Monday, February 22, 2010

Smarty Pants Preschool Update

Wait listed.

No joke.

My 2 1/2 year old daughter was just wait listed.

I wrote a comment about it on someone else's blog and actually typed "weight listed."

Think that means something? Not sure what, if anything. Maybe I'm putting too much weight on all this even though I keep saying it's crazy and doesn't matter and what the heck is wrong with New York.

Or maybe I just need to start the Fat Flush. Which I appear to be doing tomorrow.

I'm pretty sure that no one should be wait listed before the age of four.

Sunday, February 14, 2010

Calling All Artists- Win This House Essay Contest

A Facebook Friend who is also an actress (and a brilliant one at that) posted this link today on her Facebook page and I had to blog about it.

Are you an artist? Are you longing for an artistic home? A couple from Maine, a musician and an illustrator, realized that (in their words) they had one house too many. Their sweet little cottage in Sanford, Maine was sitting empty. So they want to give it away to a self-employed artist. Give. It away.

Here are the basic rules as they outline them:
The contest is open to anyone in the Arts, any field; musical, dramatic, visual, writing etc. if in doubt, ask. Entries will be limited to 4,000. when we reach that number the contest will close. If we do not reach 4,000 entries by June 1st 2010, we will close the contest and determine if the house can still be given away if not, everyone who submitted will receive a refund. We will post when the entry level is reaching maximum. We will post when the limit is reached and the contest is closed.

You must be at least 18 years of age at the time you enter the contest.

You must write 500 words or less expressing how the world will be a better place if you win this house. You cannot use names of people or names of specific towns. Essay entries will be anonymous. Pertinent information must be submitted on the separate form provided to insure anonymity. Spelling does not count, (we are artists after all) but content does. The essay can take the form of poetry, dialog or song verse if you choose.

I love everything about this. Follow them on Twitter to see how the contest is progressing. I know that I will.

Saturday, February 13, 2010

One Sentence Saturday

Our cat has a thyroid condition.

Sunday, February 7, 2010

The Difference Between Here and Ocean City Maryland

When we were on vacation last August we saw this show on Discovery Health called "Just Cook This." This dude, Sam Zein, who hosts it is a pretty unlikely host of a cooking show. He kept burning himself and dropping food. It was funny enough to get me and Doc Hubby both on board. On one episode we watched, he made a Mixed Mushroom and Goat Cheese Pizza that looked amazing. So we decided to try it.

We spent the next day playing arcade games in Ocean City, MD and stopped at a Stop and Shop or Fresh Pride or some equally massive food store to get the ingredients--a tabernacle to grocery shopping. A palace. A temple. A ziggurat. I needed an uncooked pizza crust, parmesan cheese, garlic, goat cheese, mushrooms, and one of those packages of prewashed, organic if possible, spinach. I hit the produce section first. Not a bag. Not a shred. Not a leaf of baby spinach. Not to mention organic baby spinach. Some limp nasty looking watery salads in a bag (with those inane zigzag cut carrots and radishes) were the only small greens. I had to buy a bag of the big nasty bitter spinach leaves and spend fifteen minutes removing every stem. All other ingredients hastily found. Goat cheese. Check. Surprise really. Pizza crusts? Took a while to find them in the refrigerator section, but once located, several different options. Pizza created. Delicious.

Cut to today. Superbowl Sunday. One year anniversary of Bean walking. I want to make the pizza again. I send Doc Hubby out for the ingredients. I figure, this is New York, so we will have many options of goat cheese and they will call it chevre and you can even get it low fat. Spinach for days. Prewashed. Organic. Indeed all is found. All...but the pizza crusts.Really? I eye Doc Hubby really skeptically. This is New YORK! I say to Doc Hubby. We have everything. Did you really look? He assures me he did. On occasion he can't find his own feet, so I am skeptical. Even a bit disdainful. Did you ask the guy? No need to revisit this tired and really not that funny joke. He hands me a Boboli. I scoff.

So I get all bundled up. I storm out the door and say I'm going to the ultra fancy neighborhood store "to get a pizza crust." After all we won't be watching "Extreme Makeover Home Edition" tonight. I want a yummy damn pizza. I go directly to the fancy gourmet joint about half a mile away. I pass three other grocery stores along the way. I stand in shock and look at the mini tart shells, whole wheat pie crusts, and filo dough. No pizza crust. I go to the next closest grocery store. The "big" one that's cheaper and not so fancy. Confident. I ask the guy. Strike two. I pass by the medium fancy grocery store that's only five blocks from home. Doc Hubby said he scoured it before getting the Boboli. I am starting to believe him. He has also checked the grocery store in the first floor of our building. There he got a mound of frozen pizza dough. "What will we do with that?" I exclaim in disgust? Do I look like I have a pizza stone??? Have you seen our cabinets?

I am ready to slink in and apologize. I buy jello chocolate mousse and Applegate Farms Hot Dogs as a peace offering. And then I remember. This is New YORK. The Italian Market. The fancy specialty shop two blocks closer to home. Doc Hubby was just constrained by his non-NYCness. Of course you check the specialty shop when looking for what turns out to be a specialty items. When you ask the man for the uncooked pizza crusts he will surely...frown and shake his head and not even speak. Yup. Friendliest city in the world.

I slink home. Five grocery stores. In half a mile. Not a single uncooked pizza crust. Are they too big? Do they take up too much valuable grocery store real estate? Or does everyone figure it's New York. Why the heck would you make a pizza when you can get a slice at five joints in the same ten block radius as the grocery stores?

I am using the Boboli tonight. Go Saints.

So that's the difference between here and Ocean City Maryland. That and there is no skeeball in my apartment.

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

Old MacDonald Had A Toucan

So we had the callback at the Smarty Pants Preschool today. Did I mention I paid them a one hundred dollar application fee for the pleasure of hauling my kid there for the third time today? In the snow?

It was fine. Really just fine.

But at one point they were all having rug time and singing "Old MacDonald" (yeah, pretty sure that's the same song they sing at all the non-smarty-pants preschools, too) and each time it was the moment to name an animal, the next kid in the circle got to come up with the animal and say what sound it made. The first kid said cow (totally easy to be the first kid--cow is such a gimme). The second kid said pig (and the Bean was the one who chimed in that the pig says oink--totally out of turn but still cute and game and okay annoying to that kid's Mama but still cute). The third kid apparently said horse but honestly only her mother could translate that one. Then it was the Bean's turn. "And on that farm he had a..." And the kid who just leapt up and oinked out of turn, paused, stared at the rug, and said very quietly "cow." Yup, and cow had so clearly already been done.

But they are nothing if not accepting at the Smarty Pants preschool so everyone mooed again.

Then we got to the last kid. "And on that farm he had a..."

"Toucan!" exclaims the kid.

Show off.

In case you were wondering, a toucan says "squawk."

Monday, February 1, 2010

Where's my friend God?

Conversation as I'm loading the Bean into her carseat on Sunday and leaving our mouse-infested, plumbing-free, mildew-ridden upstate fixer-upper.

Bean: Mama, can we go to the cabin?

Me: In a couple of months....I hope Poppop can hear you saying that.

Bean: Where's Poppop?

Me: He's in heaven with God.

Bean: Who's God?

Me: God is...God.

Bean: Where's my friend God?

Me: He's in heaven with Poppop.

Bean: Where is heaven?

Me: Up in the sky. the sky...

Poppop died a little over a year ago. Hewould be so happy to know how excited the Bean is about going to the cabin. I hope he can hear her. Yet another reason we can't sell the cabin.