Brief Miscellany

Here’s a Lil someone thinking story time is all for her. 20140418-095934.jpg

This someone also has maybe ten words, one of which is poop and one of which is boob. Maybe I need to talk about a wider range of stuff.

Like everyone else his age, Das Big Boy is obsessed with Frozen. Unlike everyone else, his favorite song is the “Ice song,” which opens the movie.

This weekend the four of us are crashing Mo’s Provincetown writing retreat. That’s how you know a bestie: she’s excited for your family to come dye eggs and do an egg hunt and probably have wingdings and smear boogies all over her quiet time.

Here is a two-second video of Das Big Boy watering the flower he planted at school. Please note my creepy voice as I praise his efforts.

Still adorable, in spite of my efforts.

Happy Friday!


Fashion Tip: Dress like your children

One of the topics this blog promises to address is style, but it’s been a while since I’ve done so. You might be asking yourself, “Why would I take style advice from a woman with a once-a-week shower policy?”

To which I reply, “I’m not offering hygiene tips. And I like clothes, even if I only have four pairs of pants. Which is two more pairs of pants than I had before my last trip to Target.”

Anyway, these days I feel like I have two style icons: Small children and the Olsen Twins (whom I associate with small pants, floopy tops, big bags, big boots, messy hair, scarves, chunky jewelry). One of the things that’s fun about dressing kids is that it’s considered cute to mix patterns, textures, and do lots of layering. I’ve basically backwards planned this into my own wardrobe. So that’s my first style idea. Dress like you dress your toddler. If you don’t have a toddler, you can try dressing like I dress my toddlers.

Yup. For ladies.

Yup. For ladies.


I wore this today. Green and white striped tank under a black sweater with white polka dots. Ubiquitous skinny jeans and never-leave-the-house-without-one statement necklace. Before I went out, I also showered so my hair didn’t look like this. Although I’m kind of digging my side-pony/dreadlock look.

Recently, I tried on this crab sweater (right) at a favorite boutique. I liked it because it looked like something Das Big Boy would wear. In fact, on Wednesday I frightened a small child at Das Big Boy’s preschool in the following manner. We’ll call him Cyrus because his name is Cyrus and that’s so damn cute. Keep in mind Cyrus isn’t even in DBB’s class and likely doesn’t know who I am.

Me: Cyrus, guess what?

Cyrus: What?

Me: I recently tried on a shirt exactly like that. But it looked terrible on me because it looked like a four-year-old boy should be wearing it.

Cyrus smiles politely and starts looking for an exit.

Me: But I love it on you.

The problem was, it looked good on Cyrus, and it would have looked good on an adorable, sassy twenty year old. But I looked like a mom trying to dress like her children. Which I was. But it turns out I can’t be so obvious about it.

Which is why I wrote about it tonight.

ll fashion

Layering. Jeggings. Leg Warmers. Yup. I would wear that.

dbb fashion

Plaid over stripes.Yup. I’d wear that, too.


Apparently it’s sibling day

My children celebrated by bickering over a cozy coupe and sharing a crib dance and hug. An only child myself, I thought it seemed like a pretty good way to mark this fake-o holiday.


Attack Goose and Other Avian Narratives

Herr Husband has been traveling for work a lot lately, so I’ve had solo time with the Kinder. We’ve missed Herr Honey, of course, but we’ve been enjoying ourselves, too. The weather has been good, finally, and I had Lady Wine Night and have done some fun outings with the wee ones.

One adventure we had was at the duck pond I used to visit as a child. Back in the dizz, one could feed said ducks, but today there are signs up informing visitors that feeding the wildfowl is harmful to their health. So the Kinder and I planned to feed only ourselves with a picnic from Volante Farms (a world of yum) and settled ourselves onto a bench near the pond.

Look at that menacing gleam in his eye.

Look at that menacing gleam in his eye.

