New England Mamas

So you think you're a Pats fan? Are you really?

Maybe you've noticed a phenomenon happening in the New England sports scene since Spygate back in September.  Maybe you didn't notice it until ESPN the magazine and Sports Illustrated (not to mention all the sports television channels) started referring to the Patriots as Villains of the NFL.  Or maybe when they started to compare New England teams (mainly the Pats and the Red Sox) to the Yankees' evil empire.  Maybe you haven't noticed at all because it's been pretty quiet.

The phenomenon?  The non-diehard fans are quietly jumping off of the New England sports band wagon.

To which I say, "Don't let the door hit you where the good Lord split you". 

I really could not be happier.  Have you tried to get tickets for a Sox or Patriots game in the past few years?  Impossible, totally impossible, unless you have connections.  Which I don't.

It's not uncommon for the casual fan to jump on a particular team's bandwagon.  People love the underdog, don't they?  But they especially love it when the underdog, the really likable team, starts winning.  When the Sox won the 2004 World Series it was easy to see from every other game played in every other city in North America in the 2005 season that they had generated a larger fan base.  The sea of Red Sox hats and t-shirts were everywhere.  In Toronto.  In Florida.  All of the American League people hopped aboard the bandwagon because the 2004 team was so damn likable.  When the Pats won their first Super Bowl in 2002, as the underdogs, the every man, the guys you just had to love as they left entered the stadium as a team instead of being called individually, the same thing had already happened. 

Because people love the underdog.

But when the underdog starts winning more often, when they win a Super Bowl not just in the '01 season but in the '03 and '04 seasons (and quite possibly in '08 but we won't talk of that for risk of jinxing something), and when they not only win but demolish their competition and break all sorts of records... Well that's just no fun for the casual fan.  The team isn't as enjoyable to like.  And the casual fan starts jumping off like rats from a sinking ship even if this ship is not sinking.  Imagine if the team just sucked?  The traffic jam generated from all those casual fans throwing themselves off the bandwagon would be worse than trying to leave Boston before a holiday weekend.  With a snowstorm in progress.

Buh-bye.  Please don't forget to take your commemorative plastic beer cup when you leave.

The real Pats fan (and for that matter, the Red Sox fan) loves that their team is on top right now.  A real Pats fan remembers the lean years of the late 80's-early 90's, when it seemed we couldn't buy a win, and sees this dynasty as a gift from the football gods.  A real Pats fan watches Brady throw to Moss (or Welker or Stallworth or Gaffney) for a touchdown and wants to see it again and again.  A real Pats fan wants to enjoy our good fortune and roll around in it, naked, like Demi Moore on a bed of money.  A real Pats fan sees the score run up against our opponents and wants to yell at the television, if I can borrow one of Bill Simmons the Sports Guy's - originally the BOSTON Sports Guy - favorite quotes from The Karate Kid, "Get him a body bag! Yeah!"

Only a true fan could route for the villain.  Not that we see our team as the bad guys, we just don't care that much that the rest of the country does.  You don't like our team?  We can live with that because we love them.  And if, God forbid, they don't win the Super Bowl (*crossing myself to ward off jinxes*) or if next season they don't play as great as they did this year we'll still love them.

Because a true fan doesn't just love their team when they're winning, they love them when they're losing.  But when they're crushing the competition into the ground we love them even more.

16 and oh, baby!  Yeah!

Vacationland

I'm on vacation.

Don't worry, I haven't left New England!  I just traveled a bit North. And a little West.

The destination? A little ol' town on big ol' Rangeley Lake in the beautiful state of Maine.

I love this part of Maine.

I love that whenever I come up here in the winter, I'm surrounded by snow.

I love that while in Rhode Island, 6 inches of snow would call for brand new storm graphics on the news and long lines at the grocery store, up here it's just considered a light snowfall.

I love the crispness in the air. Its clarity, its smell.

I love that life slows down up here. No need to rush around or keep up with any sort of pace.

But most of all, I love this:

- Jane

Alas! Resolutions Are Not For Me!

