop, which are clearly meant for specific purposes and should be honored and enforced as such.  On the other, it didn't cost me anything to walk outside the tracks made by skiers -- well, except a lot of cardiopulmonary EFFORT -- so why not accommodate this rather innocuous request out of common courtesy?  Hmm.  What do you think? 

As a side note, I ended up trudging along behind a couple of park rangers shortly after that encounter, and guess where they were walking?  Yeah.  IN THE SKI TRACKS.

Hoarding, Bellies

I am deeply fascinated with the show "Hoarders."  I mean, I'll watch just about anything dealing with OCD, addiction, eating disorders, anxiety or morbid obesity; but hoarding is especially gripping for some reason.  Maybe it's because it's so antithetical to the way I live -- I mean, I wouldn't say I'm obsessive about cleaning, but I LOVE to weed things out and purge closets and donate unwanted stuff to charity.  I don't like acquiring a lot of Stuff; when my drawers and bookshelves and closets start to get overcluttered, I feel like my life is in disarray.  Same goes for my office -- I like the papers on my desk to be in neat stacks, with everything nicely spaced or tucked away in accordion files.  And there's almost nothing as satisfying as when a matter ends and I can send files to the records department or, better yet, throw unneeded papers in the recycling bin. 

(I also hate to have too much food in the fridge or cabinets; it makes me nervous, because I feel like we won't be able to eat it all before it goes bad or...something.  Oddly enough, Joe is the opposite -- he gets edgy if he feels like there isn't enough food around or if he thinks a given meal won't have sufficient portions for both of us.  So we have to strike a careful balance or one of us will come unglued.)

Sure, I hold onto things that have sentimental value just like everyone else, but I have no problem tossing clothes that don't get worn enough or books I know I won't read again.  I could have an enormous personal library by now if I'd kept every book I'd bought over the years, but I was the one in college and law school who would accept twenty cents for a $15 paperback or two bucks for a $100 textbook just to get them out of my life. 

So these people on "Hoarders" -- man.  It's absolutely mind-boggling to watch them go through their tons and tons of stuff -- most of it literally garbage -- piece by piece and steadfastly refuse to part with individual items; they will agonize for HOURS over an ancient, non-working vaccuum because for 14 years they've intended to fix it and sell it at a yard sale for five dollars.  One woman went into hysterics because someone had thrown out some comic strips she'd cut out decades before; another stopped the cleanup process for several hours because a member of the crew had thrown out a shard of a broken floor tile, and she felt this showed some deep disrespect for her. 

Obviously, these aren't rational minds at work; this is a serious mental illness, and it's really tragic.  I don't mean to make light of it. It's just one of those things that makes you marvel at the complexities of the human brain and the varieties of human experience, you know? 

Well!  On to the belly shots. 

Below is the progression from 23 weeks to 25 weeks to 26 weeks (that's today).  We're now just a week away from the third trimester, and there are just 99 days until my due date.  I can't believe how quickly it's going.  As of now, I still feel reasonably energetic without too many aches and pains, but I know that will change fairly soon.  (I know, I know, "JUST WAIT til you're eight months and absolutely miserable" or "JUST WAIT til the baby's here and you NEVER SLEEP AGAIN", sigh.)

Last night when I got up around 2am to pee, I had to really HEAVE myself out of bed, and sometimes when I get up and down from the floor, there is grunting involved.  My skin is definitely not glowing, as I have this weird dry patch on my chin that WILL NOT go away and I have something of a gray pallor.  My eyes are also extremely dry.  But I've thus far been spared some of the grosser pregnancy things you often hear about, so I continue to be grateful that this hasn't been even remotely like the horror show I thought it would be.  Plus, feeling the baby kick and punch and roll and stretch out in there, and even get the hiccups, is so freaking cool in a seriously trippy way.  I'm still mildly anxious about the Worst Case Scenario things that could happen, because my brain doesn't know how to turn off the Catastrophe Mode, but even that is lessening somewhat. 

Oh, and on Monday I get to go for the glucose screening, which I have heard nothing but raves about (snort!).  And then on Tuesday we get on a plane for seven hours to head to Seattle.  I am just hoping no other passengers need to use the bathroom, because I will be hydrating like a madwoman to stave off any possible Braxton-Hicks fun and will basically have to park myself in the lavatory for the duration of the flight.

