Up and away

My younger sister called me, unexpectedly, this morning.  Life has been busy for all of us, and we hadn't spoken in a couple months .... she called me on my birthday in March and left a voicemail that came in while I was at a rehearsal, and that might have been our most recent contact.  On that occasion she was joined by the boys:  Oliver then had just enough verbalization to say my name, not much more; on that message, Henry preferred to sing "Power Rangers rock!" instead of the traditional congratulations.

Look at those long legs and that utter sassiness in dinosaur pajamas.

Henry: 3.5    Oliver 1.5

They're growing up without me, that's for sure.  The length of time that has passed since my sister and I spoke had gotten away from me, too.   She's not the only friend I've started to lose track of in that sort of back-shelf, lazy fashion -- kind of like I'm losing track of keeping up with blogging -- and I'm glad a few things in life are slowing down this month and next, so maybe I can pull back all these drifting balloons worth gathering once again.

Birthday Shout-Out: O-Dog

Mom and Oliver -- December 1, 2010

I've written before about how much fun it is to be an aunt. 

That still holds true. 

(Even when Henry is kicking Oliver in the head and laughing about it and laughing at me for yelling ....)

I've written before too, how, more than my own birthdays (or my parents' or my sisters'), it is these little men's birthdays that make me sense and appreciate just how much life changes in one short year and, more than ever, grateful for the joy of life.



Oliver riding shotgun -- Thanksgiving 2011


Happy birthday .... my stubborn, determined, strong (and no worse-for-the-wear-from-getting-kicked-in-the-head) adorable blue-eyed boy!

Thanks-Essay 3: Garlic Mashed

I hereby declare there has been too much talk of weight loss, exercise and healthy eating on this blog. 

I also hereby declare that if you have never tried my sister Missy's legendary Garlic Mashed Potatoes recipe, you are Missing Out.  Full Stop. 

It is not too late to get to the grocery store for an extra block of cream cheese. Go.

Garlic Mashed Potatoes

Ingredients!
  5 lb bag of potatoes – russet or red
  1 stick of butter or margarine
  4 to 8 oz cream cheese (to taste)
  8 oz container of sour cream
  Fresh garlic to taste – minced as small as you can make it
  White onion to taste – minced as small as you can make it
  Garlic salt, onion powder, salt and pepper – to taste

Directions!
1. Scrub and cut up potatoes (do not peel) and place in a large pot. Cover with water.
2. Bring to boil and cook 20-25 minutes (smaller pieces cook faster). Drain.
3. Mash potatoes and add all ingredients. If you have a mixer, it works great for mashing and mixing the potatoes thoroughly!
4. Serve immediately OR refrigerate (up to 3 days) or freeze and serve up to 10 days later (maybe longer?).  For re-heating, put potatoes (still frozen) in a 350 degree oven for 1-2 hours – the deeper the dish, the more time they will need. I actually think they are better reheated because the flavors have all melded together!


Oliver is a fan

Variations and adaptations!
  Use garlic salt and onion powder instead of fresh – almost as good, and way less work!
  Peel your potatoes and have more “presentable” potatoes (as my grandma would say…)
  Play with the amounts of butter, sour cream and cream cheese – you may find you like more or less of any and all of these; altering them changes texture and taste.
  For a unique taste, sauté the onions and garlic first with butter!

(Another) Random Wednesday...

....without much to add to it.

Hopefully that's OK.

It's OK with me, anyway. 

I wanted a place and/or reason to post this video of
Johannes Brahms' Sonatensatz for viola and piano,
here played via cello transcription, which has been driving through my brain lately. 
First played it in college; wish I still could play it and/or had someone to play it with.
Last week it seemed like the
perfect piece which which to await a hurricane.
Indeed, it is pretty perfect, whenever.

Speaking of (with Tropical Storm Katia threatening in the far east),
did you know that Karen (spelled incorrectly as it is)
is one of the only 6 "K" names on the Atlantic hurricane naming convention list?

And, speaking of years, it's this dude's 3rd time to rock today. 

¡Feliz cumpleaños!, popsicle man.

I told you Henry takes after me...

