Baby Steps

It's Friday night, and I have a couple of ideas kicking around in my head, but nothing too fully formed yet.

I didn't blog on Wednesday night.

For shame! you say.

I know.  But I had good reason.

I (gasp!) went out to dinner with some friends.

I'll let you collect yourself for a moment.

Right.  Let's move on, shall we?

So... one of the moms I know turned 40 a couple of weeks ago, and a bunch of us went to dinner to celebrate.

There are two things that happened with regard to this dinner that were noteworthy:

1. Tuesday, the Hubster asked me what my plans were for Wednesday, because he was asked to go out for beers with some coworkers but was pretty sure that I had already "booked" that night to go out.
(This is especially noteworthy because there's usually a rather tense back-and-forth between us when I want to go out on a "school night" and I really appreciated not only that he remembered that I had plans, but also that he deferred to them without any negativity.  If he's smart, he'll *finally* learn that this type of response will be rewarded handsomely by yours truly... wink, wink)
2. I immersed myself in conversations with the women seated nearest me, and had a fantastic time.  I would have liked to have the opportunity to talk to everyone, but when there are ten of us at a long table, that's just not possible.  And - now here's why this is noteworthy - I actually did not feel like I missed out on what was going on at the other end of the table.  
(One of the moms that I obliquely mentioned in a previous post were among those at dinner.  They sat at the opposite end of the table, said a quick hi, and said little if anything to me except things that were of benefit to her.  This behavior didn't go unnoticed, especially because I wasn't the only one treated this way.)

In other news...

The fruit flies continue to demonstrate their utter stupidity.  

Today, I found two dead ones at the bottom of the styrofoam cup (it's still on the bathroom counter).  

It was empty.

Uh Oh...

A few nights ago, while I was playing Dr. Kevorkian to my burgeoning fruit fly colony, I had a disturbing thought:

What if I've got it wrong?

What if, instead of extinguishing the colony, I'm culling the herd?

What if the fruit flies who haven't been sucked in to that oh-so-tempting styrofoam cup of nectar are somehow genetically superior to their stupider and now dead counterparts?  Have I become responsible for the genesis of a generation of Super Flies, unswayed by the scent of something sweet, able to land on a bubble without being trapped?

I stewed on that for a few days.  Exclusively.  It was all I thought about.

No.  Hell, no.  Of course it wasn't all I thought about.  Yeah, it crossed my mind a few times, whenever I entered the bathroom and saw the damn things congregating on the mirror.

So I tried a little experiment.  Rinsed out the cup (Yes, I paused a moment to honor the fallen.  Not.).  Added a squirt of soap.  Filled it with a couple of inches of water.  Set it on the counter to see what would happen.

A few hours later, there were five flies, belly up, at the bottom of the cup.

Conclusion:  fruit flies are stupid.  All that worry about culling the herd for nothing.

So close, I can almost touch it...

Victory, that is.

Over the freaking fruit flies.

I can hear you cheering.  Thank you, my adoring fans.  All one of you.

But seriously...

I thought I had the Fruit Fly Cocktail of Doom all figured out.

Shockingly, I was wrong.  While my original recipe contained the secret ingredient - sugar - I discovered that I needed more of it.  A lot more of it.  Like two tablespoons worth.  So...

Rinsed the bug carcasses out that styrofoam cup.  Squirted some hand soap into it.  (By the by, the soap has a different use than what you might think - I thought it was because fruit flies are stupid and are lured by the pretty bubbles.  In actuality, the soap changes the surface tension on the water so the buggers can't fly away once they touch the sweet nectar.  Muahahahahaha...)  Went downstairs and shoveled in two tablespoons of sugar, and a little more for good measure.  Added a splash of red wine vinegar (it smells awful, but you must add the vinegar, because fruit flies are gross and like sweet and fermenting things, like vinegar.  Or wine, but why waste good wine on stupid bugs?  I digress.  Anyway...).  Went back upstairs.  Filled the cup.

Within an hour, there were so many dead bugs floating in the bubbles on top (I know, I know, but water + soap = bubbles, what can I do?).

Victory shall be mine!

Thanksgiving, feh!

I have never been a fan of Thanksgiving.

Never.

Of all the biggies (Christmas, Easter, Thanksgiving, Mother's Day, Father's Day, my birthday), I think Thanksgiving is probably my least favorite holiday.  And I think I have some pretty good reasons, too.