Lowbrow Roundup and a Half-Assed Gift Guide

Last weekend, we went to the movies -- like, in the actual theater -- for just the third time this year, to see "Up in the Air" (the other two of 2009 were "Revolutionary Road" and "The Hangover", an odd couple to say the least).  I thought this film was really well done; that Vera Farmiga really brings something new and resonant and meaningful to the table, doesn't she?  And George Clooney delivered a subtle, human performance that rather surprised me.  Not that he's a bad actor, but oftentimes I feel like he does a lot of winking at the audience, like on some level he's going, "Can you believe they pay me millions of bucks for this?"  I mean, the "Ocean's Eleven" series is basically an extended inside joke between him and Brad Pitt; they're movie stars capering about, having a jolly good time, but they're not really acting.  So this was on another level, and it was timely, relevant and engrossing.  Recommended!

That evening, we ended up with a Netflix selection that somehow coerced us into watching "He's Just Not That into You."  I think Sarah Brown said it best when she described it as being roughly 80 hours long and making me wish I was dead.  I mean, it's not like I had high expectations, but it managed to be worse than I could have imagined.  It wasn't utterly unwatchable, since there was so much to make sarcastic comments about, but on the whole it was quite awful.  The film managed to portray both men and women in such a negative light that if you didn't know better, you'd end up with an awfully bleak view of humanity -- men cheat and/or refuse to commit!  women bow and scrape to get men to pay attention to them!  men treat women abysmally because they like them!  and women will FALL FOR IT, so desperate are they for the male gaze.  HURL.

Poor Ginnifer Goodwin, who is positively luminous on-screen, had to play this pathetic, insecure MESS of a girl, who continually threw herself at guys who wanted nothing to do with her, yet she could not read the head-bludgeoningly obvious signs that they weren't interested.  OH, it was painful.  And we were supposed to believe that Jennifer Aniston was the old maid out of three sisters?  Please.  Spare me.  Uh, NOT recommended.

Then, this weekend, we watched "Julie & Julia", which was cute enough even though there were long stretches during which nothing much seemed to happen; if nothing else, it was worthwhile just to see Meryl Streep in action as Julia Child.  I wish Meryl Streep were, like, my godmother or something.  She seems so deliciously charming and, durr, obviously she's crazy talented.  Anyway, I like Amy Adams a great deal, so I have to believe that her blantant Meg Ryan mimicry was the result of Nora Ephron's direction.  I suppose there are only so many ways to be perky when you're pretending to type on a laptop, but every time she blogged, she went right into "You've Got Mail" mode, and in the cooking scenes it was Meg Ryan 101. 

Speaking of which, I caught a few horrific minutes of "The Women" on cable a few weeks ago, and GOOD LORD, what has Meg Ryan DONE to her FACE?  I knew it was bad; she's had the fish-mouth and the joker-smile going on for a while, but MAN, this is so much worse than I realized.  The movie had zero redeeming qualities as it was, but even so I couldn't stand to watch because every time she entered the frame I had to wonder if she has any IDEA how badly she's been butchered.  Let her face be a lesson to all of us. 

Moving on! 

This year, I've had some trouble coming up with good gift ideas, so every time someone posts a gift guide or a wish list, I experience a rush of excitement and hope.  I don't have really brilliant, unique ideas to share, but I thought I'd share with y'all some of the things that I've asked for, and some of the things I've bought myself while shopping for other people, this holiday season in case anyone else out there has been coming up totally empty in the inspiration department. 

Joe and I got each other/ourselves a set of Lighthouse Luggage from Land's End (currently on sale, like $50-75 off!).  For years, we've been dragging around these daggy Samsonite rollaboards that I got on Overstock.com, even though one of the bags had a giant dent in the side that reduced the interior space by about half and the zipper pulls fell off about the second time we used them. We bought two 27-inch Lighthouse bags and one 24-incher (in bright red!), and they are very sturdy and roomy, plus the ergonomic handle seems like it won't twist your arm off when your bag gets unbalanced and tips over as you're charging through an airport, which happened with our old set about every TWO MINUTES. 

When we ordered the luggage, I decided to throw in some cotton/bamboo towels for us, which turned out to be super soft and absorbent.  Almost cuddly, even.  I got the Cajun Blue and it's really pretty.  The bath towels are UNDER $20 right now.  Go! 

I usually get a new cookbook for Christmas, and this year I asked for The Pioneer Woman Cooks.  I mean, of course, right?  Ree and I were bloggie pals way back when, since we started our sites around the same time, and now she's like this one-woman media empire, which is simply awesome.  And let's face it, her recipes are pretty drool-inducing.  The book is also currently ELEVEN FIFTY on Amazon, more than HALF OFF.  Last year, by the way, I got Rachael Ray's Big Orange Book, and I get a TON of use out of it. 