I've always had problems with following through on things.  I get easily distracted, and then I end up with too many ideas to pursue them all, and then I throw my hands up in frustration and go eat chocolate instead. 

Now that I'm in my 40's I know myself well enough not to squander my time and energy on what used to be a frustrating holiday tradition.  Years of making resolutions that I inevitably failed to keep taught me to save my willpower for things I might actually have a chance of changing.  The year would be ticking along and suddenly it would be summer and I wouldn't have lost weight or gotten a promotion or written a novel, and I would walk around the latter part of the year with a secret little black cloud hovering and whispering that I was wasting my life! 

So I found a therapist and stopped making "resolutions."  Heh!  Seriously, though - don't we all have enough pressure on us already without setting ourselves up for more things to feel badly about?  I just don't see the point.  Of course, I can see how for other people, making the commitment to a resolution is a positive thing and helps them focus on making positive changes.  To them, I say "Good for you!" (and then I shoot them dirty looks behind their back and tell myself that I wouldn't want to be that predictable and boring... yeah,  I bet a lot of those people aren't quite as crazy in the head as myself.)

Picking one simple thing to try to work on seems to work best for me.  Flossing more often was a good one - my dental hygienist was happy with me.  This year I've been thinking about it, and I've decided that one simple thing I can do is eat more salads.  That's it.  I'm quite overweight and could stand to lose a large amount of weight, but if I tell myself that this is the year I'm going to join Jenny Craig or get on the treadmill 5 days a week, it will never happen.  When I don't do those things, I will feel bad.  Ergo, I will eat more salads.

In fact, maybe I'll expand that to "eat more vegetables."  I don't want to get too crazy, though - maybe I'd better just stick with salads.  Don't want to over commit myself, you know.

_____________________

And using that as a poorly-executed vegetable-related segue, I'll post a link to the excellently delicious spicy spinach recipe I mentioned in my last post:  Spinach Madeline, courtesy of the Baton Rouge Junior League.  Mmmmmm, Velveeta-y.

Family Photos Gone Wrong

I stopped taking my  kids to Sears or Target or whatever photography studios a long time ago. It dawned on me that the photos we had from the 'professionals' were worse than the photos I could take on my own. Now, I rely heavily on the ridiculously expensive school photos taken early each fall for the 'professional' posed shots, and everything else is my documentation of my kid's antics.

But we have some classic photos from when my kids were babies. Classic. There's the one when they were 4 months old and propped up and both of them look like they were stuffed. It's not an attractive look in a baby, especially because both of my babies were bald as billiard balls.

Their first birthday, taken at Sears in the CambridgeSide Galleria, is perhaps the worst of the bunch. My son was afraid of the photographer, and rightly so. She was scary and she apparently had never laid eyes on a toddler before. She kept shoving things in his face, so that the portrait is my son looking petrified and ready to start sobbing, and my daughter looking like a china doll. Somehow, she had a glazed look about her. I can't figure out how that happened, either.

We've never had a family portrait done, so it looks as if my children just sprung from the earth, having no evidence of parental units in any photo. I like it that way. Especially after viewing this hilarious site. Go and look now. I'll wait.......

Oh, you're back? Have you wiped the tears from your eyes yet? Do you need a moment to recover?

You see, family portraits are scary. Especially where mullets are concerned. I think it's a good ide a to just pretend that there is no such thing as cheap family photography. I don't think I'd be so against one of those giant Polaroid photos done by Elsa Dorfman. I think her work is spectacular and I'd have her photograph us all in a heartbeat if I won the lottery. Those babies aren't cheap! However, whatever the cost, these are the kinds of portraits that show what families are really about. No fake backgrounds with split rail fences or blue skies, these portraits are a stark and pure look at what the families look like at that moment in time.

I've craved one of these portraits for years. When she did the series on dogs, I tried to get her to photograph my Irish Setters, but couldn't come up with the fee. Sigh. I think she's a genius and these portraits will be just as beautiful in 100 years as they are now. That's the kind of professional photography I like.

