hippie...ish

Update on the Baggubags: I have 3 of them and love them. I use them for pool bags, dry-cleaning bags, grocery bags, too many things for my mom-purse bags... The handles are just the right length for over the shoulder or not. They are light weight and are easy to jam into their little pouches.

SKOY- New Item: I haven't tried these yet but am about to order some. You can check them out here. They replace paper towels and even wash cloths if desired. They are biodegradable and last for a long time. They claim that 1 skoy cloth is similar to using 15 rolls of paper towels. We shall see. The thing that I am excited about it they say that they don't keep bacteria like a regular wash cloth or sponge. They are dishwasher, microwave, and washing machine safe. This just may be awesome. I hate washing the counter, then smelling my hands and realizing they stink and the counter is probably not clean.

dancin' queen

Eliza had her dance recital a couple of weeks ago and rocked it like a diva. I won't say too much about it so that she can tell you on her blog, but I will tell you the joys of being a mom to a little dancer. I always have the pleasure of attending both nights of the 2 1/2 hour long show. There was 1 dance, other than Eliza's that I actually enjoyed watching. And I grew up dancing. Imagine how torturous the show must have been for Joe. Lucky for him he was out of town the first night or he would have been there with me. Despite the not-so-cushioned butt going numb, my legs getting restless, and my brain... well also going numb, I utterly love watching Miss Eliza dance. Her age group is still a little stiff and jumpy, but that only adds to the adorable factor. Her lanky arms and legs exponentially increase the amount that I want to run backstage and embarrass her with hugs and kisses and congratulations.

speaking of...

While we are on the subject of being the other mom...
Eliza is with her mom all this week for a summer camp. We miss her, of course. It may sound a little strange, but I miss telling her to pick up her room. I miss her expression that loudly screams "you are so weird." I miss the rolling of her eyes. This often occurs when I tell her to pick up her room. I miss her sweet hugs. I really miss reading her bedtime stories, getting her special yellow blanket tucked around her, kissing her all over her face, and telling her I'll see her in the morning. So I called her this morning to hear her soft voice and tell her I love her. I got the answering machine. Now here comes the confession... at the end of the message - to her mom - I said "Love ya... Love you guys." There are two possibilities here. Either Brigitta erased the message before she got to the awkward ending, or she listened to it all. I'm guessing she listened and thought it was a little odd. This is an automatic phrase. Yet also an irretractable phrase. This is a not entirely untrue phrase. But could be taken as strange phrase. Mostly I think this is a comical message. Later on I can have the conversation with my husband's ex-wife that my husband and I have had. The one that sort of goes like this-- "Remember the first time I told you I love you..." The conversation that ends in giggles over the sweetness and awkwardness of the whole thing. Or we could have the conversation about the stage of our relationship. The ones that go like this-- "I just don't know if we're to that stage in our relationship yet..."

what's in a name

"The Aptly Titled Blog" title wasn't representing the importance of this blog. (Your doubting skeptical mind is appreciated, but yes, this blog is important). I wonder if any of you figured out that my cleverly titled blog was titled so wittily because I have almost no imagination. Once again, the title has taken almost no imagination...my world revolves around being a step-mom. The other-mom. The "I call you mom on accident"-mom. The almost-mom. The "I feel like I'm her mom"-mom. Even when indirect, this is talked about the majority of the time. Whenever I talk about Eliza I am experiencing feeling like her real-mom, but being reminded that I'm her other-mom. I love being Eliza's step-mom. It seems as though everything in my life is about this role. Sometimes I struggle with parenting and feel like the wicked-step-mom. I am always worrying about her growing up and simultaneously loving watching it all. So, all-in-all, these are my confessions of being a step-mom-- the blunders and wonders and all.