Please allow me to elaborate.  (ha, this is my blog - just try and stop me!)

The food
I like turkey, but let's be honest.  Pretty much every turkey cooked on Thanksgiving is going to be dry and overcooked.  And I hate brown gravy.  So for my entire life I've been stuck swallowing dry, pasty turkey.  In recent years, I've used Chardonnay to wash it down.  Helps on so many levels.

And I do not like stuffing.  I have some major texture issues with food, and wet bread is quite possibly the most flagrant offender in this category.  As a kid, my aunt (who makes some incredibly delicious food) would serve Stove Top stuffing, which is the equivalent of a loaf of bread with a can of chicken broth poured on top and left to its own devices for a couple of days.  Ew, I just threw up in my mouth thinking about that.  Luckily for me I was recently diagnosed with a wheat allergy, giving me a legitimate medical reason to refuse to eat stuffing.

The veggie side dishes are okay, as long as they're not overcooked.  I'm a big fan of crunchy, steamed veggies, but sadly, most Thanksgiving sides are limp and mushy.  I empathize - I know how tough it is to simultaneously prepare a turkey, stuffing, potatoes, vegetables, and rolls for a small army - but I still don't like eating mushy vegetables.

Growing up, we had dinner with my father's family.  They're Italian, so in addition to the turkey, we also had a lasagna.  I don't like pot cheese (1. that's ricotta for you non-NY/NJ Italians; 2. yes, I know that I am high maintenance, thanks for pointing that out, though).  My method of eating lasagna is rather unconventional - I wrap one noodle around my fork and eat it, scrape off the pot cheese, repeat until pasta is finished.  Without fail, every year my aunt or grandmother would look at the mound on my plate in horror and exclaim, "You don't like pot cheese?!?"

Dessert
As tradition dictates, we always had pumpkin pie for dessert at my aunt's house.  Here's a shocker - I do not like pumpkin pie.  After I had graduated college and was living on my own, I finally figured out that if I wanted a dessert that was not pumpkin pie, I had to bring it with me.  So I started my own tradition - I came with at least one batch of slice and bake chocolate chip cookies.

Other traditions
Before it became a Thing, my cousins and I used to go into New York City to watch the balloons for the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Pareade get blown up.  Afterward, we'd head back to NJ and I would spend the night at my aunt's house.  The next day, since I was always awake before my (all male) cousins, my aunt would tell me that, as the girl, I had to set the table (I shit you not; this actually happened.  And I was actually stupid enough not only to set the table, but to stay there more than once, until my cousin-in-law decided that I should stay with her and my cousin and let someone else have the honor).

And today?
Now we spend Thanksgiving at my in-laws' home.  My mother-in-law makes a very nice dinner that I enjoy, but it's obvious that my kids aren't exactly enamored with the food.  I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, so I always bring a special dessert for them.

After the table has been cleared, the leftovers bundled up, and we head home, then the craziness begins:  the Countdown to Christmas!  Now there's a holiday that I love...

OMG - Fruit Flies!

Much to my dismay, my home is under attack.

By fruit flies.

Now hold on, I can hear you thinking to yourself, it's November and we've already had morning frost; how on earth could you possibly have a fruit fly infestation?

First of all, I am so with you on that.  I have been wondering the same blasted thing, usually as I attempt to smash the little buggers with a tissue.

Second, I have no idea.

Well, okay.  Maybe I have some idea...

Think about it:  they're fruit flies.  They obviously eat fruit, right?  And I buy fruit every week from the grocery store, so it stands to reason that the most likely vehicle for bringing fruit flies into our home is the fruit that I buy from the grocery store, right?

So... we've established that the fruit flies currently making themselves at home in my bathroom most likely hitched a ride to our house on a bag of oranges imported from somewhere in Central America.

But that doesn't explain two things:

1. How they got into the upstairs bathroom, and
2. How they have survived and proliferated

Come to think of it, if these fruit flies were indeed transported by oranges that were picked in, I don't know, California, Florida, or maybe Central America, they're probably accustomed to a warm, humid environment.  Hmm, a warm, humid environment...  that sounds kinda like a typical description of a bathroom, don't you think?  So, that's one mystery solved.  

