A question of size

Hypothetically, if you were to, say, make a large pan of Rice Krispie squares using the delicious new Vanilla Rice Krispies

is it more guilt inducing to eat one very exceedingly large piece, or several moderate pieces?

Personally I think that there are less calories in one piece than in many pieces. On the other hand, there are the calories that get used in cutting the squares into smaller pieces.

Right?

Hypothetically of course.

* * *

Answers to your burning questions coming up. I'm still taking questions... go on, you know you want to.

I'm game

I really don't have a whole lot to say today, as I am tired and cranky, a bit under the weather, and facing three days without Mr Babbler who is on a "business" trip to Las Vegas (why can't there be conferences for stay-at-home mothers? Imagine breakout groups on Crayola versus Laurentian pencil crayons and the relative the merits of Avent versus Playtex sippy cups. Potty "training" - fact or fiction? But I digress...) After a trip to a walk-in clinic today that gave me no answers, and left me pretty much in the same state I was before I entered the clinic, I'm feeling a wee bit crotchety.

So, having seen this done a fair bit around the blogosophere lately, I figure I'll play along. Ask any questions you'd like (of course, this assumes that you fine readers are indeed curious enough about my life to not only reflect on a question, but to take the time to type it out). Some of you have met me, which gives you a leg up. I'm pretty much game for any question, nosy or otherwise.

Ask away!

(And I feel terrible... I completely missed Jana of Something Baby Blue in my roundup of Saturday night's rowdy drunken intellectually stimulating night out. My omission is merely that of my own mental failings.)

Now! With social life! (And a shocking event!)

Last night I had the fantastic opportunity to meet (or become reacquainted with) many of the bloggers who I've long since read and admired.* A Peanut-free night (the first in many, many months), the TTC was traveled (in fine company, I might add), alcohol was imbibed, there was terrific discussion, many laughs and some racy photos taken. The evening ended with a slightly inebriated cab ride home.

I had a ridiculously good time, and was completely tickled to talk to so many people I felt like I already knew, people who were warm and welcoming and just as real as on their online space. Oddly, I was so excited and nervous to be meeting people in person, it never once occurred to me that the reverse might also be true, and that people could possibly be curious about me.

* * *

Today we went for lunch with good friends. Six adults, two toddlers and one wee baby descended upon the family-friendly Boston Pizza in Markham. At the end of the lunch, the toddlers (Peanut, and her good friend Baby 'Zilla) were allowed to walk around the restaurant where I made a startling discovery.

A family was eating in a booth on the other side of the restaurant. A mother, father, toddler and baby. When we walked passed I was shocked and astounded to see a little baby penis! Out, in plain view! In the middle of the restaurant!

The mother was changing her baby's diaper on the booth seat. In the middle of the restaurant.

Let me say that again.

THE MOTHER WAS CHANGING A DIAPER AT THE TABLE!

(Now, just to cover the bases. Boston Pizza is an incredibly family-friendly restaurant. There are changing tables in both the men's and the women's restrooms. The mother had her husband there, so was not in danger of leaving a toddler unattended.)

Again. THE MOTHER WAS CHANGING A DIAPER, AT THE TABLE, IN THE MIDDLE OF THE RESTAURANT. WHERE THERE WAS FOOD. WHERE I EAT.

Now, discuss amongst yourselves.



* I apologize if there is anyone I missed!

Vignettes

Lately Peanut has been fascinated by my hair. She tugs at it, trying to pull it out of its ponytail, so I submit to her prodding and pull the elastic out. She stands beside me, with the gentlest of touches running her fingers through my hair, attempting in her own way to tuck strands behind my ear.

* * *

Peanut has learned how to climb on the sofa, a skill she proudly puts to use every few minutes. Out of nowhere, she climbs up on the sofa and instead of jumping up and down on the cushions and launching herself around, she tucks her body under my arm, leaning against me. We sit companionably for several minutes (an eternity in the lifetime of a toddler), watching the teen whiz-kids vie for top spot on Jeopardy.

* * *

I say to Peanut touch fingers, and she puts out her index finger for me to press my index finger against. I tell her that all my love is passing from me to her.

She watches me, intent on my words. And then she smiles the biggest, sweetest baby smile and giggles madly before throwing herself into my arms for a cuddle.

Running out of words

I feel like I'm running out of words. I sit at my computer and stare at the blank white screen, willing the thoughts to assemble themselves, the words to flow into prose, but it doesn't happen.

Perhaps it is the weather, oppressive in its coldness, the steely sky, the blanket of snow, ice, rain. This endless winter.

More likely, I find myself at a loss for words as I wait - patiently impatiently patiently - for Peanut's first word.

At 16 months we still live in relative silence, our conversations a one-sided affair. I fill the air between us with questions, with observations, with two-sided dialogue. There are giggles and babbling, but words still elude us.