On a related note, I requested an immersion blender for Christmas, because whenever I read a soup recipe that requires blending, I grow very tired and have to lie down for a while.  I LOVE making soup, and being able to blend without having to DRAG OUT our blender and puree the ingredients in BATCHES will expand my recipe horizons by a power of ten.  And again, as I'm writing this, that bad boy is almost half off.  DEAL!

While out shopping for Christmas cards at Barnes & Noble, I picked up Meg Wolitzer's The Ten-Year Nap, and I proceeded to blaze through it in a week.  It's insightful and funny and relevant, and if you follow that link, you'll find that Amazon is selling the hardcover for UNDER EIGHT DOLLARS.  If you're giving/getting books, I would also recommend Elizabeth Berg's Katie Nash series (Durable Goods, Joy School and True to Form), anything by Curtis Sittenfeld, anything by Malcolm Gladwell, and maybe a 1950s angst set of Revolutionary Road and The Man in the Gray Flannel Suit. 

If you or someone you know is looking to discover an author you haven't read, might I suggest Leonard Chang, who recently released his sixth novel, Crossings, which explores the underworld of human trafficking in San Francisco's Koreatown.  His early work, Dispatches from the Cold, is also gripping and suspenseful, and he has a modern-noir detective trilogy for the mystery lover.

For the bath and body product lover, I have been slathering my dry, stretchy, itchy belly with L'Occitane's 25% Shea Butter Ultra Rich Body Cream for months, and it is the BEST.  Not too scent-y, not too gloopy, it's luxury in a can for not a bad price.  Their hair care products and shea butter hand cream are also well worth giving, and they have loads of nice-price gift sets.

I personally think you can't have too many throw blankets, and one I've given in the past to rave reviews is Restoration Hardware's plush throw (currently marked down by twenty bucks to $39).  They also have really fun, retro toys, games and candy that make great gifts. 

As another treat to myself, I got some new kitchen towels from Williams-Sonoma that are practically bath towel-sized and they really WORK.  Last year, I also got Joe a set of wines from their Wine Club, and it was great, a nice selection of regions and varietals, with tasting notes and recipes included -- you can get one or multiple/scheduled shipments (I just did one). 

Oh, a great go-to site for paper gifts is Sarah & Abraham, which has some of THE CUTEST stationery I've ever seen, all personalized and in adorable colors and fonts.  They have these knockout gift tags and note cards where you can get a silhouette of your family, pets included, and I almost got a load of holiday stickers with a dad, a pregnant mom (!), a hound-looking doggie and a cat on them, except I realized that I'd already sent out my Christmas cards so I wouldn't really have anyplace to use them; I'd just have to stare lovingly at them, which didn't seem to justify the cost.

Well, those are a few ideas, anyway, and I hope maybe they will help the procrastinators among you.  Feel free to share your own gift ideas and wish lists in the comments!

Box of Happy

I was welcomed home today by a Swistle care package, which I won in a contest on her site. 

Not to flaunt or anything, but it is one of the greatest things ever. 

It is CHOCK FULL of fun stuff:  wee Post-It flags! happy, colorful notebooks (including one with UNICORNS on it -- SUPER AWESOME)!  a darling picture frame with little owls on it that will be perfect in the baby's room!  a set of pink thank you notes (ideal for thanking people for baby gifts)!  a BOATLOAD of cloth napkins and napkin rings!  measuring cups and spoons in cheery colors!  an Elvis magnet, bunches of stickers, a tote bag, a candle, a sparkly butterfly ornament, and SO MUCH MORE, including (OMG) fresh-baked goods. 

I have been dying to sample Swistle's famous treats, and now I have whole batches of her oatmeal scotchies, salt brownies and mint brownies that are MINE, ALL MINE.  They are crazy delicious, which I know because I dove into them immediately while lovingly caressing all my new, cute things. 

So that was a good way to end the day!  A day in which someone actually asked me if there was, in fact, "just one baby in there."  (This, despite the fact that I managed not to gain even a SINGLE POUND this past month, even with the hoovering of the Thanksgiving dinner and leftovers with about 50 sticks of butter in them and the consuming of an impressive number of Christmas cookies -- take that, weight-scolding doctor! (And not to worry, since my overall gain is still, you know, PLENTY, it's not a sign that anything is wrong)).  Although the bonus of having reached the soccer ball-sized belly stage is that two people have given up their seats for me on the subway in the past week, even though I was shrouded in a tent-like maternity coat both times.  My faith in the people of New York has not yet disappeared altogether. 