Last night I decided that I'd had enough of playing whack-a-bug on the bathroom mirror.  I was going hardcore:  some fruit flies were gonna die.  Got out some styrofoam cups and filled them with some red wine vinegar and a squirt of liquid soap.  Added some fast flowing tap water and made lots of bubbles (fruit flies are kinda stupid, and are powerless to the lure of bubbles).  Dropped in a small piece of cut apple, just to make my cocktail extra tasty for the little buggers.  Set them on the bathroom counter and went to bed.

Amazingly, and disgustingly, in the morning there were about three dozen dead fruit flies floating in the cups.  Success!

Yeah.  Except, not really.

For every fruit fly that got sucked into the bubbles, there was another one hanging out on the mirror.  WTF?  Was I not Goddess of the Flies?  Did I not just collapse the fruit fly empire?  Do these freaking things multiply faster than rabbits?  How the fuck hell am I supposed to get rid of these things?  

Seriously...  help!

On writing...

There's nothing pressing about which I'm inspired to write, so I am using NaBloPoMo's daily prompt:

When you are writing, do you prefer to use a pen or a computer?

Short answer:
Pen vs. computer depends on what I'm writing.

Long, excessively wordy answer:
If I'm writing my weekly grocery list, I like to hand-write a list.  However, if I plan to grab a few things from Target or Trader Joe's, I will create a list on Cosi (an iPhone app that has a calendar, to do lists, and shopping lists, among others).  Over the weekend, I like to update my weekly calendar by hand.  As I go about my week, though, I do enter information on my calendar on Cosi.

If I am really upset and need to brain dump and I don't have the patience to wait for my laptop to boot up, I'll scribble my thoughts into a journal.  This doesn't happen to often, and it usually happens when I'm in such a state that merely looking at my husband makes me want to scream.

In recent years I have found that I can write reasonably well using a computer.  I first discovered this in graduate school.  I learned that I could quickly bang out my thoughts into an outline and convert it to prose with minimal effort.  From following this process many times during my studies and afterward, my writing process has been rewired (so to speak) so that it is actually easier for me to organize my thoughts using a computer rather than a pen.

If I write a blog post, I always use my computer.  I've lost many good ideas because I refuse to jot them down somewhere or type in a note on my iPhone, but it's just how I've always done it.  Plus, I like being able to preview my posts before I publish them.

Conclusion:
There's a time and a place for a pen as there is a time and a place for a computer.

Author's Note:
While I appreciate prompts to help get the creative juices flowing, I do not like today's blog post.  Blech.  Boring.  Maybe I'm just in a crappy mood, but I would have preferred a little more personality. Yeah, that's all on me, but just how exciting can writing about your preferred implement get?  (note to self:  drink wine tomorrow night before blogging)

Desperately Seeking Balance

I've been at my current job, Mom, for about seven and a half years.  It's the most difficult position I've ever held.  

Don't get me wrong, I adore my boys and wouldn't trade them for anything, but as a full time, stay-at-home Mom (who is married to a man whose job requires frequent late nights), you don't get sick time, and personal time is precious and in desperately short supply.  

If I go out to grab dinner with some friends, or play Bunco, or -gasp!- see a movie, it's a busy month for me.  

It makes me feel like such a total loser when I check Facebook and read the status updates of other moms I know - moms who also have young kids - about how much fun last night was, or see their pictures of them out somewhere, together, having a great time.  First, um, thanks for not inviting me, guys.  Second, thanks for posting status updates like "those watermelon margaritas last night were SO yummy!" when you know that I will see it.

That evvvvvvvvverybody else is hanging out but me probably wouldn't bother me nearly as much as it does if I didn't spend nearly every waking moment with at least one of my kids.  

But how to fix that?  

Do I get a full time job, if I can find one, so I can spend my take-home pay on day care?  Do I become a first year teacher in an urban school and adjust to a new career in a highly challenging environment with students who may not be adequately prepared to learn that requires me to bring work home and spend my paycheck on supplies, on top of paying for day care?  

I would love to find a part time job, but outside of retail, what part time jobs exist?  

I enjoy writing, but I've never done it for pay.  How does one "break into" writing at the age of forty?  (hint, hint)  And if I do find a paid writing job, will it be enough to make it worth my while?  Will I be able to meet deadlines while also being there for my kids when they need me to help them with their homework, shuttle them to activities, and remain active in the PTA?

I need balance.  And I don't know how to find it.  

Does anybody have any suggestions?