What about you? What kind of portrait nightmares have you had, and what kind do you like the best?

Last year, a little before this time...

"What is Mommy gonna do?"

"Try to finish this post. Some time this millennium."

"Haa haa haa."

Since the Impling is more interested in packing (we're off to NJ tonight) and climbing on my back while I type than in letting me concentrate, I am encouraged to revisit the past.

So, last year, at this time...we were not gazing in wonder at the Trojan Cow.

Nor were we eating snow.

There wasn't any snow, for one thing. But we had plenty of spirit to last us our twelve days of Christmas...

'Tis the Season.

The explanations come naturally, and for that, I'm grateful. I wondered, worried about how I would explain Christmas to the Impling, and yet, I find that the simplest explanations are the easiest, and the most honest. I don't tell her more than she can absorb.

I've started exploring potential traditions with the resurrection of particular things I enjoyed as a child...colored lights, advent calenders, the scent of baked apples, hot chocolate, and spiced cakes.

With each item comes a simple definition of what it is, and as she gets more language, the explanations will grow.

Right now, things go something like this:

The Impling stares with wide eyes at lights on a tree.

“That's a Christmas tree, sweetie. People put up pretty lights in the winter to cheer up. See how dark it is? People miss the sun, so this month people do lots of different things to cheer themselves up. And one thing they do is put up lots of lights!”

Light as hope, as life. It is one of the oldest universal symbols we have. Why not celebrate?

So we made cookies today, an impromptu affair that provided entertainment for my Impling, and our play date friends. The Impling made a tentative peace with the electric mixer, which up until today held a primal terror for her. We pressed out hearts and trees and wreaths, and put dollops of black raspberry jam in the middles. We almost burnt our first batch, but calmly went on to the second. I poured tea, and we sat in comfortable companionship, the kind of low key space that let us relax and dump our tea bags in the flour covered measuring cup that lay complacently in a pile of flour and sugar. I brought out the cello (my friend is an amateur violinist from Philly which grants us the ability to make musical in- jokes...a rare treat), and we had a dance party to “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” and all it's variations.

Yesterday was another day of impromptu visits, the kind of open door “Hi! Come on in! We're making snowflakes! Want some tea?” time that doesn't happen enough. Toddlers running around, chatting with friends, losing track of time in our relaxation. No present exchanges, no obligations, just sitting around, doing lazy things.

We don't have a tree this year, but we have an advent calender, and everyday the Impling opens a window and stares at the picture that appears. I try to remember a time when I did not know what a snowman was, or a Christmas tree, or Santa Claus. She loves the windows, more for the excitement of a new word than anything else, and tries to wrap her little tongue around “Sanna Kaws” and “Krimmas trwee” with such glee.

The stories and symbols of Christmas, the evergreen wreaths, the holly, the ivy, the trees and lights and yule logs and carols, are all now a happy jumble of ancient Roman holidays, ancient Celtic ritual, etc etc. etc.

To add a story of birth in the cold of winter is not only appropriate, but inevitable. It's hard to create a better, or more accessible tale...a young pregnant teenager, thrust into an early adulthood, rising to her fate and making do with what she had. We all know now what birth is really like, so for mothers, the image is automatically a powerful one.

What would this scene look like today? When I was still in school, I developed a 20^th century nativity. In my tableau, Mary was a 14 year old runaway, Joseph a homeless veteran, trying to break into the carpenters union, and the stable a sewer duct. Today, I would probably change the stable to a shelter. The three wise “men” were once Mark Twain, Maya Angelou, and Gore Vidal. Today, I'd still have Mark and Maya, But Natalie Angier may take over for Gore. Charles Kuralt would be one of the shepherds.

Oh, and Jesus...she would be black. Just so there's no confusion about it.

But in the here and now, all these stories are just too complicated. My Uncle asked me at Thanksgiving if the Impling knew about Santa Claus. I laughed and said we were taking it one holiday at a time. But I heard the unspoken question behind the innocuous one...are you bringing up your child as a Christian? I heard this only because, for my uncle, having a God to be angry at and rage against is paramount. Because my aunt has cervical cancer. He needs to ask why. He needs to rage.