Enter Goose, white variety. He starts getting a bit close for comfort, so I calmly inform him about the no feeding the wildfowl signs. He gives me a look that says it would be impossible for him to give two goose shits about those signs. The he honks and bobs his head in a creepy cobra fashion. From stage left, enter Canadian Goose, who briefly distracts original goose (OG). They fight, and Canadian Goose decamps. Goose turns his attention to us again, so I throw a woodchip hoping he’ll think it’s food and run away in confusion. This trick fails (although it might work on Lil Liebchen, who appears totally convinced woodchips are food every time we go to the playground). Goose is enraged. He returns to our table, hissing at me and LL, who are seated on the side of the table closer to him. I pick her up and we join Das Big Boy on his side of the table. “The goose wants to steal our food,” he informs me. Right-o, DBB. Goose continues his pursuit and rude hissing and neck snaps. I put the Kinder on top of a nearby picnic table, telling them not to move as I frantically round up our picnic (because gods forbid Goose wins and we inadvertently break pond rules AND forsake our tasty, cheese based lunch !). Although it might be ok if LL left behind a bit of turkey as a thinly veiled threat. Anyway, I sweep up the food and the kiddos and we run to a bench a bit further afield. Das Big Boy was amused by my goose-inspired terror, which means he underappreciated my heroics in rescuing him from Goose rabies.

Goose of doom. Note size in comparison to child. No wonder I was afraid for the Kinder.

Goose of doom. Note size in comparison to child. No wonder I was afraid for the Kinder.

She's number one! Also, that's not a nosering, it's a scab. From her fingernail , not from her playground antics. So there.

She’s number one! Also, that’s not a nosering, it’s a scab. From her fingernail, not from her playground antics. So there.

You also need to know about Lil Liebchen at the playground, where I’m pretty sure she thinks she has some sort of official role. Completely unfazed by children four times her size, she climbs the stairs, selects a slide all by herself, walks over to it, and slides down. And she grins her apple cheeked grin the whole time. Unless you try to tell her that the climbing wall is not a slide. Then she flies into a woodchip hurling rage and makes me look like a bad mother. Actually, people think I’m a bad mother both when she’s adorably dominating the play structures and when she’s rolling around in woodchips, because her slight frame and baldish head make people think she’s like nine months old, and then why in the name of the gods am I allowing her to play so independently? Fortunately, I don’t give a hoot.

Which brings us to our other bird story, which is about who else: Big Boy Owl. He’s become a bit of a depressive. And by a bit of I mean major. Das Big Boy’s recent fascination with the range of human emotion has translated into protracted crying seshes for everyone’s favorite decrepit owl: “I miss Dorian (now recast as his mother). Wah wah. I bumped my nose. Wah wah. I’m hungry. Wah wah.” So today I encouraged Big Boy Owl to take three deep breaths, as I do with Das Big Boy, so we could identify the feeling and make a plan (I got this from an app that DBB enjoys–don’t judge). “But,” Big Boy Owl (as played by Das Big Boy, obvs, I haven’t lost it so much that I’m communing directly with the owl. Usually), informed me after he took his breaths,”I don’t want to feel better. I want to be sad. It’s a good sad.”

How awesome is that? My little dude who has sometimes struggled with negative emotions is now able to see the merits of a good sad. “Ok, Big Boy Owl,” I replied, “That works for me. You should honor your feelings. Do you know a word for a good sad?”

“No,” said the boy/Owl.

From our duck pond adventures. Both kids loved walking on the tree trunk. Das Big and getting bigger and not so Lil.  Lemoncholy indeed.

From our duck pond adventures. Both kids loved walking on the tree trunk. Das Big and getting bigger and not so Lil.
Lemoncholy indeed.

“Melancholy. Can you say melancholy.”

“Melancholy,” he repeated. “Melancholy. Lemoncholy.”

“Melancholy,” he said again. “It’s a good sad.”


And that’s how I feel about my little ones growing up. A bit Lemoncholy.