Adventure Time

Shae has a bunch of stuff coming up this week that is probably a much bigger deal to me than it is to her: first flat-ironings, dance recitals, graduation, stuff like that. Milestones are kind of meaningless when you're six and your whole life is literally ahead of you. Of course, I'll be a total cracked-out mess, as usual, with all the pictures to prove it. In the meantime: a story.

= = = = =

We don't watch a lot of superhero shows in our house. We're not really opposed to them, in theory, but Shae is highly suggestible and we're just trying to be proactive about any potential behavioral changes that might result from exposure to stuff she's not ready for. Others probably call this a symptom of the "pussification" of our children; they're probably correct to a large degree. But at the same time, these Others don't have to live with a kid who thinks that all adopted children -- e.g., Superman, Hercules, the Power Puff Girls -- have either super powers or Daddy Warbuckses.

But like every kid ever born in America ever, my kid is at least aware of your major superheroes. Batman, Iron Man, Wonder Woman, etc. It might be a while before she understands why funny sideburns and yellow Spandex sometimes makes Mommy weak in the knees (by the old gods and the new, I hope this remains the case), but she knows who the X-Men are. And she already knows that when she grows up, she's going to be the superhero who saves everybody, "not just some silly boy who only saves the pretty girls with down hair."

So why is this blog post all pictures of my niece running around my uncle's back yard wearing a scarf around her neck, superhero-style?

Because more than once, when someone asked her who she was pretending to be, while she was doing this very thing ...

... my niece said, "Super-Shae!" And Shae would reply, "Makayla is my hero." And they were both right.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Shae looked adorable this morning in anticipation of the big party at school today ... so OF COURSE the camera battery was dead. Thank goodness for cell phones. Better pictures later, hopefully. We'll go outside and poke around among the clover, maybe find a few of the 4-leaved variety.

For each petal on the shamrock

This brings a wish your way --

Good health, good luck, and happiness

For today and every day.

Slàinte mhòr agus a h-uile beannachd duibh.
(Great health and every good blessing to you.)

Free Bird

Almost every other mother I know tells me that they have certain benchmarks, particular milestones that they use to judge how they're doing as parents. For some people, these indicators come from books or pediatric development charts. For others, it's healthy competition -- "my sister's kid did XX at YY months, so if my kid does it by ZZ months, then I'll know we'll be okay."

I try to be a little more laid back than that, even though I myself am your classic Type A overachiever stress case heart attack waiting to happen. I mean, I still worry about stuff -- did we get her shots on time? are we feeding her enough? how long are her naps at school? dear God, what is that smell? -- but our main priority, really, is that she is happy. The rest of it will work itself out.

Which is why I am proud to announce that we have reached the absolute pinnacle in quality parenting over the weekend, and not only that, I actually managed to get it on "film" for once:

HELLS YEAH! ROCK AND ROLL! My work here is done.

Oh, and before I forget, here is the "prize-winning" picture that Shae and G (and apparently everyone else in the world except me) liked the best of the three school portraits:

This is a cropped version of the "real" picture, which is essentially the same except it's full-length and HER TEACHERS SENT HER INTO THE ROOM WITH HER SHOES UNBUCKLED. And I really can't talk about that any more without giving myself a stroke, so I'll stop now. (It doesn't look bad at all cropped, though, and in fact I like it better like this because you can see more of her face.)

My God, this kid is beautiful, absolutely beautiful. How in the hell did we get so lucky?

Signed, Sealed, Delivered I'm Yours

I've written about our anniversary before -- that's the thing about anniversaries, how they keep coming around every year. Last year I kind of didn't make a big deal out of it, since we were in the middle of having our lives turned upside down, but this is one of those anniversaries that ends in a Big Round Number, and since some of our friends who are now married hadn't even met on the day that we exchanged vows, I think this year it's worth a little more notice.

So, to begin with: four hundred thousand and ten years ago, at one o'clock in the afternoon, we got married. We got married in a beautiful Catholic church, a church that has been a part of my family for a long time, the church where my father's parents and so many of my father's siblings were married, the same church where my own sister will be getting married this summer.