(For) crying out loud

Henry is just about 3, just a little jealous of Oliver, and just about as precocious, smart and verbal as they come at that age. His mood swings and string-pulling regularly put the patience of his mother (and father, aunts, and constantly-getting-pinched-and-sat-on brother) to tests equivalent to those of crash-test dummies ramming into windshields.

Typical toddler: adorable, unpredictable, changable, inspiring, exasperating.


Team loyalties still predictable
(if nothing else).

Tuesday afternoon, Missy and the boys planned to drive me the half-hour across town to catch my 5 o'clock flight home. As she fed Oliver and we looked at 10 minutes to necessary departure, Henry was just up from his nap and clearly out-of-sorts. I was trying to help him get ready, but he was not going to have diaper changed -- not from his mom asking him, not from me. Not going to not distract the distractable Oliver. Not going to let me get him a snack for the road. Not going to accept the choice of snack I gave him once he agreed to take the snack. Not going to put his Crocs on. Walking towards the door, telling us he indeed was ready to "rock-and-roll," then getting to the door and insisting he didn't want to.

The nadir came 10 minutes after we should have left: me on the stoop with my suitcase; Missy in the kitchen holding Oliver in his carseat; Henry fixed to the floor between us, sobbing -- ostensibly because his Teddy Grahams were cinnamon and not chocolate, but more likely for all sorts of internal reasons he doesn't know how to verbalize. Meanwhile, we were going to miss my flight. There was no choice but for me to lean over, scoop him by the waist, and forcibly lift and carry him the 40 steps to the car.

And right then, something in him shut off, as if he had been swaddled. He stopped crying. He didn't resist being strapped-in. He let Missy kiss him on the cheek and pat his hair.  We started backing out of the driveway when his little voice piped up.

"Mom?  I don't feel bad anymore. I feel better."

"I know, honey. Sometimes it just feels good to cry, doesn't it?"

"Yeah."

And with that, he took a handful of cinnamon Teddy Grahams from the snack trap.

I was impressed by my sister's patience and her wisdom in letting a 3-year-old learn to deal with unspeakable emotions without punishment.

We could all be so lucky.

And ... back.

 So.  I don't have many tales from Minnesota made for long telling.

Not that nothing happened. There was a family wedding and family singing and family walk-abouts and family debriefings, and toddler tantrums offset with unbearable cutenesses and Dr. Seuss, and training runs of 8, 6 and 4 miles, and approximately one ton of peanut butter consumed, as well as gallons of beer drank on patios and lawns under temperate skies and, blissfully, 3 out of 4 really satisfying nights of sleep.

Of course, this will not be one of them. I dozed for most of my airplane ride this evening, waking up only to notice a colorful sky to my left (see below) and my body thinks it's only 1:09 instead of an hour later. Not that either of these hours are particularly early.

Sunset over Lake Huron

I've convinced myself that adrenaline (of needing to dig through a full e-mail inbox and quarter-end reporting awaiting at the office) will carry through both a Wednesday acting suspiciously like a Monday and the feeling I just negated all my good relaxation and fatigue-busting.

Let's hope.

Away (hurray)...

... to see this little bugger and his brother 

and his parents, aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents 

in a Minneapolis-land that has (amazingly) been a hotter place this week 

than the 90s we've been boasting about.

Aunt Karin -- 38.3 and silly.
Oliver -- 8 months, now w/teeth instead of teething ring.

There'll be tales to tell, no doubt.

Dichotomy

I'm certainly not naive or new to, well, just about anything.

It's why I'm finding it amusing at how much I'm amused by the dichotomy of life on earth in today's world, that on the same day I can become godmother to this adorable creature, Oliver ...

Godmother #1 (Cousin J), O-Dog, Dad, Mom ...
at the scene of the crime on Sunday, May 29

.... I get my first piece of pointless Skype spam. I didn't know you could get spam on Skype. I didn't know that anyone in Russia, much less one of the most attractive ladies in the world, was looking for me while I was hanging with my nephew, getting spit up on.

To: Greetings dear! I'm Natalia. I live in Russian Federation. Do you know that the most attractive ladies in the world live in my country? That's true! I invite you to a very good international dating site where hundreds of lonely hearts are looking for their future lovers. I dream about meeting a charming one I am searching for longterm relations or even marriage. Are you the one I am searching for? ;)

Kinda like a James Bond film, eh? Groovy.