father's day

Dearest Dad,
I love you. I love your eyes that are always smiling. I love your smile that's always partly a smirk. Capturing and recapturing the mischievous little boy that has almost grown up. I love your nose. I think I have that nose, so I'll always have a little of you with me. I love this picture. My dad teaching me how to dance. With all the ballet, tap, jazz... I still needed my daddy to guide my steps. Thank you for guiding me through life. I'm so grateful for your tenacious pursuit of adventure. you have taught me to chase after new experiences in my own life. You have shown me how to gain knowledge through the quest for excellence. By trusting me and continually having faith in me through my own struggles you have taught me to trust and not lose hope in others. I hope to give Eliza the gifts you have given me. I love you.

simple pleasures

This cute place mat and these adorable napkins were on clearance at Anthropologie. The picture doesn't quite do them justice. There are these little bobbles on each corner of the napkins from fabric that matches the place mat. I was tying the red yarn around them while I was on the phone. Polite Eliza was so excited she couldn't wait to tell me that she thought they were cute. Instead of interrupting me she wrote the following note, "Those are so so so so so cute!! by: Eliza." She wasn't even aware that they were napkins and couldn't get over the cuteness of them.

the gift of life

My mom is nearly perfect at a lot of things. She is an astounding writer, a pianist, a singer, a comic, a bleeding heart. I could rave about this beautiful woman endlessly. Having a flaw here or there is bound to happen, even to my mom. She simply cannot keep a potted plant alive. While I have distinct memories of home grown delectable chard, her indoor plants always seemed to get replaced with the fake plants.

I have come to believe that this natural ability to destroy a living plant is heritable, as I have inherited this lack of plant-talent. So, when Eliza's mom gave me the gift of life-- some flowers to be less dramatic-- to be planted as a gift a few weeks back I was at once touched and stressed. I knew I was bound to destroy this plant.

This may sound exaggerated. It's not. I received an indoor tree of sorts from Joe's Mom, Jackie, as a memorial gift in remembrance of my sister, Kristen. The importance of keeping this one alive was utterly heavy. Well, the potting soil I planted the tree in soon came to life with millipedes. Let's just say I over-did the millipede killing and poisoned the tree with bug spray.

Do you see where I am going here? These flowers are not going to make it! If you, the reader, are concerned about this plant staying alive you may want to contact some type of plant protective services. ... But, enough with the theatrics. The plant is doing fine. For Now.

I've decided that I would like Eliza to grow up without acquiring a ridiculous fear of becoming a plant-killer. To ensure this I thought I should grow some plants with Eliza. I mentioned to Brigitta my disappointment in not being able to plant a real garden now or in our upcoming apartment. She told me about something called CSA (Community Supported Agriculture). I found such a farm that will be near us in Florida. It charges 22 dollars per week and requires 4 hours per week of work for the farm. For this fee and work you are delivered 1 dozen eggs plus 8-10 fresh produce items each week. (I'm hoping they will 1/2 the price and 1/2 the amount of food for us). I am thrilled. Eliza will be learning what sort of work goes into our food as well as how to take care of a garden. We will be able to take part in the production of our own food. Fresh food. Mostly organic food. Could it get much better? It could get worse if my plant killing spreads, overtaking the farm.

go catholic. go green.

I learned an important lesson at the recently attended baptism... If any of my family members want to benefit our good green earth they may need to convert to Catholicism. I am quite certain that sprinkling water on the head is much more conservative than full immersion. Another option: convince the church it is the right time to update the method a bit, sort of how they updated the rules for polygamy so Utah could become a state. Another option: console yourself with this-- the end justifies the means.

letters for later

Eliza,

Right now you are with your mom. I wish there were a way for me to tell you how much I miss you while you are away without making you feel guilty for being with your actual mom. I wish I could erase these pangs of jealousy at the place she will always have in your heart. A place I will always be second to. I would give anything to have known you as an infant. I know that your mom drinks soy milk without you telling me every time we go to the grocery store. I know that she makes the best french toast you've ever tasted, without you telling me every time I make it. I know she can run all day, and in the rain, and in the snow. Maybe you just feel the need to reassure me that I'm not your mom. Or maybe you just love her so much you want me to share in knowing her too. I hope that I never make you feel that you shouldn't tell me these things or that you shouldn't put your mom above me. That's life. She's your mom and she's a beautiful mom. It just doesn't make the green-eyed monster always go away.