To have and to hold, to love and to cherish, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, from this day forward, until death do us part. I did then, and I do now, and I always will, as long as you never make me say "obey." I agreed to love and honor, yes, but not obey.

Ours is not a Great Love Story, but it is a pretty damned good one. I've said before, eleventy hundred zillion times, that you are not perfect, but you are perfect for me. You have tolerated a great deal of insanity and foolishness, even more insanity and pigheadedness, and did I mention the insanity? But at the end of our days, I still feel now like I did then.

You and me, we're a pair of ducks.

And I love you.
Always, and all ways.

All photos by Troy Schnyder.

Where "Jerk" Begins With "G"

What I said I wanted for Valentine's Day: a couple of packs of World of Warcraft trading cards. The thinking here is that I would maybe get a nice phat loot card, so for a couple of bucks, my husband could make me happy for potentially dozens of virtual minutes, and possibly even get me closer to earning that sexy little [Mountain o' Mounts] achievement so I could get myself a [Blue Dragonhawk Mount].

Instead, what I got, was this:

Flowers! Nice ones! With stargazer lilies and roses and carnations and something called "waxflowers" that are really cute and charming! Something thoughtful and pretty and nice-smelling! Something romantic, even!

Damn him, and his proper training! How could he do this to me? The RAT-BASTARD.

(If he thinks he's getting out of buying me all the key lime pie I can eat on vacation, he is sorely mistaken. And I can eat a lot of pie.)

Here Comes The Jackpot Question In Advance ...

... what are you doing New Year's Eve? Not sure what you have planned, but I'll be spending the night with my family, my husband, my delicious daughter, at least one Nintendo Wii, some sort of board game(s) involving Trivial Pursuit at a minimum, and a fresh bubbly dish of my "Million Dollar Crab Dip." I can't share the exact recipe -- it's an "ancient Chinese secret" that I will leave to my daughter in my will, and plus besides I never follow recipes anyway (they're more like suggestions, not unlike speed limit signs) -- but here is the recipe on which my concoction is based so that you can enjoy something similar yourself.

=====

HOT CRAB DIP
from "The Complete Cooking Light Cookbook"
© 2000 by Oxmoor House, Inc.

• ¾ cup fat-free sour cream
• 2 tablespoons lemon juice
• 1 tablespoon grated fresh onion
• 1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
• ¾ teaspoon dry mustard
• ¼ teaspoon garlic powder
• 8 ounces light cream cheese, softened
• ½ cup (2 ounces) shredded cheddar cheese
• 1 pound crabmeat, drained and shells removed
• Paprika

Preheat oven to 325°F. Combine sour cream through cream cheese in a bowl. Stir well with a whisk or hand mixer on low. Stir in cheddar cheese and crabmeat. Spoon into a 1½-quart casserole that has been coated with cooking spray. Sprinkle with paprika. Bake at 325°F for 30 minutes or until bubbly and thoroughly heated. Serve warm with sturdy crackers or breadsticks. Makes 3⅔ cups (which isn't very much because this is one of those things that can be totally snarfed right out of the bowl with a spoon, like the infamous Pumpkin Dip).

=====

Whatever you're doing tonight, be warm, be happy, and above all else: be safe. Happy New Year!

PS -- Kathy Griffin is co-hosting New Year's Eve coverage on CNN with Anderson "My Other TV Boyfriend" Cooper, so if you're not doing anything else, it might be worth checking out. Kathy is the shizz, yo!

Family Time

Been a busy day. Hanging out with my sister, parents, and grandparents, watching some football and eating some pretzels and most definitely NOT taking a nap. Been eleventy kinds of awesome. Weather stinks, but we're having a good time. You should be here.

So, probably against all better judgment (but when have I ever been known to show that?), we went shopping today. Our first stop was BJ's, for cat litter, and then we ventured to Toys 'R Us, which is so many kinds of stupid it can't really be quantified. But I wanted to try to get everything done for my Christmas Kid, and what she wanted was toys, and I want to go on record as saying that I might be crazy for going to Toys R Us, but believe me when I say that even I know it would have been retarded to get anywhere near a Wal-Mart.