Hall of Shame

First things first, let's get the hair photo out of the way. 

There are so many things wrong with this photo that I can hardly bear to post it, but after about 80 attempts to get a better shot, I gave up -- chiefly, I should have switched lenses; but that would have required walking across the room and engaging in a simple, 30-second procedure, so obviously too much to ask. 

So, here is a terrible, blurry photo that features my hands appearing to be the size of catcher's mitts (I swear, I do not really have man-hands, but I don't blame you for not believing me based on this glaring evidence to the contrary), my face looking ghoulish from my unfortunate choice of angle for the flash (which calls to mind the lighting on So You Think You Can Dance this season, which manages to make even Cat Deeley look hair-raisingly awful), my nose eclipsing virtually everything in the frame and my lips disappearing altogether (even more than usual). 

Of course, along with all these flaws, you can only really see half of the hair, and I have not been able to get it as curly as when I left the salon, so now it seems like I totally oversold the curliness; but you'll get the general idea. 

(My God, woman, just POST the damn thing already.)

(Ugh.)

So this weekend, I had this overwhelming urge to make Christmas cookies, and I had a grand plan of putting together gift tins of my delicious creations and delivering them to friends, perhaps even mailing some around the country to select recipients. 

By the time I had finished making two out of the four chosen varieties of cookies, I had run out of steam and realized that I had maybe enough to give each friend, like, TWO COOKIES, which is not so much a lively holiday surprise as an afterthought, possibly even an insult.  So I finished making a third batch of cookies and gave up (the chai gingerbread bars will have to wait til another time).  Of course, since we're just two people up in here, this means we now have baked goods out the yin-yang, but that's what the pantry at work is for -- to dump some of your excess calories on your coworkers.  (To be clear, we're keeping plenty for ourselves, but by the time we could make it through this many cookies on our own, the baby would be here.  Also, they would be rather stale.)

Part of the problem, too, was that the cookies I intended to be the centerpiece of this extravaganza did not turn out exactly as they should have.  They're my Grammie C.'s Green Cookies, which are basically sugar cookies with a touch of almond flavoring and a dot of green food coloring (festive!).  They're light and buttery and delicious, and I imagined that everyone who tried one would be clamoring for the recipe. 

Sadly, though, my batch was sub-par; they sort of spread out and flattened during the baking process and while they still taste really good, they lack the oomph and fluffy flakiness that they should have.  This could be because our oven is terribly screwed up; the door STILL does not close, so you have to wedge a kitchen chair under the handle to keep it shut, and this seems to have some deleterious effect on the cooking temperatures -- our food either cooks in record time or takes about eight times as long as is called for by a given recipe.  It's somewhat inconvenient (did I mention I cooked Thanksgiving dinner in this abomination of an oven?  Yeah.  And by the way, it has now been repaired twice and will be once again later this week). 

Anyway, here are the stupid, flat cookies (brought to you by a design flaw in a high-end range!), and the recipe for same in case you're so enticed by my description that you just can't wait to try them yourself -- of course, I recommend that you do, assuming you have a working oven; they truly are great cookies.  Maybe at some point I'll try again and show you what they're SUPPOSED to look like, but until then feel free to give it a go and let me know how they turn out:

Grammie's Green Cookies

1 lb. butter
1 1/2 c. sugar
1 tsp vanilla
1 1/2 tsp almond extract
4 c. sifted flour
few drops green food coloring
green sugar/sprinkles

Cream together butter and sugar until light and fluffy.  (I did this by hand because our mixer tends to spray things on every surface in the kitchen; I had to stop and rest a few times as my arm was about to fall off).

Add vanilla and almond extract.  Add flour a cup at a time and stir to combine.  My grandmother's recipe says to add the fourth cup of flour slowly or not at all, depending on the consistency of the dough; but this mystified me (what SHOULD the consistency be?  is there some kind of Standard Cookie Knowledge that I am missing here?) and I ended up not putting in all the flour in a mild panic, since the implication of her note is that too much flour will RUIN YOUR LIFE, but I think this may have contributed to the cookies' failings.  So unless your dough looks like it's becoming bone-dry from all the flour, I'm guessing you should use it all.

The food coloring is obviously optional, and it's up to you whether you want a mild seafoam hue (maybe 3 drops of coloring, which is what I used) or a vivid kelly green cookie (uh, more than that). 