bloating

So I'm elated that I'm not having a baby in 9 months, clearly. That doesn't nullify the cramping and bloating. Nor does it make me feel better that my pants aren't going to fit quite right for a week. Then again, 1 week of this irritation is probably more pleasant than 9 months of having a living creature growing inside of my body: smashing my organs, extending my belly, making me puke, and waddle. I've never experienced this pleasure, but I am sure that is how it is.

eli

(not Elle with the long 'e' sound, but Eli with the long 'i' sound, like the boy's name, like Eliza without the 'za.') Eliza has written in school journals and at-home journals that her nickname is Eli. She writes Eli on art pieces she makes. And so, I believed that Miss Eliza's mom calls her Eli. Fairly logical conclusion, I believe. The other day she said something about her nickname Eli. I asked her if anyone calls her Eli and she said "No." So, Eliza has a nickname she may have made up for her self, that no one calls her. I usually call her Miss Eliza or Miss Eliza Jane, and according to Eliza, her mom often calls her Miss Jane. These are sort of nicknames, but apparently not nicknamey enough for our little Eliza. Maybe we will satisfy this whimsy and call her Eli. Or, maybe I'll continue to let her live out this fantasy by writing Eli down on everything and telling others that we all call her Eli.

confusion of the masses

Thankfully Hillary Clinton is not the democrat nominee. She would seriously confuse the masses with all of her truth twisting. Her audacious ego-centered rallying after Obama won the nomination was far from respectable. I was honestly confused, as I am sure the crowd was surrounding her in support, as I watched the spectacle unfold on The Daily Show. (yes, that is where I get my news. that and the npr newsreel at the bottom of the page.) At least npr has cleared this debacle up on their website. Apparently, after Hillary shamelessly cheered herself on in the face of defeat, she is now telling democrats to back Obama. She is at the very least confusing and even more harmful to the democratic campaign. Shame on you.

nuggets

Eliza learns many important lessons from her step-mom. Today, I taught her the complete rules of hop-scotch. You may have thought that every child knows the rules to hop-scotch, but you would be wrong. I realized today that I have been teaching her the importance in appreciating the finer things in life. For example, dishes. I overheard her telling her friend that these plates with the polka dots are her favorite plates of the ones that we have. I am proud to have a daughter that recognizes the thought that went into purchasing said plates. Now, this is an important one: I have taught Eliza the easy way to grow your own food. She now knows that there is no need to go through the trouble of planting seeds and then not seeing them grow (in our house that is). She is now well-prepared on leaving food in your fridge long enough to have them grow on their own. We will be planting these with our chives just to see what happens. If you already know what happens when you plant a garlic clove, don't spoil the surprise for me and keep it to yourself.

the morning after

Not the morning after pill... the morning after Eliza's 4 am stint. She slept until 12 pm, a never before achieved sleep-in time for her. Looks like today will be a happier day. This picture is a little startling, by the way. I've never seen her look so much like her mother or quite so grown-up. It's strange how this is at once saddening and exhilarating.