But he was wonderful with the Impling, playing with the old 1970's Fisher Price castle we all played with when we were young. Those moments were glorious...pure enjoyment of life and creativity and curiosity. There was no need for explanations, or blame, or expectations. There were just the little iconic wooden figures of a knight, a queen, and a woodman with the little Errol Flynn mustache. A pink dragon peeking from behind the stairs. A golden laugh, and a tired but joyful smile. At that moment, the Impling showed her God to my uncle, who felt his own in a way he hadn't in a long while.

These are the gifts we make for ourselves. These unconscious moments of clarity, of being completely in the moment, celebrating our wondrous lives. Celebrating the light, not by itself, but surrounded by darkness.

Peace, all.

Originally posted December, 2006, on Rock the Cradle

Getting and Thpending

I had this professor in college who loved to read poetry aloud in front of the class.

He would pace back and forth in measured steps, wildly gesticulating to emphasize each word and syllable of some poetic master.

I'd like to say I remember him, specifically, because of his teaching.  But the truth is I remember him because of his lisp.   

Thanks to his lisp, I can summon the words of Walt Whitman - a native Long Islander like myself - with perfect clarity:

I thelebrate mythelf, and thing mythelf;
And what I athume you shall athume;
For every atom belonging to me, ath good belongth to you.

And this time of year, this absurdly frenetic and stressful joyous season of absolute madness peace and love, I can't help but think of William Wordsworth.

The world ith too much with uth; late and thoon,
Getting and thpending, we lay wathte our powerth;
Little we thee in Nature that ith ourth;
We have given our heartth away, a thordid boon!

Whatev, Wordsworth.  I got some unbelievable bargains last night at the mall.

Happy New Year, everyone.  Peath and happineth to you and yourth.

Joy to the World (Trenches Edition)

Joy to the world

Christmas is o'er

And Mommy's back at work.

The boyz are home

With Grams and Gramps

And eighty-million toys

(And zillions of twist-ties)

Yes, eighty, yes eighty

Zillion toys.

My house is trashed

With boxes and wrap

And needles off the tree.

And all the loot

Needs adult assembly

And batteries are required

And batteries are required

And batteries, and batteries

Are required.

Can't wait for Jan.

To rid the Trenches

Of all this Christmas crap.

Take down the tree

And lose some weight

And put away the toys (but where?)

And put away the toys (but where?)

And put, and put

Away the toys.

Quick! Before the government takes it away!

Marge: Homer, didn't you get any milk? All I see is egg nog.
Homer: 'Tis the season, Marge! We only get thirty sweet noggy days. Then the government takes it away again.

Christmas , Thanksgiving, and New Year's breakfast in my childhood home meant only one thing: Egg Nog French Toast. In general, I hate eggs and won't touch a glass of nog, but once or twice a year, digging in to a plate of this stuff is oh so good.

And, as the thirty sweet noggy days are about to come to a close, and you may be looking to do something with all that left over egg nog, I will share with you this time honored Buffalo family recipe (pictures snapped by moi).

Step 1: Cut a hole in the box Gather your ingredients. You will need

*A loaf of crusty bread- baguette or brioche work best. Sandwich bread tends to get soggy and flaccid

*A carton of nog. If you're in the northeast, there's only one egg nog worth buying, and that's the stuff made by Hood.

*Some eggs and milk (quantity depends on the size of your brood and the preferred consistency of your batter)

*Butter (for topping and frying) and maple syrup (I prefer the real stuff, grade B, which is darker and has a rich caramel taste).

*Nutmeg (optional)

*One or two baker's cooling racks (like you'd use for cooling cookies) and a baking sheet.

Step 2: Cut the bread into pieces at least 1' thick. Set aside.