Drop dough by the teaspoonful onto cookie sheets.  Dip a fork in cold water and use to flatten dough in criss-cross pattern.  Sprinkle on green sugar.

Bake at 325 for 12-15 minutes.  Cookies are done when they turn light brown at the edges.

________________________________

To close, here is this year's installation of Dog in a Santa Hat!  This poor dog just does not get a break around here. 

There's more on Flickr, including a few bonus shots of Dog in a Sweater! 

(Boy, do we need this baby).

Well, That Was Fun! Let's Not Do It Again.

My body decided to shake things up on Monday evening, and I took a little detour on my way home from work to the Labor & Delivery triage unit. 

(Spoiler alert!  Everything is totally fine.  No need to scroll to the end!)

I'd been sitting calmly at my desk all day, drinking my usual 80 liters or so of water, and around 4 in the afternoon I noticed that my belly was ROCK HARD.  It wasn't painful or crampy or anything much other than ROCK HARD, but the Internet told me that if the ROCK HARDness continued even after rest and hydration, I should call my doctor.  So I pounded about three additional Camelbak bottles of ice-cold water and tried to relax my abdomen while my brain immediately went to the place of TOTAL AND UTTER PANIC.

When the clenching hadn't subsided after about an hour, I decided to give the hospital a whirl, because what could be more fun than a tour of the L&D ward at almost 24 weeks pregnant?  Since I am a bit, uh, prone to paranoia -- especially when it's been more than a couple of weeks since my last encounter with someone of the OB/GYN persuasion, and at this point it had been fully three! long! weeks! -- about these things, I figured they'd give me a breezy wave and tell me it was something along the lines of "trapped wind." 

Well, it turns out that even if you cop to being a neurotic mess, they take these things pretty seriously, so after filling out a form and talking to the triage nurse, I found myself on a gurney wearing a hospital gown with a contraction monitor on my belly.  I also had the infinite pleasure of a...um....manual internal exam to check my cervix (yowzas!) and some internal ultrasounds.  The monitor showed that I was, in fact, having mild but fairly regular contractions, so they put me on an IV as the super-hydration from IV fluids usually makes them dissipate. 

Which, in fact, is what happened (apparently 83 liters of water in a day is not always enough to keep the contractions away).  And so, after several more internal exams and ultrasounds over a few hours, it was determined that the contractions were not, like, REAL ones, just fakey-fake Braxton-Hicks (or Toni Braxtons, as my friend calls them); so they weren't having any effect on my cervix or the baby. 

(Apparently, this is what my life has come to:  open and frank discussion of my cervix on the Internet.  Well, as I said to Joe as he helped me hover over a bedpan when the doctors -- both of whom were younger than I am, which made me feel rather inadequate and underachieving -- needed me to empty my bladder so they could, you know, access things more easily, and since I was hooked up to an IV and a monitor, I couldn't exactly make it to the actual bathroom, per se, in pregnancy you have to leave your dignity behind.  Because me hovering over a bedpan is the LEAST humiliating thing he's going to witness before all of this is over.

Which brings me to another point:  thank God I am married to a man who is not the least bit squeamish about bodily grossness.  I'm not sure how couples stay married who refuse, for example, to burp or...other things...in front of each other.  Because, dude, you're in this for LIFE.  At some point, seriously disgusting things are going to emanate from BOTH of your bodies, and you might as well acclimate yourself early on.  Right?  And pregnancy turns you into a one-woman band in all sorts of ways, so if you can't let loose in front of your partner, then what are you going to do when your legs are splayed out and sweat is pouring off you and A LIVE HUMAN BEING -- along with all sorts of viscera and blood and, yes, POOP -- is shooting forth from your loins?  While, believe me, I want Joe up by my HEAD during those crucial moments in the delivery room, I know he's not going to be horrified or grossed out beyond all repair, and I won't have to feel embarrassed or weird about what might happen, since at that point I will have plenty else to think about.  Hooray for that.)

Anyway, so after all of that, the attending physician came by and confirmed that everything was cool, that I WAS NOT in pre-term labor or anything even resembling it, and that I could and should go back to my usual daily activities, including exercise and work, but I should do so while drinking STILL MORE WATER (I did not think it was humanly possible).  And on Wednesday we went in for YET ANOTHER ultrasound, as they wanted me to get an Official Cervical Measurement from an u/s tech with the super-fancy machine, which double-confirmed that there's absolutely nothing remotely laborish going on and everything is all sealed up, nice and tight, as it should be.  This made me very happy.