Hiatus (brief)

Hey y'all.

I'm taking this opportunity to take few days off from blogging, because I'm going to Minnesota for the weekend to become this kid's godmother.

Oliver - 5 mos

I might have so much fun with my family I might never come back.

But, most likely, I will have plenty of fun with my family and will, thusly, emerge refreshed just in time for my next post here ..... which will be #800. That's 8x100. By the law of bloggerly obligation, a period of pre-writing contemplation is required to give this eight-century post its necessary gravitas. It will be epic.

Or, it might just be another picture of Oliver .... with me in it too.

Enjoy your memorializing. See you on the other side.

Indoctrination (Redux)

My 2 nephews

live in Minnesota.

Their father Chad is a

diehard Minnesota sports fan.

But

since Henry was an infant 

(you might recall),

I have been trying 

to get him on the right foot

regarding his

professional sports loyalty.



Henry (4 weeks) - September 2008

Yeah. 

I know the Sox

(Beckett, even)

are tanking early this year.

So now

I'm working on his younger brother,

jumping on a different bandwagon

to do so.



Oliver (4 mos) - April 2011


Very nice that,

lately,

Oliver at least has

something to cheer for.

(Thanks, Chad,

 for your cooperation in this

auntly indoctrination.)

Day 6 of 30: 5 miles

April Total:  13.29

2011 Total: 167.28

Prolonging the celebration

I love that my younger sister -- with her teaching job and 2 young kids and claims of "not being a crafty person" -- figures out how to pull off this kind of project in the midst of it all.

Oliver (4 mos) & Henry (wild man)

Va-cay (staying awesome)

I can't say I'm entirely pleased to be back in town after 6 days off the grid.

(Work, auditions, and a half-assed running goal await.)

Although I am at least a few steps out of my December funk that had bridged the new year.

QT with my nephews played at least a small part in the rebound.

Oliver (5 weeks) & Henry (27 mos)

I think it's because at this point in our relationship, they still think I'm pretty awesome. Of course.  They have little evidence to the contrary.

Not wanting to provide them that contrary evidence should be all the incentive I need to just buck up.

Go, January!

Day 7 of 31:  2.31
Day 8 of 31: 0.00

Day 9 of 31: 0.00

January Total: 16.24

Va-cay (for real)

Sorry for being so absent.

I've been hanging out with my nephews and I got distracted.

Hope that's OK

and see ya soon.

Day 4 of 31: 0.00

Day 5 of 31: 0.00

Day 6 of 31: 4.30

January Total: 13.93

Because babies are cute ....

.... and I know you want to see Oliver.

(Yeah. I'm kind of in love, too.)

Surreal gladness

My nephew Oliver finally (hooray!) showed his face Wednesday night around 8.  After staying in the womb 11 days past 40 weeks, he flew out in 2 hours of labor ... so quickly he was within minutes of being born in the hospital elevator.

My sister's Facebook page proclaims that, at 9 lbs 7 oz, Oliver is "healthy, chunky and cute!"  (Which I'll confirm or deny upon receiving pictures ... hint, hint ...)

Missy called me at work this morning to share all the gladdening and gory particulars of her Wednesday.  It was only as we matter-of-factly discussed searing pain and dilation and post-birth clean-up that I fathomed the craziness of my sister having this pain, having this joy, helping create this life. 

My sister.  Surreal.

The girl once short enough to be mistaken for my twin before she got way, way taller.  Who shared a bedroom with me for 16 years.  Dance classes for 12 of those. Joined me in, way too often, inhaling peanut butter from a jar and Pepsi while watching "Brady Bunch" reruns in the basement, belching relentlessly.  Helped me choreograph jazz routines in front of the dresser mirror.  French-braided my hair before I could figure out how to do it myself.   Invented the world's most calorie-laden mashed potato recipe that no one in the family dares not make. Always sang any song she tried more convincingly than anyone else in the room.

Now, mother of two sons, one of who can call out "Hi, Aunt Karin!" when picking up the phone. And no doubt she and Chad will encourage his younger brother to also do so, sooner than I can probably imagine. So when they're growing up in Minnesota, 1400 miles away, we get to know each other the best we're all capable of.