I've "sponsored" a Christmas Kid every year since I started my current job. My company hooks up with a local children's charity and we get info packets on needy kids. You know me and my weak little bleeding heart; as soon as I heard about the program, I signed up. It never once occurred to me not to. You get a name, some basic information like sizes and toy list, and a bag for you to fill with goodies. The usual Christmas stuff -- clothes, books, toys. I also get basics like hairbrushes, toothbrushes, and socks, because I have some kind of thing for socks.

This year I got a girl who will be two in January. I requested a little kid for the past two years because I've always found something ... illogical, maybe? ... about getting consumer electronics for teenagers whose families can't afford Christmas presents. I have no compunction about getting a CD player, and since I'm a retail commando I can totally get one for almost nothing. But if their parents can't afford a cheapo generic Discman in the first place, where are they going to get CD's?

Anyway, I was wrapping today's acquisitions and I was sort of freaking out, because my bag looks so empty this year. When I first showed G the wish list for this little girl, he was partly stunned, because it was a short list. "Doll, learning toy, blocks, play telephone, toy box." That's verbatim. I am not the least bit ashamed to tell you that I might be more excited than she will be when I found light-up sparkle Strawberry Shortcake sneakers in her size.

But for all the good stuff I got -- two outfits, a hat and gloves, barettes, adorable pajammies with monkeys on them, a musical tea set -- I still feel like a cheap bitch. Why isn't the bag full yet? I've been shopping for more than a full month, and there are still two weeks to go. What else can I get? Probably dozens of things, maybe hundreds. More clothes? A new coat? Perhaps a little baby doll so she has someone to have tea parties with?

One thing I do know: it will probably take me years of this sort of penance before I feel like I've repaid the Universe for all the good karma it's thrown my way. I don't care how much it costs, or how "over budget" I go when I'm shopping for these kids. Because if not for me, they might not have a Christmas. And I must do what I can, because I am a Haldaman, and one year someone gave my Dad tomato soup for Christmas.

=====

The now legendary story of the Christmas Tomato Soup has been verified by my grandmother, the one who was born in the manger next to Jesus, so I know it has not been made up, but that doesn't make it any more mythical or extraordinary. And now matter how many times I hear about it -- I think we are going on eleventy bajillion times, now -- it still does things to my hard, black, bitter, little heart that I cannot control or understand.

As far as I can tell, the facts are these: My father is one of thirteen children. His family lived in a small house, everyone together, on a very tight budget. Sometimes, they did not get all new things for Christmas. Sometimes, their Christmas dinner was barely enough. But always, no matter what, there was Christmas. It might not be what the rest of us take for granted, but it was what it was, and it is what it is, and they made do, and were happy.

When my father was about 7 years old, so the story goes, someone asked him what he wanted for Christmas. And he said -- this is my father, remember, so don't say I didn't warn you -- "tomato soup." Always he has been a simple man with understated expectations. Do your best, work hard, love each other, clean your room, eat your soup. So to me, it is no surprise that he would ask for soup for Christmas. My daddy loves tomato soup.

I don't know how much time passed between when my father asked for soup and when Christmas came, but I know that things got rough. Really rough. Can't get a confirmation on this, because it was so long ago, but I believe there was a strike at the Steel that year, and my grandfather was out of work for a while over the holidays because of it. So when it came time to get presents? Yeah, not so much.

Except an amazing thing happened: everyone got what they wanted that year. Everyone in the family. And nobody knows how or why. Presents appeared on Christmas morning. And my dad? Got a whole case of tomato soup. He says it was one of his best Christmases ever.

=====

This is the way I was raised: don't be greedy. Ask for what you want, but want what is simple. I don't really ask for much around the holidays. The best Christmas present I ever got was my iPod, which is seriously the coolest toy ever, and which I never expected. When I asked for it, I was kidding. One of my sisters is making my Christmas present this year. And I am giving everything I can to this little girl, whom I've never met, whom I might never meet, because one year someone got my dad tomato soup for Christmas.

Whatever you want this year? I hope you get it. And I hope you can find it in your hearts -- hard, black, bitter and little or not -- to share.

Happy holidays.