Plus, we got a bonus look at the baby, who is, according to their voodoo high-tech machine thingy, 1 pound, 6 ounces (as compared with a mere 10 ounces just a month ago), and hanging out in butt-down position with one of her feet clear up by her face (future contortionist! sweet!).  We got to see her suck her thumb (awww) and wave her arms in the air (or, um, amniotic fluid) like she just don't care.  Man, I love this kid. 

The upshot of this little adventure is that I'm feeling more relaxed (I also have a regular monthly appointment next week, which is even better), and also VERY much like I need to pee AT ALL TIMES, since I am now consuming a small lake's worth of water every day.  As I am kind of picky about my water, we have invested in a tremendous amount of bottled Evian.  Yes, it's wasteful and bad for the environment (though we recycle!), but if it keeps me out of L&D for about 16 more weeks, I'll live with the guilt. 

Of course, now I'm wondering if drinking buttloads of water out of plastic, non-BPA-free, full-on phthalate bottles could be a problem... 

After all, there has to be SOMEthing for me to worry about. 

Stuffed

Now THAT was what I call a holiday.  No rushing around, packing or unpacking, sitting in airports or cars, but rather sleeping in (8:30 some days!  How crazy are we?), taking long walks, eating loads of good food, watching movies and doing some leisurely online shopping.  It would have been greatly enhanced if our guests could have made it, but Allison and I had to make do with exchanging frequent text messages and emails. 

Our Thanksgiving feast turned out pretty much spot-on, including my inaugural attempt at pan gravy (I usually rely on, uh, Heinz to provide the gravy) and of course the leftover casserole has been brilliant, and OH, how I will weep when it's all gone tonight.  I also would HIGHLY recommend this dessert, which is as good straight out of the fridge on days 2 and 3 as it was warm from the oven on TG day proper.  I think it even beats Paula Deen's Gooey Pumpkin Butter Cakes, although to be sure I think I would have to do a side-by-side comparison.  

We played some Scrabble, watched "Love, Actually" and "White Christmas" and ventured out for some Black Friday shopping, although we left the house well after noon and didn't go to any major retailers other than the Gap and J Crew, so we didn't exactly uncover any great deals (seriously, there was NOTHING on sale at J Crew, wth?  Not that I can fit into any of their clothes at the moment, but still), but we perused a holiday market and the Scandinavia House shop and the Time Warner Center and bought ourselves some exciting stuff like kitchen towels.  Then we came home and shopped online for actual gifts for other people. 

Speaking of which, I remain uninspired for a Wow Gift for anyone, but especially for Joe.  Last year I got him a Keurig, which was pretty much the best gift ever since he uses it at LEAST once a day, EVERY SINGLE DAY, and absolutely loves the convenience of it and the many delicious coffees that he can try in K-Cup form.  For our anniversary (I think?), I got him a wee Canon digital camera, which also gets a great deal of use, and I'd gotten him a Flip video camerasome time ago that he will FINALLY get to play with come March (there's really not much to film until the baby enters the mix).  And of course there have been clothes, books, DVDs, assorted vintagey memorabilia (Stork Club ashtray, framed post card from Jack Dempsey's, that sort of thing) -- and, a couple of years ago, the gift certificates for a session with a famous running coach and a training session at Gleason's boxing gym, both of which I was so smug about yet which NEVER GOT USED (am still bitter), but this year there's nothing jumping out at me. 

He ALWAYS manages to get me an awesome Wow Gift (trip to Mexico, trip to see Allison, my DSLR, first edition of "To Kill a  Mockingbird"), and I feel like I never measure up (though one could argue that this year I'm trumping all other paltry gifts with, you know, CARRYING HIS CHILD, but that's such a cop-out).  So, I don't know.  I have some ideas floating around but nothing that makes me go, oh, YEAH, that's IT!  Fleh.

Yesterday I went for my maternity massage at the Mandarin Oriental, and it was appropriately blissful, such that I almost MELTED out of there.  I also got a haircut at a salon I hadn't been to before, and the guy basically told me I have been doing EVERYthing wrong vis-a-vis my hair, which is why it has been looking like dog poo for some time now -- specifically, I have been brushing it before it's dry (causing breakage and damage) and not embracing my natural curl by scrunching it and/or using a diffuser.  Well, I walked out of there with BIG TIME CURLY HAIR, as is evidently now its natural state (I always thought of it as more wavy than anything else, but nay, it is CURLY).  It will take some getting used to, but if it stops looking frizzy and DEAD, I guess I will learn to love it.

