Qualitatively Speaking January 28, 2008

Experiment Purpose: To see if I get migraines after eating chocolate

The Method: I will eat some chocolate, and wait and see if I get a migraine. (Pfffff. Scientific research is EASY.)

3:48 pm: I eat 1/8th of The Best Chocolate Cookie Ever. This is the same cookie recipe that triggered my previous episode, and contains an excessive amount of dark chocolate. It is less a cookie than it is a plate-sized chocolate bar with chunks of cookie dough holding it together. I wash it down with 1/2 cup soymilk to reproduce the variables from the previous incident. That, and this cookie SCREAMS for a milk chaser.

4:01 pm: So far, so good. My faculties are intact, my balance good (well, as good as it ever is), and the afternoon light is casting a pleasant glow (as opposed to driving hot daggers into my frontal, occipital, or any other lobe). I go up to check on LG, who has slept WAY past normal nap limits. He’s awake, and upon seeing me he bursts into tears. “I want DAAADDDY!” Hmmm. Empirical study may have been compromised by secondary headache inducing factors.

4:33 pm: I’m feeling some slight twinges of headache every so often – sort of like someone flicking a rubber band inside my skull – nothing coming anywhere close to the humdinging, slingshots of fire I was experiencing last week. The smell of LG’s blueberry yogurt isn’t even making me any more nauseated than usual (I know its good for you, but the stuff is just gross). I may be in the clear. However, the viewing of Teletubbies may seriously compromise the experiment. Between that and the chocolate, I may actually have some sort of full-brain hard drive failure.

4:48 pm – 1 hour post-consumption: No change. Teletubbies viewing neatly averted with promises of Playdough.

Conclusions:
I seem to be SLIGHTLY sensitive to chocolate most of the time, and REALLY sensitive to it at, ahem, other times. I fail to see the irony in that the time I can’t have the chocolate is the time I MOST need it. I will endeavor to conduct further experiments to determine the upper and lower limits of my cocoa-derivative tolerance. The fate of my household equilibrium for one solid week a month lies in the balance.

CP

P.S. Those of you who visit often may be marveling at the unusual frequency of posts in the last few days. Have I been unusually inspired by life events? Not really. I have an enormous pile of work staring me down (literally, heh), but I refuse to cower in the face of it. So I do other things. Like clip LG’s fingernails. Or clean out my makeup drawer. Or attend a sock knitting class. Or conduct and publish “experiments”. Everyone has their process. Don’t judge me.

Running Commentary January 28, 2008

LG is getting to the phase in his life where he makes comments. And exclamations. ALL THE TIME. This may sound odd and rather ordinary, but its a big leap from “I’m hungry”, to “Pie for dessert? That’s great!” He’s always had an opinion, but has never been quite as eloquent in his sharing. He is 2 and 3/4, after all. It seems that his vocabulary, awareness, and cheekiness have all come together, like some kind of preschooler perfect storm.

Exhibit A

Scene: Sitting at the table, eating a lovely snack. Some quiet, busy eating. Then, out of nowhere…

LG: The dog isn’t green!

I don’t even know how to reply. What dog? Dogs in general? Our dogs? What dog do you know that’s green? Which dog isn’t green? What the heck are you talking about?

Exhibit B

Scene: Getting ready for, and then eating, dinner. This is, word for word, exactly what comes out of his mouth in 240 seconds.

“This one (sink) is dirty and has some food. You are using one of those soaps! You see bubbles? Is it about ready? Is it hot? BooBoo’s trying to eat my food. He is! He’s trying! He’s not sitting. All the way down, BooBoo. I want a cup of milk, Daddy. Please. Scuse you, Daddy. I put it (milk cup) all the way over there so Yogi and BooBoo don’t eat anything. I put it (milk cup) right there for somebody else can eat it. Is your tummy full (Daddy)? What’re you having (Daddy)? What’re YOU having (Mommy)? I’m licking the sauce. Does Mommy want a piece of (Daddy’s) bread? Is that toast over there? Can I have a bite of your toast? Thank you, Daddy!”

And in the meantime, he somehow found the time to down 6 cherry tomatoes, a entire serving of macaroni and soy cheese, a cup of milk, and some of his Dad’s toast. All while carrying on snappy banter worthy of a White House dinner, or at least, a high school cafeteria. Granted, some of the above was punctuated by single word/syllable responses by me and BG, but we only managed to interrupt for 3 seconds, at best.

Then, as I’m writing this very entry:

“What you doin’ there, Mommy? What’re you doing with the buttons? What’re you doing with the letters? (Noticing old, unmailed Christmas cards) Those snowmans have no hats! They have NO! That’s the baby. These are all kind of things at our backyard. These are all cards. Round round round round ran, ran, ran: blue blue blue blue! (Sung to the tune of London Bridge is Falling Down.) I want Daddy! One car can going up, and jump and juuuuump. Peanut butter! Same for the other! Jump, Jump….and plop. Mommy! I’m holding this up! Can I put this up here so I can drive on top? The car is on top! It’s like a blue baby monster. This is for NO MORE RACE “R” CARS….”

