Happy Turkey Day (belated)

Our Thanksgiving turned out very well. The turkey was moist (too moist, not fully cooked, said John; the meat thermometer and I disagreed). Everything else was even more delicious, mostly thanks to Caitlin, Kris, and Suzi (private), who brought tons of fabulous food. Thanks for coming, everyone. We had a blast.

I was a bit disappointed in Evelyn's game-day performance. She peaked early with pumpkin chocolate chip mini muffins and ate virtually nothing at dinner, despite all my careful training. Maybe next year.

Overall, we are very thankful. We have a healthy, (mostly) happy baby. An income. A place to live. Good food and friends to share it with. And with three siblings, one brother-in-law, and one grandchild, we about tied my parents for Barretts at the Thanksgiving table this year. Thanks for coming, guys. We miss you already, Charles.

Rudolph the Red-Nosed Baby, aka How a Toddler Decorates for the Holidays

Between the whole "maybe selling our apartment" thing, and of course the whole "toddlers get into everything" thing, we've been questioning our dedication to Christmas trees this year. It will crowd our space. It will be messy. I will spend the entire month of December trying unsuccessfully to keep Evelyn away from it. As a result of our indecisiveness, our apartment looks pretty much the same as it did a week ago. Christmas has not arrived yet.

I think Evelyn must have been disappointed. When she realized we weren't going to trim a tree yesterday, she decided to start decorating in her own way. By transforming herself into Rudolph the red-nosed baby. Luckily, she was with John when it happened, so now we're even.

Training

Tomorrow will mark a few important "firsts" for our family: Evelyn's first Thanksgiving where she can actually eat Thanksgiving dinner with us; our first Thanksgiving in our own home; and our first Thanksgiving hosting family and friends. Because this is such a significant occassion, I have started training Evelyn early. I mean, when you decide to run a marathon, you don't just go out there and give it your best shot.* Similarly, one cannot properly experience Thanksgiving dinner without a few days of good eating (for critical stomach expansion) and some tips and tricks on how to shovel it in. I think she's got what it takes. Wish us luck!

__________

*Okay, so this sentence deserves a shout out to my friend Ashley, who did in fact run a marathon without training for it first and in so doing proved that finishing a marathon is perhaps even more than just 90% mental. Loosely, the story goes as follows: Ashley has bad knees, and as a result, was unable to enjoy running/jogging as a form of recreation/fitness. Her mother, however, is a serious marathoner, has run dozens of marathons, etc, etc. A couple of months before Ashley got married, her mother signed practically their entire family up for the St. George marathon, the hometown race. Ashley's 12-year-old brother ran it; only the two little girls (who were 8 and 10 at the time) were exempted.

Ashley felt she could not "wimp out" of a race her little brother was going to run, so she lined up with everyone else and as they say, just did it. 26.2 miles of it. Uphill. Downhill (which given her knees, was even worse). She crossed the finish line, collected her medal, and swore she would never run another marathon. Her fiance carried her up and down the stairs to her apartment for the next week since she was so sore she actually could not walk, but she somehow managed to avoid doing any lasting damage. Honestly, I probably wouldn't recommend this or be willing to do it myself, but if I'm ever stuck in a foxhole, I want Ashley there with me. That girl knows how to get a job done.

Tell me I'm not the only one . . .

"Getting through the first year deserves a celebration. Every baby album usually has a photo of a chubby one-year-old about to demolish the [cup]cake with its one candle. This period may also be worth savoring as the calm before the storm. All of the baby's behavior is likely to go into a period of disorganization soon. . . ."

Brazelton, T.B., Touchpoints: Birth to 3 at 132 (1992).

"If I had known what would happen after they turned 1, I would not have thrown a party."

Julie (private, sorry).

"As soon as they got to their feet, the toddlers' concepts of the world changed. No more compliance, no more easy ways to be pleased.

. . .

All of the daily tasks of living are turned into scrimmages.

. . .

In the love affair of the first year, the baby's behavior was predictable and usually rewarding. The parents' efforts met an immediate response in the baby's behavior. No longer will this be true. From now on, the toddler will make his own choices."

Brazelton, supra, at 136, 138, 161.

Clarification

It has become obvious that the previous post needs a wee bit of clarification. Unfortunately, we are not moving to the North Pole to join Santa's crew. I know, I know, we were bummed too. Maybe next year when Evelyn's fine motor skills are a little better.

Seriously, though, our plan if this place does end up selling is basically to rent for 12-18 months and then buy a bigger place, still in the city. Of course, the general 4Q 2008 New York City finance professional caveat still applies: If John is "let go," all bets are off.

Cheating

My parents used to have this joke when they were dating. My dad would say, "Remember the time we went to X / did Y / saw Z?" Then, my mom would say, "That wasn't me; that must have been your other girlfriend." Apparently, this is not a joke that has to end when you get engaged or even when you get married. I got clued in when I was about 10 and I heard my mom say something to my dad about his "other wife." Whoa! I had no idea we were that kind of (soon to be ex) Mormons.

But it's no joke when I say that I've been cheating on this blog, spending all my time on my "other" blog. John and I are toying with the idea of selling our apartment, and we've created a blog as website for it. Since this blog is public, that one is too, and they both contain personal information which, if combined, would be a little too public for my tastes, I'm not going to link to it. You'll just have to imagine it: an upstart 20-something of a blog competing with this first-wife blog for my attention. Jealous?