Step 3: Make the batter. I don't measure ingredients unless I'm baking, so here's how I do it- you may want to adjust your mixture to be eggier or noggier- do what makes you happy. I add about 2 eggs to each cup/ cup and a half of eggnog. You really do need the extra egg to thicken the batter and prevent your bread from becoming nasty milky sponges. If you like nutmeg, add a dash to the batter now or add it to the slices just before frying.

Step 4: Send the bread for a swim in the batter. This is thick stuff so you'll need to let to soak for a bit. Flip it, let the other side soak and then (this part should not be skipped) place the slices on a cooling rack to allow all the drippy stuff to, well, drip. This will prevent you from having soggy French Toast (hat tip: Alton Brown).

Step 5: Set your oven to its lowest temp. In a frying pan or griddle, melt some butter and add the egg noggy bread slices and fry on both sides until lightly golden. Remember, you're working with thick slices of bread that have been pretty well soaked. Try to keep the heat on the low side to allow the egg mixture to cook all the way and avoid burning. Set them in your warm oven until the batch is complete.

Step 6: Top with your favorite ingredients and enjoy the last guilty pleasure of the season.

(note: Every year we make a gingerbread house to use as the backdrop for our nativity scene and place it on the dining room table.)

The Sudbury Lights

One of the many things that my husband and I have enjoyed since we've been together is coming up with our own traditions.  Some of them are old traditions that have had a twist on them.  For example when I was growing up, every member of my family opened a gift of pajamas on Christmas Eve.  My husband and I also exchange one gift on Christmas Eve, and it usually is a DVD. 

Since we've become parents, finding traditions that we all enjoy has been fun too.  My older son is now 4.  Around the time of his first Christmas, I heard that many families annually visit the Sudbury Lights.  At first I thought this was an organized event like Bright Lights in Springfield, MA which I have heard much about, but not yet seen.  No, that wasn't what Sudbury Lights was.  Rather, it's a small neighborhood within in Sudbury, MA that has a really fantastic display of Christmas lights. 

I have a soft spot for brilliant light displays.  I remember enjoying one that was not far from my house when I was growing up.  (Unfortunately, they never updated their technology, so when I went back as an adult, I was not quite as taken by the 1970's Christmas decorations, but I suspect that my sons would be.)

Sudbury Lights sounded great.  My husband and I were all excited to go see them.  I asked around for directions, but no one could tell me exactly where it was.  Needless to say, I was a little confused.  How would I find it?  I was reassured that if I drove east on 20 into Sudbury until I saw a Japanese restaurant, I would see a ton of cars, most of which would be mini-vans, turning left (plus several more driving west on Route 20 that would be turning right).  All I needed to do was follow them.  Oh...OK.  Disturbingly enough, we loaded up our three month old and headed off following these completely vague directions. 

Sure enough, the directions were accurate.  When we saw a bunch of cars turning, we looked over to the right, saw the Japanese restaurant and figured it was time to turn.  We continued to follow the cars and before we knew it we were enjoying a fantastic and free light display.  We had a wonderful time.  Rumor has it that Santa sometimes makes an appearance there too.  I know in the past, they've also had a Toys for Tots collection box. 

We had such a good time, that when my parents came up from IL, we took them to it too.  They also really enjoyed it.  We've now made it our Christmas Eve tradition to go to the Sudbury Lights.  Of course my boys do not follow the tradition the same way that my husband and I do.  Their slant on the tradition is to fall asleep right before we get there. 

I wouldn't drive an hour to see it, but if you're not far from Sudbury, it really is a nice display.  Did I mention that it's free?  One of these days we'll make it down to  Bright Lights.  I have no idea for how many more days the Sudbury display will continue, because it is in a neighborhood after all and not an organized event.  However, in case you're not comfortable with the idea of randomly following minivans through Sudbury, here are some more specific directions: 

Take 20 into Sudbury.  Turn north on Horse Pond Road (left if you are going east, right if you are going west).  Take a right on Tall Pines Drive.  The display will take you through a cul de sac called Bridle Path.

Enjoy! 

Merry Christmas!

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Wishing all a Very Merry New England Mamas Christmas!