It could be existential genius. I clearly wouldn’t know.

CP

P.S. As a completely personal, self-pitying, off-topic rant, I need to share the following: I MAY BE “SENSITIVE” TO CHOCOLATE. Lately, whenever I eat it, I get the most sickening, throbbing, pounding noggin-ache of my life; at least until I eat chocolate again.

Where did I go wrong? I have no vices. I don’t drink, smoke, poke fun at people (except myself) or watch cable. I’m clean, polite, and obey most traffic laws. I throw the end pieces of the bread off the deck for the wildlife (Sorry, Honey). I even recycle. Oh Universe, why do you smite me? I don’t even eat dairy!

What on earth will I call my blog/alter ego in the face of a chocolate moratorium? I can only be so clever so often, you know.

What about dessert? Is there even such a thing without chocolate? Shall I just suck on a sugar cube?

Stupid Universe. Just for this, I’m NOT building a compost bin. HAH!

Pretzel Metomorphisis January 24, 2008

Me: How’s that pretzel stick, pal?

LG: (Mouth full) MMff.

He looks at the half-eaten stick, and I can just see the hamster wheel turning in his little head.

LG: In the springtime, these pretzels turn into the squiggle kind!

I’m guessing this is somehow related to our duck/migration conversation the other day. So keep an eye on your preztel sticks, rods, and nibbles – they may be aspiring to become twists.

CP

Half FULL, Da****t! January 23, 2008

It’s tough to be an optimist. It takes dedication and hard work with a hefty helping of self-delusion. A little ignorance doesn’t hurt either. I can’t remember what movie it was, but I remember this great quote that said, “If you expect the worst, you’re never disappointed. When things go well, its always pleasant surprise.” I think it might have been a John Cusack movie. Scary to say the Eighties were ANYONE’S formative years.

I generally look forward to each New Year’s because of my determination to see the promise in starting anew. While my typical New Year’s Eve consists of watching the ball drop while knitting, I have no problem with this. In fact, I prefer it to a crowded, weird party with a bunch of people I don’t know. Plus, that sort of occasion usually requires panty hose, which is a deal breaker.

Its actually New Year’s Day I look forward to, as I’m ALL about possibilities. The possibility of losing 20 pounds. Or coming up with THE most perfect chocolate cookie recipe (I realize the contradiction here). Or sitting in a clean house, fabulous dinner in the oven, knitting on the couch, watching my husband and son bond over a game of chess or some other equally intellectual pursuit, while my dogs (also clean) sit lovingly at my feet.

Like I said, self-delusion is a requirement.

And so I woke on the first day of the year to the sun shining, which can be rare in these parts, birds chirping (at least one – most are smarter than to be hanging around here), and the day full of promise and renewal. I walked into my lovely son’s room wearing actual pajamas (thanks, Mom) instead of the requisite sweats, letting my husband sleep/relax in a burst of altruism brought on by all this promise. And so it was with good cheer that I opened his door, and said:

“Good Morning, Sweetie! Did you have…. “

“NOOO! IDON’TWANTYOUIWANTDADDYDADDYDADDY!!! I. DON’T.WANT.YOU! DAAAAADDDYYYY!”

It’s hard to put a spin on that, even for a determined optimist. And so began my 2008. Happy Frickin’ New Year.

I’m not bothered by the fact that LG want’s his Dad – I’ve had my glory days. Heck, I singlehandedly sustained the little critter for the first year of his life, well into the 98th percentile, I might add. Many, many nights, when he cried out in his sleep or had a nightmare, he asked for Mommy. I knew that my days as numero uno were numbered. Its just that I didn’t plan for that sort of animosity until at least, say, 13 years from now.

In other news, I managed to finish almost all my gift knitting, except the biggies – a sweater and a felted bag. I have been granted an extension due to a postponed visit in one case, and out of the goodness of their heart for the other. As it happens, I was 96% done with the sweater when my worst fears were confirmed – I HATED it. I had suspected this all along, but deluded myself into thinking it would all be OK. The yarn is scratchy (it was “rustic”), the pattern annoying (it will be challenging! ) and the size? TOO BIG (Aren’t baggy sweaters in?).

Occasionally, my optimism can border on an alternate reality.

With this realization came another pressing issue – now what? I had pledged (to myself) that I was going to make a sweater for this person for Christmas (no longer “by”, but now “for”), and by gum, that is exactly what I’m going to do.

Stubborness helps immensely when you are determined to see the bright side.

The good news is that my obsession to get this done has resulted in one felted bag, awaiting lining, and 3/4 of one sweater, awaiting a second sleeve. I’m encouraged by the fact that I started the sweater a mere two weeks ago.

I’m gonna be optimistic about it if it kills me.

CP