And today we went to the Met to check out the Vermeers and the Robert Frank exhibit, along with about eighty million of our closest friends.  What is it that makes people want to get so CLOSE to the art, I want to know?  In the Vermeer room, it's like they were trying to LICK the paintings.  (Joe:  "It's not a scratch-n-sniff!") 

Anyway, that was our Thanksgiving weekend in a nutshell.  We have now put out a few Christmas items to kick off the holiday season.  Since we're going to Seattle for Christmas, I'm not sure if we'll get a big tree, but obviously we need SOME form of cheer up in here.  I am going for an Olde Worlde sort of thing, it seems, with the carved Santa (we found this woman at a flea market who makes Santas, and this one was of course the biggest and most expensive one, and I LOVE HIM and his sad face), the Swedish angel chimes and the Danish elf. 

I have also been having strange urges to throw a Christmas party involving a cookie exchange and a Yankee swap.  Is this a nesting instinct kicking in?  It's so odd.  Instead, maybe I will see if I can actually manage to write, address and send my Christmas cards before January this year.  Turn over a new leaf and all.  Ambitious, this. 

Let the Face-Stuffing Commence!

Boy howdy, am I looking forward to Thanksgiving.  For the food, of course, but mostly for the Four! Days! Off!  This little break could not come at a more desperately needed time.  I plan to spend those blissful four days cooking, eating, lazing about, reading, watching whatever cheesy movie strikes my fancy (I feel a "Love, Actually" viewing coming on, and perhaps some "Elf") and quietly panicking over the proximity of Christmas and my utter lack of ideas for gifts for absolutely anyone. 

There may also be some tentative venturing out for shopping to allay said Christmas gift panic; but it's just as likely that any foray into the horror of Thanksgiving-weekend crowds will send me racing back to the couch to do my present-perusing online.  Oh, and I have a maternity massage booked at the Mandarin Oriental, about which I am incredibly excited even though I won't get to enjoy the spa's Heat Experience (enormous hot tub and sauna) this time.  On the up side, however, this means I won't have to endure the mental anguish of whether it's weird that I wear a bathing suit into said hot tub/sauna (many women, um, don't) or whether I might experience a sudden head rush upon exiting the Heat Experience, thereby adding a Fainting Experience to the otherwise blissfully relaxing spa day.

This holiday will be just the two of us (which reminds me, I loathe the phrase "a deux"; it reminds me of Cosmo magazine and Danielle Steel novels -- they're always talking about showering "a deux" and the like, blergh), thanks to the jacked-up airline prices that have prohibited Allison and family from joining us (boo, BOOOOOOO).  It's disappointing, but in the end we've got to soldier on.  We've gotten pretty good at the just-the-two-of-us thing, and this way I can serve dinner in my sweats from a bunch of pans on the stove instead of putting together a pretty table and a passable family-style or buffet meal for guests (not that Allison, David and Maggie would judge or that I would MIND, of course, and we would definitely ALL be in our sweats anyhow and it would be SUPER FUN; I'm just trying to look for the bright side, here, and you know what I mean). 

Incidentally, my Thanksgiving spread is something of a Symphony of Beige, Starchy Foods.  In addition to the turkey, which I plan to brine with whatever brining materials Whole Foods has to offer, and gravy, I will be serving

-- buttermilk mashed potatoes (if the entire meal had to be reduced to one dish, this would be my keeper);

-- stuffing (a fairly basic concoction of bagged Pepperidge Farm stuffing, celery, mushrooms, onions, spices, chicken broth and about a pound of butter; I may add some pancetta if I'm feeling kicky -- and, by the way, this year I'm not stuffing the bird thanks to yet another of Baby*Center's hysterical emails about Thanksgiving Foods YOU WILL DIE IF YOU EAT, sigh);

-- peas (a nod to the green vegetable family, even though, I know, it's technically a legume);

-- homemade cranberry sauce (I'm using Ree's super-simple recipe this year, although I'll probably throw in some Craisins and a few spices to jazz it up a little);

-- rolls (Pillsbury Crescent, baby -- what, do some people actually, like, MAKE THEIR OWN?  madness!); and

-- for dessert, pumpkin crisp (hold me) with, uh, Cool Whip (judge not!).

Can you tell I am something of a low-effort cook?  Middlebrow cooking, man, that is the name of my game.  If we were having more than two (and a half!) people, I'd probably throw in some jazzier dishes, like my aunt's crazy-delicious sweet potato casserole and perhaps homemade instead of from-a-bag stuffing and a pie of some kind; but since the meal still takes about 500 hours to prepare and about eight minutes to consume, I am happy with my approach.  And it tastes really freaking good, however basic. 