I have yet to hear the sweet sound of "Mamamamama".

Of "Up! Up! Up!"

Or of a vehement "NO!" (How victorious would that act of defiance be? What cause for celebration?)

My sweet girl, so happy and easygoing and laid back. I long to know what is locked away in her mind, what she is thinking, what questions she has. I long for her to make loud demands and quiet chatter. I wonder, what is waiting to bubble forth?

It's as though there is a limit to my words. As I give them to my daughter, waiting for one - any one - to be returned to me, I run out of resources, and there are no words for here.

Between ennui and exhaustion

Lies the state of this blog. It has not escaped my notice that the last time I posted was nearly three weeks ago. Forgive, please?

This past week we put our house up on the market. In a stroke of genius timing, Mr Babbler arranged a nearly week-long business trip to start the day the house went on the market. Sometimes I get all the luck...

I had spent the last several weeks preparing the house. Mr Babbler worked primarily with his father on all the minor touchups and completion of renovations. I, on the other hand, purged, tossed, gifted, donated and organized our possessions, packing up dozens of boxes and moving them to storage. But oh, that was the easy part.

On Tuesday morning the house went up on the market. Within two hours there were multiple showings booked for that evening. I plunked Peanut in front of Sesame Street and ran like a mad against the clock to finish everything before the 5 pm showing - that included the dozen boxes that were still in the house, the putting away of personal effects, the cleaners that were coming to give the house the once over. In essence, all of the final preparations. Still, I could have handled all of that, if that's where it had ended. It was when Murphy's Law started fucking with me that I started to crack.

Murphy's Law occurrence #1 - Less than an hour before the first showing the sconce light over my side of the bed fell off the wall. Fell off the damn wall! There it was, just hanging by the cord, two giant holes in the wall where the plugs and screws had yanked out. Madly dash around attempting to find glue, carpet tape, chewing gum - whatever will temporarily hold the light back on. Toss child into car two minutes before the first viewing. Cry over steering wheel. Race off to the mall for dinner. Sit impatiently through dinner, anxious to return home.

That night we had our first offers, both over asking. One so ridiculously over asking that it seemed to good to be true, and figured that the buyers must be prepared to back out, or negotiate down on the home inspection. Sign back anyway, staying up late until 2 am with the phone calls, the signing, the faxing.

Murphy's Law occurrence #2 - The next day, get up and figure you can enjoy a leisurely morning before leaving before the showings (just in case the first offer falls through). Have a nice, leisurely shower, warm water getting out the kinks and easing the countless bruises that cover you from busting your ass for the last few weeks. Dress child and head to Home Depot for better solution than carpet tape to fix light. On the way out the door look up at kitchen ceiling and realize that shower has leaked through ceiling for first time in 4 years and there are giant water bubbles on your frigging ceiling. Start to cry. Realize that cleaners have ripped off rather important section of caulking in shower. Drive to Home Depot in panic, calculating the number of hours you have left to repair this situation. (Whilst in Home Depot parking lot during crazy wind storm, turn back for two seconds and return to see expensive Maclaren stroller ripping across parking lot at lightening speeds, narrowly missing moving cargo van, traversing entire parking lot before hitting curb and vaulting in the air, smashing on the ground. Charge across parking lot with child under arm like football, fully prepared to cry over broken stroller.) Buy items and head home. Spend next two hours with arms above head drying ceiling with hair blower. Cry some more. Have first showing show up 15 minutes early and force them to wait on front porch whilst you hide evidence of ceiling repair. Head out to friend's house for next several hours. Realize you might be having a panic attack about being away from home and from accumulated stress. Caulk shower that night (having never used caulking gun in entire life) in anticipation of frigging HOME INSPECTION happening the next day.

End result? The next day the home inspection happened. The caulking job and the light repair held. The hours of blow drying the ceiling had been efficient enough to repair the ceiling with no evidence of the leak. The buyers signed off on their condition, and we were sold. Weeks of stress, borderline panic attacks, two days on the market, and 117% of asking.

The husband returned home to a sold house. I had my leverage to purchase the appliances I lusted after for the new house (shiny, pretty new appliances). Always get them when they're chock full of gratitude!

We've spent the last couple of days making up time with Peanut, who had spent far too many hours in front of Sesame Street and eating tossed together, crappy meals. I am eternally grateful for what a good child she is, because the patience she showed during the last three weeks has been phenonmenal. I truly messed with her routine over and over, and she took it like a trooper. Of course, she took her revenge rewarded me by learning how to climb the day after the sale went through.

Nothing will ever be safe again.

And here I am. The house is mostly packed, the result of preparing for the sale. After cocooning myself the last couple of days, I'm ready to re-enter the world. After being gone awhile, I realize how much I need this place. How not having the time to read, and talk, and communicate and interact has negatively affected me.

I've missed all of you. Your words, your stories, your comments. And I'm so glad to be back!