Good work, Miss.

Thanks III (for the little things)

Like a job that

(even on the day before a major holiday,

as all who call in say "I'm so sorry you have to work!"

before they say hello,

even though they're working, also, it seems)

Provides unlimited Post-Its and

Lets me freely drink the world's best iced coffee

(with the world's cheesiest misspellings) and

Listen to the best Ben Folds covers on Pandora

(thanks for PC and auxiliary speakers) and

Put out pictures of my friends (like Balint)

and my nephew(s) (like Henry)

(both who I'm more than just thankful for, I'm humbled to know) and

(occasionally)

Write a blog entry on my noon hour.

Birthday Shout-Out: (Real Little) Boy

Before I became an aunt

I was told

it would be cool
to be an aunt.

This much is true.

Kicks to the chin

and juicy orange mustaches

are secondary concerns

to wrestling on the grass
and finger chomping

with this level of joy.

Happy birthday,
dear Henry!

Number 7

The Top 7 Reasons to celebrate registering for my 7th marathon:

7.  It's Philadelphia, the other birthplace of our nation. Enough said.

6.  Deep deep deep down in my soul .... I have missed Saturday 8 a.m. long runs.

5.  The chance to discover if Saturday 8 a.m. long runs in September could possibly be more enjoyable than those in January and Feburary.

4.  My bikini will, simply, fit better.

3.  I can eat everything I want (and more) for the next 4 months and still, my bikini will, simply, fit better.

2.  I can also, perhaps, convince myself that I can stay healthy and stay focused and maybe, after all this time, run a Boston Qualifier time.

1. My new nephew may very well arrive on Race Day.

(Very, very cool.)

Runs in the family

Missy, Chad and Henry returned earlier this week
from a 2-week road trip to Montana.

It reminded me how long it has been 

since I've posted any nephew photos --

and here he is, pushing his second birthday

(And, via that old cliché about children,

it reminded me just how much they grow 

when you're not looking.)

I was glad to see that Henry,

as he becomes what my mom would call

"a REAL little boy!",

is learning to take after his aunt in all the important ways.

Loves drinking cold beverages with a straw....

....and can empty a bag of cookies in no time.

Proves a whiz at drinking games ....

....and of course, musical instruments.

(Even rubber-band / cereal-box guitars.)

Yoga ..... any time, any place ...

.... and for sleeping, the same.

D = 5C = 10L = 50X = 500I

Today is Single in the City Blog Post #500.

(One benefit of personal drama: it makes you forget about the big picture. It didn't occur to me until this morning, on the #9, that I was facing an anniversary I hadn't in the least contemplated. Which meant I don't get to stress over it in a I-haven't-yet-done-my-2009-Christmas-cards-fashion. Now that's personal progress.)

It seems a good moment to reflect briefly on what I've taken away from 22 months of self-reflection:

1) I would greatly benefit from strings for my mittens.

2) My nephew is now and will probably always be better looking than any of the men I've dated.

Henry (18 mos.) in Florida, February 2010

3) I will probably never again have as nice of a body as I did on my 36th birthday. I'm still sad about this.

4) My time-management skills are eroding every day.

5) Self-challenges with deadlines have been by the far the most effective way at getting me to eat better, exercise better, date better, and write this blog. But not, as you well know, sleep better. That might be the lifelong rock in my shoe.

6) Politics have not yet saved my dating life and, now firmly entrenched in my friend Mike's campaign for Massachusetts State Rep, wonder if I should still be asking the question.

7) I have more boy friends than girl friends and wonder if that has anything to do with the fact that I'm still single.

8) OKC has been wonderful. OKC has been a time suck. OKC has introduced me to several of the more interesting people I'll ever meet. Perhaps it's OK that I signed up.

9) I've done well to write the first female dating blog that doesn't consistently reference Jane Austen novels. Yet. Just 2 weeks ago I picked up Sense and Sensibility for the first time. I can see I am forever attracted to Willoughbys and have no time for Colonel Brandons. I'm well aware it took a near-death fever illness for Marianne Dashwood to see the light. I've been wondering lately what it will take for me.

10) I may be still be single, but I'm a better date than I was 500 blog entries ago. I hope.