* * *

I can't let the other blog have all the good stuff. Laurel reminded me regularly during the summer that I still had not posted pictures of our new kitchen. I was holding back until the floors were finished. Now, I realize you can't even see the previously offensive floor section. Oh well.

Finally, for Mom and Cindi, so you don't feel like you read this whole post in vain, and to keep this blog true to its roots (don't change, little blog; be who you are; you are more than just smooth skin and expensive highlights):

Blog rut

I have considered several, and even drafted a few, new blog posts over the past couple of weeks, but all of them seemed too heated for the blog right now. I have strong opinions on a some topics making the rounds right now, but I feel that I should not post my strong opinions on divisive issues here unless I can do so without anger (and without being judgmental). That might be difficult in these cases, so I'd prefer to just let the issues fester internally. This is why I really should keep a journal. (In fact, I have now created a "journal" label in gmail, and I'm going to try email journaling; we'll see.)

In any case, I knew things were getting bad when my sister Careen, who only recently recovered from a 3.5 month blog hiatus, remarked that it had been "a while" since I updated. Surely I could think of something not destined elicit anonymous comments that would have me scouring my statcounter log to see who posted THAT? Luckily, my child is still adorable.

Even though she's spent more of her waking (and sometimes sleeping) time screaming than not the past week or so, a lovely side effect of hand, foot, and mouth disease. Although it's not serious, sores in the mouth area do not combine well with a child who sucks her thumb for comfort (and to get to sleep, adding sleep deprivation to our list of problems). I recommend you avoid it. Of course, you likely won't be able to since, as our friends' children have discovered, a child is contagious for several days before he or she breaks out with the tell-tale rash. Good times, good times, and once again, let me apologize to last Tuesday's institute attendees for exposing your children to this virus. (Evelyn's rash started Wednesday.) We are now everyone's least favorite play date.

No wonder. See how she callously cackles as she enacts her evil plan to expose good friend Sydney last Monday?

In other musings about my child, it seems that 13 months begins the stage of tacky accessories, a stage that usually lasts until at least the mid-20s, right? How old am I? Maybe the late 20s? Evelyn got these Mardi Gras beads at Chelsea Market on Halloween, and she hasn't left the house without them since. In the morning, she digs in the toy bin until she finds them, puts them on, and then vigorously defends her sartorial choice with her greatest weapon - more screaming for anyone who tries to remove them without her permission.

Yeah, just try to take these off. You'll see. Fool.

General opinion among the over-50 set on the Upper East Side is that she will choke on them or strangle herself with them at any minute; constant parental supervision is apparently no match for these beads' cunning. Luckily, most of these women have found it in their hearts to share this fact with me, so when it happens, at least I won't be unprepared.

Let me say only this: that when we visited her pediatrician yesterday for shots, the only medical professional to weigh in so far heavily complimented Evelyn on her fashion choice without a word of reproach for me. She also explicitly expressed "complete" confidence in my parenting skills. Have I mentioned recently that I love her?

And now, the laundry list of things about Evelyn, since I am too lazy to develop any of them into full-fledged posts.

-Actually, the whole necklace thing is pretty darn cute.

-As is her current fascination with opening and shutting doors, particularly the french doors leading to her room. ("Bye." Shut. Open. "Hi." ).

-Evelyn has started repeating words a little more reliably, especially when ice cream is involved. Or cheese. I've managed to dig out versions of peekaboo, Poppa, Laurel (pretty muddled, admittedly), please, cheese, and various others. (I am now THAT mother. Ruth, you are still my hero.)

-She has also become very interested in dressing herself. Or me (particularly putting my shoes on). She goes into her drawers, pulls out a favorite pair of PJs, and entertains herself for sometimes as much as 15-20 minutes wrapping it around herself in various configurations. So far, she hasn't managed to get a single arm or leg in, but that isn't stopping her (although it has on occasion led to screams of frustration).

-Last but not least, she has become a big helper around the house. She is always willing to unload the bottom rack of the dishwasher (when the dishes are dirty, usually). Or to push the shelves back in and shut the dishwasher door (most often when I'm unloading clean dishes). She's an old hand at taking laundry out of the washers; putting it into the dryer is a bit of a work in progress. Saturday, she picked a corner to carry while John and I were moving shelves without us even asking. Monday was dusting.

And I thought I couldn't afford household help.

Increasing your ROI

In these tough economic times, it's difficult to find a place to park your dough (assuming you have some left) where it won't disappear overnight, much less somewhere it can earn a healthy return. I've found that looking into alternative investments can pay off big.

Investment (note, this idea is appropriate only for those investors who already have a child; adding the cost of a child into the investment column pretty much wipes out the scheme's IRR)

-Halloween costume: In selecting a costume, it helps to play to your child's strengths. For example, if your "baby" has already started walking but still wobbles around like a cross between Frankenstein and a drunken sailor, a chicken costume can turn that toddle to a waddle and score big points.
-Determination necessary to prevail in a small battle of wills with toddler who does not particularly like to wear said Halloween costume

Return

-$150 gift certificate to children's clothing store, won in a costume contest at Chelsea Market. Evelyn came in first in her age group, and second overall; first place overall went to a 3-year-old dressed as a member of the band KISS.

-five bananas, paid with by $1 given to us by someone walking by who thought she was adorable and didn't have any candy for trick or treat

-undetermined amount of candy and cookies (we all know how difficult marking your portfolio can be in these uncertain times), probably worth at least $15

So, there you go. My investment strategy created a return of almost 400%. Not bad in a month where the Dow dropped 14%.