not that green

I'm still shaving and bathing and wearing leather shoes. But seriously, the shopping bags. They were driving me insane, and thinking of my own convenience led me to thinking of others and this great beautiful Earth we have. I was entering the grocery store and saw those reusable Smith's bags they have for sale for a dollar or something and was reminded of the cupboard under the sink... overflowing with those damn plastic grocery bags. So, I bought 2 of those bags to put my groceries in that day. The next weekend, Eliza's mom gave me one of the string or rope reusable bags. Now that I am an eco-friendly shopping pro, I realize how annoying those Smith's bags are. They are bulky, not to mention unfashionable. Seriously, they are bulky. The string bag is great for produce, but not for other groceries. I got to looking and thanks to Jessica, yes the BFF, I found the perfect (stylish and convenient), reusable shopping bags. I put the link on the sidebar in fact. www.baggubag.com. They are stellar. I admit, I haven't purchased them yet, but I am going to. Then I can throw away the Smith's ones. Just kidding! I will give them to someone at the checkout. Told ya' I was a eco-friendly shopper pro. Oh, I dug out the old plastic bags to take to the grocery store's recycling center and found they were literally overflowing. I kept pulling more out only to find more crammed behind the pipes, then more behind the cleaning supplies, more in the corner of the cupboard. The worst part, inside each bag... more bags.

ttfn

My BFF is coming to visit! Yes, I just said BFF and yes I said she is coming to visit. This is a little funny since she only lives 1.5 hours away in Salt Lake, but I never see her. This is a little bit of an exaggeration, but seriously never. Joe will be out of town, so who knows what kind of trouble we could get ourselves into. We may have a night on the town, which in Logan isn't much. Or, we may just stay in and make mojitos and watch old movies. If we go shopping together it would probably focus on TJMAXX, just to give you an idea of the excitement that goes on in this town. Joe loves Jessica, not that way dummy. But really, he is probably very glad that she is coming because he is interested in my happiness and blah blah blah. Catch: every time Jess and I are together he starts making fun of me for temporarily picking up words from her. I believe he usually mentions this after the excessive use of "super." Not as a superlative, but as a regular adjective. As in, "it was a super-long movie." Is that a regular adjective? Now I'm not sure, but you probably get the point.

sleep-overs and god

I have some parenting advice for those of you with children (that's you Kelli). When you have an 8-year-old or-so-old, and they have a sleep-over with a particularly grown-up little friend, be sure to allow them to stay up as late as they can. It's a gem. There was a lot of crying today, but my little Eliza has realized that trying to stay up until 9am is not cool. No matter how many times I could possibly explain that to her it would never break the uncool Mom barrier. But, attempting the all-nighter and making it until 4am did the trick. All day it was this very sad face I wanted to kiss and "Eliza what is it?" with a repeated reply of "Nothing, I'm just tired." This is great. She will never want to stay up like this again! Warning: be prepared for annoying behavior early on in the day, such as animal noises, alien creation squeaky noises, whining, etc. before the big crash and self-realization hits her. (She's happy again by the time I took this, but it did take some coaxing.)


Our family member is getting baptized tomorrow. As I was entering this event into my cute and sleek little palm pilot, Eliza asked me what I was doing. She knows that I was entering something on my palm, so I skipped that explanation and told her about the baptism. It's a little complicated since we don't attend any church and her relatives all do. I wasn't sure she knew what a baptism was, and she didn't. I proceeded to explain to her that a baptism is a very serious step for someone in our family's church because it makes them a member and they make promises to God. She looked a little uncertain, so I asked her if she ever wondered about why her relatives go to church and we don't. She wonders. I explained, pretty simply, that I don't attend or support things that I don't believe in and I don't believe in religion. I explained that I think we have enough to appreciate and inspired with simply by looking at the world around us. I explained to her that as she grows she will choose to believe in what makes the most sense and is logical to her. I also told her that she can go to church if she likes it with her grandparents and cousins because it's her choice. We talked about how most people here believe the same things and are members of our family's religion, but that when we move this will change. We talked about how wonderful it is that someone so special to us is being baptized because of how important it is for him. Tomorrow we will be there for support and to show him our love. He is a wonderful man and we are happy for him.

re-vamped

My blog is now re-vamped. Which is an awful strange thing to say because it implies that it was once already vamped. It has been made Eliza-less by her procurement of a blog of her own. Now that she is no longer editor-in-chief, I am not sure that I have much to say. Strange how children provide the basis of so many thoughts and conversations.