This meal is also a gift that keeps on giving in the form of my family's patented Post-Thanksgiving Casserole, which I have mentioned here before but must reiterate now that if you haven't tried it, you should:  before putting away any of your leftovers, get out a 9x13 baking dish.  Spread a layer of stuffing on the bottom of said dish, then a layer of bite-sized turkey pieces, then a layer of peas, a smattering of gravy, and finally a nice, fat top layer of mashed potatoes.  Throw some foil over that bad boy and toss it in the fridge.  The following (several) night(s), put some pats of butter on the top and stick in the oven at 375 for maybe 45 min to an hour, uncovered, then enjoy with a fresh sprinkling of salt (and maybe some more butter).

OH, it is so delicious.  Like a big Thanksgiving shepherd's pie of yumminess.  Also, it burns up the majority of the leftovers, such that you don't end up with 5,000 Tupperware containers junking up your fridge (although we ALWAYS have about 50 lbs of turkey left even post-casserole).  Now I'm all a-quiver in anticipation of all the eating that's going to go on in a few days.  Mmm.  Food-centric holidays.  Yes!

Finally, I have recently incorporated Brisk Power-Walking (complete with vigorous arm-swinging and, I'm sure, a ridiculous-looking gait, though not as ridiculous-looking as those hip-swiveling Speed Walkers) into my fitness routine.  Running is still fair game as well, but by about Mile 3 of a (slow, waddly) run, it feels like the baby is clinging to my bladder for dear life, which sends me hurrying back to the apartment with a stricken look on my face since the peeing facilities are few and far between in Central Park.  This situation is much less dire when walking, although I can't give up my jogs altogether because, frankly, I miss it.  (I imagine by month 8 or so, I will be happy to stick with walking, if I can even accomplish that.) 

I also have this prenatal fitness DVD, which is a surprisingly vigorous workout that nearly left me without the use of my legs for several days after the first time I tried it.  There's only so much squatting that one can do before things start to break down.  And I still 30-Day Shred on occasion, although I have eliminated Level 3 from the rotation, because no, Jillian, I am not doing jumping jacks with my weights, thankyouverymuch.  Plus, Supermans on a big belly?  Not happening. 

I may pop back in with another post before the holiday, but if not, I hope each and every one of you has a wonderful, restful, food-coma-inducing Thanksgiving!

Sick Day in the City

6:30am  Get up after near-sleepless night, thanks to crampiness/round ligament pain that, around 3am, was somehow easily confused with labor pain and the conviction that WE ARE ALL GOING TO DIE.  Wallow in lingering paranoia resulting from nightmares about preterm labor at 22 weeks and related horrors. 

6:35am  Walk dog; dog nearly eaten by passing Jack Russell terriers. 

6:41am  Obsessively Google "cramping second trimester."  Internet consensus favors ligament pain/uterine expansion.

6:45am  Brush teeth, put in contacts, blow nose 45 times, nearly hack up lung into sink.  Remember subway hobo's admonishment to stay home when sick.  Resolve to follow more subway hobo advice.

6:52am  Drink approximately 3 gallons of Evian; eat Balance Bar to stave off post-prenatal vitamin nausea.

7:02am  Stretch; watch in dull fascination as GMA interviews people who have lined up for Sarah Palin book signings.

7:14am  Take warm shower.  Wonder if nighttime pain ever actually existed in the first place or if it was imagined entirely.  Contemplate use of long-ago purchased but never-used body pillow from now on.  Tell mental spiral of anxiety to shut the hell up.

7:35am  Play Cat Stevens for baby with iPod headphones on belly.  Watch baby's kicks from outside.  Wonder if baby is irritated by piped-in music.

7:54am  Listen to roar and crash of trash collection, blare of horns from cars stuck behind trash collection truck.  Another restful New York morning.

8:26am  Construction begins on neighboring building; cacophony of clanging, shouting, drilling and jackhammering will continue for remainder of day. 

9:14am  Arrange self on couch with Kleenex, laptop, water and pets.  Dog takes ten hours to get settled in just the right spot; cat kneads claws in hair. 

10:02am  FedEx guy buzzes; cat jumps onto head, dog races around barking like maniac.

10:16am  Hammering, sirens. 

10:52am  Dog has to go out. 

11:15am  Wonder if day spent napping under desk in quiet office would have been more restful.